It's Exhausting!

Droid Incredible Phone

There's some dialogue from the movie, He's Just Not that Into You that has always resonated with me. Drew Barrymore's character (whose name is Mary, ironically) is tying to explain her confusing and frustrating love life,especially the pattern of communicating to schedule a meetup - and also scheduling the actual communicating - that her and and some guy have fallen into.

"I had this guy leave me a voice mail at work so I called him at home and then he e-mailed me to my Blackberry and so I texted to his cell and then he e-mailed me to my home account and the whole thing just got out of control. And I miss the days when you had one phone number and one answering machine and that one answering machine has one cassette tape and that one cassette tape either had a message from a guy or it didn't. And now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It's exhausting."

My iPad

For real, this IS exhausting and not far from the truth!

I've written about this before. I have thought about it a LOT. There is an incredible, bizarre, and addictive attachment to technology that is so pervasive in everything we do. And the constant interfacing - the relentless updating - and the fucking over-saturation of information - it's just a fuckload of wild. 

But I love some of this stuff. I love that I can update my laptop's calendar, which automatically pushes to my iPad, and my phone, which are all different platforms and O/Ss, and manufacturers and colors, and I think - Hell yeah, that makes things nice. Hell. Yeah.

Tom with part of the 343 Team, being shown concept art for Halo 4

Of course, having a mobile phone is de rigueur - is it so pathetic that I feel lost without it? But it can be quite a distraction. Not always crazy about sitting with a bunch of friends and everyone is silent - texting, surfing, emailing --- oyyy.


Speaking of lost, there's my GPS, Beatrice. She's gotten me out of a jam or two. 

And there's more good tech like online banking. And shopping. Recipes. Research. Writing.

Some day we'll have these guys in our homes?

But it sure gets wonky at times. Scary - this wonderful crutch.


So, despite our repeated exposure to the EMP, the data dump, and the dancing kittens, WoW, being pwned,  the braying politicos, traffic cams, internet trolls, the unfortunate disposed royalty of [insert African Country here], and the Epic Adventure in 3-Fucking-D...



We gotta make the best of it - and try to find the way to the simple heart of things - at all times.

Random Check-in

House is at it again, Mr. Machiavellian.  Taub and Chase are back, it's nice to have some continuity besides Wilson and Foreman. I'm intrigued by Park. She's odd. Patient nearly needed a liver transplant. 

Speaking of transplants, the Young Prince had a visit to Boston today. Went fine, blood work fine, iron will be decreased, and soon, the Valcyte will be gone. Still sorting out the nausea/vomit episodes, and we will discuss another endoscopy in a month. 

So, I've become enamored by Blunt Cards. These are profane little bits of hilarity dressed up in 1950s garb with a topical message.


But topical and hip and "now" and "wow" aren't all they're crackberried up to be. I've become increasingly dismayed by the speed that life demands of us. We are urged to go faster, do more, and we are saturated to the point of suffocation with information and how can a person even think, let alone breathe?

Things that Piss Me Off - or - Haven't People Got a Clue?

As I always say, the world would be better if everyone were like me. Alas, they are not - so every so often I see fit to rant on what is just - plain - wrong.

Well, that can't last very long - the imperious/smug act, I mean. I actually am more humble, or try to be, than I let on. I work on empathy, and I have little tolerance for those who have little tolerance.

Still, things piss me off - such as this:

Couple mornings ago, dude in large pickup pulls up in front of my house, honks the horn and looks at the house expectantly. I was still had not had enough morning Joe to make sense of it for a moment. My first thought was that he was picking up a child from a sleepover, but then I realized that 1) did not recognize the vehicle, 2) there were no kids at my house but my own.

I am now a little pissed. I've never been a big fan of honking outside someone's house, but it's not a deal breaker necessarily. But, it appeared that this dude was a stranger, and that's just wrong. I briskly walked to the front door and stuck my head out. I'm not sure who spoke first, but I think the first thing I said was..."why are you honking outside my house?" And his oh-so-[important/validating] reply was, "I got some extra asphalt, you need some?" He then pointed to the end of the driveway that meets the street. There were the average cracks and dimples and messed up bits that I figured everyone has, everyone who has not newly re-surfaced in the last bunch of years. Nothing too bad. No sink holes, nothing deep enough for a punji stick. (pity, one way to get rid of solicitors)

Still, didn't need his leftovers. And if I did? Is this a way to go about business? It's one thing if you're cruising down a street and you see a neighbor out - you could ask. But to stop outside a stranger's house and just honk your flippin' horn?

Flippin' tacky is what it is.


Next up - I get a phone call the other night. Did not recognize the caller ID.
Me: Hello
Them: (Spoken with very poor elocution, and with higher volume than decorum allows, basically poor manners)   Yeah, this is (a three letter alphabet company name, which I forget, I will just refer to them as ABC), I want to come drop off (or was it pick up? I really forget) the check.
Me: Who?
Them: ABC, the transportation company, I want to do pickup/drop off the check.


- I think, wait, is this the limo company that did the airport transport for the Make-A-Wish trip? No, the name sounds wrong, the ride was already paid for, and besides, they'd be a hell of a lot more professional and pleasant.


Me: I'm sorry, I'm confused, who are you looking for?
Them: Wait - (longish pause) ...
--Click--

Me: Hello? Hello? He hung up...I wonder why he hung up. -( no wait, that's Pink Floyd.) But he did hang up abruptly, and without a gracious goodbye or a "sorry my bad" or nothing.


Still - I was gobsmacked. What just happened? OK obviously it was a wrong number situation. Hey, no biggie, it happens to all of us. But wait, this was different. You don't call, and keep saying the same thing, when the person on the other end obviously does not know who you are or what your business is. You change your tactic, you explain things in a different way, you don't breath through your mouth, you don't get all nearly shouty. You enunciate, dear man.


And then when you realize your faux pas, you don't just hang up on a person, as if you'll get cooties!


You know, I called that number back. I really did. It went to voice mail. But boy, had I got my loud boorish ABC guy on the phone, I would have gone all Emily Post on his ass.


Oh, and then there's the walking medical dictionary with no filter at Starbucks. Let me explain. I got my latte and cookie and sat down to kill some time and start in on a new book, Brother West: Living and Loving Out Loud, A Memoir, by Cornel West. I don't know a lot about Dr. West, but he's intrigued me for a while - so it was on sale, yaddah, yaddah.

So, I'm sitting there, and there are two women at the table right next to me, chatting and there was also a small girl who belonged to one of them. Because of the proximity, I could over hear a lot of what they were saying, but I was able to tune it out, and it wasn't anything that was too loud or two weird.


But that changed in a little while. Evidently a woman who was two tables away from my neighbors overheard their convo, and started asking questions of the one of the woman, the one with apparently a multitude of health issues, including a poorly working social filter, or internal editor. 


Deal Lady - you don't go yakking about such things as your procedures and your hysterectomy and your hormones and your this and your that, to a person two tables away, in a mixed company setting, that is NOT a doctors office, or a support group.


A brief blurbie is fine. Oh yes, you tried that med? Me too, it worked/it failed - etc. Done.


But this convo went on, and on, and on, and ohDearGod, just move to sit next to your audience and lower your voices, for Pete's sake!

Who raises these people?


So - these are the things that trouble me. The thing is, sometimes life is so difficult, I need to focus on these other things that in the long run, don't matter one fucking way or another. Well, they do. I wish people had better manners, but still - I think the need to just ramble and vent about dumb things as well as the important things is crucial.


And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Lining up and Falling into Place

Mini-Golf, replicating the alignment of the heavens.

At your left you see several brightly colored golf balls, lined up as if someone created a funky design. Which is fine, if one had lots of time on the min-golf course to play around with the balls. Usually the courses are busy at the height of summer, as it was on this day last August. 


But this design was not made by a bored golfer, it was the random way our balls landed after we each took our first strokes at this hole.


Pretty cool eh? Yeah, I thought so too!

Once upon a time, I was watching the flick Lara Croft: Tomb Raider starring Angelina Jolie and some other people. The movie had some cool action, and a convoluted plot. Part of the plot I remember, something important, or dire was going to happen once all the planets aligned - an event that was astrologically rare, yet conveniently going to happen during the time frame of the movie's setting.

Aside from coveting Angie's eyebrows, my take-away from this was that I knew that "on-the-verge" feeling. Yet in my case, this alignment wasn't a portent of a disaster. 

I've had the funny feeling during these last several years that I was very close to becoming...myself. Yeah, that's a good thing. I can't describe, or remember really, what made me have this feeling, but I swear I could feel a "click" now and then, as if some puzzle finally fit in place, or some ratchet-y thing had settled in the correct groove.

All this self-actualization or navel gazing wasn't just about my amorphous state of being or my faith, or my health, it was really about something more concrete: my writing.

I have had some wee successes now and then in this area, like the time I pumped poor Eric O. (former owner of Blogcritics) to tell me EXACTLY what a PR dude (he's actually the Director of Publicity) from FOX said about my 24 write-ups. It was a bit pathetic, like a girl interrogating her friends about what her current crush said about her. And E.O., bless his patient heart, kindly sent me the emails where the FOX guy said some sort of compliment about my writing. No, I can't remember what he said. Pity. But still, it was a good, good moment.


There's been a few other moments, that I won't bore you with now, but the point is, I felt pretty convinced I was on the cusp of something grand. 


And then the proverbial (and some literal) dung hit the fan, and life got complicated.


I've had forgotten my cusp-y, verge-y feelings and right now my successes are vastly different. Woohoo, I answered that email finally! Cooked a meal instead of take-out! Remembered everyone's appointments this week!


And the successes I hope for are more like: Cool, I finally fit into these jeans. Or, most of the rooms in this house are presentable for guest viewing.


But those other goals, they are still viable. I think my stars will align again, I think things will happen when they need to happen. I have to have lots of patience.


Kind of like a golfer.

The Dark

During the day, especially if it was a gray rainy day like today, I like to have as many lights on in the house as possible. I'm not afraid of the dark, but I need to have the lights on for other reasons. It's just a comfort, a healing thing during that winter-time light deprivation situation. And a sunny day, like yesterday is even better.

But at night, I enjoy the dark. It allows me to just be still and quiet. It allows me to appreciate the contrasting flicker of candlelight that combines with the rhythmic rain drops outside to create a meditative space in my head.

And the dark usually means that everyone else is asleep, and I can absorb and process everything that happened during the day, or during my life, whichever needs processing the most right then.

This has been a tough week. And I don't see a respite coming yet. Only what I can create myself, only what I can forcefully hold onto, or just snatch away from the powers that deny me peace of mind.

But first, I have to step into the Dark. I have to write down the worry and the worry and the worry. I have to accept the fact that there might be a seventh daily med added to the list for The Young Prince. I have to convince myself that this stupid lingering cough is just a stupid lingering cough. Sure enough the stethoscope proved clear lungs and no crackling or wheezing. But the fatigue. The lowered hemoglobin, the lowered crit, the lowered albumen. Nothing horrible, but a little lower than last time. Enough to prompt phone calls and faxes between doctor's offices.

I didnt' want this life. This ain't no fucking trip to Holland, it sure ain't fucking Italy - tell me where is this place? This world of trying to keep all the pills straight, this one has to be taken two hours after a meal, this one is only in the morning, this one is only at night, and not a full pill, not a half pill, but 3/4 of a pill. Not easy to cut up a tiny pill without turning half of it into dust. It can be done though. And cut down on the caffeine, doesn't mix well with a beta blocker. And doing the paper route, later and later every day. Hoping that the Young Prince will feel up to it this time. And he's not. Not this day.

And when we try to think ahead, to plan a vacation maybe, for the first time we realize that maybe we better not plan too far ahead. I don't want to be this fatalistic. I DON'T WANT TO BE DEBBIE DOWNER.

But the reality is that we have no fucking clue how to proceed. Oh, sure we operate on the premise that the liver function is OK. Not fantastic, but workable. There was weight gain, energy, sparkle. But slowly the jaundice showed up in early winter, again. Then the bleed in February. The ER. The two unsucessful attempts at NG intubation - and finally the third time worked. Banding procedure, ICU bed, transfusion, and another ultrasound. Then another banding procedure in March, adjusting the drugs to a tolerable level but not after losing another week of school. A bone density scan. Easy peasy, but still - one more test.

Then more sparkle, paper route on schedule, mall time with friends, homework, family... And then a cold that just won't quit. Fatigue...again.

And really, how can I handle the Crown Prince? I don't know how to even get my head around this one. OK, we got a grip on diabetes, meter, strips, lancets, Metformin - but, but...the Crown Prince does not take change very well at all. He knows that these changes are imperative. He understands it all on paper, I think. But the truth is that there cannot be a casual relationship with soda any longer. Either it's diet or it's out. There cannot be ice cream runs - just cuz. And your friends are probably not going to be very impressed by your news and just might want to eat those chips and slurp that soda in your face. And this stuff has to change very soon or there'll be a daily injection.

It's exhausting, is what it is.

So tonight I did carve out that little respite, the oaisis of Just Me and Tom watching a movie together because he didn't feel well enough to see South Pacific at the High School. I lit a bunch of candles and we had the dark, but we had the light too.

Control Theory

I started to think about commercials. Mostly I tend to see a TV ad as a time-out so I can run and finish loading the dishwasher for the night, go to the bathroom, or email a friend. A radio commercial is just a damn interruption from some good tunes. Print ads continue to do their good job of making me feel all inferior-like. (Skinny models and well decorated homes – don’t take no rocket scientist does it?) And everyone knows that the Super Bowl is just a mish-mash of clanking helmets and grass stained uniforms that appear in-between some of the finest efforts that Madison Avenue has put forth since – last year.

And it’s this effort that I applaud. For a long time I’ve harbored a secret desire to work in advertising. I don’t know much about story-boards and branding, and the industry is not exactly stress-free. Yet it fascinates me. The concept of creating a situation or series of imagined controls that will sway the behavior of a demographic. Of course, this is all around us. It’s not just on our TVs or radios. It’s in the way I plan dinner. (If I make something they like, they might take out the trash with less fuss.) It’s in education. Religion. Politics. (Duh!) And the Wachowski Brothers made a cool couple of bucks messing around with this concept of control.

Yesterday a local radio station was having issues with the Oprah show. They played a tape of Oprah announcing she was NOT doing some sort of long anticipated give-away on that day (for whatever reasons, they are not important). But the crowd went wild anyway. The DJs were laughing over this phenomenon, and played the tape of the cheering audience over and over.

Now, they didn’t exactly use the term ‘sheeple’, but it was implied. People get in a mindset of behaviors and seem to revel in doing what is expected of them. Again and again. Though I think this is not always such a good thing, I am still struck by the process. I think back on folks like Charles Manson and Adolph Hitler, or for that matter the Rev. King. What kind of charisma, or cojones did they have for getting their disciples to follow them? In the case of the former two, I have long wondered, ‘what if they used their powers for good?’

But with advertising, there is no wondering. There is no hidden agenda. Experts in manipulation and persuasion work in all fields, but in advertising their work is celebrated. These brainiacs can come out of the control closet with their heads held high; their blatant application of influential techniques is out there for all to see. It is what it is.