Friday, March 25, 2005

This post not in stereo

Earlier this week, I went into the doctor for a routine check up. In the course of poking, peeking and amplified eavesdropping on my internal organs, the doctor asked me several questions and took some blood. Yesterday, I got a call from the clinic with some unexpected, but entirely logical news: the lab results indicate that I have mono.

She shot off a litany of details involving counts of blood cells and the presence of other interesting beasties celebrating Spring Break in my body. She says I appear to be in the late stages, having had it for the better part of a month and that last week's croupy cough and full body ache was likely a sharp relapse after having overextended my energy levels the previous week.

It would explain why the girls at Chez Potrero, M, specifically couldn't knock her cold and rarely emerged from her room. And it would certainly explain why my sleep has increased three fold for no apparent reason. Sitting/laying down midday to read a book or glance at a magazine lately has, more often than not, resulted in me waking up several hours later...even after a night of 8-10 hours of sleep.

What's funny, is that outside of the mildly sore throat, I feel great. Not exactly tired, but languid and delightfully lazy. I have never been so cheerfully unmotivated, so long as I have access to my bed or couch, in my entire life. Without exaggeration, I'm averaging 5 hours down for every two - three hours up. My dreams are absolutely wonderful, I don't get that restless horizontal body ache and my bed has never exhibited the magnetic quality that it now does. It, quite literally, calls out to me and once I'm snug inside, all is right and well with the world. In fact, the only way to improve it would be to get all of my friends and their beds together in a great big room so I'd only have to leave bed to use the loo.

(This, btw, is where I owe W & L an apology for last night: Guys, I actually went to the lengths of taking a Vivarin before sitting down to read the Guardian at 6:45. I woke up at 11:30, still in my jacket and shoes with enough energy to brush my teeth, grab a water and climb into bed. I woke at 7:30, refreshed...and I'm certain that by 10 am I'll be ready for today's first practice run. Next time, I promise!)

I think it helps to know that it's a temporary state, this helps me embrace it more than I otherwise would. Still it's odd. I hear Max Headroom in my brain as I, yet again, drift off: "Come sweet slumber/Enshroud me in thy purple cloak...."

Here it comes, and off I go.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005


I will make my first scratch stock in San Francisco.

I am very, very excited.

Special to Sergio:
When you read this, drop me a line. I miss you, my brutha. You oughta be here making stocks and talking meat with me. Not really, perhaps, but no sooner do I get a pad with a kick ass kitchen and the creativity kicks in, than you skip town to go to some silly Cordon Bleu something or other.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Further proof that I am, in truth, a 14 year old boy

It hit 73 degrees today in this part of the Mission and after several days of hinky health, I woke up to the absence of fever, aches and crampy muscles. In celebration of said wonderful turn of events, I celebrated by:

- getting a super carne asada burrito from El Tonayense
- exchanging ridiculous posts of 'Dr. Tran' quotes with Tara Monster and .m.
- repairing, replacing and splicing wires for a new speaker arrangement in my room
- singing to Oingo Boingo, after the above task was successfully completed
- using power tools for further home improvement adventures

Listening to Danny & Co was great, but I just have to say that the power tools were the best. Successfully splicing wires was a close second. I do have to come clean here, one look at me and you'd know that I, in very few ways, resemble a 14 year old boy. However, there's something particularly bright and beautiful about the moments when we take on a task a little out of our usual realm and the result is as planned. If not better.

Not that one would necessarily want to take care of everything all of the time. I'll be honest, I don't want to kill my own food everyday. That's why we have areas of specialization with trained and seasoned professionals, but there really is something kind of magic about capable self sufficiency, about knowing that you could, if you really needed to or simply preferred to, and in the realization that you have that choice, the world becomes smaller, warmer, less threatening.

God is in the details and one of those details is 'having the option'.

Maybe I'm a little silly for getting a bit giddy when these things fall into place so easily, but it hasn't always been this way. I trust it won't always be this way, either. I highly doubt that I could build a microwave in a MacGyver fashion, for example. However, every now and again, you get something seemingly esoteric right and then get to use power tools as Boingo sings, "Just once or twice/Is good for your soul!" and you just need to step back and smile.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Get out of my head!


"You are 'programming in QBASIC'. This programming language (of which the acronym stands for 'Quick Beginners' All-purpose Symbolic Instruction Code'), which is so primitive that it cannot easily be used for any purpose involving the Internet nor even sound, was current more than a decade ago. You are independent, in a good way. When something which you need cannot be found, you make it yourself. In writing and in talking with people, you value clarity and precision; your friends may not realize how important that is. When necessary, you are prepared to be a mediator in conflicts between your friends. You are very rational, and you think of things in terms of logic and common sense. Unfortunately, your emotionally unstable friends may be put off by your devotion to logic; they may even accuse you of pedantry and insensitivity. Your problem is that programming in QBASIC has been obsolete for a long time."

Upon reflection, this test result makes perfect sense given my burning childhood crush on Mr. Spock. Aren't we just two peas in a pod.

Confusion the waitress sat down at my bar

She didn't ask for happy hour prices, smart girl that she is. We carefully sorted through the facts, the yeses and nos. She was uncompromising, but never unkind. Ostensibly, she left me with a choice, but the answer seemed obvious. For all of the power and the passion and the potential, there was more pain than anything else. Neither of us is sure why this is, but there you have it and what are you going to do? Such is life and the way of things.

Once, it was he and me and him and her, and I said then, "Never again." This time, it's me and he and her and them. It's like standing in an emotional breadline and I can see that I'm the one that doesn't belong in this equation. It's time to rectify the situation.

And so it goes. As do I.

Confusion the waitress has left the building.