Nugatory Cogitation

My stupid ramblings.

Jun 1

Apr 26

Monday Music Madness

Steve Miller Band — Jet Airliner

Good bye to all my friends at home, good bye to people I’ve trusted …

Apr 20

Apr 19

Monday Music Madness

Iggy Pop (featuring Kate Pierson) ~  Candy

For the Original Redhead Jeez, it’s been 20 years!

Apr 17

I’ve heard Ted is not well.  Prostate cancer.  I will most likely take his book, Herr Krupp’s Berthawerk, with me to Peru.  It’s an historical novel based on his experiences living in, working in, and escaping from, Nazi concentration camps. 

Ted was not only my favorite adult when I was a child, he was the first person to treat me as an adult as I grew older.  I spent one of the best days of my life with him visiting Honolulu.  He called me a tourist for wanting to see the Arizona memorial, but I caught him crying during the film about WWII before the ferry ride to the memorial.  He then took me to every roof-top hotel bar on the island of Oahu for fruity, frozen drinks with umbrellas and pineapple garnishes.  He paid me what was perhaps the greatest compliment of my life when he told me I was OK.  It was one of the most genuine things anyone had ever said to me.  This was right after he said, “I know who your mother is.  In the camps, we would have had to kill her to survive.”

Apr 12

Monday Music Madness

Billy Bragg - A New England

This may be my candidate for the best song of the 1980s.

Apr 8

Apr 7

Apr 5

Monday Music Madness

The Pretenders  — Back on the Chain Gang

Growing up, I wanted to marry Chrissy Hynde. 

Apr 2

Mr. Graceful

My nickname is Mr. Graceful.

To cut the long and boring out of it, it was coined by accident one day at work and I knew instantly that resisting was futile.  I embraced it instead and it stuck.  I own it, although it is a bit antiquated these days.

I do have intriguing stories, however.  Plenty of them.  Some that even continue to make me deserving of the nickname.  For instance, the one and only surgery I have ever needed was because I broke my collar bone.  I hit a dog while riding my bike on Central Park West.  I went flying over the handle bars and landed on my left shoulder.  I almost didn’t wear my helmet that day because I was only riding a short distance.  Of course, my head hit the pavement and the helmet shattered as it’s supposed to.  I was disoriented, but no concussion.  It was my one and only ambulance ride, as well.  The big, burly triage nurse at St. Luke’s Hospital asked me if I had ever been to that emergency room before.

"Yes," I said, always wanting to be truthful.

"What was it for?"  Very clinical.  No personal interaction whatsoever.

"I hit my head and needed twelve stitches," I said.  "My ER doctor’s name was Dr. Washio."

"When was that?"  Still, nothing out of him.  No eye contact, no notice of me as a human being whatsoever.

"May, 1973."  I smiled.  It was now April, 2005.

That got him.  He looked up at me for the first time; absolutely no humor in his eye.  None.  In fact, he looked at me with scorn and disdain.

"Don’t fuck with me," he barked!  "Have you been to this ER recently?"

"No, sir."  My smile and humor were gone now, too.

I tried to break his monotony.  I was trying to keep my spirits up.  I was trying to throw some humor into a very depressing room.  Next to me was a child on a backboard with his parents hovering worryingly above him.  He must have been about ten or twelve years old.

I was in pain and they weren’t giving me anything for it yet.  I was trying to give myself a distraction.  He would have none of it, and took it away from me, too.

To this day, I still can’t say for sure whether the dog was a Dalmatian or a German Short-haired Pointer.  I only saw it for a split second while I was in mid-air and upside down, but I know it had spots.

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