We finally have somewhere to live in Ann Arbor. I say finally. We only looked at two buildings - saw the place iwithinn the first hour and will be moving in a shade over two weeks later. But the road feels longer and more arduous, with more twists and turns, in my head.
Cable, Internet and Phone installed on Tuesday, Jude installed on Monday. Should be great. I hope. Anyway short post as I'm running hellish late and don't want to risk not getting a chair at work (such is "hot desking")
Friday, September 14, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Stop viewing,,, start doing
So here I am in one of the coolest enclaves of one of the most exciting cities in the world and quite frankly I’m bored. Sure Williamsburg has moved from arty loft squat heaven through post college idyll to condo strewn East Village rip off but there’s still more going on within five blocks of my house tonight than there will be over the next five years in my home town.I could go to an ironic quiz – all pop culture questions and geeky cool hyper appreciation. This is the basic tenant of hipster-ism. You have to be bored by current culture but bizarrely fascinated by the pop culture of previous generations. You have to tweak and adjust and reclaim as icons soda streams and chopper bikes and old institutions like burlesque. A hipster appreciation for a time gone by is both a diss to current popular culture and an opportunity to be both involved and detached. How meta is that? Pete’s Candy Store (it looks really old, has an adult spelling bee, bingo for beer, scrabble nights, hot live bands and toasties) is pretty much the centre for this vibe and its here that I can find the quiz. The thing is there also seems to be 120lb weight limit (for guys, girls you have to be under 90lbs) and a 50% skin surface covered in tattoos rule in place, So that’s not one for me.
Galapagos – an art space that I really like is running a dance party tonight. It’s been years since I danced. The last time I think was at Culture Club – a 70s and 80s club on Varick street that caters to hen parties, office parties and the middle aged. Either there or Polyester, which is much the same but with pretension of tongue in cheek. That night I was hammered, the music was loud and the friends Danish and beautiful. But anyway dance parties are for people who have indulged in more drugs than Clarissa Dickson Wright has hot dinners and so it’s not for me either.
Rose – a new place with a Hispanic feel is running Amayo’s Fu-Quintet-Fa – a mad concption of Kung Fu, Cuban, African and traditional Chinese Rhythms and the kind of jazz that makes most people get a bit jumpy but makes jazz fanatics swell to zip endangering in their Farrahs and zoot suits.
Also at Rose tonight – Argentinian folk. Alas the patrons of Rose tend to be 70, arthritic of fingers but lithe of hip. It’s full of old codgers who look toothless and harmless but who will spin your woman away from you, whisk her into a frenzy of neatly executed spins and bathe in the puddle of ecstasy that she leaves behind on the dancefloor. They’ve got game – I don’t.
And so on. All over this wee part of Brooklyn (first stop as realtors are trying to rename the area, how long before it’s known as “OneSto”) there is life and vibrancy, entertainment and experimentation. But I’m pretty much tired of being a spectator at someone else’s party. I wanna play some. And that means diving in and getting involved. Maybe a smaller pond will be needed but it’s time to stop viewing and start doing.
And on thath note I’m off to watch Mystery, G-Dog and Matador trying to teach geeks how to get into a woman’s pants… okay so maybe the doing starts Monday.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Out of sorts
If I've learned anything over the past few years it's that you don't have to fight every battle, let alone win it. The trick is to let some stuff wash over you but not so often that it forms a groove where your backbone used to be.
So instead of turning into a weedy hulk at the first minor niggles today I went for lunch, with the smartest, snarkiest people I could find and enjoyed a couple of hours of creative destruction... unpicking everything from the hiring policies of major corporations to the mania of self proclaimed experts. A fine old time indeed.
Tomorrow I have more on than I think is really neccessary but that's good. Three final presentations have the advantage of finality. And closure, as I'm learning, is cathartic.
No news from the doc' today which is either good news or a sign that he doesn't read patient charts. Let's go for the first one.
So instead of turning into a weedy hulk at the first minor niggles today I went for lunch, with the smartest, snarkiest people I could find and enjoyed a couple of hours of creative destruction... unpicking everything from the hiring policies of major corporations to the mania of self proclaimed experts. A fine old time indeed.
Tomorrow I have more on than I think is really neccessary but that's good. Three final presentations have the advantage of finality. And closure, as I'm learning, is cathartic.
No news from the doc' today which is either good news or a sign that he doesn't read patient charts. Let's go for the first one.
Monday, September 10, 2007
How much?
So Weill Cornell Presbyterian Hospital have a shiny new building that cost them $300m and looks - to my eyes at least - like a very nice Scandinavian airlines lounge (think SAS in Stockholm)...
You walk in to bleached floors, original art, tasteful furniture and a curvy desk that's home to no less than 5 equally curvy young receptionishs.
You fill out the insurance forms - everyone struggles with this. When did I last have a scan? When did I have a treatment? What are all my drugs? Is there an acceoptable "don't remember" response? I wonder why when they have my records they always hand me a blank form and ask me for my best guess at what those records say. A test for alzheimers perhaps?
Then you wait. And wait. My appointment is at 12.00. I arrive at 11.50. One of those terribly enthusiastic women bounds out - energy of a labrador, hair of a spaniel. You just know that in her spare time she volunteers, wears bright pants and believes in the healing power of a smile.
She gives me contrast solution. It has a flavor. Orange. This is new. I'm to have one glass a half hour for the next 2 hrs. 2 hrs? I've only brought a magazine. I comply. 3 hours go by... it's now 3pm so I approach the desk of the curvy young receptionists and ask 'how long?'.. one who looks Polish but has a softer more romantic accent places a call and 5 minutes later I'm in a back room, changing into a gown that barely covers the scars from the cat let alone my 'modesty'
Into a new room with a new MRI machine. It's warmer than usual. A man with a southern accent richer than Helmsley's dog talks me through everything and then leaves the room. Remotely they inject the dye into my system (I'll spend the next 12 hours trying to flush it) and I feel the familiar tingle... though this time it centres on my ass in not at all unpleasant fashion. The machine whirs and buzzes. I move in and out holding breath and urge to swallow as instructed. And then it's over.
I head for 'check out' and see that I have no co-pay then head into the street where I try to find food - it's 4am and I've not eaten yet.
A train to Lorimer puts me close enough to a post office to see me sending off the banker's check that will act as security deposit on Jude's place in Ann Arbor then it's a 2 mile walk to get the dog. The way back takes us past the newly expanded UVA Wines and so we pop in and grab a decent bottle of an unusual white before heading home.
I'm knackered now and kinda swaying (in the street someone screams at me "Do you want the whole sidewalk")... but I sit down to write a proposal for a job. It's good in that it's different rather than good in that it's good. But it takes a half hour and that's enough time spent thinking about the subject at hand.
Down to the neighbor's on 3. Their son is adorable... as is the next child to arrive - the people from 3a. Everyone has kids. Someone is pregnant again and I feel a rush of sadness at not having the time (or ability) to have kids. The argument stays the same. I don't want to have kids during a period where my chances of surving 5 years are less than 50%. 5 years from now we'll be too old to have kids. catch 22. Throw in chemo and you have a recipe for barren.
Dinner downstairs is great. The table is set. The take out is Thai and the people are bright, interesting and generous enough to indulge me in stories that aren't quite yet annecdotes. But they are getting closer.
It's 11.45 now. I have a cat on the desk and a dog at my feet. Jude is 'home' on Friday and so much more engaged in life since she moved to MI that it makes me smile just to think of her. Life is good. Let's just hope that the phone stays silent until the 25th when I head in to see the doctor. Bad news travels fast in oncology - so no news would be the best news of all,
You walk in to bleached floors, original art, tasteful furniture and a curvy desk that's home to no less than 5 equally curvy young receptionishs.
You fill out the insurance forms - everyone struggles with this. When did I last have a scan? When did I have a treatment? What are all my drugs? Is there an acceoptable "don't remember" response? I wonder why when they have my records they always hand me a blank form and ask me for my best guess at what those records say. A test for alzheimers perhaps?
Then you wait. And wait. My appointment is at 12.00. I arrive at 11.50. One of those terribly enthusiastic women bounds out - energy of a labrador, hair of a spaniel. You just know that in her spare time she volunteers, wears bright pants and believes in the healing power of a smile.
She gives me contrast solution. It has a flavor. Orange. This is new. I'm to have one glass a half hour for the next 2 hrs. 2 hrs? I've only brought a magazine. I comply. 3 hours go by... it's now 3pm so I approach the desk of the curvy young receptionists and ask 'how long?'.. one who looks Polish but has a softer more romantic accent places a call and 5 minutes later I'm in a back room, changing into a gown that barely covers the scars from the cat let alone my 'modesty'
Into a new room with a new MRI machine. It's warmer than usual. A man with a southern accent richer than Helmsley's dog talks me through everything and then leaves the room. Remotely they inject the dye into my system (I'll spend the next 12 hours trying to flush it) and I feel the familiar tingle... though this time it centres on my ass in not at all unpleasant fashion. The machine whirs and buzzes. I move in and out holding breath and urge to swallow as instructed. And then it's over.
I head for 'check out' and see that I have no co-pay then head into the street where I try to find food - it's 4am and I've not eaten yet.
A train to Lorimer puts me close enough to a post office to see me sending off the banker's check that will act as security deposit on Jude's place in Ann Arbor then it's a 2 mile walk to get the dog. The way back takes us past the newly expanded UVA Wines and so we pop in and grab a decent bottle of an unusual white before heading home.
I'm knackered now and kinda swaying (in the street someone screams at me "Do you want the whole sidewalk")... but I sit down to write a proposal for a job. It's good in that it's different rather than good in that it's good. But it takes a half hour and that's enough time spent thinking about the subject at hand.
Down to the neighbor's on 3. Their son is adorable... as is the next child to arrive - the people from 3a. Everyone has kids. Someone is pregnant again and I feel a rush of sadness at not having the time (or ability) to have kids. The argument stays the same. I don't want to have kids during a period where my chances of surving 5 years are less than 50%. 5 years from now we'll be too old to have kids. catch 22. Throw in chemo and you have a recipe for barren.
Dinner downstairs is great. The table is set. The take out is Thai and the people are bright, interesting and generous enough to indulge me in stories that aren't quite yet annecdotes. But they are getting closer.
It's 11.45 now. I have a cat on the desk and a dog at my feet. Jude is 'home' on Friday and so much more engaged in life since she moved to MI that it makes me smile just to think of her. Life is good. Let's just hope that the phone stays silent until the 25th when I head in to see the doctor. Bad news travels fast in oncology - so no news would be the best news of all,
Sunday, September 09, 2007
It's scan time again
Yup today is the day that I get scanned for the re-emergence of cancer. Results aren't until the 25th - unless of course things are very bad in which case you get the 'could you come in?' call.
This time I feel as though I have more invested in the results. A return of disease would be a major inconvenience. For the first time since I was sick I have life plans. Things I want to do. Places I want to be. Tasks I want to take on. And all dependent on having an 'all clear'
Of course the pessimist in me says that this will be the time that they see something on the scans. Once you get invested in a positive result the universe delivers the kick to the gut that it thinks that you need.
Follow that line of argument however and you live life purely in the moment - which may be bliss but is also a recipe for coasting. John Lennon was right when he said "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans" (and look what happened to him) but without time out to make those plans we're really not living.
So it's fingers crossed tighter than usual for this one.
Pppppfffffffffff
This time I feel as though I have more invested in the results. A return of disease would be a major inconvenience. For the first time since I was sick I have life plans. Things I want to do. Places I want to be. Tasks I want to take on. And all dependent on having an 'all clear'
Of course the pessimist in me says that this will be the time that they see something on the scans. Once you get invested in a positive result the universe delivers the kick to the gut that it thinks that you need.
Follow that line of argument however and you live life purely in the moment - which may be bliss but is also a recipe for coasting. John Lennon was right when he said "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans" (and look what happened to him) but without time out to make those plans we're really not living.
So it's fingers crossed tighter than usual for this one.
Pppppfffffffffff
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