A morning in the life.

I went to LabCorp. this morning.  Very early.  Ok, 9:00 a.m., but to someone who gets up at 10, that’s like getting up at 5:00 a.m., right?  Did I do the math right?  Anyway, I had to have some bloodwork done to finish up my recent physical.  The real physical had been 1 1/2 weeks earlier, but they farmed out their fluid collections.  I waited so long to get this done, because I wanted a bit of time to make my blood have less of a gravy-like consistency to it.

I arrived at the lab at 9:00 having fasted since midnight the evening before.  I normally don’t eat at midnight, no matter what anyone says about my body, but I have to admit telling me not to do something makes it awfully tempting to do.  Even when I know it’s for my own benefit.  I went right up to the desk and signed in, she took my insurance info, and blood paperwork, etc.  Next thing I knew she was handing me a cup for my urine sample.  Uh oh!  Why don’t they say not to pee before you go?  I forgot there would be a urine collection, so like any normal person, I woke up 20 minutes before my appointment and peed like a racehorse.  That is to say, the didn’t collect the best of me; they collected the rest of me.  I won’t even tell you what I thought of there ‘suggestion’ that I collect said sample in midstream.  Whose fingers were likely to get peed on if I did that?

Next, I was on to the waiting room.  What? Reader’s Digest from 2010?  Score!!!  However, I hadn’t even had the opportunity to find “Laughter, the Best Medicine”, and she was calling me into the lab room.  That’s not how it’s supposed to work.  I secretly relish any given moment to peruse magazines in a doctor’s office that I would never otherwise look at.  Bitch.

I sat down in the chair they directed me to and prepared for the needle.  I did notice that this chair is basically a highchair for adults.  It wasn’t even subtle.  I didn’t think I was going to cry that much, and I didn’t see any saltines nearby.  The nurse came by rather quickly(again WTF), and got me started.  She asked me which arm.  I said, “Uh, how about the left.  My right is my fightin’ arm.”.  Nothing.  I know it was early, but come on.  How much was I going to have to do to prime the pump?  I’m funny dammit!

She continued to be unamused for my next couple of questions about why she was taking so much.  She was taking two large vials(4 inch) and two smaller vials(2 inch).  I wondered if it was to identify my body in case of horrific accident(no head).  She assured me she wouldn’t take all of it.  Now you’re funny?  Ha, ha.  Thank god it was a small bore needle, barely felt it.  I was also very quickly done.  But I wasn’t going to let her go that easily.  I told her if I forgot my name because she took so much, I was coming back for her, if I could remember where this place was.  And I let her know I suspected she didn’t actually work there.

Oh, well, it was done.  Sorry this wasn’t more profound.  Not every one is a Pulitzer winner.  Be thankful they didn’t ask for a stool sample.

Thanks for stopping in.  More to follow. tah. derwood

Commiseration is key

My, my, my, it’s been a long time since I’ve ranted.  I feel it boiling up…in the form of wtf?!  We have lost the capability on a large scale to truly listen, and relate with others.  You could probably liken this post to my previous about how we, as a society, are prone to interrupt those around us.  I would say they’re related.

I’m pissed off, because lately I’ve really noticed how no one really listens to other people.  It’s all about getting ‘my’ words out for everyone to hear, because what I have to say and what happened to me are the most important things in the world.  It’s ok, if the conversation is all about me!    That’s what I perceive from the general public.  Specifically, though, when someone is having something terrible happen in their life(a death, divorce, disease, etc.) or perhaps just a crappy all around day, it’s natural to want someone to understand, to offer solace.  They may just want to vent their feelings and emotions.  That’s certainly human.

The trend I’ve noticed, though, is a thin veil of concern.  People offer a light  facade of compassion, to cover a surfeit of gamesmanship.  Who hasn’t related a woeful personal story, only to have their compatriot nod knowingly, and just as quickly launch into the myriad and unique reasons why their life is even shittier?  It isn’t a competition!  There’s no winner!  If you wanted to know about their shitty day or life, you would have inquired.  But for the moment, is it too much to ask for a FRIEND to simply say, “I’m sorry that’s happening to you.” or “Is there anything I can do?”.

There’s actually no shame in just providing an ear, letting someone talk it out. If you’re on the phone, they don’t have to know you’re clipping your nails, or stuffing your face, or whatever while they let it pour out. If you’re face to face, try to keep your eyes facing roughly forward and roughly open.  Nod your head once in awhile.   Not everything they say will carry the weight of gold, or should be preserved for eternity.  But let them have their moment.  Chances are they’ll recognize how good of a listener you are.  They’ll want to return the favor.  They say listening is a lost art; I disagree.  Prove me right.  Lord knows how I love to be right.

Thanks for stopping in.  More to come later.  Tah.  derwood

Interruptus Maximus

We are a nation of impatient, me-Me-MEs, looking for any opportunity to spout our point of view.  Or more insane we love to interject,even when we don’t have a point of view.  We just love to interrupt.

What’s infuriating is we weren’t raised this way, at least I hope you weren’t.  I wasn’t.  But as the pace and breadth of our world have exploded exponentially,  the social graces that humanize and civilize us all seem to have eroded.  Society in general has also conspired to raise generations(not just the most recent;mine is not immune) of people who believe the center of the universe actually does wander around town in their shoes.

What’s that mean practically?  It means that as a foundation, people think that they are entitled to weigh in on every conversation no matter how oblivious and ignorant they are.  Like a sumo wrestler’s eyes light up at the sight of discount sushi, they see an opportunity to self-aggrandize.  Oooooh, look how smart I am.  I heard 15 seconds about this on the news before I was able to find the channel button on the remote(when will those t.v.s with voice commands be available?!).  That makes you eminently qualified to go toe-to-toe with a, say, doctorate in the field we’re talking about, right?  Riiiiiggghhhttt!  They’re as clueless as a morbidly obese person who can’t understand where the pounds come from, when when they sit down to a meal you can’t see the edge of the plate for all the food.  I know that’s a hopelessly outdated reference.  Who sits down for a meal anymore?  Different problem.

Perhaps it partly lies in our ADD as a nation.  Our attention spans have been so shortened, we should be grateful we’re not grooming each other by the weekends.  But by and large, waiting an extra 10-15 seconds to let someone finish a sentence, let alone a thought, shouldn’t be akin to reading ‘War and Peace’.  You’ll get your turn, kids.  Stop hopping around like you have to pee.  And when you interrupt someone, you often interrupt their train of thought.  So, not only are you not listening to them(rude), you make it devilishly difficult for others to follow(even ruder).  You might have just caused that person to forget a key piece of information.  You’ll get your turn.  And if you don’t, these people might not be your friends.

So here’s a couple of simple guidelines you can follow:

1.  STFU!   Not everything that’s crackled through the substrata of your brain is worthy of being spoken aloud.

2.  STFU!  You might just learn a thing or two.

3.  STFU!  Nobody likes you.

Sorry, that last one was way over the top.  I got carried away.  But people will like you better if you STFU:)

Thanks for stopping in.  More to come.  Tah.  derwood

Emmy knows.

Less is More!

The U.S. is a free country, and God bless us we really enjoy our freedoms.  They’ve been hard won with much trial and tribulation by so many heroes and patriots.  We should actually have a moment of reflection on their sacrifices for our wonderful home.  One of those freedoms is the right to free speech, perhaps foremost in importance in a free society.  Our country is rich in tradition of battles fought and won to ensure this right.

Now then, just because you have the right to express your opinion, you really aren’t allowed to infringe on the opinions of others who disagree with you.  You having the volume and piercing vocal texture of a banshee isn’t the note of higher validity in your argument either.  More importantly, the right to express your idea/ideology/argument/idiocy isn’t also meant to protect you from the consequences from said utterances.  You have the right to to say things at the top of your lungs, no matter how hateful or misinformed.  Your employer has the right not to endorse said idiocies.  See?  Cause=effect.  There are also practical and ethical limitations on your guaranteed free speech.  Just try and threaten the president of the U.S. in a public forum.  I’m almost certain you’ll get a visit from the Secret Service.  Those boys take their job seriously, and they are sticklers about proactivity.

I guess it boils down to maturity levels.  When we reach a certain age, we’re supposed to have attained an amount of introspection, humor, most importantly humility concerning our views.  So, to paraphrase Jeff Goldblum’s character in Jurassic Park, “You were so busy trying to figure out if you could say it, you never gave a thought to if you should.”.  Not every thought entering your head needs to be uttered.  Let your natural filter(your brain) engage from time to time to take some of those speed bumps out of your drive.   That will make harmony so much easier to achieve.  Wars will cease, no more floods, earthquakes, etc.  It could happen, right?  Let’s just try it.

Thanks for stopping in.  More to come.  Tah. derwood

To cookie or not to cookie.

Tis the season for goodies galore.  It’s the time when people indulge themselves, throw their waistlines to the wind, knowing that self-recrimination and loathing can be put off until January.  What’s more, it’s all the natural result of celebrating the holidays.  Eat, drink, and be merry.  That’s what they say, anyway.  Too bad not every cookie is equal.

Let’s face it there are your classics, your stars, the cookies that basically put themselves on the map. Who doesn’t love a good chocolate chip cookie?  Copious amounts of butter, sugar, and, of course, chocolate.  Hell, we’ll even throw in a little vanilla just for giggles.  So that’s one.  Christmas sugar cookies are awesome too;they don’t have chocolate, but lots of butter, sugar, and icing.  That’s another.  How about chocolate crinkles?  One of my favorites, and a bit under the radar.  That cookie actually teaches a virtue-patience.  You have to chill the dough overnight before you can bake the cookies.  In essence, a good cookie(or bar) improves the world.

By direct correlation a bad cookie-bad ingredients, poorly thought out, generally yucky-is an evilness that shouldn’t be tolerated.  Divinity.  Divinity is evil.  It’s an oxymoron.  I think it’s made out of egg whites, a bit of sugar, maybe a nut or two?  Been around forever.  I know it was invented back when people ate dirt for dessert(our parents’ childhood), but they shouldn’t have stopped at the next rung on the ladder.  Reach a little higher please.  Mmmmm….crusty on the outside, but chalky on the inside.  Reminds me of…antidepressants.

Then there’s almond bark.  Bark!  Add crunchy nuts to a facsimile of chocolate or white chocolate.  Poor imitations at best.  People, faxes are obsolete!!!!!!

How about this one:  chow mein noodles covered in low-rent milk chocolate.  What?  People don’t even eat chow mein in China, do they?  I think they feed it to their horses, for Chinese Christmas.

Wedding cake balls.  First of all, I’m pretty sure Jesus never got married, so I’m not sure why these are even around this time of year.  Second, they suck!  Oh, sure, they sound good when you first start-sugar, butter, powdered sugar, etc.  But I’ve never seen the follow through turn out well.  It’s always a powdered sugar covered ball of sawdust.  Try whistling after eating one of these!  Saltines have nothing on this cookie.  It’s like encouraging a basketball game with a bocce ball.

I could go on and on and on, because there are so many good cookies and desserts out there.  But what would be the point?  Just stop wasting good ingredients on crappy cookies!

Thanks for checking in.  More to come.  Tah.  derwood

First World Problems

I’ve been listening to a lot of music lately, expanding my tastes and favorites.  Probably the single most useful tool in doing this is the Pandora application on my iphone.  I can use it to find so many different genres and artists, I shudder at how narrow my preferences were before it.  Besides, it’s free, right?  Somewhat.  It’s actually not free if you consider all the advertising on the app while you’re listening to your music.  If you really can’t tolerate the ads at all, you can buy/rent the ad-free version of the app for $30 a year.  Since I’m a cheap working stiff, you already know that I haven’t shucked out the extra cash.  However, that’s not really the thrust of this post.

The biggest problem I have is with the blatant disregard these advertisers have shown me.  In reality, I’ve used some of these services so brightly displayed for my viewing pleasure.  One of note is ‘Living Social’.  It’s ‘Groupon’ under a different name, offering discount services and goods for a variety of vendors in one convenient place.  I like it; I’ve used it on the odd occasion.  Here’s my problem:  If the company has the technology to advertise on an application in my iphone, surely they can cobble together an algorithm or logarithm(if you watch any recent spy shows, you know these maths rule the world) that will recognize I have signed up for their service.  But, no, I still receive all their push notifications on my Pandora screen, leaving me full of impotent rage as a Colorado steer whose bullhood was served up on the appetizer menu of a 6-stool dive bar nestled under the Flatiron foothills.  What’s more, their notifications occupy about 75% of the screen so I can’t even tell who the artists are(when they’re new artists, I do know who my favorites are).  I have half a mind to just dump their service!  I should just erase the application from my iphone!  However, that would inconvenience me, so I probably won’t.  I just refuse to tell any of my friends how convenient the ‘Living Social’ application really is.  That’ll teach ‘em!

Thanks for reading.  More to come.  Tah. derwood

The beatings must now begin.

I read an article the other day.  It posed the question about families-’Which is more important, the husband or the kids?’.  And I have to admit this really spoke to me.  Because as much as I love kids, I secretly hate them.  The entitlements, the coddling, the 24-hour culture of you’re special.  That term has become so ubiquitous!  If you listen to the blatherings of all these current child rearing specialists, then everyone is special, which effectively means either no one is special or we should all be hugging and eating rainbow poptarts.

So, basically, this article boiled down to what’s the most important dynamic-the relationship between the husband and wife.  From there it’s like Reagan’s trickle-down economics.  The healthiness should all flow downhill from a healthy, stable relationship. That’s where the emphasis and work should focus.  This means the five year old isn’t the center of the universe, nor should they be treated as such.  That’s how my parents raised me…well, bad example.  That’s how my generation’s parents still raised us.  They taught us not everyone wins, not everyone is beautiful, bad shit happens.  In short they taught us pragmatism, to be realistic.  Here’s a hint:  If someone on the team runs faster than you and works harder than you, you don’t both get MVP trophies.  Most=1 entity.  And parents, if you think children don’t know ‘participation’ trophies are bullshit, then you are bullshit.  I love that line.

So, kids should be the privates in the family army not the generals.  Also, they shouldn’t be promoted until reaching the age of at least 30.  Following the military bent, why not install a little corporal punishment too?  That should keep the kids guessing.  They should never have the upper hand.  Private is the root for privation.  How about that?  So, I extrapolate from that that if kids don’t get everything they want, they’ll learn to do with less.  Just soundproof their rooms so you can’t hear the crying.

Now let the beatings begin on a regular basis.  It’s actually good for them.  Builds character.

Thanks for taking the time.  More to come later.  Tah.  derwood

Birthday Dinner at Ink Restaurant

Sublime is the word.  I have many other words to describe this culinary adventure, full of hyperbole and dramatization, wonder and fascination, but sublime seems to be appropriate.

First let me say a thank you to the wonderful friends who joined me for this celebratory dinner, and especially Anthony, who used his connections to have a party of 9 get a reservation in their private room at 7:30.  At a restaurant that is blowing up in L.A. because it has only been open a couple of months and it’s chef/owner Michael Voltaggio is a genius.  I wouldn’t be able to use the superlatives I’m using without these people.  Whatever the results of the kitchen, friends and family make the meal.

Having said that here’s the freakin’ food.  I don’t use the word freak lightly, either.  Michael Voltaggio is a freak of a chef.  I’ve never had food so imaginative, so wildly combined, so precisely engineered.  He is definitely a mad scientist in the kitchen.  Because Anthony is a favorite of monsieur Voltaggio, the chef offered to design the evening for us.  Not only was this a personal touch, but it ensured we tried almost every dish on the menu.

My favorite dish, and I almost hate to pick one, was the brussels sprouts.  They were halved and caramelized almost to the point of being black, but were somehow infused with a mild cider vinegar that complemented that rich base.  Then sheets of house-cured lardo(paper-thin, translucent sheets of seasoned and pressed pork fat) were placed over the sprouts.  To finish, fried, julienned strips of pig ear were scattered over the top.  So you can see why a ‘vegetable’ dish was my winner.

Or perhaps it was the poptart-sized slab of beef tartare, subtly seasoned to highlight the irony beefiness of the protein.  Little ‘marrow’ sections of hearts of palm were topped with luminescent drops of sea bean chimichurri sauce, surrounded by fuschia drops red onion marmalade gelee.  All of it was covered by horseradish powder(dried from a liquid) and finished with a simple house made rye crisp.

It could have been the linguini noodles that were actually pieces of squid cut to look that way.  They were accompanied by angel hairs of spaghetti squash, and then we brought the hazelnut-squid ink pesto from underneath to coat the ‘noodles’, all heated by a touch of piment d’espelette.

What about the charred chunks of avocado?  They were joined with some slightly fibrous hen of the woods mushrooms(my new favorite), and a whipped fish sauce that was almost a foam, with its ethereal hint of salty sweetness.  But what captivated me was the mushroom chicharron over the top.  It had the consistency of fried pork skin, but was definitely tasting of the woodsiness of mushrooms.  Unreal!

I’m tasting all these dishes again in my mind right now.  These couple aren’t even half the wonders we witnessed and partook in.  My friend, Rob, took pictures of all the dishes and I’ll try to post again so you can see what I’m talking about.  You really deserve to see what my inadequate words are trying to portray.  This is what birthday wishes are for, and mine came true!

Thanks for checking in.  More to come later. Tah.  derwood.

What can brown do for me? Not much

As I’m sitting here waiting for a package to be delivered by Fedex, I’ve had an epiphany.  There is a corollary between delivery services and cable television services.  If you really need something delivered by them, your window to wait for it is between 10 a.m. and oblivion.  Not that that always happens, but the general consensus is wait and then wait some more.  If you need to sign for something, make sure you have something to read, like ‘War and Peace’ or the collected ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy.

I have a package coming from Fedex, and unfortunately, it needs to be signed for by an adult.  It’s a shipment of wine, of course.  There’s not many other things I’d wait around to receive.  So, from the vineyard to me I’m quoted a 2 day shipment date to arrive.  That pivotal day between shipment and receipt was the killer.  It’s only, roughly a 500-600 mile trip for that wine to travel.  Of course, the extra day that I have to accomplish a few errands is the day it arrives-during the whole 1 1/2 hours I was gone.  They only missed the delivery date by a 50% window.  Thank god they were early!!!

And another thing-has anyone ever seen any of these guys, and they’re all guys no matter what the commercials show, delivering anything before noon?  I haven’t.  Is this some conspiracy to make sure Winchell’s is forever financially viable?  Are they taste testers for every Denny’s promotion?Perhaps they’re just playing Texas hold ‘em for some of the smaller items in their vehicles.   If you see a truck in your neighborhood early, chances are they are accomplishing something personal, like stalking someone.

I think I’ll just simmer here some more and pray my medication kicks in soon:)

Thanks for taking the time.  More to come later. Tah.  derwood

P.S.  By the way, he finally arrived, carrying the two packages up the stairs, complaining about how heavy they were, and ignoring the elevator.  That amused me and offered a slight amount of satisfaction.

Batshit crazy

That’s me.  Not all the time.  Not even the majority of the time.  But sometimes.  It’s been a long week, my friends.  I want to spend a little time explaining what this past week has been like for me.  As a few of you might know, I’m highly medicated.  Even fewer of you might be aware that these drugs are prescribed for me.  Ha, HA!  Joke’s on me.  They help regulate my anxiety level, and supply chemicals in that my brain doesn’t make enough of.  It’s easy to say these words, but much more difficult to acknowledge them; that without them I struggle to function.  But even in perfect compliance, these ‘implements’ aren’t 100% effective.  Not that I’m saying this is an excuse to be an asshole.  That’s all the real me.  Let’s just say when my happy pills aren’t working as well, I tend to get ‘emotionally exponentialized’, so to speak.  I think I’m going to trademark that phrase.

So, last week I was struggling.  My medication wasn’t being all it could be. But I just needed to weather the storm, and it would get better.  It usually does.  Then I went and forgot to refill my prescription, and missed a dose, at the worst possible time.  That wouldn’t normally be able to make me go off the deep end, but there was a confluence of events that just compounded that mistake.  I won’t go into specifics and bore you all.  But it was similar to the paradoxical effects of time travel, the ‘ripple effect’(Shout out to all my nerd friends!).

Here’s what it looks like, though,what it feels like.  It’s like being in a room full of people, yet feeling like the loneliest person in the world.  You don’t see anyone.  Actually, more accurately it’s like going down a rabbit hole-the walls get closer and closer until they’re almost touching me.  It’s hard to breathe.  I can’t see past those walls, either.  Help could be right within my grasp and I wouldn’t necessarily reach for it.  I wouldn’t know it’s there.  This condition(disease, whatever you want to call it) is incredibly arrogant.  I find it makes me hyperaware of myself, but not in that healthy ‘I’m better than everyone’ sense.  Just the opposite.  I’m the best piece of shit I can be.  It’s a simple step into a well of self-pity.  See!  Arrogant.  It’s not healthy to be that introspective, to self-check so often.

But it’s not like I’d ask for help.  Ok, it’s like lifting a huge boulder, I don’t wanna, because I don’t think I can.  And who wants to parade their weaknesses in front of friends and family.  That isn’t the way I was raised, and with the smartasses I know, I don’t want to give them the ammunition anyway.  I’m not sure I can explain how dreadful it is admitting to myself, I will never be healthy the way most people are.  I will always need to attend to some chemical deficiencies I have in my head.  I’m not normal.  Usually I’m excited not to be considered normal, but this is like a black mark.  I don’t want to be looked at differently by others.  I do function just like other humans, I just have some larger reactions in my brain, and those conversations and recriminations are with myself.  That last one was a joke.

And I don’t want pity.  Simple.  I don’t.  I’m just trying to describe my personal shame spiral:)  It does work like a cycle too.  I feel crappy, so I think a certain way.  Because I think a certain way, I feel crappy.  I just continue to hone my skills at breaking that cycle.  Also, this is just the worst case possible.  I want you all to know I don’t walk around feeling this way on a consistent basis.  If I did, there would be a lot less of you out there alive.  I’m just emerging on the sunny side of a stormy week and documenting it a bit.

I do feel fortunate.  I have a small core of friends and family that is aware of my problem and very supportive.  Many people don’t have that.  And my drugs are effective the vast majority of the time.  So thanks for well wishes.  I appreciate all the help and support I’ve gotten.   And if you didn’t know there was a problem, forget you read this.  I hope I’ve raised just a little bit of awareness.  Donations can be sent to my home address, I’ll make sure they get to the right place.

Writing this is cathartic for me, sort of a sense of relief.  It helps to say out loud, so to speak, these demons and rob them of some of their power.  If nothing else, I only hope to one day get a handicapped placard to take advantage of some of those awesome parking spots.

Thanks for the time.  I tried to make it short and not bore you.  More to follow.  Tah.  Derwood