Mr.Nighttime

Quote Of The Day

2011-10-26T01:38:00.001-04:00

"Be careful, lest in casting out your demon you exorcise the best thing in you."- Nietzsche

He left us behind, but he will never leave us.

2011-10-23T18:21:00.013-04:00

Good friendships can begin in the most curious of ways. For Scott and I, it started by insulting each other, and lasted 30 years. It ended this past September 1st, when he died of cancer in a hospital in Buffalo. He was my best friend, plain and simple.

Scott and I met while attending college at the State University of New York at Buffalo. This was the 1980's, the era of big hair, Prince, Madonna, MTV, and the Macintosh computer, of which its descendant, the MacBook Pro, I am now typing this on. Scott and I worked on the campus volunteer ambulance corps, he being new at the time, and me being a seasoned five year EMS veteran. He had a great sense of humor, and could be a real ball-breaker at times, hence our less than auspicious beginning. He was also honest and to the point, was also from the Bronx, though he grew up on the west side, and I on the east side. I used to tease, as the Riverdale section of the Bronx was known as much for its being in the hillier part of the borough as much as its sense of snobbery. People there, when they addressed a letter, would never address it "Bronx, NY." They always addressed it, "Riverdale, NY."

Scott wasn't one of those types. Scott grew up in a middle class family, with his brother and mother. Scott's father died only about two years prior, and was as devastating to him as my own father's death would be about six years after we met. We shared a kinship in many ways, and after the first insults were exchanged, a deep and abiding friendship developed. I helped certify Scott as a crew chief. He had the right stuff, and it was obvious from the beginning, as he breezed his way through EMT training.

We formed the nucleus of a group of friends from that volunteer ambulance corps, but Scott always seemed to be its center, the one person everyone always gravitated towards. He and I spent many a night up late talking together. We spent a fair number of times drunk together. We were both handpicked to ride the ambulance the night the new university president decided to ride along with one of our crews to see what we were all about. An overly inebriated student wound up throwing up on the president that night during our attempts to restrain her on the stretcher. Both Scott and I looked at each other and were of one mind. We were never so happy as to see a drunk as we were this night. It gave the president just a glimpse of what we were up against, and from that point on, our ambulance corps got whatever we wanted. Scott and I would often look back at that moment and laugh, thinking that might have been our finest hour in EMS.

When my dad had a heart attack in 1984, he was there for me, working to help get me home a week later as my dad underwent cardiac bypass surgery. He was there again four years later, when my dad, who contracted HIV in a blood transfusion from that surgery, would succumb to AIDS.

I graduated in 1985, but Scott was still wandering in the wilderness, not really sure what he was wanting to do. I went home to NYC and began working full-time as a paramedic. Scott stayed in Buffalo, and eventually got his nursing degree. He got married, I was in his wedding party. I got married, he was in mine. We were both married by the same rabbi, in the same banquet hall, under the same gazebo. We would try to get together often, as my wife was from Buffalo, and we would visit several times a year. Sometimes, I would go to his place, sometimes, the other way around. He and his wife had a son, but there was trouble within the marriage that he couldn't even talk about with me.

His first marriage failed, he went out on his own. It wasn't until after he was separated that he began to open up to me, and things fell into place about certain things. This was Scott. He could be very stoic, stubborn, and not come forward with things, even to his closest friends. It would eventually, I believe, contribute to his death.

Years passed. Over time, Scott met someone else and married again. My wife and I moved to Rochester. I would talk to him often about the issues my wife and I were having, and the things I was trying to come to terms with. What happened about two and a half years ago would completely change his life forever. His scond wife announced one day that she was leaving him, for no apparent reason. No marriage counseling, no real explanation other than she wasn't in love with him anymore. One week after that announcement, Scott developed, Guillan-Barre Syndrome. It might have killed him, if it weren't for the fact that he was built like an ox. It did however, leave him unable to walk, and with extreme muscle weakness in both arms. The guy that I knew that could take you out with one punch if he so choose to, was left barely able to lift a pen.

Over the next year the condition resolved itself, and though he still retained some muscle weakness he was lucky in that it didn't kill him. His now ex-wife had originally stayed on for a time to help him, but eventually just left him in the lurch. What would happen next however, would not have as equally a lucky ending.

Around April of this year, he began having trouble walking with his right leg. It began swelling, with the swelling eventually involving his left leg as well. He didn't tell anyone about it. Not me. not anyone in his family, save for his son. Not his mother, who was living in Florida. It would become progressively worse, to the point that by the time his son graduated high school in June, there was no ignoring it by others. Still, he didn't do anything about it. His denial was killing him, as it would turn out.

In late July, I received a frantic phone call from him. He was bedridden, practically. His 90-plus year-old grandmother was in hospice in Florida, dying, and his being a nurse made everyone in the family turn to him for advice as to what to do. There was one problem: no one, aside from his son, had any idea how ill he was becoming. He never said anything. He had however, reached his breaking point, mentally. When I answered the phone, and heard the panic in his voice, I couldn't believe this was the same friend that just one year prior, helped me through my separation from my wife. He was distraught, and didn't know what to do. I calmed him down, and he finally opened up to me about what was going on.

I was dumbstruck. I drove to Buffalo and helped get him to an ultrasound appointment, as he finally went to get help a little while prior to calling me. Part of the problem was that he was being misdiagnosed (No need to go into the particulars). His primary doc was suspecting a blood clot in his leg, related to his long term diabetes. It would turn out to be anything but that. He finally had to tell his mother what was going on, as his grandmother died, the funeral was going to be in NY and there was no way he could get there. To say his mother was beside herself would be an understatement. Here she was, in the process of arranging a funeral for her mother, and her son was severely ill.

I would go back to Buffalo again a few more times, before in early August, he collapsed at home. He had enough consciousness left in him at the time to call 9-1-1, and they rushed him to the hospital in septic shock. It would turn out that it was a severe infection, e. coli, that was destroying his legs, most especially the right one.

He went straight into ICU, was put on a ventilator, as he could barely breathe. His mother immediately flew in from Florida, and I picked her up at the airport. I had not seen her in some time, and while it wasn't the best of circumstances, she was nonetheless, happy to see me. We drove to the hospital, and I was shocked to see the condition he was in. He was being kept heavily sedated, and they were still trying to get a handle on precisely why he was in septic shock. He was taken in for a CT scan, and that's when they found it: A tumor on his adrenal gland. A big one.

He went into surgery for his right leg, as it looked as though it might needed to have been amputated. It didn't but there was a lot of damage. Finally, once he was stable enough, they were able to biopsy the tumor. It was malignant, and had spread to his liver and bone. A pheochromocytoma. Extremely rare, and 90% of the time, benign. Scott somehow fell into the 10% that becomes malignant. If he had spoken up sooner, when his leg issues started, it might have been caught earlier, and he might have had a chance. As it was, as much as we hoped, he had none, and I knew it. All my instincts from all my years as a paramedic knew it.

He went down fighting to his last breath. It took almost a month. He fought and fought. Finally, two days beforehand, I got a call from his son that his body was starting to break down. I called off of work and ran out to Buffalo. I joined his mother in a talk with the main doctor that was caring for him. Myself and another mutual friend picked up his son, now in college, and drove him back to the hospital.

It was time to say good-bye.

I sat beside his bed, and gripped his hand. I told him he was,and always would be my best friend. I told him to let go. Even as much as I wanted him to fight, I knew it was time for him to let go. He needed permission. A nurse came into the room, and I told her the story about the practical joke he played on me while we were in college, involving a lot of alcohol, and a Resuci-Annie manikin. We laughed, I laughed through my tears, and somehow, I knew Scott was laughing too. He took a great deal of pleasure over the years in that joke he played on me. Of course, the time I told him about the joke I helped play on a paramedic involving a horseshoe crab, he said I finally outdid him.

I left the room, and joined the rest of the family. a little less than two days later, on September 1st, at 11:25 am, Scott gave up fighting. I got a text message from his son, soon followed by a call from his mother. He died on the same day that his father died. He died on the same day one year later that I left my home, and marriage. He left us behind, but I will never leave him far from me.

The next day, there was a memorial service in Buffalo for his friends and co-workers, as his body was being shipped down to NYC for the funeral. He was going to be buried in cemetery next to the one where my dad is buried. The memorial was gathering of some of us that attended college with him, family, and co-workers. Scott had become the head of nursing at a head trauma rehabilitation center in Buffalo. I emceed the event, brought a bottle of single malt whiskey with me, drank a toast to him and sang "The Parting Gass" for him. Others spoke, including his son. The biggest surprise came when his boss came up to offer his thoughts.

He announced to everyone that the building where Scott worked was to be renamed in his honor. It was Scott, you see, that spearheaded the process to get them certified as a head trauma rehab center. It really was Scott's baby, and he saw it through and made it happen. I couldn't think of a better, and everlasting memorial.

I left the memorial drunk, not on alcohol, but with the memories and feelings I had. I was hurting, not only for my own loss, but for his family as well. I was also angry at him. I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that he didn't seek out help sooner. Even when he told me what was going on, I wanted to yell at him, but couldn't. All I could do was to stay calm and figure out what to do to give him a hand.

My last memory of him will be the best though. about ten days or so before he collapsed, I went over to his place, and brought a movie with me, "Snatch." He never saw it, which I was a little surprised at, as it contained two things he liked: comedy and guns. We watched it with his son, and as in pain as he was, he still laughed at a lot of it. That is the memory I will take away with me. He was the one usually making me laugh. I was glad I could return the favor.

Good-bye my best friend.

A quote...

2011-10-20T23:38:00.001-04:00

...is sometimes the best post:

"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes." ~William Gibson

Yes, now here is an accurate description!

2011-10-19T18:07:00.000-04:00

He's more spot on than that newspaper article was! ;-)

We're all doomed, it seems.

2011-10-19T10:55:00.002-04:00

"He died of cardiac arrest."

That was the sentence in my local paper today in an article about the death of a pro football player that was a big influence on his team, the Buffalo Bills. There is a big fan base here for the Bills, as their training camp is held here before the start of the NFL season, and Rochester being only one hour east from Buffalo, of course. But that's not what pissed me off. Look at that sentence again:

"He died of cardiac arrest."

How many times have you read that same sentence when it refers to the death of someone in a newspaper, website, etc? Hundreds? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Each and every time I read that similar sentence I want to scream, "ONE DOES NOT DIE FROM CARDIAC ARREST!" Sheesh! I don't know if this is a case of lazy journalism, or simply no one telling them what condition a person had that was the actual cause of their death. It's as though cardiac arrest were a disease unto itself. It's not. It's a condition that results from something else. If it is indeed a disease unto itself, than it is more deadly than AIDS, cancer, or just about anything else combined.

Trust me. I worked as a paramedic for far too many years. I know what cardiac arrest is, and is not. I treated people who went into arrest, by the way, and sometimes it wasn't quite fatal. Rare was the case, but sometimes they would, in the image of Monty Python, be "getting better." How did they get into the condition of cardiac arrest? The causes are varied. It could be a gunshot, a car accident, a heart attack, stroke, or simply having been forced to sit through the newest Keanu Reeves movie by one's significant other. (Okay, The Matrix was good, but the sequels made me want to reach for the defibrillator.)

The point here is this: In the end, we're all going into cardiac arrest. How we get there is open to speculation from both the religious and scientific communities, but you can be absolutely certain we will all suffer from this condition someday. What happens after that is also open to speculation from those same communities, but I can tell you this: If I read an obituary or other article after my death that states I died of cardiac arrest, I'm going to haunt the newspaper that published it, and the reporter that wrote it, until the end of their days.

Yep, in the end, we're all doomed.

The shape of things to come.

2011-10-14T13:00:00.004-04:00

A definitely dreary day here, and from what I've noticed so far, a poor fall colors season as well. The leaves you see on the pic below are pretty representative of the fall colors this year, and I suspect all the wet weather we've had is probably the culprit, or at least a big contributor.

My favorite time of year is not so much this time around, and I have a bad feeling is a portent of another bad winter here. Yeah, no use complaining about the weather, especially if one like myself voluntarily moved up to this part of NY state. I think that given the somber weather it might be time to unload about the incredibly hard summer I had, but that will be the next post around.

In short, I lost my best friend of 30 years on Sept. 1. More later.

Yeah, this is what I was referring to in the last post...

2011-10-11T18:47:00.000-04:00

Common sense from an uncommon source.

2011-10-11T18:43:00.000-04:00

I miss Frank Zappa. Really. While known to many, and misunderstood by just as many, he was a brilliant composer, arranger, guitarist, and life agitator. He made you think. His work was often thought of as crude, but if you really got down to business and paid attention to his words, you'd realized that he carried more common sense in his pinkie than most people had in their entire bodies. He championed the cause to stop censorship of music back in the late 80's. (Anyone remember Tipper Gore and the PMRC?) He could make social commentary through his work just as easily as singing about the girl in the poncho that he did it with until he could do it no more.

People called him crazy. I suspect he was a hero to someone like Steve Jobs. Why? Because he was an innovator. Yes, his work was not for everyone, but where's the fun in that? So the next time you call for a repairman that takes forever to finish a home repair, put on a copy of "The Flakes," and take comfort that you're not in California, where they seem to have the most of them. How do I know? Well, Frank told me so.

The unbearable lightness of my wallet.

2011-10-10T21:53:00.001-04:00

So, the time finally came when I was able to purchase a long wanted MacBook Pro. I use to have a MacBook G4 that a friend gave me some time ago, but it bit the dust about 2 years ago, and I was using a loaner PC from him. It gave me the ability to work as well, but it was about six or seven years old, and a bear to work with. Still, I couldn't complain, but the time had come where I had the financial means to get a brand new Mac, and one that I could put Windows on via an emulator, so that I could use it for my work at home job, and use it for my writing and theatre work on the Mac OS side of things. I bought it last Friday, and it didn't take long to remember how Mac works, and to get most of my files transferred over to it.

I am using this as a stepping stone, and inspiration to start blogging regularly again. I feel as thought I have a computer I'm comfortable with again, and believe it or not, it makes a difference. So, here we go, and I'll consider something to write about tomorrow.

It is what it is.

2011-07-14T16:12:00.005-04:00

Beginnings and endings. This is the stuff of life. We're born, we die. We move to a new place, and move out again. People come into our lives and then they leave. Relationships come and go. Marriages are created with the hope of lasting until the end. Usually, that is intended to mean one or the other dying. There is of course the other way, where one or both people end it for a myriad of reasons.

The end has come for mine. A few weeks ago, I received divorce papers in the mail. The reality is that it probably ended before these papers came, even before I moved out. Marriages can die a slow and painful death, and this is what happened with mine. We tried hard to revive it, but in the end, there were too many hurts that would not heal. Getting the papers delivered to me the day after I came back from a trip home to NYC was still something of a shock. I expected that it would be me that would make this decision, and in fact I was still wrestling with when and how I would do it. In many ways it was something of a relief, as now that decision was lifted from my shoulders. It still doesn't make it any easier emotionally in terms of knowing that there is now a finality to this journey that we both started so many years ago. I also think that this is the way for her to regain not only some control over the situation, but also as a way for her to go on with her life, to move forward.

I still love her, and always will, though I suspect she will always doubt it, and curse me for the rest of her days for leaving. It's what I had to do. Not a question so much of wanting, but had to. I could no longer see any other option. There was too much pain between us, something that even she had admitted. I look at the bare spot on my left hand's ring finger where there used to be an indentation after I took it off. There is nothing there now, no indication that there was a gold band that occupied it for 21 years. The ring that symbolized she and I now sits in a ceramic bowl on my dresser in my apartment bedroom. I don't have the courage in myself to put it away just yet.

And so now, after all we went through together, after all the joys and sorrows, the laughing and the fights, laughing together and the crying together, we're left to take our own separate journeys. It's not what I imagined our lives would come to back when we took our vows, but it is what it is.

This kid's got a lot of guts...

2011-06-14T15:39:00.000-04:00

Follow her blog or if you have Twitter, follow her.

http://alicepyne.blogspot.com/

A funny thing about comedy...

2011-06-02T18:58:00.004-04:00

...it's not as easy as it looks, but it provides healing in the most stressful of times. There is an oft quoted acting maxim, attributed to several sources: "Dying is easy. Comedy is hard." Of course, this refers to the art of using comedy in performance. However, it crosses over into real life as well.

When I was waiting for my liver transplant, one of the things I struggled to maintain was my sense of humor. So many people would tell me to "keep my spirits up," without any real suggestions on how to do that. I figured out that all I needed to do was what I have always done, and that was gravitate towards those things I found hilarious. I watched a lot of Robin Williams, George Carlin, TV shows that would make me laugh my ass off all the time, funny movies - you get the gist. What I also found were ways to make myself laugh, along with others.

I made up two lists of "Top Ten Ways Of Knowing You've Been Living With Liver Disease Too Long." While very esoteric, I was able to share with friends that I met through transplant and liver disease support groups, as well as the medical people that were taking care of me.

It made them laugh. It made me laugh.

About two months before my transplant I gave a lecture to a group of EMT students on death and dying. It drove home a lot of what I lectured about, looking as sick as I was and also being funny at the same time. The lecture was more focused on what they will encounter out in the field as EMT's, but certainly had a bigger impact having it delivered by someone that was dying by degrees right before their eyes. The opening part of the lecture was a series of video clips I put together of how Hollywood views death, both seriously and comedy-wise. This is one of the clips I used:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9tAKLTktY0

It had a great impact on those students, and I can only hope they understood what I was trying to get across and use in their daily working lives.

Now to that end, I'm organizing a similar presentation to my transplant support group here in Rochester, with a little twist. The idea is to show how to use comedy as a coping mechanism, and is part lecture, part floor show, with some local improv actors that I'm friends with and have worked with. It's all in the planning stages now, but hopefully we can make this work.

"I'm always relieved when someone is delivering a eulogy and I realize I'm listening to it." - George Carlin.

The job market is pants...

2011-05-15T20:27:00.002-04:00

...or so sayeth Zoe. This is why I love Brit slang. Far more descriptive, in my mind than what we have here. Of course, the Irish have my fav, all time one: gobshite. Yeah, it doesn't get better than that. It is however, a perfect description for this job market. One would think that after all this time, and all these reports that things are starting to improve, that there would be something out there that I could capitalize on. Nothing since October. It's been a dead zone here.

There is something else that popped up on the university job board this past week, and while I have about 3/4 of the qualifications for, I don't have the rest, so I'm debating as to whether or not I should apply. Even in healthcare institutions around here, the bulk of the jobs are clinical in nature, and that is not an option for me anymore.

Sigh...supposedly two million jobs have been created? I'd take about 1-2% of that for around here to at least give me a fighting chance.

A demonstration of why our Constitution works...even when we may not like it.

2011-03-02T17:53:00.004-05:00

"To preserve the freedom of the human mind...and the freedom of the press, every spirit should be ready to devote itself to martyrdom; for as long as we may think as we will and speak what we think, the condition of man will proceed in improvement." - Thomas Jefferson

I read the news today, oh boy. I read it, and at first and was decidedly stunned. Stunned at the decision of the Supreme Court, and stunned that the majority of both Conservative and Liberal justices were very clear: Freedom of speech, however ugly, deserves protection. You should perhaps, read this first before you go on.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/03/us/03scotus.html?_r=1&hp

I personally hold the Westboro Baptist Church in a state of utter contempt. I first learned about them back in 2000, while I was in the play, "The Laramie Project." Eight actors playing sixty characters. two of the characters I played were Matthew Sheppard's father, and in a complete 180 degree direction, Fred Phelps, the "pastor" of this church. It was through researching Phelps and his church that my disgust for him and his ilk grew.

It was his protests at Shepard's funeral that first garnered Phelps national attention, and he's been in it ever since, most notably in the last few years by the incidents outlines in the article above. He is the worst sort of religious zealot, and while his followers are few, they are vocal and know how to attract attention.

On to the Supreme Court decision. It partly made me sick to my stomach. I am no arch right wing conservative by any means, nor am I an uber-liberal, but I thought what the Westboro protesters were doing was in every way equivalent to a neo-Nazi march. Free speech is one thing. What they were doing, in my opinion was beyond what are the normally accepted boundaries of free speech. I felt they were infringing upon the rights of the families of soldiers that were killed in battle to conduct their mourning unencumbered by the rantings of people whose religious/social opinions differed with others.

The justices decided otherwise, and at the end of the day, as conflicted as I am, their rationale is sound. It is at the heart of our freedoms in this country. Their are many who read this blog from places outside the U.S. who probably find our country confusing, and downright contradictory at times. let this article serve as an example of what we can be at our finest. I see examples of curbs on free speech in Europe, even with the best of intentions, and cringe at them.

I'll leave with a quote from the writer Evelyn Beatrice Hall, which is often mistakenly attributed to Voltaire:

"I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it,"

First, let me pull this foot out of my rear...

2011-02-24T15:48:00.004-05:00

...courtesy of Violet Sky. She gently (in her calm Canadian manner) reminded me that I promised to start blogging again. Last December. Did I actually promise that? I'm lucky these days if I wake up and can remember what day it actually is, I've been so busy.

A quick catch-up: Mrs. Nighttime and I are legally separated as of the beginning of this past December. I don't want to go too much father into that, out of respect for her privacy. I will only say that this has been the hardest thing I have ever endured. I feel as though I have severed a part of my own body off, and quite frankly, it was easier in many respects to endure a liver transplant than to leave my marriage. I know she is still incredibly angry with me, bu I'm hoping that with time, she will forgive me for what I felt was my only option.

In December, I did a play at Blackfriars. It kept me sane, and also provided me with one of the best acting experiences of my life. It was the best ensemble cast I have ever worked with, and there was a lot of laughter both on and off stage.

Nothing really new on the job front, however, an opportunity popped up two weeks ag that has turned into the most potential since the debacle I had back in October. Through the help of a friend, I am now the assistant press officer for one of the two leading candidates for mayor of Rochester. We're having a special election on March 29th, as the current mayor left office in January to become the Lt. governor of NY State. My friend became his press officer, and asked me to help him as his assistant. If our guy wins the election, there is the very good potential that we could all go to city hall with him.

That's all for now. Yes, it's boring, but it's a way to start blogging again.

Who do I have to fuck to get a job in this town?

2010-10-18T19:17:00.005-04:00

Yeah, it's a crude title but I just don't care. If you read my last post, you saw that I had applied for a position that was just about as perfect for me as it gets. It fed into everything that I have done over the past ten or so years, and then some. It would have allowed me to utilize the best skills from my years in health care, and my new skills in public relations. It would have been perfect - and it went to someone else.

It went to someone else even after I was told how great and relevant my credentials are. It went to someone else without even the courtesy of a second interview. It went to an internal candidate (who I happen to know, and know is well qualified), and while I understand the importance of being able to advance a career, it still hurts that I wasn't even brought in for a second interview. I mean, I was promoted to my paramedic supervisor's job all those years ago as an internal candidate, so I get it, I really do.

Still, it just disheartens me, and makes me wonder how much longer I can keep this course. if I can't even get so much as a second interview with the qualifications I do have, what does this tell me?

For now, I'll just go sulk, but I can't, as I have to work tonight, and deal with the assholes that call in and whine about their cable TV. I didn't need this disappointment, not now, with all that I'm up against with the rest of my life.

Metamorphosis.

2010-09-30T16:17:00.003-04:00

Four walls...bare...a closet...boxes and suitcases strewn on the floor. A large box acting as a temporary night stand...This was the beginning to my new digs as of two weeks ago. Sure as hell beats living out of suitcases.

My roommate and I are making headway treading through the maze of moving boxes, furniture, and other items that inhabit the living room and what will be the dining area. The kitchen is pretty much well settled. We're fortunate, as that her parents shipped a large load of necessities from North Carolina via some family friends. Everything from a washer and dryer, to a small dinette set, to a futon that is a couch, to dishes, and a host of other amenities. I was given a chest of drawers, which was very kind of them, and it resides on one side of my bed. The other side of the bed has my night table and lamp that I took from my house. My house...my house... I can't call it that anymore.

We met with the mediator for the first time last week regarding a legal separation. I don't want to say too much, other than this is a difficult notion for her to accept. I think though, that the mediator's explanation of the process helped her to understand why I'm pursuing this, that it protects both of us, and has no time limit. If there is any chance that we'll reconcile, this is the best thing to have in place.

I still struggle emotionally about what is happening here, and my role in all of it. I told my therapist that I am trying so hard not to feel guilt, for seeing her in so much pain. I did what I felt I had to do, but it still doesn't lessen this notion that I am the one that is responsible for all the crying she is doing, and the anger. My actions precipitated it, but I am also torn up inside, especially for all the years of things that I could not reconcile, that I could not come to terms with, and that I'm trying hard to forgive her for. Do we still love each other? Yes, we both still do. Love however, as cliche as it sounds, just isn't enough.

On the positive news front, through a series of networking connections, I interviewed for a job at the University of Rochester Medical Center 2 weeks ago. it was an initial interview with the HR recruiter, who was very interested in me. It's a public relations position, and she informed me that I was the only applicant out of 78 that has both public relations and health care experience on my resume, especially health care management experience. They called my references, so I know they're interested, and I'm waiting on a second interview. The strains of that song from "A Chorus Line" are running through my head... "I need this job, oh god, I need, this job."

Also, I was cast in a play at my theatre opening in November, that I really wanted to do, and am very excited. I even got the role I wanted.

I can feel that I am in the process of changing, but where that is leading me, I'm not sure. right now, I'm just hanging on to the reins, and trying not to let things get out of control.

Home, Home On The Remains.

2010-09-07T01:54:00.009-04:00

A week or so after I announced that I was leaving, apart from my family I told some close friends, several of whom I have known close to forty years. My one friend Sam (not his real name), urged me to come on back home to NYC so that we could talk. Sam and I go back to ninth grade, and shared many a - ahem - youthful escapade together. he is a NYC detective, and basically threatened me with physical harm if I didn't come down. Of course, that's his way of showing he cares, especially in light of the fact that he has been down this road, and in a very bad way, I might add.

I left last Wednesday, a little later than I wanted to, and got into New Rochelle where my brother lives at about 10 pm. He already left for work, and after settling in, I decided to go see him down at his EMS station in the South Bronx. I have never seen where his command is, and he being a paramedic Lt. with FDNY, I was curious to see the place where he held court. I also had the opportunity to meet a mutual friend, another paramedic that is an old timer like I was, and like my brother is.

I had a good time, got in the door at about 2:30-ish, and then got up to move my car at 8:10 am, as New Rochelle suffers from the same malady that plagues NYC - that of alternate side of the street parking. Unfortunately, I overslept by a few minutes, and got tagged with a parking ticket. My brother however, seems to be friendly with many in the parking bureau (I don't want to know why), and he thinks he can get it squashed, or substantially reduced. I'm waiting to hear from him later this week.

Friday was a great day. My cousin and I went to lunch at this kick-ass restaurant in Little Italy, Forlini's on Baxter St. the food was terrific, and when inside, it looks like something out of mob movie. I half expected DeNiro, Pesci, and maybe John Gotti - if he wasn't already dead - to stop on inside. I had this terrific chicken dish, with sun dried tomatoes, bow tie pasta in a light cream sauce:

Their house red wine was excellent, as was the cheesecake.

My cousin and I hung out for about 90 minutes, talking about everything under the sun, and it was good to reconnect with her. We hadn't seen each other in about two years.

I then got on Metro-North, and headed up to Mamaroneck to see Sam. It had been a while since I traveled the subway and commuter railroad, but I remembered how to get around as if I never left. I arrived here at the station after leaving Grand Central:

Sam took me out to dinner, along with his new neighbors from France, Vincent and Corali. They just arrived about a week ago, and are teachers at the FASNY, the French-American School in Mamaroneck. (http://www.fasny.org/) they are a young married couple, and while his English is very good, hers is not so much. She works mainly in the science lab, while he is a math teacher. we had a great time, and I played English teacher, as I was asked to explain the difference between "neither," and "either" looks as though I have a place to stay in the south of France any time that I want.

I spent Saturday in part with my mom, after taking my niece out to breakfast, and then spent Saturday night in the company of my old paramedic partner, Tony. He's still out there, fighting the good fight, but has decided it's time to retire. Of course, the skull fracture he suffered on the job a few months back hastened his decision to retire soon, but I think he should have retired five years ago.

All in all, it was a good trip, but now I'm home, and facing the reality that is packing up the rest of my life, and getting ready to move into my apartment later this month. I think I may need another vacation when that is all said and done.

Change of place.

2010-08-27T14:32:00.004-04:00

Tomorrow is the start of my move out. I have a new apartment that I'm sharing with a friend from work, but we won't be able to get into it until the 17th of next month. Until then, I'll be staying with a friend and his wife, who have been very gracious and offered to put me up. I'll be going to NYC next week for 4 or 5 days to see my family, as they are very concerned. It has all been so strange. Starting a new bank account, dealing with a lawyer that will mediate our separation, looking around at this house at the familiar, and knowing that it will no longer be so after tomorrow.

The emotional turmoil on both of us has been tremendous. If I could have left earlier, I would have, but circumstances dictated otherwise. The pain for both of us is excruciating, but we have been talking, communicating, and trying to do the best we can. We decided to spend a last night together, having dinner out and watching a movie in. We're not under any illusions here, but I think it will end things on a positive, rather than a negative note. She will be gone in the morning, as she can't bear to watch me leave, and I won't be able to stand to see her watch me.

I just want her nightmares to stop, and for both of us to stop hurting. Hopefully, this is the start of that process. I just want to stop crying every day.

Small steps on a new journey.

2010-08-12T14:08:00.004-04:00

“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back. There are some things that time can not mend. Some hurts that go too deep... that have taken hold.” - Frodo - "Lord Of The Rings"

If I could have seen the future 21 years ago, would I have taken a different course? Would I not have married her? Would I have spared her the pain of watching her husband dying slowly, and then after being rescued from death, undergo a psychological death? Was there something else I could have done to spare her this moment, to spare her the pain that she is enduring now? I uttered the words, "I can't stay in this marriage" and set in motion the unraveling of half a lifetime of us. Then again, this unraveling started a long time ago. It started when my life was saved, and opened up a whole new dimension of suffering.

In the next few weeks, I will be moving out of my house, and starting on my own journey. We both have been unhappy for some time, and try as we did to save this marriage, it has reached the point when someone had to make a decision to break the cycle of getting better/falling back. That someone turned out to be me. I thought dying was painful enough, but this type of dying makes physical death an easy passage. This is a death that I will carry with me; a scar that will not be physically visible, but nonetheless will remind me of a life that has died.

She hopes that being away will help us find our way back to each other. I can't think that far into the future. I only know how to deal with what is happening now, and let the future unfold as it must. I also know that wherever my happiness lies, as of now, it is not here.

The knotted chord's untying.

2010-06-19T10:31:00.005-04:00

"I caught sight of my reflection
I caught it in the window
I saw the darkness in my heart
I saw the signs of my undoing
They had been there from the start

And the darkness still has work to do
The knotted chord's untying
The heated and the holy
Oh they're sitting there on high
So secure with everything they're buying

"In the blood of Eden lie the woman and the man
With the man in the woman and the woman in the man
In the blood of Eden lie the woman and the man
We wanted the the union oh the union of the woman, the woman and the man

My grip is surely slipping
I think I've lost my hold
Yes I think I've lost my hold
I cannot get insurance any more
They don't take credit, only gold
Is that a dagger or a crucifix I see
You hold so tightly in your hand
And all the while the distance grows between you and me
I do not understand

In the blood of Eden lie the woman and the man
With the man in the woman and the woman in the man
In the blood of Eden lie the woman and the man
We wanted the the union oh the union of the woman, the woman and the man

At my request you take me in
In that tenderness I am floating away
No certainty, nothing to rely on
Holding still for a moment
What a moment this is
Oh for a moment of forgetting
A moment of bliss
Oh....

I can hear the distant thunder
Of a million unheard souls
Of a million unheard souls
Watch each one reach for creature comfort
For the filling of their holes

In the blood of Eden lie the woman and the man
I feel the man in the woman and the woman in the man
In the blood of Eden lie the woman and the man
I feel the man in the woman and the woman in the man

In the blood of Eden we have done everything we can
In the blood of Eden, so we end as we began
With the man in the woman and the woman in the man
It was all for the union, oh the union of the woman, the woman and the man"

- Peter Gabriel - "Blood of Eden"

I guess there are some things that time can't heal.

I'll be baaack...

2010-05-08T11:44:00.001-04:00

I promise. Just dealing with some issues. Hope to post in the next few days.

Early spring pickings

2010-04-01T02:03:00.005-04:00

One of the things I miss about growing up where I did was that we were close enough to a major body of water to have fresh seafood available at many local restaurants. Off the mainland of the Bronx is City Island, a residential neighborhood that is packed with great seafood places up and down the main drag of the island. I learned from an early age how to judge a good slice of fish, or how a lobster should be cooked properly, but my favorite dish was really mussels, dipped in butter and garlic. It wasn't until I was almost an adult that I learned that most mussels are not harvested from the sea, but actually from trees that often root close to large bodies of water.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that bit of information. It seems that tree mussels (bivalvia mollusca rootus), while varied is size, are often more flavorful than their fresh or salt water cousins. They tend to be larger, as they few natural predators, and draw their nutrients directly from the trees themselves. Some variants are root feeders, while others stay higher up in the trees.

After a winter hibernation, they are best picked in late spring - early summer, as they grow rather rapidly. One should never pick them in the fall, as the quality tends to diminish as they prepare for winter hibernation. Also, make sure you wash them thoroughly, and steaming is usually the best way to insure that there will be no chance of microbial infection from it being under-cooked. Like with all mussels, over cooking them can make them rubbery, so be diligent.

So, if you live in a place that is near a large body of water, look for those mussel trees! You might be surprised to find out that you never knew they were there in the first place. They make great eating, and are a tasty side dish or main meal.

What does the Pope want with me?

2010-03-28T14:00:00.004-04:00

Well, this was a shock. When I looked at my Feedjit site meter today, I found this:

Vatican City arrived from blogger.com on "Mr.Nighttime"

I never realized that the Pope was fond of my blog, or perhaps Blade Runner. Then again, with all the latest press surrounding him, and the scandal surrounding the Irish church, I'm not sure I'd want him visiting here. Oh well, what do you think?

Stand back folks...This one's gonna get ugly.

2010-03-24T21:56:00.013-04:00

Regular readers of this blog know that I work in a survival job, doing tech support in an outsourcing company. We handle a major cable provider here in the U.S, and I just want to make a few points. I'm doing this both as a vent, and as a bit of an educational piece for anyone when they call into a customer service center. Oh let's face it; I'm really pissed off at the extreme stupidity, crassness, and outright rudeness many people show when calling in about a problem they may be having.

This is an across the board issue, no matter what you're calling in for, whether it is your cable service, internet, health care bill, electric bill, etc. I understand about being upset about an issue. Really, I do. We've all been there at one point or another. Things get screwed up. It's okay to be upset. What's not okay is thinking that the rep on the other side of the phone is evil incarnate. We're just worker bees at the end of the day. we're trying to do the best we can, and most of the time, we really can help if you just give us half a chance. If you're going to take your frustrations out on us however, you'll find that you'll get even less help than you might have expected.

Okay, enough of talking in the third person. Here's some basic information:

I am not your whipping boy! I work like you do, pay my bills like you do, and deal with the same kind of corporate idiocy on some level like you do. If you have an issue with the company I work for, then direct it to someone else that deals with customer complaints (and every company has one of these departments, at least the large ones do). I don't. I'm here to fix your problem, not be the object of a tirade. I'm sorry, but the customer is not always right. Too often, the customer is so wrong, it's almost laughable.

I'm going to ask you to verify some account information. Why? Well, isn't it a good idea to make sure you're the account holder? Oh, you mean you already punched that information into the phone? Why do I have to ask you again? Well, because sometimes the system is a piece of garbage, and the information doesn't get transferred to my screen. Sometimes, as in my case, it's because government regulations say I am required to re-verify this information. Mostly, it's because my bosses say I have to!!! Believe me, I think it's just as stupid as you do to repeat the same info over and over, but I have to keep this job for now, so don't get on my case.

Oh, you're going to scream and curse at me? How nice. How adult of you. You don't even know how to curse creatively, and now I have to lower my headset volume so that I don't puncture an ear drum. Of course, my first reaction normally is to want to tell you to go fuck off and die, but since my employers take a dim view of that, I am forced to give you three professionally administered warnings about foul language. After warning number three, I hang up on you and report you as an abusive customer. Here's a tip: You want to utter a single curse, that's fine. I can live with that. You're venting, and not directing it against me. But direct a personal attack at me and you've crossed the line. I may not even give you the grace of three warnings, and hang up on your sorry ass after the first one.

This one is simple. If I ask you a direct question, I expect a direct answer, not your life story. I know you don't want to stay on the phone with me one iota longer than is needed, and the same goes back to you. It's not that I don't want to (well, to be honest, there is a little of that), but I have a certain metric to meet. No, that's not something like a meter, kilometer, etc, but a certain number of minutes and seconds I am allowed with each customer. No more than 6.5 minutes are permitted, or at least by the end of the month, I should be averaging below that, or at worst, no more than seven minutes, or I get a tongue lashing from my supervisor.

One last thing. I am not your father confessor, or your doctor. Most especially not your doctor. I don't need to hear about every freakin' medical condition you have, nor do I care. I'm not being mean, it's just that I have enough of my own medical conditions to fill most monthly medical journals, that I don't need to know about yours. I left health care in part to be away from sick people on a daily basis, and while we're not in close proximity, the fact that you have explosive diarreha is not something that will impact your cable service, or my ability to get your cable service up and running again. So, go take some anti-diarrhea medication, and come back to the phone when you think you won't be running to the bathroom every 5 minutes, as I only have 6.5 minutes to talk with you anyway.

Sigh...I really need to get out of this job...

Blogversary

2010-03-18T11:06:00.010-04:00

Is it possible it's been two years since I started this blog? I'm just shaking my head, and wondering where the time has gone.

I started this blog after thinking about it long and hard. It wasn't that I wasn't sure if I could write, as I was already a published author. It was more about what to write, whether or not to stay anonymous, and if anything I had to say would have any relevance to anyone. On the whole, I'd have to say that I'm glad I made the decision to go ahead and start this blog.

There are two other bloggers I give credit to in spurring my interest in starting my own blog. The first would be Zoe, over at My Boyfriend Is A Twat. When I first read the title of this blog I thought, "Man, she must really hate the guy." I then realized that that this was a very playful banter between Zoe and Quarsan, her boyfriend of many years - or at least most of the time, that is. She has a wicked sense of humor, and I wold laugh my ass off at so many of her posts.

The second blogger I discovered at practically the same time, was Petite Anglaise. A Brit expat living in Paris for many years, her writings were lyrical, and honest. She was very open about many aspects of her life, while at the same time maintaining her anonymity. It was a delicate balance that she walked, and unfortunately she wound up being 'dooced" - fired for blogging about work. She was outed to the press, mainly because her blog was one of the most popular in the blogosphere, and someone had a grudge against her. Her employer - of who she would blog about at times without mentioning names, or the name of the company - began reading the blog and fired her. She had the last laugh though, as she sued for wrongful dismissal, and won a nice six figure judgment. She also became a published book author, essentially distilling her blog into a personal memoir.

As of late last year however, she has discontinued personal blogging, which is a loss, but her reasons are understandable. If you go to her blog, the second post down, "Over and Out," will explain it.

What have I discovered during these two years? Well, I have made a wealth of new friends from around the world. I have been able to peek into cultures and ways of life I only had a faint notion of in the past. I have found connections to people with similar interests, and met others who perform the same work I used, that being a paramedic. I've had the pleasure of meeting at least one of my fellow bloggers, Violet Sky, last summer. She came down from the Great White North of Canada to our Lilac Festival here in Rochester last June, and we spent a great day together. There are ugly sides to it as well: Commentators who seem to delight in abusing others for no apparent reason. This applies to bloggers as well, who seem to have no other purpose in life other than to tear down and degrade others.

Blogging has also provided me with a way to help sharpen my writing skills, and force me to write at least several times a week, though I have slacked off on that of late, due to an uptick in my freelance writing business; a good thing unto itself!

So, here's to more years of writing and discovery, and thanks to all those that I have been fortunate enough to have come into my life. Oh, and by the way, you may call me Dave.

Prescient.

2010-03-16T16:24:00.014-04:00

It occurred to me that I haven't written a post regarding Blade Runner in quite some time, which of course makes me feel terribly guilty. I mean after all, the theme of this blog is based on the movie, so one would think that I could come up with some sort of BR reference from time-to-time? So, to satisfy this lag in theme coverage, I went and watched it again, and still marvel at the things I rediscover, and discover for the first time on every viewing.

Ridley Scott's masterpiece of a movie is incredibly layered. Sometimes, the only way to try and catch everything is to pause at certain points and go through a scene frame-by-frame. It's just amazing the things you pick up when you do this. One of my favorite moments is when Deckard is chasing Zhora through the streets, and he starts shooting at her by the glass displays. The second time she's hit in the back, if you pause and look very astutely at her right hand you can see the squib (explosive effect device) trigger, and see her let it go after she squeezes it.

The "Final Cut" edition of the movie comes with "Dangerous Days - The Making Of Blade Runner," and is a must for any true fan. It's also great for any aspiring filmmaker, as it gives an inside scoop as to what it takes to mount such a movie as this. Did you know that:

- The original name of the script was "Dangerous Days?"
- The first time Deckard was supposed to be seen was on a train coming back into "San Angeles." after he was vacationing in Alaska? (1980 script draft)
- One of the scenes cut from the movie was Deckard going to visit Holden in his hospital bed after he was shot by Leon?
- Ridley Scott was fired from the movie after principal filming was finished - and then rehired almost immediately?
-Dustin Hoffman was in consideration for the role of Deckard, and had several conversations with Ridley Scott about the 'social significance" of the film.

The other thing that struck me today was this: Blade Runner takes place in 2019, and here we are, just nine years from that time. What does the movie show that even remotely resembles today? Well, there are a few things that ring true, but replicants and robot technology is certainly not one of them.

1. Oppressive corporate culture - The Tyrell Corporation, the multi-national robotic and AI conglomerate is in evidence everywhere in the Blade Runner World. It's a bit of Wal-Mart, Google, and Cisco all rolled into one giant company. About the only thing that comes close in our world might be Microsoft, and the way it has invaded so many aspects of our world here in 2010. Wouldn't it be something though if one of Bill Gates' creations suddenly showed up at his house, and declared in a solemn voice, "I want more life, father."

2. Flying cars. -
Sorry, a no-go. The Spinner, the multi-purpose police car that can either fly, or be a conventional ground vehicle is not on the horizon. It's original design as conceived by visual futurist Syd Mead was that of an aerodyne - a vehicle that can do vertical take off's and landing's (VTOL) much in the way a Harrier jump jet does. Considering the latest brouhaha surrounding Toyota, and now Honda as well, I don't think I'd like having cars zipping over major cities and then having a major engine failure. And you thought an uncontrolled acceleration was tough?

3. Image manipulation - Ah, now here's something that we can point to and say, "Well we pretty much have that!"

When Deckard is examining Leon's photo for clues, he uses a device known as an "ESPER:"
It's defined as: " A high-density computer with a very powerful three-dimensional resolution capacity and a cryogenic cooling system. The police cars and Deckard's apartment contain small models which can be channelled into the large one at police headquarters. This big apparatus is a well-worn, retro-fitted part of the furniture. Among many functions, the Esper can analyze and enlarge photos, enabling investigators to search a room without being there."

While computers today may not have quite the same capacity as an Esper, it's pretty darn close. The next time you use your computers photo downloading software, or a program like Photoshop, you're pretty close to having the kind of funtionality that Esper's do - though seeing around corners as reflected in mirrors is probably not one of them.

4. Mult-cultural/nationality cities - Score another one for accuracy. It used to be that only the truly big cities in this country- NYC, LA, Chicago - could say they were truly multicultural. Nowadays, both big and small cities are reflective of this, and one only need to go into the downtown area of a city and see this played out everyday. In the BR world, it's the population overload that's also a factor, and this is nothing new, and even more prevalent in places like China, India, and Brazil.

5. Advertising on steroids. If you've seen the movie, you'll remember these:

I think that BR was even somewhat mild in it's vision of corporate advertising on buildings and the like. One only need to go to Times Square, or as some have pointed out, the Ginza in Tokyo, or the main shopping district in Hong Kong to see just how much this goes beyond even what BR predicted.

5. TV phones -
Remember those ads from the late 50's and 60's about phones with televisions in them, so that you could see the person you are talking to? Well, certainly camera cell phones have fulfilled that promise, but I think that even more so are webcams, especially when you're using programs like Skype, Googletalk, etc. Teleconferencing is now commonplace, though the public video phone is still not there - or is it, somewhere? Still, if you notice in the pic above, AT&T is still around, and still charging too much money (This call cost Deckard $1.25 for a 1 minute call.).

One has to wonder what is around the corner for us, and what parts of Blade Runner will come true prior to 2019? Let's hope it's not replicants. I want to be able to distinguish my robots from my humans easily.

Das Miracle.

2010-03-06T13:50:00.005-05:00

Anyone who knows me understands that I am something of a movie freak. I never get to see as many as I would like, and especially living here in Rochester which is the home of motion picture film, it is something of a travesty. Netflix however, has become my great savior in so many ways. I've been able to catch up on a lot of movies that I very well should have seen, but never had either the time or the ability to get around to viewing.

It also provides a great resource of foreign films (foreign to the U.S.) as well. I truly enjoy watching movies from other countries, as it does provide something of a window into other cultures. Still, just as those seeing American movies get perhaps the wrong impression of life here, I'm careful not to think that a movie say, from France, is an exact picture of life there. I just finished seeing a movie that, I know I should have see when it first came out in the early 80's, but never did.

"Das Boot (The Boat)" is nothing short of perfection. It has been hailed as the submarine movie, bar none, and now it's easy to see why it earned that accolade. I watched the director's cut, and while at 3.5 hours it may be too long for some, it was sheer heaven for me. The movie centers around the lives of crew members aboard a German U-boat in 1941, just as the tide was starting to turn against the dominance of U-boats in their fight with England. It's a claustrophobic look at daily life inside these floating tin cans, and the stresses they're up against. It's a miraculous piece of art.

Yes, this was a film about our enemy in WWII, but in the end I found myself rooting for these guys. It sucks you into this world hook, line, and sinker. As I said, it's not going to be for everyone, especially for those Americans that are more used to movies in this genre along the lines of "The Hunt For Red October," which I love by the way, but for different reasons (Sean Connery's horrid Russian accent, or lack thereof, not being one of them.).

Das Boot is most definitely more of a psychological thriller in many ways, and the U-boat is as much a character as are the rest of the crew. You can catch a clip here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATEjQhdfA8U

My advice? Watch the German version with English subtitles. While the dubbed version is done by the same actors, and is very good, I still prefer watching the German version. I still notice in the dubbed version that the actor's mouth movements don't match the dialogue, and this is very annoying to me.

Middle School Idol

2010-03-02T18:19:00.007-05:00

So, the job issue has been laid to rest, an article I edited for a friend was published, and if all goes well there will be more editing work thrown my way for money. I'm still waiting to hear back from my friend the dentist, whose marketing materials I'll be copyediting, as I did a single letter for him gratis to show what I'm capable of. Two interesting things came my way today via my theatre.

I got a note from an organization in NYC that uses actors to train police officers to interview victims of child sexual abuse. They use adult actors (for obvious reasons), and were looking for a man, and two women. I volunteered myself, especially in light of the fact that they pay $100 for the day, which consists of about 4 hours of work total. Not too bad, actually. They're based in NYC, but travel all over the state conducting these classes, and will be doing it up here at the local public safety training center, not too far from where I live.

The second note was from a local middle school drama society that is trying to help promote local theatre as part of its efforts. They are having a talent night, and needed prizes for first, second, and third place. We often do ticket giveaways at our theatre for these types of causes, but they also asked for something extra: they needed a guest judge for the event. We were going to send one of our other people there, but the talent show was canceled from its original date, so he can no longer make it.

Up went my hand. Why, I don't know.

So now I will be the next Simon Cowell for a bunch of middle school drama students. I'm hoping to be surprised, and maybe they will tackle something like, "Waiting For Godot," or perhaps "Death Of A Salesman," or maybe even a piece from "Marat/Sade." Then again, maybe not.

I'm not quite sure what to expect, after all, they are middle schoolers. All I can hope for is something a bit more advanced than say, Jack And The Beanstalk?

Is it safe?

2010-02-23T01:11:00.002-05:00

Yes, it is. A compromised was reached, and my job is safe. All this means is that I now have to double and triple my efforts to get out of that 10th Circle Of Hell, whether by means of another job, or by freelancing full-time. On the latter of those two, things are headed in the right direction. I just picked up another client to do some copyediting for a series of web articles that this person is goign to publish.

Keep your fingers crossed.

Stay tuned to this station....

2010-02-21T19:23:00.003-05:00

....for further updates, as my employer is screwing with me big time. I may not have a job by tomorrow morning, depending on what happens during a meeting with my supervisor tonight. Without getting into too many details as of now, it deals with in part, a letter from my doctor that I gave them about 2 weeks ago that noted the need for me to take a few breaks during the course of my shift for certain medical necessities that I have, such as checking my blood sugar. There is also the little case of them accusing me of breaking a company rule, which I did not - and I think is retaliation for my going to a lawyer for advice, as the company owed me over 6 months worth of retroactive pay that they only got to me once I advised them that I had consulted a lawyer about my options.

This is not going to be pretty no matter what the outcome.

Dad.

2010-02-14T02:13:00.007-05:00

On this the 200th post of this blog, I was going to publish something I had started on the nature of friendship. Instead, I am dedicating it to the memory of my father. Regular readers may remember that my dad died of AIDS, contracting it a during blood transfusion while undergoing cardiac bypass surgery in 1984. He was in that first group of people to get infected back then from transfusions, and four years later, on Valentine's Day in 1988 he would die of complications from HIV. The horror show that was his illness, which wasn't picked up until late into the course of it, impacted me (in addition to my family) in ways that still resonate to this day.

The anger that I carried with me festered for a great long time, and was only truly exorcised but a few years ago. Still, there are certain things that still make me shudder; His never living long enough to see me act, to succeed in my former profession, to become a writer, and I think most certainly where my brother is concerned, to see the birth of my niece, his first and only grandchild. At the same time, I'm glad that he wasn't there to see what I went through during my illness and subsequent transplant, but then again, he would have been there to support my mom.

As a result, Valentine's Day is a bittersweet one for me. Mrs. Nighttime and I always celebrate the day before, as the day itself can be too difficult on some years. It is also, for some reason, the only part of my Judaism that I stick to, lighting a yahrzheit lamp on the anniversary of his death as well as on Yom Kippur.

This year I will be on stage in the show that I'm currently in, imagining that he is in the audience. I would like to think he would have been proud of my accomplishments over the years. We never saw eye-to-eye on a lot of things, though towards the end, he was getting a better understanding of why I loved being a paramedic.

Cheers Dad.

No joy in Mudville...

2010-02-08T21:24:00.004-05:00

I didn't get the public relations job. I don't know why as of yet, as I just found out late today. I'm going to call tomorrow to see if there is anything I could have done better, or at least why I wasn't chosen.

Unreal, and I was stunned. I have been through this so many times in the past few years, and it is really wearing on my soul. This was the best opportunity to come along in some time, and if I can't even get something like this, I don't know what I'm going to do...

On the plus side, it looks like I picked up a new client for my writing business, so maybe this is a sign to go full-bore into my freelance business, and damn the torpedoes.

I feel like Michael Corleone...

2010-01-29T00:37:00.006-05:00

...I got pulled back in!

For just about 11 years, I wrote for a national EMS professional journal, titled interestingly enough, EMS Magazine. This was the place where I took my baby steps into the world of freelance writing, taking whatever skills I may have naturally possessed, and developing them with the guidance of an experienced editor. I wrote everything from educational pieces, to personal stories, to book reviews, all the while exploring a skill I never really knew I had.

In 2000, I wrote my last piece for the magazine. It was entitled, "What Are You Prepared To Do?" and dealt in part with the idea of who we were as EMS professionals, our identity, and how it had been co-opted by other emergency services, such as fire departments. While I left EMS behind the year before, I was still in healthcare, but that would be my final article. There was no real reason to write for the magazine anymore, and with my depression starting to bubble, I think somewhere inside I was thinking, "It's time to get away from this profession in every way."

Flash forwards 10 years: Now, having come to terms with so much of what I experienced, I feel I can go back and write for them, but from a detached position, which actually may be something of a blessing. I shot my former editor (who is still there) some recent clips of my work, she was bowled over, and was going to throw some story ideas my way, when I threw one at her. I'll be writing a two part piece that will cover how EMS personnel deal with impending retirement. It will be in their online edition. Part 1 will be out in June, and then part 2 in July. Even better? They're going to pay me. I didn't always get paid for what I wrote for them in the past.

So, here I go, diving back into the world I left behind. I'm thinking a little of Paul Simon's "Still Crazy After All These Years."

"I met my old lover
On the street last night
She seemed so glad to see me
I just smiled
And we talked about some old times
And we drank ourselves some beers
Still crazy after all these years
Oh, still crazy after all these years"

You get the idea, right?

Floods, famine, and hope.

2010-01-23T00:44:00.005-05:00

I went on a job interview yesterday. The opportunity came out of the blue, via a Facebook IM conversation. About 10 days ago, a friend that is the public relations manager at a local legal professional organization mentioned to me that that her assistant had just quit, and she was now scrambling to find a replacement. She is familiar with my situation, in part because she is involved in the local theatre scene here in Rochester, and helps with PR for another theatre company in town. In the course of the conversation, I asked if she wouldn't mind looking at my resume, and consider it as part of her search process.

She was concerned that the job would be a bit boring for me, as there was not a ton of writing, and that the salary was not in line with what I might expect. She felt that I was far more advanced in terms of experience than what the position called for. I pointed out that I have been looking for a way to break into the PR world full-time, and that this type of entry level position could be just what I needed. She said to send her the resume, and I did, not knowing what would come out of it.

Well, on Wed. I got an e-mail from her, asking if I could come in for an interview on Friday. Of course I said yes, and started to prep for it, visiting the website of the organization and learning all I could about it. This has been the best opportunity to come along in quite some time. Being a realist, I know there are never any guarantees, but I wanted to make the best showing I could.

Of course, things are never smooth, and Thursday night, just before Mrs. Nighttime and I were to head to our theatre for rehearsal (we're both in a play there, opening a week from today), we come back home to find that the water heater has blown. Half the basement was flooded, so we cut the water off and started manning the bilge pumps. (Translation - We broke out the mops and the shop vac, and poured the excess down the sump.) Mrs. Nighttime got on the horn to someone she kn0ws, an HVAC technician that services her building. He was able to get us a new water heater, and now 24 hours later we have hot water again.

When this happened though, it jarred me some. I got really snippy, and I knew it was that "Oh, no. I don't need this shit, not now." feeling. The other thing that concerned me was, how was I going to take a shower Friday morning? All I can say it's a good thing we're on good terms with our neighbors, at least the ones we know pretty well. The ones' down the block, whose home caught fire last year, came to our rescue and let me use their shower in the morning.

Making extra copies of my resume, I went downtown for the interview, and while heading there, I realized how I needed to get over the nervousness that was running rampant inside of me. It's amazing; I can go up on stage in front of 200 people, and be far less nervous than sitting across the conference room table from one person. I took a idea from an acting exercise called an "as if," and simply put it in my mind that I was not really at an interview at all. I was simply sitting down and having a talk with a friend.

It worked like a charm. The interview went very well, at least in my opinion, and I think I was able to convey what I wanted to achieve by working in this position. I stressed the idea that, even though the pay is lower than I would like, the possibility of acquiring new and needed skills (especially working with graphics programs, something I don't really do, since we farm out all our graphics work at my theatre), combined with the opportunity to finally work full-time in the PR world was worth not being concerned about the lower pay scale. I also stressed that this was something that I thought long and hard about, and it was not a "I need a job at any cost!" type of situation. I should know something hopefully by the middle of next month. As you can imagine, they were inundated with resumes, especially in this job market.

So, cross your fingers, toes, and whatever else you feel might be appropriate in this situation. The famine that has been my job search, I am hoping, has come to an end. If this comes through, you will probably hear my screams of joy across the country and beyond.

Spit take...

2010-01-07T15:57:00.002-05:00

Ok, I just about spewed my coffee after reading these. #10 just stopped me dead in my tracks.

h ttp://www.11points.com/News-Politics/11_Most_Painfully_Obvious_Newspaper_Articles_Ever

Thanks to Julia for these.

Northern exposure

2010-01-02T10:36:00.009-05:00

When I first started this blog, I was adamant in that I wanted this to be as anonymous as humanly possible. After reading about the experiences of other bloggers, I decided that at least for the time being, I didn't want people to know who I was, especially if I was revealing things about myself of a rather personal nature.

Flash forward over a year, and now 193 posts later (including this one), and reading about the experiences of bloggers that have been outed, it makes me wonder if the ability to remain even remotely anonymous is simply a myth. I look at folks such as Petite Anglaise, and Girl With A One Track Mind (both excellent writers, mind you), and realize that while my blog isn't anywhere near as famous or visited, it still gives one pause for thought. They were both outed, and in the case of Petite, was dooced (Lost her job related to her blogging).

I have consciously avoided blogging about certain subjects in depth, such as my job and my marriage, the latter being at the request of Mrs. Nighttime. While it is a form of self-censorship, as with most bloggers we elect what, and what not to reveal out to the world. There are bloggers who are extremely open people, and their blogs are a reflection of their personalities. The only one or two subjects of an extremely personal matter that I'm open on are my liver transplant experiences, and my battle in the past with depression.

This said, I am now struggling with the notion of revealing at least, my first name and face. There are a few bloggers that I have become quite friendly with, and communicate with via Facebook or Skype, or in the case of Violet Sky, have met face-to-face, which was a nice time. So the question I pose to you out there is this:

What are your feelings about what you choose to reveal, or not to reveal, and the advantages and disadvantages of each? I'd also know what you do to protect yourselves so that not too much gets exposed.

I await your advice and counsel.

Resolutions? I don't need no steenkin resolutions!

2009-12-30T16:17:00.008-05:00

I seem to remember last year posting that I was resolute on not making any resolutions. I'll quote again from Mark Twain, as I did last year:

"New Year's Day: Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual."

While I believe we make our own hell here on earth, to not have to worry about the possibility of another one after we die and at the risk of starting my own path to it, I resolve two things for this year.

1. I will get the fuck out of this mind numbing job, no if and's or but's, and become a successful full-time freelance writer. I am hoping that the recent good news of landing a national publication (finally!) is the first step down this yellow brick road.

2. I will learn to play guitar. I did try once a couple of years ago through the local continuing education at our local high school, but it became evident that learning in a group setting like that is not for me. I need 1-on-1 instruction for something like this.

Normally, I don't like making resolutions, especially at this time of year, but something feels different. I can' quite put my finger on it, but I think that I am finally going to make some headway with my own personal goals. So, maybe instead of calling them "resolutions," I'll refer to them as "personal bests." It has an Olympic-like quality to it, bit it gives me something to focus on; a target to aim towards.

It sure beats something that often carries the words "non-binding" before it.

Catching up.

2009-12-28T18:06:00.003-05:00

So, where to start this post? It has been so long since I last blogged that I wondered whether or not I had simply lost the urge to blog, or to write, for that matter. I have come to discover that I need not be concerned. Sometimes, stepping back from a task, even something that I might love, creates new opportunities not yet realized. I can say that it has been a difficult month and a half, starting with Nelson's death, and continuing through to the start of the holiday season here, and trying to pull out some sense of joy amongst all the senseless things I see around me.

Nelson's funeral was as expected, an extremely difficult and sorrowful event. To die at 45 is never an easy thing to deal with for those left behind. It's worse when looking at the legacy he left behind (his family, friends, colleagues and students) makes all realize what a loss this world has suffered. He was an only child, which made it even worse for his mother. It was however, not without its lighter moments, of which Nelson would have approved.

During the wake the night before, a priest that knew Nelson well commented during his eulogy that Nelson had a habit of being late - for everything - something that was not lost upon my brother, his best friend of 38 years. My brother then commented to me as to how they used to tell Nelson to be somewhere half an hour before he actually needed to be there because of his preponderance to to be late.

The next day at the funeral, which was actually in a chapel on the grounds of a Greek Orthodox seminary (Nelson converted to Greek Orthodox from Roman Catholicism some years ago), we were standing and waiting for the coffin to be brought in, and I took note that the time was 10:10 am. About a minute later, his coffin was brought in and I chuckled to myself. The funeral was due to start at 10 am. Leaning over to my brother, and his friend Marc (the third member of the trio of childhood best friends), I said, "You do realize he's late to his own funeral, don't you?" I suspect that it took all of my brother and Marc's strength not to burst out in hysterics, but we all knew Nelson would be laughing right along with us.

After the funeral, we went to Nelson's aunt's home in the Throggs Neck section of the Bronx, and gathered with his family and shared memories. The wound of his loss is still very fresh for my brother, but he is doing better these days.

Now, the rest of the month and into this month was relatively uneventful, save for one event from last week.

I FINALLY BROKE INTO A NATIONAL PUBLICATION AS A FREELANCE WRITER!

Yep, it finally happened. I pitched a story to this magazine:

http://udsakron.org/services/kaleidoscope/

about this theatre company here in Rochester:

http://www.rocartistsunlimited.com/

I knew about the theatre group through my own connections in the theatre community here, albeit with not a lot of details. One of its officers however also sits on the board of directors with me at my theatre, so I began to ask him some questions about Artist's Unlimited and found that there was a great story in the making. I have time to write it, as the magazine only publishes in January and July, but will be starting on the preliminary interviews after the first of the year.

I am hoping that this is the break I have been waiting for, and that it will lead to other national publications, if not just more work in general. I would like to be full-time freelancing by this time next year, as I already missed this years' goal due to, well, due to me not putting in the effort I should have.

I have also gotten myself on to Skype, and have been talking with the ever so lovely Zoe over at MBIAT. We've had some great conversations, and I have resolved to visit Belgium to meet her and Peter over at Antwerp Calling as well within the next year or two.

So I now resolve to get back into the swing of things and try to blog a minimm of 2-3 times per week. Here's hoping.

The Parting Glass

2009-11-07T18:53:00.004-05:00

Of all the money e'er I had,
I spent it in good company.
And all the harm I've ever done,
Alas! it was to none but me.
And all I've done for want of wit
To mem'ry now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

Oh, all the comrades e'er I had,
They're sorry for my going away,
And all the sweethearts e'er I had,
They'd wish me one more day to stay,
But since it falls unto my lot,
That I should go and you should not,
I gently rise and softly call,
Good night and joy be with you all.

Please keep my bother's best friend Nelson in your thoughts, as he died yesterday at the age of 45 after suffering a massive heart attack. Nelson was a professional violinist, and a pubic school music teacher. My brother and Nelson have known each other since they were 6 years old, and this has been a devastating loss for him. I have known Nelson as long as my brother, although we were never close friends, we got a along very well, an I respected him greatly.

Farewell Nelson, and may we be forever in your debt.

The white patch.

2009-10-23T18:25:00.010-04:00

"I'm going to wear my old pair of scrubs." said the artistic director of my improv troupe. He was referring to the presentation that we were going to make to the transplant team of the money (that was raised through a special performance) for the patient's Special Needs fund by the improv troupe a little over a month prior. Being an improv troupe, we were thinking of doing something a little different rather than a straightforward, formal presentation of the $1,400 that was raised. We hit on the idea of presenting this donation in an organ transport box, which I was able to obtain from my old place of employment, the organ donor network here in Rochester. We were going to run in to their weekly meeting as if delivering an organ.

What he asked next however, was wholly unexpected.

"Do you still have your old paramedic uniform?"

I had not been asked that question in a long while, and I felt the blood drain from my face at the question.

"Yeah, I do." I knew where he was headed, and while I silently smirked at the thought, as it was rather funny, but it still scared me. "Great." he said. "I think you should wear that."

Every instinct inside of me was screaming "NO!" Somehow, the word "Okay" came out of my mouth. I don't know why it did, but it did. It has been 12 years since I wore that uniform, 12 years since I was part of a profession and a world that I never envisioned leaving, as I did 10 years ago. Why the number discrepancy? Well, for the better part of the last three years as a paramedic, I was in management, and wore a suit more often than a uniform, and didn't touch a patient.

I tried to convince myself that it was really nothing, that I would put in on, wear it for a couple of hours, and then take it off. It wouldn't mean anything. It was simply a costume for this purpose. I was going to be acting, and why should my old uniform be nothing other than any other stage device that I have used in the past.

The answer, of course, was far more complicated.

So, the morning came for me to prepare for the presentation. Going through the morning ritual of showering, brushing my teeth, taking my transplant medications, and all the other mundane tasks carried an air of tension. I then went down into the basement of my house, and found the box where I keep all my memories of my EMS life, and found my shield and collar bars. Shield #6241. Collar bars with my unit, 35V. The black shield holder and securing pin. I remember this being part of my mrning ritual for so many years.

I went upstairs and found the long sleeve uniform, as this had the perforations above the left breast pocket sewn into the fabric where the securing pin would pass through, pinning the shield to the shirt. The shield holder also had the small metal plaque with my name, and then below it, "PARAMEDIC."

The shirt has two patches. The left sleeve at the shoulder had my hospital's blue and white patch. The right had the one that has been earned by only a comparatively few, the one that said 'EMS-PARAMEDIC - CITY OF NEW YORK." White, with an orange border, orange and blue lettering, and the blue star of life in the middle, it was simply known to us that rode the ambulance as 'the white patch." It was coveted by anyone that worked in EMS, in any capacity, in NYC. There were, and still are, far more EMT's than paramedics. We were an elite group, and we knew it.

I attached the collar bars, pinned the badge on, and slipped the shirt on. As I buttoned it, I was first pleasantly surprised to find that it still fit, and like a glove too. I then went and looked in the mirror, and a wave of emotion overcame me.

I cried. I cried, and cried, and cried. It went on for about 10 minutes.

I missed it. I missed it all. The good, the bad, the silly, the insane, the danger, all of it. I missed my friends, my colleagues, the two partners I had that I worked so closely with for so long, that they became second and third spouses in a way. I was in grief. I was in grief for a life that I left behind so long ago, that I was never able to grieve for, and that I was never able to fully accept that I left behind. I think it was just then that I honestly faced that emotion, as I faced myself in the mirror, in that uniform.

I was grieving for myself.

After I stopped, wiped my tears, and pulled myself together, I went to the presentation. I went into character, and along with my artistic director, made everyone laugh. We presented the money, had some nosh, pressed the flesh with the transplant staff, and then left. I got home, took off the uniform, hung it in my closet, but left the shield and collar bars on. I have yet to remove them and put them away.

I went to my therapist earlier this week, and related this story to him. He just let me talk, not offering any advice, but rather smiling and nodding with each major point that I brought across. We're going to discuss it further next time around.

As I unburdened myself of this grief, I began to realize that this was one of the biggest obstacles, if not the biggest, that has stood in my way all this time. While I was not living in the past, it was always close behind, and impeding my progress in life. I think now however, that I can move forward with more confidence.

The white patch will always be with me. It is part of who I am, a source of pride, and always the greatest title I will ever have, that of NYC Paramedic. From now on however, it won't stand in my way.

Tis' grand...

2009-10-19T21:49:00.007-04:00

"When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived it all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood." - The opening to "Angela's Ashes."

When I read those opening passages to Angela's Ashes, I knew that I was in for something different. I had been desiring to read Frank McCourt's memoir of life growing up in Limerick for some time. I kept hearing as to how wonderful the book was, how haunting and yet how funny at the same time. I just never seemed to be able to find the time, or to remember to buy the book. Then, as these things happen, something came up that made me realize that I should go and read it.

Frank McCourt upped and died. The nerve he had.

Once that happened, I knew I had to get the book, and received it before I could go buy it as a 50th birthday present from Mrs. Nighttime. By the time I finished the first page, even then, I knew that this was a style of writing that I had never encountered before. His prose for the most part, in the first person, takes us through his journey first from the streets of Brooklyn, where he was born, to his eventual return to his parents homeland of Ireland.

As I got further and further into the story, I marveled at McCourt's ability to first of all, recall so many incidents in his childhood, especially from such a young age, as well as his ability to paint a picture of poverty that is unknown to many Americans, save for perhaps some segments of Appalachia. Even in the ghettos of Brooklyn where I worked, people were far better off then the horrific conditions that McCourt describes.

"People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying school masters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all -- we were wet."

But, what was most telling, in that very Irish way, was his ability to weave in humor amongst the most tragic elements of his life. Even when there is so much vitriol lobbed against his relatives, his school teachers, the priests and the Catholic church in general, there are moments that simply make you cry out with laughter. It is the salve for the words that are like wounds.

"Grandma's next door neighbor, Mrs. Purcell has the only wireless in the lane. The government gave it to her because she's old and blind. I want a radio. My grandmother's old but she's not blind and what's the use of having a grandmother who won't go blind and get a government radio?"

There was, as one might expect, a backlash against McCourt's description of life during this time, which was from the 1930's, through the late 1940's. As bad as the depression was here in the U.S., it seems to have hit Ireland even harder. There are those however, that said McCourt's descriptions are far from the truth, and accused him of blatantly misrepresenting the Irish, and at worst, playing into the usual stereotypes of the drunken, slovenly, lazy Irish family, especially the husband/father type.

I would have to agree with those that go against those that doth protest too much. This is one man's account of life as he experienced it. It is not an autobiography, but a memoir. Most of the criticism I have read about were from those who were either not in Ireland at the time portrayed in the book, and were relying on second hand information from relatives, or from those who were from Ireland, but not alive at that time. McCourt has been accused of simply inventing or embellishing his story for the sake of money. McCourt was in his mid-60's when he wrote and published Angela's Ashes. If he wanted to make make his fortune, I would suspect he would have done it a lot earlier. As he has stated in interviews, it took him a long time to come to terms with his childhood, and perhaps this explains why it took him so many years to be able to express these things as he did.

I finished the book a few days ago, and have now started on the sequel, "Tis'." I cannot wait to see what wonders McCourt will paint with words in this follow-up.

Max Cherry makes good.

2009-10-13T22:48:00.006-04:00

Ordell Robbie: This you and me talking, is this like a lawyer-client thing, and you can't repeat nothing I tell you?
Max Cherry: You're not my client until you get busted and I bond you out.
Ordell Robbie: Well, if we ain't got no - what's that shit called? - confidentiality, why should I tell you a thing?
Max Cherry: Because you want me to know what a slick guy you are. You got stewardesses bringing you fifty grand.
Ordell Robbie: Now why would a stewardess be bringing me fifty grand?
Max Cherry: Now you want me to speculate on what you do. My guess is you're in the drug business, except the money's moving the wrong way. Whatever you're into, you seem to be getting away with it, so more power to you.

Those of you that follow this blog with any regularity know that I often talk about the deep amount of artistic talent that is in Rochester. It still never ceases to amaze that for a city of about 210,00 people, it has as much to do artistically in proportion to its size as NYC does. We have a saying here that if you're bored, it's your own fault.

In addition to the great artistic groups, especially the theatre groups, the individual talent is striking. Many have gone on to very successful careers as actors, or in the technical theatre arena. Some have even hit the big time, such as Philip Seymour Hoffman, Taye Diggs, and Kristin Wigg.

Enter Robert Forster. Does the name ring a bell? If you're a fan of Quentin Tarantino, in particular of "Jackie Brown," then you'll know that Forster played bail bondsman Max Cherry, who runs afoul of Samuel L. Jackson while trying to help out Pam Grier. The role got Forster nominated for an Academy Award, and while he didn't win it, it revitalized his career. You may have seen him recently on "Heroes," in a recurring role as one of the main character's father.

Forster is also a Rochester native, and was back in town last week to help celebrate the 80th anniversary of The Little Theatre. Known locally as simply "the Little," it is the art house movie theatre here in Rochester, and known for getting many independent films prior to their distribution to the bigger movie conglomerates. It is also a place where Forster spent a lot of his time as a youth, when he wasn't acting on stage around town.

His first film role was with Marlon Brando and Elizabeth Taylor, and if that wasn't enough, he was directed by John Huston, "Reflections In A Golden Eye." More on that later.

Forster received an award from The Little Theatre board of directors for his contributions to film and his support of the Little over the years. The Little also had a special screening of Jackie Brown one evening that was preceded with a talk by Forster, interviewed by noted movie critic Jack Garner.

Forster still has many old friends in the area, many of whom I am friendly with, and one of whom directed me in a play last year. He had breakfast with Forster the day before the Jackie Brown screening, and he mentioned that Blackfriars had built a new theatre, and Forster seemed very interested, as he had attended plays at Blackfriars, though he never acted with us. I began to wonder if he would like a tour of the new theatre, if he had time in his schedule.

I'm friendly with the head of the Little, and asked him if he could arrange an introduction to Forster, after explaining why. He said "Sure, no problem, I think Robert would like that!" I came to the Jackie Brown screening, early enough to catch the interview, and was introduced to Forster. He was, as I had heard about, the nicest guy you could imagine. For all his fame, he has retained a down to earth quality that some lose after gaining a lot of recognition.

He remembered Blackfriars well, and was excited to learn about the new theatre. He peppered me with questions about where we moved from, and what the current seating capacity of the new theatre is. He was pleased to learn that it was smaller, at 126 seats. This seems to be the trend in NYC and LA, to go smaller, not bigger. I asked him about a tour, and while he really wanted to do it, he didn't think he would have the time on this trip. I was expecting as much, as I kind of figured he would be booked up, but he then asked for my contact information so that he could arrange a visit next time he's in town. He comes back fairly often, as two of his daughters still reside here in Rochester, as well as his grandkids.

When the time came for the interview, he gave a great talk, and did a dead on impression of John Huston, recounting the story of his audition. He had never done a movie at that point, and it was his straightforward honesty with Huston that got him the role.

I'm looking forward to the possibility of showing Forster the new Blackfriars when he's in town next. Until then, I'll just remember Max's best line:

I'm 56 years old. I can't blame anybody else for something I did.

Pulling back the curtain.

2009-10-08T23:40:00.007-04:00

Phew! I can finally come up for air after spending the better part of the last month and a half being a construction worker, upholsterer, light rigging specialist, and media relations guru. All this as part of the effort to get our new theatre up and running. In the two weeks leading up to opening night, it got scary. Too many things still left to be done, and we had to delay the opening of the theatre by a week. When all was said and done however, it all came together, just like Stephen Sondheim says it does, bit by bit, putting it together.

At the end of the day, we needed to push off the opening day by one week. There were simply too many thigns that still needed to completed in order to get a COO - a Certificate Of Occupancy - which is required from the city of Rochester in order to open to the public. fortunately, those who bought tickets to the original opening night date understood, and we added on an extra weekend of performances to compensate.

The result has been nothing short of spectacular, with most shows so far, save one, being sold out. We had a gala opening on sept. 26th, with prominent film critic Jack Garner acting as master of ceremonies and official ribbon cutter. Garner, a critic for the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, was also the chief movie critic for the Ganett News Service, of which the D&C is a part of. I only learned a few years ago that he is a big theatre goer as well, and was duly impressed with what we have created at Blackfriars. You can see the pics here:

http://www.blackfriars.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=271&Itemid=38

But wait, there's more! (Construction, that is...)

Because of the time frame involved, the decision was made to forego completing construction on the second floor, which will house the dressing room and prop storage areas. it was not deemed vital to opening theatre, as there is a bacstage "quick change" dressing area that can serve as a dressing room temporarily while construction is completed. It also gives us some breathing room while we continue to campaign for more money to complete the project.

We've submitted prospectuses to several businesses in the area for naming rights to the actual performance area, to the tune of $700,000. This works out to $70,000 a year for 10 years - the duration of our lease - in order to not only complete construction but to initiate an endowment fund. This will help secure the theatre's financial future, but so far, we've had no takers.

Pretty disheartening for a theatre that is now it its 60th season. It seems as though the economy is still putting a damper on these things, but we keep prodding along.

Next entry: Max Cherry comes home, and I finally get to meet him. Stay tuned.

Craziness....

2009-09-22T20:00:00.002-04:00

No, I'm not dead yet. The theatre I act with and do PR for moved to our newly rehabbed digs, and we open this coming Friday. I am up to my neck in getting media coverage, amongst other things, so I'm a bit insane. I'll try to post something for the weekend, but in the meantime, you can take a look at our efforts by going to:

http://www.blackfriars.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=264&Itemid=54

It's been an all out effort, but will be worth it...

Because I was there.

2009-09-11T09:00:00.004-04:00

I was in NYC 8 years ago on that Tuesday morning. I was in for the wedding of my former paramedic partner the Saturday beforehand, and it was the morning Mrs. N. and I were due to leave. I remember the confusion at first, as no one was quite sure what exactly happened when the first plane hit, but then watching the second plane hit, I knew right away this was no accident. We were staying with my mother in my old neighborhood in the Bronx. Immediately, and with a sense of dread, we tried to get hold of my brother, also a NYC paramedic. He works the overnight shift, and we were afraid that he might be on overtime, or was called back on duty and sent down there.

It turned out to be the latter, but fortunately, they kept him in the Bronx, and did not send him down to Ground Zero. Next, we tried to get hold of my cousin, who worked at Federal Plaza, which is a stone's throw away from the WTC. That took longer, as all the cell phone lines were jammed, but we did eventually find out that she did make it out of there and was headed back to her home in New Jersey.

I grew up in the northernmost end of the Bronx, so getting out of there was easier than in other parts of the city. We tried to go give blood at one of the local hospitals, but the line was so long for that, and we had a 6 1/2 hour trip ahead of us. We decided that we would give blood once we returned to Rochester. On the way to that hospital in the Bronx however, I encountered an eerie sight, as 2 F-15's screeched overhead of us, part of the aerial the patrol that wound up encircling the city for that day, and several more afterward.

We kept the radio tuned to whatever news stations we could find on the way, even trying to get whatever information we could going through the mountains and constantly picking up and losing stations. There was no music playing that day. Wherever you tuned to, there was only one story. We made it home, stunned, shocked, but relived.

We also realized how close it could have come to being victims, as we were not far from the WTC the day before, taking a day trip into Manhattan to revisit some old haunts.

So when you stop to think about today, think about the lives that were lost, both civilian and rescuers. Keep one rescuer in mind: EMS paramedic Ricardo Quinn, a former colleague. He died when Tower 1 collapsed. You can read about him here:

http://nosheepleshere.blogspot.com/2009/09/project-2996-remembering-ricardo-quinn.html

Because I was there, I cannot help but remember...

A rock and a hard place.

2009-09-03T12:51:00.009-04:00

"Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament." - George Satanyana.

Here' s my predicament: One step up and two steps back seems to be where my life is headed at this point. As much as I have wanted to move forward with both career and life goals, it seems as though I am stuck in neutral, with no clear way to shift forward - at least until last week.

It's no secret that I struggled with depression about seven years ago. A laundry list of reasons, from 22 years of riding on an ambulance, to my illness and transplant, to the loss of a very dear friend, all these things built up to the point of crushing my psyche. It also had the effect of stripping away the best part of me, the Mr. Nighttime that was evident during my long years as a paramedic.

This was driven home to me recently when I was reconnected with an old medic buddy of mine, who recounted the story of what I did in the emergency department of a particular hospital in Brooklyn. I remember the incident well. It was my buddy's first week as a paramedic, so new that the sheen was still bright on his license that he carried in his wallet.

We brought a patient into this hospital that was having some mild trouble breathing, and before we left, I wound up shoving a doctor out of the way while he was trying to intubate the patient, (he was doing it wrong) for he was killing the poor man. I intubated the patient on the first shot, and just growled at the doc to do what I told him when I told him to do it. My buddy told me how awed he was by this that he never saw anyone do that to a doctor before, and to this day he tells that story from time-to-time.

I remembered everything about that incident, save for the part at the end. My buddy told me, "Yeah, but when you told him (the doc) he was about as useless as tits on a bull, that's when I almost lost it."

I said that?

This was the part that got to me. I began to recognize that the Mr. Nighttime that could have the brass cojones to say and do what he did in that emergency department all those years ago, that Mr. Nighttime is what is missing today. Well, not missing, but buried somewhere. It was that Mr. Nighttime that drove himself to being a writer, a speaker, an actor, and it is that Mr. Nighttime that got himself promoted twice within the medical center where he worked.

The person who I was back then was aggressive, and focused. I lost a lot of that along the way, and have been struggling to get it back for the past 10 years or so. I need to get that person back completely, if I am ever goign to gey myself out of this suck-ass job, and where I want to be as a person, and as a writer, amongst other things.

I put myself back into therapy recently, and through an exercise we did, the one thing that stood out was that the most important thing that I saw in myself was my desire to help people. I can't do that as a paramedic anymore, and I have not been able to find that one thing that allows me to have that with the regularity that I was used to: the day-to-day stimulation from riding on that ambulance provided. I get it piecemeal now, through writing, acting, improv and some other ways, but it isn't the same. This is what I think, has been the greatest impediment to my being able to move forward.

My predicament? Getting back to where I once belonged.

Returning the favor.

2009-08-26T22:16:00.012-04:00

"A friend is a friend
Nothing can change that
Arguments, squabbles
Can't break the contract
That each of you makes
To the death, to the end
Deliver your future
Into the hands of your friend"
- Pete Townshend

There are moments in life when things hit you in the face and make you pause, just for a moment, to consider where you are going and what you expect out of the journey. Sometimes, it's better not to have any expectations and just go with the flow. Sometimes, you just have to fight against it. Sometimes, it's odd being on the outside looking in, when usually, it's the other way around.

Reality has a strange way of being a harsh taskmaster.

I have two friends, one from college, and one that I know from my organ donation/liver disease circle of friends. One is dealing with the sudden appearance of strange symptoms that have left him numb in all his extremities, and exhausts him when he climbs a flight of stairs. The other is in a hospital in Hawaii, and is battling for her life while she awaits a liver transplant. It's a bit of role reversal, as usually I was the one that was either sick or in the hospital.

Scott and I go way back. We met my sophomore year at SUNY Buffalo. We were both on the campus volunteer ambulance, both from the Bronx, (excuse me, he was from Riverdale. They don't consider themselves as being from the Bronx. yeah, right.) I knew almost from the beginning that we would be friends, especially when he made a snippy remark at me, and I responded, rather in a crass manner with a remark about the health of his dog, which I didn't know whether or not he even owned. Let's just say that his comeback stopped me in my tracks.

We've been friends ever since. He's a notorious practical joker, of which he takes great delight in inflicting on me as often as possible. We found that we shared a love of many things, from music to movies, and we hung around in a group of closely knit friends back then. As often happens however, people's lives diverge. He stayed in Buffalo after we graduated, got married a year before I did (I was in his wedding party), had a son, got divorced, and then remarried.

We would go through long stretches of not talking to one another, not because something was wrong, but because life was just getting in the way as well as the distance. We did try to get together when we could when Mrs. N. and I would visit Buffalo to see her family, which was at least twice a year, most years.

Now that we live only an hour apart from each other, we have probably seen each other less in the 10 years I've been here in Rochester than at any other time. Go figure. Still, I was unprepared for the phone call I got from him earlier this week. He told about some odd symptoms he was having, numbness in both extremities, and his extreme fatigue after climbing even one flight of steps. These symptoms started slowly, and after a few weeks of not getting any better, he went to the doc for a series of blood tests and other procedures.

All came up negative. My own former paramedic brain went into overdrive, and and the first thing that came to mind was multiple sclerosis. The docs had pretty much ruled that out he said, but they were going to do a CAT scan anyway to check for the lesions that are typically found with them. His symptoms were atypical for MS, but they were going to explore that avenue anyway. Today however, I got a text message from him that was a little unsettling.

At 6:30 this morning, he had a spinal tap done. It seems that his doc began to put some things together, and suspected that it might be Guillain-Barre Syndrome. I needed a slight refresher on this syndrome, but it all started coming back. It's an autoimmune condition, and there is no real cure, though symptoms can be manged, if it is caught in time. The spinal tap will more or less confirm the diagnosis, as there is no specific test for it, other than the presence of proteins in spinal fluid.

This was a shock, especially knowing Scott as I do. He's a big guy, a little shorter than me, but big, barrel chested and very strong, so to think of him as being debilitated by anything, much less something like this was unthinkable. it has affected his ability to work regularly, but his current place of employment seems to be working with him and supporting him. (He's a nurse for an outpatient program that services people with developmental disabilities, amongst other things.)

We're going to try to get together next week. I'm going to go out to Buffalo and we'll have lunch at his home, on me. I'll bring him some Chinese or Thai food. We've been through a lot together, and he is still one of my best friends. There is actually more going on with him, that has made this situation even worse than it already is, but I'm not at liberty to bring it up here, until he gives me the OK.

Then there's Tammy. Tammy and I met through through a support group for people with liver disease back in 1996. Along with my friend Susan, who died in 2001 while waiting for a second liver transplant after her old liver disease returned unexpectedly, we split away from the original group due to the fact that it was too big, too out of control, and formed a smaller, more intimate and private group. The three of us were the 3 Musketeers in many respects, Tammy from Long Island (at that time), Susan from New Jersey, and me from the Bronx. Susan and I were transplanted within two weeks of one another, while Tammy was newly diagnosed with her autoimmune liver disease and was still pretty healthy at the time. We finally all met face-to-face in November of 1997, a few months after Susan and I were transplanted. We all stayed close, even after I moved to Rochester, and Tammy and her family moved to Austin, Texas.

Tammy had a multitude of issues stemming from the medications she was taking to slow the spread of her particular liver disease. In particular, prednisone was the demon that haunted her an literally made her crazy. Things got to the point a few years ago when she simply stopped taking her meds, unbeknown to her docs at first. This caused a great deal of consternation on the part of the first transplant service she was registered with, and she was labeled "non-compliant," which really wasn't the case. The reality was that the transplant team she was with was not addressing her issue seriously.

She finally wound up getting registered at a major transplant center in Texas, and they did not put her back on prednisone. somewhere about 6-8 months ago, she moved to Hawaii to be closer to her daughter and new granddaughter. She was estranged from her son (long, long story there), and also close with her other daughter, who was still living back in Texas. Along the way she got divorced from a husband that could not deal with her illness, and wound up treating her like garbage, along with the rest of the family.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago. It's now been about 13 years since her original diagnosis, and she is in end stage liver disease. She called me from a hospital in Honolulu, where she almost died from a ruptured esophageal varice. She was stabilized, but it was clear that she needed a TIPS procedure to reduce the varices, and buy her more time to get transplanted.

I was fortunate, in that I never had to go through that procedure, even as sick as I was. For Tammy however, this is the last option. She will die without a transplant, and she almost didn't want it. I had to convince her to go through with it. Why? Because after a transplant, she would be on prednisone for a time, and that just scared the hell out of her. She did not want to go through steroid psychosis again. I reassured her that more than likely, her time on prednisone would be short, as they try to wean transplanted patients off of it as soon as is feasible. I am on small doses of it for life, due to the nature of the liver disease that I had. It helps keep my old disease away, which is fine with me.

She had the procedure this past Monday, and it seemed to go well. Now, it's all up to the wheel of fortune for her, and her own will to hang on until she can get transplanted.

It's strange being on the outside looking in. They both were there for me, so now it's my turn to return the favor.

UPDATE: Scott's spinal tap came up positive, so now they're deciding on the best course of treatment for him Keep your fingers crossed.

Partying like it's 1959...

2009-08-17T21:25:00.008-04:00

Time to play catch-up. I've been partly lazy, partly just too busy to sit down and blog, though I really wanted to. So, I will try to encapsulate the last week or so without boring you to tears with innocuous details.

Mrs. N. threw me the party to celebrate my coming of (old) age. We had to do it about 10 days after my real birthday, due to conflicts with my family being able to travel to Rochester sooner. My brother and his family were moving to a new apartment earlier that week, so he was knee deep in packing around the time of my actual birthday. My mom was traveling with them to here, so she had to wait to come up as well.

They arrived later than was expected on Friday, so unfortunately my time with them wound up being limited, as they had to leave on Sunday morning. My in-laws arrived earlier in the week from Florida, and were staying with us. Now, I like my in-laws; no, really I do. Seriously. It's just that having them there for a week, things get a little claustrophobic for me. However, since Mrs. N. only gets to see them twice a year, I would never ask for their visits to be shorter. It does take a little mental adjustment on my part to deal with four people in a house instead of two - all using one bathroom.

What was especially nice was seeing my niece, my brother's daughter, as it had been a bit since I saw her last. She just turned 12, and our birthday's are two days apart, and she was born 36 hours prior to my liver transplant, so we celebrate those milestones together when we can. She is also now up to my shoulders, and that is a little frightening.

So, we come to the party. Yes, it was what I expected. I was a walking target, and was not disappointed at the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune thrown at me. Turning 50 is different than turning 40. Turning 40 for me was somewhat subdued in the abuse department, as just two years earlier it was doubtful as to whether or not I was going to make it to 40. I think that this was making up for lost time.

My brother came armed with a box full of things that every 50 year old sure have: a bottle of Ensure, Depends, and other goodies designed to drive home the fact that I am now AARP material. He also made me choke up with a speech on how 12 years ago, "we almost lost him."

He's a good kid brother, let me tell you. My 12 year-old niece Donna Rose gave me a handmade card that she was very proud of and that I was very touched by.

Mrs. N. took it a step further and used her painting abilities to make me an over sized AARP membership card. Think about the "big checks" that they give people and organizations at special events and you'll get the idea. I knew I should have never let her take painting lessons.

However, I have to hand it to both my sister-in-laws, and my niece Michelle for they topped both of them. My one SIL went so far as to write a poem for me, which was hilarious, and coincided with the presentation of a cane with a rear view mirror and a bell. Very ingenious. Michelle gave me a card that I have to say, was nothing short of genius. It was made up of pennies from each year from 1959-2009, arranged in rows, with certain ones marked off with events that happened that year. 1977, when I graduated high school, 1987, when I started working in Brooklyn, 1985, when I graduated college, 1997, when I got transplanted, 1989, when I got married, etc. I was totally floored by that.

I also got some very nice actual gifts, including the second season of Saturday Night Live, as well as Battlestar Galactica - Season 4.5. All in all, it was a very nice party.

Now, I also did my first improv show last Saturday, and it went well. Michelle and her boyfriend came in from Buffalo to see it. I have to say that I have not been that nervous for a show in quite some time. it was only after I got my first big laugh (thankfully, right at the beginning of the first routine) that I was able to settle down. The way this show worked was that we were paired off in 3 teams of 3 improvisers, and each team had 23 minutes over the course of the evening to perform 4 different routines, hence the name of the show, "Catch-23." We came in second, but the points don't really matter anyway. It was good to get that first show under my belt, and all in all, I was pretty happy with it.

More to blog about later, especially the big benefit show for the organ tranplant program we're doing over the next 2 weekends.

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille...

2009-08-06T22:45:00.006-04:00

It's official: On August 15th, a week from this Saturday, I will be performing in my first show with the Village Idiots Improv company. I've been rehearsing with them for a few months, and the artistic director feels I'm ready to go. I feel good about what I have learned so far, and have been able to use my experience as an actor to move forward at a faster pace than someone without any stage experience at all.

It is a very small space they perform in, holding maybe 35 people at maximum. This translates into being very up close and personal with your audience, but in the world of improv, that's not a bad thing. The rehearsals double as an improv class, where one is taught the mechanics of improv, and if you're already an actor as I am, learning more tools to add to your artistic tool box. If you're interested, this is their website, though I have posted it before: www.improvvip.com

On the flip side, I auditioned last Monday for a play and sadly, was not cast. It was something I wanted very badly, as it was "Speed-the-Plow" by David Mamet, my favorite playwright.
I acted in one of his earlier works once before, 'The Water Engine," and Speed-the-Plow, along with "Glenngarry, Glen Ross," and "American Buffalo," are considered three of his masterworks. His style of dialog, known as "Mamet-speak," is very different from other standard play constructions - and very hard to get down right. Why? Because he writes dialog the way people speak, with a lot of stattico (sp?) delivery, and overlapping conversations. Many of his plays are also known for his liberal use of four-letter words, and for his examination of men's themes. He has been criticized for not developing his female characters very well, tending to stereotype them. His works however, are undeniably powerful.

While not being cast, I have to say that there was a great deal of competition. The play is a three person piece, two men, one woman. There was a large turnout for this, as was expected. I know I did well, as I was kept to the very end, and was not sent home early. I also know I did well by the compliments I got from the artistic director of the theatre, (which is not the one I work with, and do PR for) and the director, and the stage manager, all of whom I know well. The stage manager (who is an actor as well, and with whom I have acted on stage with) sent me a very nice note:

"Always good to see you, and congratulations on a very strong read. We were all impressed by how well you worked with the Mamet-speak."

Directors however have a tough job. They have to go with their gut when they cast a show, and see what they think the best fit is. Having directed in the past, I understand this all too well. I'm just glad I made a good showing of things, and oh well, on the to the next theatrical conquest.

Just like a car wreck, I can't avert my eyes.

2009-08-04T01:57:00.005-04:00

The Hermit Kingdom. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The Persian Empire. Respectively, they are North Korea, Saudi Arabia, and Iran. What do they all have in common? A fascination for me, as these societies are so very insular, and in the case of North Korea, completely closed off to much of the world. I can't say exactly where, when or how this fascination with these societies began, but I can trace its roots.

In 1980, my grandmother's brother, his wife, their daughter and her husband and their children immigrated to the U.S. from what is now the independent state of Moldova. Moldova has been traditionally part of Romania, and like many places in what was the sphere of influence of the Soviet Union, it would often trade hands as to who actually laid claim to them from time-to-time. They came here during the outpouring of Jews from Soviet Union, and they provided me with a first hand account of life in a country that up until then, was only something I read about in books or in the newspaper.

Listening to my relatives' accounts of lines for just about everything from food, to shoes, to toilet paper, to how private property was unknown, and how fear of the KGB or even your neighbor was a daily fact of life there opened up my eyes to just how lucky I was to be living here in the U.S.. Despite whatever failings we have as a nation, we still had far more opportunity and better living conditions than what they faced there.

When I stop to think about it, this is probably where the seeds of my interest in societies that are far less open than our own began. At the top of the list is North Korea. The nickname "The Hermit Kingdom" is as accurate as it gets by all accounts. I won't bore you with a history lesson, as there are many places on the web for you to look up the basic facts about North Korea. Of course, it has been in the news of late; nuclear tests, misslie tests, two American journalists being arrested, tried and sentenced for "espionage."

It's people live with single minded devotion to the "Dear Leader," the wine loving, movie obsessed, all powerful Kim Jong Il. Inheriting his post from his father, Kim Il Sung, he has continued the cult of personality that has effectively kept its people in a form of mental slavery, and has cut them off from all outside influences that, in his view, would taint the spirit of the revolution he father began back in the 1940's. As Hitler did, he uses propaganda in such a way that the cult of personality he has developed invades every aspect of a typical North Korean's everyday life.

As a Westerner, and perhaps even more so as an American, it is difficult, if not downright impossible to grasp living under the rule of such a totalitarian regime. They have substituted a godhead for God in the form of both Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il, and have effectively turned worshiping the state and its leaders into their form of a church. Their idea of what constitutes cultures is limited to music, plays, and other art forms that solely cover anything and anyone related to the "revolution."

Now, it is true that this is my own take on things, and I glean this information more from things I have read or viewed, rather than personal experience. That said, I present two videos that I think can back me up quite well:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VzDqbMUlrU

http://www.youtube.com/user/gasaholic47#play/favorites/19/4RwN2NDqKkM

These are two favorites, but they offer a far greater glimpse into life there than you will find on an American media outlet.

I sometimes wonder how interesting it would be to see and experience the reaction of the average North Korean citizen to coming here for the first time. They have been spoon fed a pablum of propaganda without the ability to question it, and I wonder how they could cope with learning how much of what has been shoved down their throats are lies. Yes, we have our own varieties of propaganda here in the U.S., as all countries do. Here however, we have the freedom to disbelieve it, question it, and debunk it. Try that over in the DPRK, and you end up in a labor camp or dead. The tales I have read from those who have escaped from north of the 38th parallel only seem to drive home that fact. I still however, find myself gulping down any and all information that comes my way. If nothing else, it drives home the message tp be thankful for what you have, especially the ability to question why and how you have it.

Re-birthday.

2009-08-01T00:45:00.003-04:00

12 years ago today, a family made an incredibly brave decision and donated their 17 year-old's organs so that 5 other people could live. I was one of those 5 people, receiving that boy's liver. While I've never met them, I am, and will be forever grateful for their incredible generosity in a time of unimaginable grief.

Donate Life: "Don't Take You Organs To Heaven: Heaven Knows We Need Them Here."

Halfway to 100

2009-07-27T21:43:00.006-04:00

In cricket, a half-century is considered to be a very good achievement. In life, hitting the half-century mark as I do today is definitely a good achievement, considering that I almost didn't make it to 40. Still, it is a number that is somewhat hard to fathom.

50 years old as of today.

I look back on these years, and have to smile somewhat. I'm laughing while thinking of the words of a song by Crash Test Dummies:

"Someday I'll wear, pyjamas in the daytime
Someday I'll have, a disappearing hairline
Oh, oh, oh, afternoons, will be measured out
Measured out, measured with, coffee spoons
And T.S. Eliot."

When I was born, there were no computers, or not at least as we know them today. Phones were big, bulky, black, and operators worked switchboards with a myriad of plug-in cables. I was living in Brooklyn for those first few years, where everyone knew their neighbor, and the local coffee shop was where my addiction for the finest caffeinated beverage on the planet got its start. It's said that I was weaned from the bottle to the coffee cup. My mom, the child of Romanian immigrants. Dad, second generation whose father, was a first generation Hungarian (or at least I'm pretty sure that's where they're from), who was lucky enough to be working in the Post Office during the Depression, and was able to survive better than many other families.

We moved into the projects (council housing for my Brit friends) in Queens for a time. This is when living in the projects did not carry the stigma that it does today. They were designed to be a sort of way station until a family could improve their financial station in life, and hopefully move on to buying a home somewhere, which back in the 60's usually meant out into the suburbs. It appeared as though that was going to be my destiny, as we were looking at a house in New Jersey, when the unthinkable happened; my dad lost his job. We had to abandon the idea of the house, and looked north towards the Bronx, where a brand new private housing behemoth was being built.

October 19th, 1970. We moved up into the Bronx, and this is where I would spent the next 19 years of my life, in the place that would have the most impact on me while growing up. I had my own room, in what seemed like a huge apartment compared to the one we had in the projects, and an unlimited view from the 29th floor. The building was as tall as a Saturn V moon rocket, and the development held 60,000 people from all corners of NYC. It was a "cooperative housing" complex, meaning that one did not pay rent per se, and actually purchased equity, or "shares" as they were euphemistically called.

At the end of the day, it was rent.

It was here that I learned the way the world worked, from having and losing friends, to hanging out in the stairways and running from the local security force that tried to chase us away; to getting my first kiss, and smoking my first joint. Being mugged and fighting back. Learning to drive my dad's 1976 Chevy Nova, and using the back seat for learning about those things that my parents never bothered talking to me about. Going away to college and coming back on vacations and breaks. Hurrying back in 1984 to stay with my mom after my dad had his heart attack and subsequent bypass surgery.

Bringing my then girlfriend Mrs. N. to NYC for the first time. As we drove towards where I lived, she looked at the massive sprawling development and remarked, "You live in that mess???" Ah yes, this was the girl of my dreams.

Coming home after graduating. Getting hired in Brooklyn as a paramedic, where I would stay employed for 11 years. Getting diagnosed with an autoimmune liver disease. Learning that my dad, who was getting sick with symptoms I should have recognized, had contracted HIV through a blood transfusion he had during his bypass surgery 4 years earlier. Waking up in my room on that Valentine's Day, 1988 to the my mom crying. Dad died during the night. He was brain dead on a ventilator after going into cardiac arrest a few days before following a bronchoscopy. I should have stayed in the hospital, and was kicking myself for many years afterwards for feeling as though I let him die alone. He was 62.

Getting married a year and a half later, and moving to Westchester County. I was now officially a suburbanite, though still an apartment dweller. Ten years there. Going to England and Scotland for the first time. Going on a cruise to the Eastern Caribbean. Getting sicker from my ever progressing liver disease, getting promoted at work, getting my transplant, recovering, having the chance to see my niece, who was born 36 hours before my transplant. Another promotion, and then moving to Rochester.

Working on the organ transplant team for a year, then leaving health care behind altogether, and left with "What do I want to do with my life now?" syndrome. Picking up acting again, and falling in love with it all over again. Starting to write again, teaching myself how to do public relations. Losing Susan, my best friend in the world and fellow transplant recipient. Depression, medication, therapy. Buying a house, dealing with marriage issues, trying to find out who I am now.

A lot to cover in 50 years. As with most people, it is a balance of good, bad, and sometimes horrific life events. I almost didn't make 40, but am glad that I can see 50.

A cricket team or batsman can score 50 runs in an afternoon. I scored my runs one birthday at a time. Here's to another half-century.

Willy Wonka be damned!

2009-07-23T01:55:00.004-04:00

Jay, over at thedeppeffect posted this the other day: a chocolate themed post, including Mr. Depp, of course. My mind immediately shot to the last piece of Cote d'Or that was sitting in my fridge. It was an anniversary gift from a dear friend of Mrs N.'s who had just returned from Belgium. I still marvel at the differences between American and chocolate from Europe, especially Belgian and Swiss chocolates. I truly have come to prefer the European variety, as ours seems to be just too sugary. I mean, sugar in chocolate is fine, but overdoing it just destroys the taste of the chocolate. I think I got my first taste of this type of chocolate when I was in England for the first time in 1989, and snacked on a Cadbury over there. I then came home, and really tasted the difference between the Cadbury that we would have here, and what I tasted over in England. Big difference.

So, what is your favorite chocolate indulgence, and what do you prefer? Very sweet, not so sweet, or bittersweet?

Lions and tigers? No, just bears...oh my!

2009-07-20T17:11:00.018-04:00

As those of you could tell from my last two posts, I was not in the best of health for the last two weeks or so, but fortunately the right antibiotic came along and I am back in good shape. I still have a slight cough, but this is not unusual to have something like this linger around for a while. I have talked with several other friends that seemed to have been battling the same thing over the past month or so, and they all commented to me that their cough hung around for several weeks after all their other symptoms went away. At least I'm not hacking up a lung like I was earlier.

There was a small hitch though: The antibiotic that my doctor prescribed, Avelox, caused an allergic reaction consisting of hives and itching so bad that I wanted to take a razor blade and peel the outer layer of my skin off just so it would stop. I stopped after one dose, and he gave me azithromycin (commonly referred to as a "Z-pack") instead. I was on this once before back in 2001 for bronchitis, and did very well on it. I just finished it last night, and it worked its magic again.

The really weird thing is that I have never, ever been allergic to any antibiotic in my life, so this was definitely a first for me.

I did get well enough for Mrs. Nighttime and I to go away to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. This was something we had planned for a while, and we chose to go to a cottage near Canandaigua Lake. It is part of a grouping of cottages called "The Quiet Place," which you can check out here. It is in the area of the Finger Lakes known as South Bristol, and has some of the most gorgeous scenery in the state. It is also very secluded, and smack in the middle of the woods.

We got there Thursday afternoon after having lunch at an orchard we like to go to normally for apple picking in the fall. They were having a luncheon with an all cherries theme. This is a family owned orchard that had been in the same family for about 150 years, and you can check them out here.

We got to the cottage at around 6, and basically just relaxed for the rest of the night. Friday, we went to two places in particular, The Wizard Of Clay Pottery, and the New York Wine And Culinary Center. The pottery shop was incredible, with all handmade objects of various sizes and designs. We picked up a round mirror with a glazed frame as a housewarming gift for my niece. It was pricey, but as all the selections there are handcrafted in their pottery shop, (for which wew got a tour of) it was well worth the investment. I can't show it to you, as it already has been gift wrapped.

For dinner, the owner of the cottage recommended The Brown Hound Bistro, which was in nearby Bristol Springs, and I (both of us, actually) had the best restaurant meal in a very long time. From the grilled seafood bisque, to my steak, (which was as good as anything I have ever eaten at some of the best steakhouses in NYC) and all the side dishes that came with both our entrees. The chef is French, trained in France, and the care that goes into his dishes is evident. We got to meet him, and complimented him copiously.

Driving back to the cottage, we pulled into the driveway, and as you can see here, there is a stone pathway that leads to the entrance above and ot the rear of it. As we pulled up, we saw a large adult black bear standing on the steps, his rump facing us. Now, as I grew up in the Bronx, the only bears I ever saw were either the Yogi Bear cartoon, or those kept at the Bronx Zoo. This was a close encounter I wanted no part of, and I told Mrs. Nighttime (whose car we were in) to, quite bluntly, GET US THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW!!!!

Ahem.

She turned the car around, and we headed to the main house, where the cottage owner lived. Making sure the bear was staying where he was, (he seemed entranced by the bird feeder on the tree adjacent to the steps) I hopped out and ran to the house. Taking some deep breaths, I knocked on door, and calmly (with my pulse racing) told the owner of our unwanted guest. She calmly called her 19 year-old son over, explained what was going on to him, and then he grabbed a baseball bat and started over towards the beast.

Oh, I forgot to mention that Mogul, the owner's 12 year-old white Great Pyrenees dog had run over to the bear, and got promptly booted down the steps. He didn't appear the worse for wear, and I'm sure that it could have been worse. He earned the treats we gave him from the treat jar that was located in the cottage.

The bear got spooked by something however, and ran off into the woods. I was told that the bears in this neck of the woods (pun intended) were still afraid of humans, unlike in other areas of the state, particularly in the Adirondacks. We were instructed to keep the porch light on just for good measure, but more than likely, it wouldn't come back, especially since she took down the bird feeder.

We settled in for the night, and got up early Saturday to go to Letchworth State Park, to see the Lower Falls. Mrs. N. started taking painting classes a few years ago, and recently completed a painting of the Lower Falls from a photograph. This is a photo I took while there:

and this is Mrs. N.'s painting.
(The original photo that she used to paint this view from was shot with a telephoto lens, hence this view.)

These are some more pics from the park, including the Upper and Middle Falls.

(Lower Falls, closer view.)

(Upper and Middle Falls)

Prior to going to the park, we had breakfast in Naples, one of the major wine producing towns in the Finger Lakes. A lovely local diner, Bob and Ruth's served up a great breakfast with enormous pancakes that we delicious.

After going through the park, we headed back north for home, and crashed with a good movie for the rest of the day. Oh, I would be remiss however to recommend yet another good Malbec. Luigi Bosca Reserva, 2006.

All in all, a nice way to spend our 20th anniversary.

Diagnosis....

2009-07-14T16:03:00.003-04:00

It's not the liver. The respiratory infection I had simply did not go away completely, which is what I was leaning towards in the first place. The first antibiotic didn't get everything, so I'm on a more powerful one now.

I still feel like garbage, and will be taking it easy tonight. No work for me...

Round 2.

2009-07-14T01:30:00.002-04:00

Whatever I had is back, only this time, my fever is spiking at 102.5, and the left side of my chest is hurting again. Tylenol is controlling the fever, but I am off to the doc tomorrow morning, and hopefully my transplant team won't stick my ass into the hospital.

I'll keep you posted as I can, if possible. I don't know if my transplant hospital has wifi, if that is where I end up.

This really, really sucks. I went through something similar two years ago, and had such a bad infection, it almost killed me.

Cross your fingers that this is something that some better antibiotics can help.

Evil spirits come OUT!

2009-07-06T14:57:00.016-04:00

I've finally been able to mostly exorcise myself of the demon virus that so willfully and mercilessly attacked me on the shores of Robert Moses State Park beach about 10 days ago. I mean, there I was, enjoying my time with my old paramedic cohorts, recalling past days, and marveling at how much some of us have aged (in a good way). It seemed to creep up on me at first, a little tickle in the throat, some sneezing and coughing, and then the next thing I knew, my voice had bailed on me. It wound up staying away more or less for about four days, causing me to miss some work, and making me feel generally miserable. I finally broke down and went to the doc, though I had actually started feeling better at that point. The problem was a productive cough that would not go away, and phlegm that was looking a little suspicious in my book.

As it turns out, I probably had a small, underlying bacterial infection so some antibiotics were prescribed, and I'm doing far better.

Now, as for the NYC trip: It was a grand time. We got down there on Thursday, and spent most of that day with my mom. She made dinner for myself and Mrs. N., and we just chilled a bit, especially after a 7 hour drive. We left a little later than planned, and ran smack into NYC rush hour traffic. Oddly enough, I was okay with it, took it in stride, and didn't lean on my horn. The only thing I had to adjust to, as is always the case when I drive down there, is that I become more aggressive in my driving. It's like riding a bike. You don't forget how to cut the other guy off with aplomb, and give the finger to the asshole that cut you off, all at the same time.

Friday was a great day. We met two friends, Ben and Susan, that moved to NYC about two years ago from Rochester. They live in Brooklyn, in an area I'm familiar with, in a brownstone building. Susan is a web developer with a small company near the South Street Seaport in Manhattan, and Ben is an audio/video exhibit designer at the American Museum Of Natural History on Central Park West. We met Susan for Lunch at Yatagan, the small but wonderful Turkish kebab house in Greenwich Village. I have been going there since about 1978, a little hole in the wall with wonderful food. As Susan is a vegetarian, there was something for all of us there. She was head over heels with the food, and as we left to go meet Ben at the museum, I showed her some of the other eateries that line MacDougal Street between Bleecker and West 3rd St.

We hopped on the subway at the West 4th St. station, right under what was the old Waverly Theatre, home to the Rocky Horror Picture Show, when it first came out as a movie in the mid-70's. We rode uptown to the museum, where Ben secured us tickets to see a show at the Hayden Planetarium/Rose Science Center, which is part of the museum. It was all about cosmic collisions, and it was the first time I have been to a show at the Hayden in quite a while. I have very vivid memories of going down there on Friday nights back in the late 70's with my friend Cliff, smoking a few joints in the park next to the museum, and then going to the Hayden for the Pink Floyd laser show. (Wait, I can remember those times? Obviously I didn't smoke enough!)

After the show was over, we met Ben, and he gave us a guided tour of some of the new exhibits in the museum, especially those he was involved with designing. As it was about quitting time for Ben, the four of us hopped over to a wine bar that was nearby, Riposo72. Not a big place, but lots of atmosphere, and an incredible wine selection. We shared a bottle of Septima Malbec, and a large plate of assorted fruits, cheeses and bread. We stayed for close to 2 hours, talking and then started walking back downtown towards 32nd and Broadway, where Mrs. N. and I were going to meet my cousin and his wife for dinner at a Korean restaurant that Mrs. N's hairdresser recommended.

We strolled down Broadway from the 70's on down, and for a brief moment, I began to wonder why I why I ever moved away from here. I sheepishly admitted to myself that I missed the energy and drive that New York generates. As we walked closer to Times square, the mass of people seemed to double, then triple within just a few minutes. For a time, I felt right at home again, but then I realized that while I was enjoying the moment, it was not something I craved as the everyday anymore. I just soaked in the energy and the moment for what it was. Just at Times Square, Ben caught this great pic of 42nd Street, looking west at sunset. It had been raining just a short time before, a torrential rain, and the sky was left as you see it here:
Rather recently, within the last few weeks, a portion of Times Square on Broadway was made into a pedestrian walkway. No cars coursing through the vein-like, snaking thoroughfare, that is one of the oldest in the city, if not the oldest. There is only a small break where 7th Avenue crosses Times Square, then the pedestrian mall starts up again, down to at least 40th Street. It is an eerie sight, with folding chairs that the city has provided there for the pedestrians to allow for relaxation if needed. It is an interesting idea, but we'll see how long it lasts, based on what effect it has on the traffic flow.

We get to 32nd, and make the left turn off Broadway, and right there is our restaurant. it's strange how you can live in a city your whole life, and not know that there are pockets of ethnic fare and businesses in a particular area. As it turns out, the area of 32nd St. between 5th and Broadway is known as "Korea Way." Who knew? Certainly not me, and I grew up in NYC. It's all Korean businesses and shops and restaurants.

The restaurant that was recommended to us was Kum Gang San. I have to say, that it was without a doubt the best Korean food I have ever tasted. The portions were plentiful everything was very fresh, and the staff were terrific. It's also open 24 hours, so if you have a craving for kimchee, Bul Go Ki, or marinated beef short ribs, (which are to die for ) then this is the place for you. It is also incredibly reasonably priced for a Manhattan restaurant.

We had a nice time with my cousins, and they graciously offered to drive us back up to the Bronx, especially since it was on their way home. They parked more towards the east side, so we took a leisurely stroll down 32nd St, and found their car near 2nd Ave, and made the 30 minute trip back up to the Bronx.

Tomorrow, the tale of the reunion, and demon that made me speak in whispers.

I'm not ignoring you...

2009-07-01T20:54:00.001-04:00

...I'm just taking it easy. I want to tell all of you about my great time in NYC, but it will have to wait another day or so. Seems as though I picked up something while down there. I first thought it was allergies, but it is becoming apparent that I picked up some sort of upper respiratory infection. I lost my voice for 3 days, and it is still wobbly. I am hacking up a lung, and was feeling better today, but it seems to have turned back and sucker punched me again.

My mom called today and told me that she now has what I have, so that sort of confirms that this was not from allergies.

Off to the doc tomorrow.

The past is calling.

2009-06-24T11:43:00.006-04:00

Tomorrow morning at 9 am, we're leaving for NYC on a trip to see family, but for me, it is a long awaited event that I'm looking forward to.

Ten years ago this month, we made our move up here to Rochester, leaving friends, family, and a way of life behind. It was also the end of my career in emergency medical services. It was one of the hardest, if not the hardest decision I ever had to make, leaving a life and a career that I loved so very much. The problem was that the job was simply no longer any fun, and it was obvious to me that I needed to get away from it. I spent 22 years in that field, with a lot of amazing memories, many good ones, many bad ones, and a few that were flat out horrific. All-in-all, I would never have traded it for anything in the world. The greatest title I will ever have will have been that of New York City Paramedic. The subtitle of this blog, "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe," is not only a line from Blade Runner, but it perfectly sums up the job. There is also another quote from the movie "Bringing Out The Dead," that also summarizes that job. the original novel was written by NYC paramedic Joe Connelly, who I remember, though I suspect he may not remember me.

I have never seen the movie, or read the book, and I'm I'm not sure I ever will. I lived too close to it, and don't need certain memories revisited. I did however, find this quote from the movie that made me shiver, as it was so frighteningly accurate:

"I realized that my training was useful in less than ten percent of the calls, and saving lives was rarer than that. After a while, I grew to understand that my role was less about saving lives than about bearing witness. I was a grief mop. It was enough that I simply turned up."

Now, that said, what made the job so worthwhile were the people I worked with, and none more so than at the place I spent 11 years at, St. Mary's Hospital in Brooklyn. The people that I worked with there became my extended family, were there for me at all times, especially when I was sick and waiting for my transplant. While we have all gone our separate ways, especially since they closed the hospital 3 years ago, many of us still keep in contact through Facebook. We called ourselves "Mary's Mercenaries," as we were paid to work in what was ostensibly a combat zone. Such was Brooklyn, and indeed NYC as a whole back in the mid-80's t0 mid-90's. I wore a level III-A Kevlar vest under my uniform shirt, and was shot at on occasion. We were proud of being the busiest ambulance garage in all the 9-1-1 system in NYC at that time, so much so that we had these off-duty shirts made:

(Front - I don't know why Blogger is rotating this pic this way.)
Rear:
Now for the best part: In addition to seeing family, I am going to a St. Mary's Mercenary reunion out on Long Island at Robert Moses State Park and beach. There are many people I have not seen in almost 10 years, some a little longer, so this is going to be a lot of fun. I also have not seen the ocean in a long, long time as well. It will be great to be together again with people that mean the world to me, and a little sad remembering some of them that are no longer with us. We lost a few people over the years from my dept., either to accidents or disease.

Time for a lot of laughs, a lot of memories, and reconnecting with old friends.

Mama took our Kodachrome away.

2009-06-22T15:23:00.005-04:00

"Kodachrome/ They give us those nice bright colors/ They give us the greens of summers/ Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah/ I got a Nikon camera/ I love to take a photograph/ So mama don't take my Kodachrome away"

Paul Simon - "Kodachrome"

(photo from Democrat and Chronicle - Gannett News Service)

An American institution has bit the dust, a victim of technology and the laws of supply and demand.

When I first learned how to shoot 35mm in high school, Kodachrome was what I learned on, in addition to Kodak Tri-X black and white. It's hard to imagine that Kodachrome will be no more, but today's article in our local paper confirms it. While time marches on, it is also another reflection of the hard times Kodak faces. Modern Rochester was more or less built around Kodak, and it has been downsizing steadily over the past 15-20 years. Once the number one employer, it is now number three, behind the University of Rochester, and Wegman's.

I have not shot 35mm for a while, and my revered Olympus OM-10 has sat unused for sometime, but I am thinking that it might be time to resurrect it. I have thought about saving and getting a good digital 35, but there is something about loading a film roll into a camera, hearing the click of the shutter and mirror that is, well, nostalgic and magic at the same time.

I know there are several photographers that follow my blog, and I'd like you to chime in on this. There is this argument that, as far as I can tell, still persists amongst pro photographers:

Which is better - digital media or film?

Digital media has come a long way in the past 10 years, but I have met photographers that still insists that it doesn't have the color saturation or crispness of a Kodachrome, or other professional film.

Let the argument begin! No throwing of film canisters please.

It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing. Doo wah, doo wah, doo wah.

2009-06-19T23:42:00.012-04:00

For the first time in some years, Mrs. N and I went to see some of the acts at the Rochester International Jazz Festival. This is only the 8th year of the festival, still young by the standards of say, Monterrey, Montreaux, or other, more well established venues. This doesn't mean it's not a big deal. In fact it has gained a reputation on the festival circuit as being one of the best run in the country, and this is from the artists themselves.

It all starts here, at the Eastman Theatre...
Built in 1922 by George Eastman of Kodak fame, it is home to the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra, and serves as the principal venue for all the headliners at the jazz festival. It is also connected with the Eastman School of Music, the most prestigious music school in North America, even surpassing Julliard in many of its programs. Students come here from all over the world to study.

What is even more impressive is that in the face of economic hardship, when many other festivals have been canceled, (including the NYC jazz festival, of all places) Rochester's has expanded and is actually doing better and better every year. Like many other jazz festivals however, they have needed to book acts outside of what would be considered jazz, especially by purists of the art. Still, it makes for a fine music festival, with both international, national, and local musicians plying their trade in the music halls and streets of the East End of downtown Rochester.

We strolled down Gibbs St. after being on East Ave. to hear both Tower Of Power, and Robert Randolph and The Family Band, that were playing on opposite ends of East Ave. Mrs. N. is not a fan of funk, so we wound up listening to the Po' Boys, a band that does covers of everything from jazz to rock.

Of course there were the requisite vendor stands, with everything from hot dogs, to ice cream to t-shirts to what-have-you. To say that the streets were packed is an understatement

To get an idea of who was playing here, you simply came to the bill plastered on the side of the Eastman, and you get a pretty good feel for the scope of the concert:
There are some acts that have been here before, especially one guy, who some of you might know. He is, in no uncertain terms, a legend:
The man is 90 years old and still tours. He is the epitome of the jazz musician who will probably die doing what he loves.

There are other regulars too:
Yep, Rochester is a huge music town, and this festival is just one example. If you're in the area, there's still one night left, so, "Grab your flat hat and your axe/For tomorrow at ten, we'll be working again." (Steely Dan - "Teahouse On The Tracks.")

Blogger annonymity in the UK is dead.

2009-06-16T09:21:00.002-04:00

I just read this story this morning, and almost spewed my morning cup of java all over the monitor:

http://technology.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/tech_and_web/the_web/article6509677.ece

Now I'm forced to wonder two things: First, how long will it be before something like this is tried here, and second, what about my UK blogger friends who choose to blog anonymously? How about it folks? Time to chime up with an opinion. Is this a restriction on free speech? Will this become a first amendment challenge here in the U.S.? What does this mean now for all you UK bloggers?

Let's hear it. Personally, I think it sucks.

This just in...

2009-06-15T02:15:00.005-04:00

Okay, some updates, and a request. First, the shoulder is completely healed. Lots of ice and Ibuprofen did the trick, plus being careful when using it. What made this a little more annoying is that it was my left shoulder, and I am (very) left-handed. The biggest pain in the ass was sleeping, but I found a way to lay down to get to the point where I could get into a deep enough sleep.

Second: I got into the improv group! I won't be performing for at least a month, as they have a policy of seeing how newcomers mesh with the established troupe. Sounded reasonable to me. I am truly looking forward to this experience, and already feel good about the first two rehearsals I have under my belt.

Third, and most importantly: A very good friend, Brandie, has established a new blog. She did this as a way to help her deal with the illness of her father, who just underwent a stem-cell transplant as a treatment for an autoimmune condition that has been plaguing him for several years. I think she would love to have people visit, and also if anyone else out there has undergone, or knows of someone that has undergone stem cell therapy, it would be good for her to talk with people that have been through the experience. Her blog addy is:

http://wherethehellsmysunshine.blogspot.com/

I'll be in NYC in 2 weeks for a much anticipated reunion of my other family, namely the paramedics and EMT's I worked with for so long in Brooklyn. They closed St. Mary's, the hospital I worked at for 11 years over three years ago, and this will be a great time to catch up with a bunch of old friends. I actually have not seen some of them since I moved to Rochester 10 years ago this month. Others I have been fortunate enough to contact on Facebook. We'll be going to down for 5 days, a mini-vacation of sorts, and also will be getting together with some cousins I have not seen in a while.

Lots to do in the coming weeks.

Ow...ow...OW!!!

2009-06-08T10:31:00.010-04:00

This will be a short one. It was home repair day on Saturday, as we had to take off the heavy duty storm door from the front of the house. It got caught by a gust of wind over the winter, ripping the piston off, and causing the hinge to be misaligned. The door would close, but not the way it should, so we removed it, removed the hinge, banged the hinge straight again, put it back on the door put the door back.

Now, this is a fairly heavy door, even with the screen and lower window removed. It is something of a security door that the former owner put on. He was a boriqua from the city, and as soon as I saw it I knew why it was there. This is a commonplace type of door that one sees on homes in the inner city:I actually like it, but taking it off the frame can be a pain. Putting it back was a literal pain.

I have an old injury from my paramedic days, when I subluxated both my shoulders from lifting a patient. In short, I severely strained (but didn't tear) both my rotator cuff muscles in both shoulders back in 1992. A lot of physical therapy got things back to normal, but it would still bug me from time-to-time over the years.

Well, lifting the door back on to the frame I think, aggrivated the injury in my left shoulder. The right one is fine, but I feel the same kind of pain I did back in '92. I think that unless this resolves over the next 2 days, I am off to the doc for an x-ray.

Shit, I hope I didn't tear it, though I suspect I would be in even more pain and have less range of motion than I do now.

In the meantime, here are some garden pics. the irises are particularly beautiful this year:

Making it up as I go along.

2009-06-04T15:07:00.006-04:00

On Saturday, I'm going to revisit a form of acting I tried a few years ago. I stopped doing it not because I wasn't any good at it, but because the company I was with simply didn't seem to know what they were doing. I guess the right word I'm looking for is "inconsistency." There were also too many company members that weren't specifically trained in this form of acting, so I often wondered if what iwas learning was accurate, or pure folly.

If you've ever watched "Whose Line Is It Anyway," whether the U.S. version or the original British version, you're watching something called "short-form improv comedy." Scenarios are given to the actor/improvisors with suggestions from the audience, and they improvise routines and sometimes songs on the spot. When it works, it can be as funny as hell. When it doesn't work, well...

Improvisation is part of acting, and part of the concept of "being in the moment." Using it on stage in a play or musical is somewhat different than using it in short-form (or long-form) comedy. While the general idea is the same, it still requires using slightly different intellectual muscles. When one does a play, one sticks to the script. Your performances may vary from one to the other slightly, but not in the form of the intentions of the character or of the playwright. Of course, in live theatre anything can happen and usually does. There you are, in the middle of a dialogue with another actor when suddenly, he/she goes up on a line. Nope, they can't remember it, and for what seems like an eternity on stage, it is up to you to bring them back to where they need to be. God knows this has happened to me, on both ends, and having good improvisational skills can more often than not get you out of a jam on stage.

I have a friend that is with a fairly new improv comedy troupe. I saw them for the first time a few months ago, and was very impressed. They made me laugh my ass off, which is a good way to impress me. I became friendly with the artistic director of the group, and am actually going to be working with them on a project to promote organ donation, which I'll blog about at a later date. Both my friend and the artistic director have been prodding me to audition for them. my friend knows my abilities, as she was the one that I acted with in a USO-style radio show (done live on stage, not on the radio) just a few weeks ago. I debated for some time on doing this, not because it didn't attract me, but because I was not sure I could commit even more time that I do not possess. I decided to give it a shot and see what happens.

I came to that decision after seeing that they require taking their improv classes, after determining your skill level, before they'll put you on stage. The audition determines where you need to go, basic, intermediate, or advanced. This makes sense to me, as you don't want to put someone on stage that doesn't have a good grasp of at least the basics of improv. The best part is that both my friend and the artistic director have training in this art, which I am hoping will make for a far better experience.

Just because everything on stage is made up on the stage, doesn't mean that there isn't preparation, rehearsal, and practice involved. On the contrary, it takes a lot continuous practice in order to build up improv skills. It's one thing to learn lines by rote memorization; quite another to have the ability to pull lines out of the blue depending on what is happening in front of you. The training you get from having this skill makes for a better actor, in my opinion. it is a sharp tool that you can add to your actor's toolbox.

The basic idea behind this is called "accepting the offer." The word "no" is the single dirtiest word in improv, and indeed, in other forms of acting as well. Working to learn how to accept the offer is the first task one needs to learn, in addition to break away from rote, and developing a flexible mind. For instance, if I'm working with a partner, and I say to them, "My, you're looking a bit like a cow in heat today, " the worst thing they could do is to say "No I'm not," or even "What do you mean?" A better response might be "Was it my leaking udder that gave it away?"

You get the idea.

so, off I go on Saturday to give it my best shot and see if I can do this.

Survivor Massacheusetts: Hers is the only vote that counts.

2009-06-02T11:54:00.006-04:00

I have never been a fan of reality shows, save for maybe the occasional episode of "The Amazing Race." I have found these shows to be trite, whinny, and about as far removed from reality as possible. Any time you have cameras turned on you, reality tends to go out the window. There is always an element of "acting" that goes on, whether intended or not.

Real life however, doesn't allow for voting on one's survival. About the only similarity is that it can take a team effort to achieve a desired goal, or reward. This brings us to Claudia over at Dragonfly Dreaming. She has been given a challenge: A large lump was found in her breast the other day. The team she will be working with has only one goal in mind; keeping her alive.

Claudia is a survivor. She has survived cervical cancer. She has survived the death of her sister. She has survived an abusive past marriage. This is another obstacle that has been placed in her path, and she will need all the support possible to help her get through it.

Did I mention that she is also one hell of a writer? She is a very open person, and while she wears her emotions on her sleeve, she never smears them. Claudia carries enough love in her soul for 10 people, and her bawdy sense of humor is something that makes me love bantering with her. She loves her kids, her husband, her dogs, and her friends. She is passionate and erotic. She gives so much to others. It's time we gave back to her.

She is a survivor. I don't want her voted off the island.

Oh, and she's got great legs. I know, I've seen the pictures. *wink at Claudia*

So, please take some time out of your day, click on the highlighted Dragonfly Dreaming link above, and leave a message of support for Claudia. Tell her I sent you. Tell her she will beat this, or we will be forced to beat her. ;-)

Holy crap Batman!

2009-05-28T10:24:00.002-04:00

David McMahon, a professional journalist/author/photographer out of Melbourne, Australia named "I Am Sam" Post Of The Day on his blog! Okay, someone pick me up off the floor. This is really a great honor for me.

You can check out is blog here: http://david-mcmahon.blogspot.com/

West Bronx Side Story

2009-05-27T10:57:00.008-04:00

For most of my life, I grew up in the northeast Bronx in a place that was new, big, and its own micro-melting pot of the larger essence of NYC. It was truly the first time I had been exposed to people of a wide array of cultures. This being the Bronx, fully half the friends I hung around with were of Puerto Rican descent. Some were boriqua, natives that emigrated to NYC, but many more were first generation Bronxites.

It is where I first experienced food that was outside of my standard taste zone. I still remember the first time I tasted a well-made dish of arroz con pollo, and a cup of strong Cafe Bustello. It was radically different from the standard Eastern European "cook it 'til it blanches" types of fare that was too often the staple of my diet. (However, in all fairness to my mom, she could cook up a damned tasty meatloaf, and her mashed potatoes are still the best. ) There was not a ton of variety in my own ethnic food life, and having all these differing varieties of fare gave me an appreciation not only how good food can be, but how varied cultures can be.

It also enhanced my command of Spanish, which up until the the mid-late 90's, was fairly conversational. I took 6 years of it between junior high and high school, and being around so many Spanish-speaking friends, it got quite the workout. I also learned the most important words, such as maricon, pendejo, and the one that if, you said to a guy in anger, would most likely find you involved in a knife fight, cabron. Alas, while I still used my Spanish somewhat frequently while working in Brooklyn, I lost the ability to speak it conversationally. I lost it completely after moving here, as I have not used it for 10 years. I still remember certain things, but unless it is in the present tense, I can't remember much else.

This brings us to yesterday, and President Obama's choice to be on the Supreme Court, Sonia Sotomayor. She is, a Bronx Latina; her parents are boriqua, and she grew up in the Bronxdale Houses, one of the roughest housing projects in the country, just southwest from where I grew up. Her story has already been on display in the media, and the battle royale has begun as to whether she is too liberal, or not liberal enough. Was this a political pick, designed to ensure Obama's favor with Latino voters? Does she have the judicial background that will pass muster in the Senate? Two things are for certain: For starters, she was appointed to the Federal bench by then Republican President George Bush the Elder, and promoted to the appellate court by President Clinton. Perhaps more importantly, she knows how to handle her self in a fight. Growing up in the Bronx teaches you those things. Whatever the Republican opponents throw at her, you can be sure she will be able to handle it.

I am still examining her record, but from what I can tell so far, she is far more centrist than people realize. She ruled in favor of abortion protesters in one case, against labor in another and for it in a different one. The label of "dyed-in-the-wool liberal" may not stand up under closer scrutiny, but for now, I still need to know more.

What would I really like to see? Some Republican senator really go after her, and her respond with a big, fat, Bronx cheer. Now that would really make my day.

I am Sam.

2009-05-23T23:47:00.012-04:00

One of my oldest friends (I'll refer to him as "Sam," because of the job he does) was up here in Rochester these past few days as a lecturer to a conference of police hostage negotiators. Sam and I grew up in the Bronx together, met in high school, and have been friends for over 30 years. We have a lot of shared history between us, and though we do communicate somewhat frequently via e-mail, Facebook, etc, we haven't seen each other in a while due to the distance from here to back home in NYC.

Sam is a NYPD detective, which if I were to get into a time machine and look back 30 years on, would have been the most unlikely job that I would have expected him to be involved with. We (meaning friends of his) used to make jokes at his expense along the lines of "They're going to let you carry a gun?" As the years have passed, it seems obvious that Sam chose the right path for himself.

I still remember where we met; We were part of the running crew of "Fiddler On The Roof," which was being staged during our junior year of high school. He was brash, bombastic, outspoken, and knew what he was doing, from a technical standpoint. We became good friends pretty quickly, and he introduced me to the wonders of CB (citizen's band) radio, where I was acquainted with an entirely different circle of people that I would become friendly with. We both joined the local citizen's patrol team, and he joined the local volunteer ambulance corps. I was not to keen on that idea, riding on an ambulance, until the summer of 1976, when I saw an elderly woman get struck and killed by a city bus. I felt helpless, not knowing what to do, and it was Sam that prodded me to take a first-aid course with the corps. Little did I know at the time that it would be my gateway into my 22-year career in emergency medical services.

Sam and I were rambunctious, especially when it came to women. It was the 70's, the age of experimentation of all sorts. We shared many things, including jobs, drugs (nothing too heavy), and girlfriends. I remember his brown, 1974 Grand Torino. I especially remember the backseat on many a night in the parking lot at Orchard Beach. If that backseat could talk...though Sam kept himself occupied with his girlfriend in the front seat as well.

I remember the time we "borrowed" one of our volunteer squad's ambulances, drove it to Orchard Beach around midnight, and pulled up behind a van - very quietly - all lights off. We got close enough to the rear doors, turned on the emergency lights, and yelled over the PA system, "WHERE'S MY DAUGHTER?!!!"

It was fun watching the bodies fly up and down in the back of the van while we peeled away. Nope, we didn't get caught.

Sam became a cop in 1987, the same year I started working in Brooklyn. He had been in the medical field for a time, and was even in physician's assistant school. It was however, not to be. A series of events, including a woman that was psychologically abusing him, dashed those hopes.

Sam made his mark with NYPD, first as a patrol officer, then plainclothes, and then his fascination with communications came back to help him, as he got involved first with the Office Of Emergency Management, as a communications tech supporting multiple specialty police units. The big test of his skills came in on Feb. 26th, 1993, when a bomb was detonated underneath the North Tower of the World Trade Center. This was the scene:
Sam was in the middle of all of it, trying to coordinate all the various agencies that responded to this disaster. One of the problems was that there was not one single frequency that they all could communicate on. It was all a bit chaotic, but Sam was directly responsible for getting everyone involved in understanding each other. It was because of his work this day, he was promoted to detective investigator. He became in demand as a speaker worldwide, and then in 1998, he became part of TARU (Technical Assistance Response Unit), which backs up the Hostage Negotiation Team. (NYPD has the oldest such team in the world.)

Through all this, he has survived divorce, amongst other personal disasters, and then came 9/11. Sam survivied both towers coming down, but spent 12 days in that pit, photographing bodies for identification as they were pulled from the wreckage. It was that event, amongst some other ones that brings us up to today.

The Sam I saw here in Rochester is a shell of the man I knew even just a few years ago. The bombastic, supremely confident (sometimes overly so) over-the-top guy was gone. There were flashes of it when he was lecturing to his fellow officers, and when he would be talking amongst them at the after lecture party, but away from them, with me, he retreated into a shell that I never saw him have at any point in his life.

As it would turn out, he told me that he had been battling depression for some time, and only recently started taking medication to combat it. He is also looking for a therapist to help him. He did battle this once before, while undergoing his divorce, which drove him to the point of putting his gun in his mouth and almost pulling trigger. What saved him, which he related to me back then, was thinking of his kids. He seemed to pull himself together after the divorce, as it was in many ways a weight lifted off his shoulders. As with Sysiphus however, the stone soon rolled back.

Looking into his eyes, I saw parts of myself, of my own battle with depression a few years back, of issues in my life that drove me into therapy, and how I vowed never to go down that rabbit hole for anything - or anyone - ever again. I mentioned that term to him, "rabbit hole," and he liked it a lot. He said that it perfectly described how he was feeling. It was the first time in a long time that we found a common connection in this way.

As I showed him around the city I have called home for the past 10 years, bringing him to my theatre, my house, and having him take myself and Mrs. N. out for breakfast before driving him to the airport, it occurred to me that I needed to keep closer tabs on my old friend.

I called a mutual friend in Long Island, who is still friends with another person that was part of our circle of friends from back in the day. That person is a therapist, and I'm going to see if I can get Sam in touch with her.

All I can do now, is hope.

Beware of Canadians bearing gifts...

2009-05-16T17:22:00.014-04:00

...for they just might become a good friend. As I mentioned, Violet Sky trekked across the border to come to Rochester's Lilac Festival this past Thursday, and to have a blog meet with yours truly. As she mentioned on her post, this was my very first blog meet, so I am no longer a virgin, and I don't even feel dirty about it.

I have to give her a lot of credit; the weather, at least at first, was decidedly uncooperative. I thought for a bit that she might cancel on me, but it's obvious that those who live up in the Great White North are made of even heartier stock than we are. The rain was coming down pretty hard on her trek here, and as I waited at one of the two Starbucks that I frequent for her arrival, I was getting suspicious that the festival might turn into a total washout.

I needn't have worried, as it turned out. She pulled into the parking lot, and I spied her as she was walking towards me, and as we recognized each other from the pictures we sent to each other, we both broke out in big smiles, and hugged warmly. While it was still raining pretty well, she was sans umbrella, and I thought she was probably thinking: "I'm from Canada. Umbrella? I don't need no steekin' umbrella!"

After deciding that the first best thing to do was to grab some lunch, and then head off to the festival, we hopped into our cars and I guided her down towards Park Ave, to one of my fav restaurants, Sinbad's. We dined on falafel kebabs, and generous portions of humus with sides of pita wedges for slopping it up. She commented on the size of the food portions, and I had to remind her that this is America. *wink* While we were eating, the sun broke through, and the day took a turn for the better, weather-wise.

While at lunch, we talked about a wide variety of things, a little about our lives, how we got to where we are today, a little about Burlington, where she lives, and then she surprised me with a small gift:

A little bit of Canada in a nice wrapper turns out to be:
Along with this little thing that is now proudly displayed on my fridge:
After stuffing ourselves silly, We hopped in my car for the ride to my theatre (that she mentions in her post) that will soon be closing its doors to move to a new location. Along the way there, I showed her the mansions of East Ave in Rochester, which were at one time the homes of the very rich movers and shakers in the city, including the George Eastman House, former home of the founder of Kodak (now a museum).

After taking her onstage and backstage, we hopped back in my car, picked up hers, and headed off to the festival. Miraculously, we found a good place to park, and headed off into Highland Park, site of the festival. Taking in the sights and sounds, and smells, we stopped for some liquid refreshment, and just talked and talked. I felt a little guilty, as I know I can have a tendency to monopolize a conversation, but I think that we found out we had a lot in common, especially when we were in my car earlier, and I put a CD in that she instantly recognized.

"Wow, that's Pat Metheny!" she blurted out. I had no idea she was a big fan of his, and had seen him to boot. There was no doubt now that we had formed a good friendship.

We cruised through the festival, and it was time for me to leave, as I had to get to a meeting that my supervisor decided to shcedule for that day. We said our good-bye's, hugged, and I gave her directions back to teh highway from the park.

Now, it's my turn to return the visit, hopefully sooner rather than later. This blog meeting stuff is okay in my book.

The Canadians are coming! The Canadians are coming!

2009-05-10T22:37:00.006-04:00

Well, one Canadian, at most. Violet Sky, who is an excellent writer and photographer, lives just outside Toronto, and is coming here to Rochester this week for the internationally known Lilac Festival. Violet was one of the first bloggers that I posted comments on regularly, so it will be good to meet her face-to-face. I'll give her the 50 cent tour of town, as she will only be here for the festival before scooting back over the border. This sort of hit-and-run diplomacy will be appreciated, as she will be the first of my blogger friends from the time I started my blog that I will meet in person.

I will keep you posted on events as they happen, and will let you know of any diplomatic crisis that might occur as a result of this blatant breach of U.S. security. I'll also let you know if she tries to convince me that curling is an actual sport. (*wink at VS*)

Turning a corner.

2009-05-04T21:28:00.013-04:00

Last week was a good week, on the whole. I scored a major public relations coup for my theatre, by pitching a story to an anchorwoman for one of the TV stations (the local ABC affiliate) to cover the planned move to our new performance space this coming fall. There was a local event called "TheatreROCS," which brought together most of the performing arts organizations in Rochester together for an evening of presenting the public a smattering of what they have to offer. It was also a way of bringing awareness to the public of smaller performing arts organizations that don't always get the exposure that the larger organizations (such as my theatre) do.

This anchorwoman is well known in the area, and is also a big theatre-goer herself. She emceed the TheatreROCS event, and I got the idea to approach her and pitch the possibility of covering our move to our planned move. We met for breakfast about a week later, and she LOVED the idea. It's not going to be a one-shot deal either, but she is going to cover it as an ongoing event, from the initial start of the move, right up to opening night this coming September. our artistic director and board president were thrilled, as this is something that doesn't happen all that often here; television coverage of the arts.

Don't get me started on why, as that is a whole other issue.

The same day that I bagged the TV coverage, I did a staged reading for a film script with a director from RIT that I have worked with in the past, a grad student by the name of Neal Dhand. Very talented guy, I acted in 4 of his short films already, and this was a presentation of his thesis film, a full-length feature that is still in development. To my shock, he cast me in the lead. I was surprised and humbled, and even more so when I saw that I was acting with some of the A-list people here in town, several of whom I know. Now, yes, it is just a reading, not the actual shoot. It was a presentation for Neal's professors, a sort of thesis defense, with a Q and A afterwards. It went off very, very well, and Neal's comment to me was "You showed me nuances in this character I had not considered. You were terrific."

Who knows, maybe I have a shot at the lead when he films it? Here's hoping.

Next week is a big week, as I am acting in a one-night production at the Strong National Museum Of Play, a live version of a 1940's USO-style radio show, complete with songs and commercials from the era. I'm playing the announcer, as singing is not something I do. Well, I can do it, but I don't have the vocal training for stage work. At least I know my own limits as an actor. The museum is the second largest children's museum in the U.S., but also has many programs for adults as well.

So with all the down stuff that has happened recently, it was nice to get some positive things under my belt. Now, if I can only make that independently wealthy thing happen.

Implements of mass construction.

2009-04-28T12:06:00.008-04:00

When Mrs. N. and I moved into this house in 2002, one of the things that attracted us to it was that the backyard had "privacy fencing." It came in the form of a stockade-style fence, with swinging doors on either side of the house. It is a far better option than chain link fencing, which I personally don't like.

The previous owners had the job done cheaply, and within the first two years of moving in, several of the posts began heaving upwards. It appeared that the concrete slabs that anchor the posts were not dug deep enough, and with the combination of rain, wind, and general erosion, parts of the fence began to give way as a result. We would prop them up with temporary fixes, but it became obvious last year that something needed to be done to four of the most seriously damaged ones.

Last year, when Mrs. N's. parents made their yearly trek up north for 6 weeks in the summer, she got her dad to show her how to reset one post, and armed with this new found knowledge, we set forth this past weekend to start our version of the Saturday and Sunday afternoon post.

First, the right tools for the right job were needed: (this is only a partial accounting of them)
...and of course, the proper constituents for said re-posting efforts:
and at the end of a long frickin' day, you end up with these: (left and right posts, respectively)
The cardboard tube acts as a form for which the concrete will set into, and then we cut it away and back fill the hole.

While all turned out well, it did require double the usual amounts of Tylenol and other pain killers for my shoulders and back. Things just don't heal like they used to. One more post to go, and if there are any more that need fixing, I'm breaking down and calling a contractor.

This is why I'm happy that I never made the decision to be a day laborer. I was happier (and better at) trying to repair people than fences. Oh, and for the record, we did not uncover Jimmy Hoffa in the process.

A Muddy Waters' kind of few weeks.

2009-04-21T11:59:00.009-04:00

The last 3 weeks or so have been less than stellar. I feel as though my life suddenly decided to go into neutral, for reasons which at first, I could not comprehend.

It actually happened quite suddenly. I woke up one morning a few weeks ago and found myself completely unmotivated. I felt as though there was no point in pursuing the goals I have been for the last year or two, that it was pointless and that I was just spinning my wheels. What worried me was that I had no idea where this came from. As I have already battled depression once before in the past, it scared me a little to think that the "rabbit hole" was beginning to rear its head once again.

It took a few days, but I started to realize that this wasn't quite the same feeling that I had when I was in dire straits back in 2002, and popping Paxil like Pez. This was different. the reason was staring me in the face, and when I finally realized, it was a shock, as I thought it was something I had gotten past some time ago.

In short, I don't feel as though I am making a difference anymore.

When I worked as a paramedic, this was the type of job that, if not daily, at least once a week you always felt as though you were making a difference in the world in some way. I'm sorry if this sounds egotistical, but I was doing things and experiencing things most people couldn't fathom. They may read about it on the TV news, or see it depicted on a show, or even read about it in a newspaper or website, but the actual experience of being a paramedic is something else entirely.

The impact that you can have on people's lives doing that job is nothing short of tremendous. It has been 13 years since I last treated a patient. I was in administration for almost 4 years after that, and while no longer riding the ambulance, I was still "in the business," making a difference in other ways. When I left it all behind in 1999, a piece of me, a big piece, was left behind as well.

In short, I've never had the same kind of mojo that I did while in that world, with one possible exception, when I am acting. Unfortunately, those moments on stage don't come with the same frequency as when I was working in EMS everyday, so I cherish them when they do happen. Perhaps it is foolish of me to expect anything to equal those experiences, but even something like them, with greater frequency, would be very nice.

Movers and shakers.

2009-04-14T02:08:00.012-04:00

I came across a speech given by an leading executive in the investment community that I found rather compelling. It very much sums up a lot of what is going on in American business today, so here is an excerpt:

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, we're not here to indulge in fantasy, but in political and economic reality. America, America has become a second-rate power. Its trade deficit and its fiscal deficit are at nightmare proportions. Now, in the days of the free market, when our country was a top industrial power, there was accountability to the stockholder. The Carnegies, the Mellons, the men that built this great industrial empire, made sure of it because it was their money at stake. Today, management has no stake in the company!...You own the company. That's right -- you, the stockholder.

And you are all being royally screwed over by these, these bureaucrats, with their steak lunches, their hunting and fishing trips, their corporate jets and golden parachutes."

Rather sobering, isn't it? It is interesting that he uses the term, "In the days of the free market...," suggesting the possibility that those days have past. There has been much interest in that concept today. It has been suggested that the United States is heading away from free market economics that has been the driver of our whole economy since practically the beginning of this country. It is being suggested, that with the government having a large stake in those banks and other industries that have received government bailout money, that we are spiraling towards socialism.

It is an interesting war of words. One is not quite sure who to believe, with everyone shouting out rhetoric on both sides of the political and economic spectrum. The complexities of market economics are such that trying to make sense of it all for the average person is next to impossible. Hell, I have enough problems making sense of my Quicken when I update it. What chance do I have trying to decipher (Federal Reserve Chairman) Bernanke when he is up on Capitol Hill briefing Congress on Federal Reserve policy?

The executive went on to say:

"The new law of evolution in corporate America seems to be survival of the unfittest. Well, in my book you either do it right or you get eliminated."

This has been at the heart of one of the biggest arguments regarding whether or not to save the auto industry. I sometimes wonder if applying a little Darwinian theory is not all that bad a thing. Of course, there is the other side of the argument, just as compelling; the ripple effect if you do let them fail. Is it a legitimate argument? Again, I can't tell. Common sense tells me it is. Common sense also tells me that the opposite has merit. Why should we bail out a failing company that can't get its act together?

The executive then went on and stunned his audience with the following proclamation:

"The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed -- for lack of a better word -- is good.

Greed is right.

Greed works.

Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit.

Greed, in all of its forms -- greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge -- has marked the upward surge of mankind.

And greed -- you mark my words -- will not only save Teldar Paper, but that other malfunctioning corporation called the USA."

Teldar Paper? Never heard of it you say? Well, maybe you have heard of it, just as I'm sure you'll recognize the executive who spoke these somewhat prescient words over 20 years ago:

That's right. Gordon Gekko. The model for what has come to be seen as all that is wrong with American business and to perhaps a larger degree, capitalism. In the movie "Wall Street," Gekko is a heartless, cold-blooded reptilian master player on the economic stage. He wrecks a company in the movie because "It was wreckable."

As with most fictional characters, there is a modicum of truth in all of them, and a lot of artistic license. I personally believe in capitalism, in the ability to make money and to be able to do better for one's self-interest. That said, I think think that it also carries a huge amount of personal responsibility as part of that belief, and that self-interest, while important, is not the be all and end all of everything. Self-interest run amok is Enron, it is the housing collapse, it is the bank failures and the auto industry failures.

I don't really believe we are headed towards what would be considered pure socialism, the kind that might be seen in countries in Europe and elsewhere, but I do believe that government is going to play an increasing role in the regulation of business. The trick is going to not interfere so much, that you stifle the very drive and creative fervor that keeps this country afloat. NY State is a perfect micro economic template, with its high tax burden and over-regulatory practices that have been driving businesses away for years. It is not a model that I would want spread to the Federal level, though in so many ways it's already here.

So here's to you Gordon! Is greed good? Probably, in some ways. The unfortunate thing is that greed can become a very slippery slope all too quickly.

Anyone need some more hair gel?

Taking it all on faith.

2009-04-10T17:04:00.009-04:00

This is one of those years where the juxtaposition of two major faiths come together in the celebrations of Easter and Passover. Tradition tells us that the Last Supper was actually the Passover seder, and it is interesting that this year, the second seder fell on Thursday night, which would fall in line with the Christian telling of the final week of Jesus' life.

As I was raised Jewish, we would traditionally have seder's most often at my aunt's house in Brooklyn. Well, they weren't always full seder's, mind you. We were adherents to the ideal that every Jewish holiday was based on one underlying precept: "They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat." I mean, you really can't argue with that, can you? It's pretty precise when you stop to think about it.

Let's look at Passover. If there was ever a template for this idea, this is it. I mean it has everything: A hero (Moses), a villain (Pharaoh), a quest (free the people), and assorted other characters that complete the hero myth very nicely. In the end, the villain, try as he may to wipe out his workforce, wound up getting screwed over. Pharaoh was not exactly the brightest torch in Egypt, and he wound up being a bronze age version of Gordon Gekko.

Moses: Why are you trying to wreck our lives?

Pharaoh: Because they're wreckable!

Then, there's God. Ok, so you basically have Ben Kenobi and Yoda wrapped up in one Supreme Being with a generally unpleasant temperament, who likes to appear incognito (i.e. the burning bush), prefers staffs of wood to lightsabers, and then writes down instructions in stone. C'mon, you just defeated the ruler of Egypt, you couldn't have borrowed some papyrus? Whatever happened to the idea that "to the victor, belongs the spoils?"

The only thing about Passover that makes life difficult is the "no leavening" requirement. For the gentile readers, this means bread with no yeast, or for that matter any baked goods you want to eat. This has translated into matzoh, which translates into cardboard that you can consume. While today there are actually many different types of matzoh that are quite good (onion, egg, other varieties), you had better have some salad or other type of food that can provide roughage, as your intestines will rebel if you don't.

I can certainly appreciate the ideals presented in the Passover story (perseverance, community, overcoming oppression, ), I have moved away from celebrating them in a yearly ritual. Everyday life in the modern age can be a struggle into itself, so I don't need to be reminded yet again of what it is to survive adversity, and come through it with a new beginning, a fresh start. I also think that these stories are, more than anything else, metaphors that were written at a time to provide a framework for a society to find a common heritage and belief. Did Moses exist? I suspect not. Did Jesus exist? We just don't know with absolute certainty. It requires something that I don't have: faith.

"I don't need to have faith, I have experience." wrote Joseph Campbell. He spoke of the idea that all the gods, all the demons, all the heaven and hells of the world were projections of psychological states of being. This was not new, as people like Jung and others had suggested the very same thing. I think that my own life experiences have born this out time and time again to me.

So, at this time of the year, I choose to look at my own trials, my own crosses that I bear, my own efforts to free myself from any psychological slavery that might be encumbering me, and try to break free from them, and resurrect myself.

Phew, that was a lot. Let's go eat.

The magic touch.

2009-04-08T00:03:00.008-04:00

Ever since I was a small child, the idea of space travel has fascinated me. I can remember back in the 60's, watching the last of the Mercury missions, through the Gemini and Apollo programs. Like every other American (as well as the rest of the world) in that hot summer of July, 1969, our family watched in awe as two human beings stepped foot on the moon. My parents let me stay up late that night when Neil Armstrong planted his booted foot in the soil, and the whole world became a bit smaller. I also remember, but not totally comprehending the tragedy of two years earlier, when three astronauts, Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee died in a launch pad fire on Apollo 1.

The Challenger and Columbia disasters. I remember where I was when they happened. For Challenger, I was working, and had just dropped off a patient at the hospital when I heard it on the radio in the ambulance. For Columbia, it was waking up that morning to the horrible news that it had happened again.

It was this interest in the space program that pushed me towards the realm of science fiction, both in print, and in the movies and TV. I fully remember the first sci-fi book I ever read, "The Andromeda Strain." While there were some things in it at the time that were hard for a 10 year-old to grasp, I read it, and read it, over and over again until I got it. From TV, it was the the cheesy stuff, Fireball XL-5, Space, 1999, and even some of the original Star Trek series (not all of them Cake, so don't kill me) to more polished shows such as Babylon 5, and the recently ended Battlestar Galactica, where the ideas that science fiction presented allowed me to dream beyond the confines of my earthly home, and in some ways, helped me to push my own dreams forward.

Then of course, there is Blade Runner. I would be remiss in not mentioning the inspiration for this blog, as well as a movie that had a profound impact on me. It still inspires me to this day.

The unmanned missions to other planets; Pathfinder, Viking, the two current Mars rovers, just to name a few. Then, there's Hubble. I think that with all the accomplishments that other unmanned probes have to list, for me, nothing stands out like Hubble. Its eye has opened up the universe in ways that awe like no other. However, there is another telescope that has given Hubble a run for its money; the Chandra X-Ray observatory. It was this space telescope that inspired me this week, and just makes your jaw drop. It was this picture in particular, that makes me realize how insignificant, and how special we are as humans on this planet:

How incredibly amazing is this? It was labeled the "Cosmic Hand," for its obviously weird similarity to a human hand. The first thing that jumped to mind was Michelangelo's painting in the Sistine Chapel of God reaching out to Adam to give him the spark of life.

In reality, it is a nebula created by a dying star, a pulsar, seemingly touching another nebula. Though the two are far apart, they are cosmic neighbors. In any case, it is a example of the pure beauty and violence that the universe can offer.

A year in the life.

2009-04-06T00:50:00.004-04:00

I happened to glance at the blogpost tracker widget that I have, and realized that it has been one year since I decided to not only leave comments on other people's blogs, but actually try to see if I could screw up the courage to try my hand at one myself. While I enjoyed writing, I've never enjoyed writing about myself.

I suppose that is why I try to blog as anonymously as possible. There are some of you out there in blogland (you know who you are) that know who I am, but for the most part I have found that blogging anonymously allows me to detach myself from me, if that makes any sense whatsoever. I've found it to be useful and has allowed me to open up enough to at least try to make some of these posts mildly interesting.

The other thing that it did was get me into the habit of writing regularly. As a budding full-time freelance writer, it is important that I do this, to keep my skills and chops up to speed, especially in-between writing. It also allows me to experiment, to explore and find my own style. People have asked me "Well, what is your writing style?" To be honest, I can't define it. Someone left a comment in my comments box that described it as "pithy," but he seemed to mean it in a good way. I prefer to think of my style as being as honest as possible, and to avoid the sarcastic, melodramatic jingo that seems to permeate so much of what I read in the media these days.

I also have noticed that my blog entry counter is at 151. Somehow, I blew past number 150 without even noticing it. I'll have to pay closer to that from now on.

So, here's to another year, to 150 more blogposts, or perhaps more, and to keep getting better at what I do. Thanks to all of you that have commented, and especially to those that keep coming back. I am eternally grateful that you think I have something worthwhile to say, and want more of it. I'll leave you with a quote from one of my favorite authors, Joseph Campbell:

"We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us."

Seasonal rebirth.

2009-03-28T14:45:00.008-04:00

While winter has not loosened its grip upon several states in the Plains, we have been afforded the grace of the real face of spring here in this portion of New York State. Though the risk of snowfall is still something that looms ever present, as it is not unusual for it to drop even at this time of the year, for now, for these few days, and especially on this day, the unpleasant memory of this past winter has begun to fade.

Daffodils are beginning to poke their heads through the still hardened ground, along with some other plants, of which I cannot identify. Neighbors are starting to come out of hibernation, and kids on bicycles, and playing driveway basketball are making their appearances. The only thing missing so far are the woodchucks, but I'm sure they'll make their appearances soon enough.

Life returns here amongst the organic inhabitants, and just four houses down from me, life also returns to something inorganic, but no less alive. The phoenix begins to rise from the ashes of a November evening last year that could have been worse than it turned out. A family was uprooted, as their house was blown to embers.

They took refuge in an apartment complex that was basically across the road as they planned what to do. Ultimately, they decided to rebuild. They could have just bailed, as all their kids are grown and are out of the house, but they decided that they had too much invested in that home to simply walk away from it, even though it would not be what it once was.

So, this week in the mornings when I would wake up after my late night labors, the sounds of hammers, drills, an other equipment can be heard. They are surgeons doing reconstructive surgery on a patient that would have been otherwise left for dead.

It is skeletal in nature right now, but by the end of the spring, beginning of the summer, it will breathe with life again as the family that was forced to abandon it suddenly will return to it.

While the most important thing was that they were not at home when the fire broke out, our neighbors were able to salvage much more of their memories than they first thought. He is a musician, a guitarist, and had many vintage guitars that meant a great deal to him. Fortunately, only 2 were lost to the fire, one was damaged but has since been restored. The bulk of what they lost was in clothing, which is easily replaceable.

While they will be returning to a house that will not be quite the same one they bought over 20 years ago, it will afford a new beginning mixed with familiar things. They will have many of their possessions, their memories, and their neighbors there when they return.

Most importantly, they will have their lives.

The view from up here.

2009-03-22T07:49:00.011-04:00

While it was supposed to be warmer than it turned out to be on Sunday, it was just warm enough to start some preliminary clean-up from the ravages of winter out in the back and front of the house. Cleaning out leftover leaves that seem to gather in a certain corner where the garage juts out from the rest of the house, composting them, and some general other clean-up duties. There is one task however, that I decided needed to be done sooner rather than later.

One of the advantages of having my house situated where it is, is that since we are on the highest point in the county, flooding is not something we worry about. We let the folks way down the hill from us take that upon their heads. This means that as a result of our choice of location, we were not required to purchase flood insurance, which is something mandatory for many folks here, especially those that have homes near the Genesee River, which is only a few miles away.

Location, location, location, is the business mantra. We made a good choice for us when we moved in almost seven years ago, save for one tiny issue:

Wind.

I don't mean gentle breezes. I mean big, brutal, "We're not in Kansas anymore Toto." winds. This area of NY State is, on the whole, rather flat. Yes, the hills become more prominent the further south you go, but we are definitely not in a mountainous region of the state. Hence, there aren't a lot of trees on my property to act as wind breaks. I actually only have three in the front yard, and they aren't really even big enough to stop much of anything. So, when the cold winter, or warm summer winds from storms come barreling through, they can cause damage.

Specifically, they can cause damage to my roof.

One of the early skills I needed to learn as a home owner was taught to me by my father-in-law, who had the audacity to actually build his own home in Buffalo in the mid-60's.

Show-off.

But I digress. Since he had these particular skills, he was able to pass on the knowledge of how to replace roofing shingles. Now, I grew up in apartments my whole life, where when something went wrong, you called up the "super," and waited for the offending issue to be taken care of while you went about your daily business. Ah, not so as a homeowner, as I quickly found out that I was the super. For me, the only reason for going up on the roof back-in-the-day, was to take a girl up to admire the view from the top of my 33-story building where I grew up, before admiring the view she had to offer.

Let's get back to the wind. On the occasions when the winds can whip through here at upwards of 50-60 mph, it means that come spring, I make my annual trip up to my roof, (sans girl) to see what hath been wrought upon me by mother nature. Also fortunate for us, we have a low-pitched roof, which makes navigating up there far easier.

Last Sunday I completed that task, and much to my surprise, only one shingle had to be replaced.
Yep, that dark patch in the center was the site of the missing shingle, which, incidentally, I found in my backyard during a lull in the snowfall. The roof was in surprisingly good shape, and we had some truly wicked winds come through this winter. I spent a total of about 15 minutes, inspecting the roof and replacing the shingle.

While up there, I always like to take the time to look around from the top. It's a nice little view. We live near the airport, so I can always watch the planes taking off and landing, as we are in the landing pattern on certain occasions.

Yeah, it's not the most glorious of views, but it beats staring into neighbors windows, hundreds of them in the housing complex where I grew up. In general, I didn't give a crap what was happening in their apartments...unless of course, there was a girl in the window.

But I'm not going to go there.

When the American dream becomes a nightmare.

2009-03-20T00:37:00.007-04:00

I live in what can be called a typical American suburb. Middle-class, working families. Couples with no kids, couples with kids, people who work in car dealerships, HVAC repair people, a true cross-section of typical workaday folks. There is rarely any trouble on my block or the surrounding streets near my house. Oh, there were the times when the former next door neighbors got into a big argument, a domestic dispute, and the Sheriff was called out to quell it. Of course, there was the fire that destroyed the home two doors down from me the night before Election Day, but they are rebuilding. So, I gave no thought to the Sheriff's car that passed by my house this morning, taking only a passing mental note of it as it cruised by my home office window.

I went about my morning routine, then got dressed to go out and run some errands. I took my usual route out of my garage, turning up on to the adjacent street, when I glanced off to the left and saw something that made me bring the car to a screeching halt. What prompted this, I have no idea, but its intent was loud and clear:
I don't know these neighbors, though I pass their house almost every day. They live just far enough off my street that we simply don't socialize. It doesn't matter. What happened here was horrific, whether I know them or not. There are however, two interesting things about this "tag."

When I first read it, I thought the word in pink was 'Gay." As I took a second look however, it is very clear that the word that was painted is 'goy," a Yiddish slang word meaning "non-Jew." This is not something that I would have expected, as the town where I live has very few Jews living in it. While Rochester has a decent sized Jewish population, they are mostly in two other different suburban towns, as well as those that live directly in the city. Either the spray painter does not know how to spell correctly, or, they're Jewish, or, they somehow were familiar with the connotation of the word, trying to give the image that it's someone that is Jewish who wrote it.

The other thing is the proper use of hyphenation on the "N" word. They may be racists, but it seems they're educated.

I was shaking with rage after seeing this, and I can only hope that the cops catch the pricks that did this. I am assuming that, for the time being, it was kids being incredibly stupid, looking for some sort of thrill or an initiation rite of some sort. If it turns out that it is adults that did this, then someone is in need of a serious beating. Yes, taking the law into one's own hands and all that, but, there are times when some Bronx-style street justice has its place. These are bullies, and as I learned growing up, reason does not always work with a bully. There are times that you need to punch them in a sensitive spot so they'll think twice about trying something like this again.

I am hoping that the local constabulary does its job and find these pricks. Aside from what civil justice demands, they'll get a good going over both law enforcement and those inside the joint. Sadly, odds are they'll just get a misdemeanor fine or some other slap on the wrist.

R.I.P Ron Silver.

2009-03-17T01:11:00.006-04:00

I was very saddened to learn of the death of one of my favorite actors, Ron Silver. He was incredibly versatile, and has appeared in a variety of roles on the stage, and screen. He originated the role of "Charlie Fox," in one of my favorite plays, "Speed-the-Plow," by my favorite playwright, David Mamet. He played Alan Dershowitz in, "Reversal Of Fortune," opposite Jeremy Irons as Claus von Bulow. He had a great stint on "The West Wing," and was in so many other TV shows as well.

He was also, for a time, my neighbor. Mind you, not my next door neighbor, but he lived in the same village in Westchester County where I lived prior to moving to Rochester. He was a frequent visitor in the camera shop in the village center where I would go to get my film developed and my camera serviced. He was always quite cordial, though also a little stand-offish. I suppose this was to protect his privacy, for which I can't blame him.

He was also very politically active, which came as a surprise. He was very much a maverick, having voted for Bush in 2004, even after being a staunch Democrat for much of his life. In reading about his political leanings, it would appear that he was more of a pragmatist than anything else. Personally, his political leanings don't concern me. He was an exceptional actor, and that is all I really cared about.

He will be missed.

It's not about religion, it's about violence.

2009-03-10T01:36:00.018-04:00

"Such evil deeds could religion prompt." Lucretius - Roman Epicurean poet and philosopher.

This past Sunday I had the opportunity to attend a staged reading of a play at a local community theatre (part of the local JCC - Jewish Community Center) that I have acted with in the past. They are not a typical community theatre in that they have professional production standards and is a wonderful place in which to act. They also have a play reading series throughout their regular season that is essentially a forum to test out certain plays that they may wish to develop as full productions at some point. Essentially, the actors are on stage with script-in-hand, minimal props or costumes, (or none at all) and minimal rehearsal time.

The play I witnessed was "The Women's Minyan" by Israeli playwright Naomi Ragen. I say witnessed, because one could not simply "watch" this piece performed without it stirring up such strong emotions. The audience becomes voyeur to the closed society of the ultra-Orthodox Jewish community in Jerusalem, though in all honesty, this could have taken place in any ultra-Orthodox Jewish community, anywhere in the world. We peer into a closed society that brooks very little affinity for those who are not frum. We also see the cloak of religion being used to justify the brutal oppression of women in a society that, is supposed to hold women in high esteem.

Ultra-Orthodox Judaism is no different than any other patriarchal society. Men want to keep control over women, so they devise interpretations of religious texts in order to justify their positions. This play covers these points quite nicely, as it tells the story of Chana, a mother of 12 children caught in a 20-plus year abusive marriage. It is not just physical abuse that she endures, but emotional, psychological, and financial abuse as well.

Chana finally musters up the courage to leave her husband, and with the help of a close friend, is able to flee from her home. The price for this freedom is that she would need to leave her children behind, who range in age from teenagers to toddlers. She makes it her objective to not only secure a get - a religious divorce - but to also see her children again. This is not so easy in her world, as her husband, as well as other family members have effectively turned the children against Chana. The community as a whole has shunned her, abusing her with epithets that suggest she is not only a whore, but a pervert. It seems as though the community has come to the conclusion that she is a lesbian, as she sought refuge in the home of a female friend, and has been lving there ever since leaving her husband and family behind.

A minyan is religious term in Judaism that refers to a gathering of 10 men. This is the minimum that is needed in order to conduct such things as a public prayer service, most notably on Shabbos (Sabbath). There are also other functions that require the presence of a minyan, but they are too numerous to list.

The title of the play refers to the gathering of 10 women at Chana's home on the day she returns with an official order from the rabbinical court; she has been given permission to see her children. Her family however, is deeply divided. What follows is not only the exposure of the abuse that she suffered under her husband's thumb, but a stripping away of the veneer of family life in this very insular society.

I found myself seething by the end of the play, not only for what happened to Chana, but for the hypocrisy inherent in those that proclaim their piousness so loudly, only to use it as a disguise for their own ends. I witnessed this firsthand through the experience of working in Brooklyn all those years, right near the Hasidic community. I would often watch the throngs of men going to shul on Friday nights, or the occasional Saturday morning, dressed in their most somber religious garb. Pious men they were indeed - unless of course their own pleasure needed to be satisfied. This is why one would see these same pious, learned Talmudic scholars underneath the Willamsburg Bridge on a weeknight, haggling with the hookers as though they were purchasing jewelry on 52nd St. Never buy retail when you can get it wholesale.

There was a talk back session after the play, (which had several actor friends as part of the cast) and there were several women in the audience that bravely told their own stories of abuse and escape. It was also noted, and rightly so, that while Chana's situation is not necessarily endemic to the ultra-Orthodox community, it is certainly not infrequent either. What is endemic is the position of "blaming the victim," something that extends not only out to other fundamentalist religious sects, but even into our own secular society as well, though we have certainly seen a change in that in recent years.

This play however, was not about religion, but about violence perpetrated in the name of religion. Religion served in many ways as a back drop for a larger issue. It also served as a smokescreen for the denial on the part of those that simply had problems facing the reality of a horrific situation. If denial is after all, a God-given survival tool, most of the women in this play use it in spades.

People ask me why I turned away from my faith. This was part of the reason; not the abusive part of it, as it was not something I witnessed in my own home, but rather the hypocritical nature of what I witnessed in many situations. So often, we see those who proclaim their righteousness with such fervor, only to be poor examples of it themselves. I would rather live my life as an atheist, and do what good I can, than wear my religion on my sleeve while I cut off the other sleeve in the process.

Haute couture

2009-03-01T22:55:00.016-05:00

Every once in a while it's good to step out of one's comfort zone and try a little something different. While I am involved in the arts, it doesn't mean that every type of artistic endeavor appeals to me. Take opera, for example. While there are many forms of classical music I do enjoy, opera is something I can take or leave. I think it depends on which form of opera I am confronted with at the time. Wagner, for example, makes me want to open a vein. Mozart on the other hand, can be truly delightful. Every once in a while however, I come across something new that for some reason, makes me stand up and take notice. In this case, I got to experience a magnificent piece of work firsthand.

Mrs. Nighttime sings (mezzo-soprano) with a local 45 voice chorale group, the Gregory Kunde Chorale. Who is Gregory Kunde, you may ask? He is an internationally recognized bel canto tenor, and has sung in most, if not all, of the major opera houses in the world. He is ranked in the same league as Pavarotti, Domingo, Carreras, et. al. He actually understudied for Pavarotti in the past. While not a household name here in the U.S., Kunde has a large following in Europe.

He is also, a resident of the Rochester area. The man could live anywhere, and he chooses to live right here.

As a working musician, he travels around the world frequently, and as fate would have it, this past Saturday found him in Toronto, a mere 2 1/2 hours from Rochester. He was singing "The Damnation of Faust," by Berlioz at Roy Thomson Hall, with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Several members of the chorale decided to make a suicide run (back and forth in the same night, rather than staying overnight) and we hopped along for the ride. As it was a Saturday, the ride across the Peace Bridge from Buffalo to Ft. Erie was uneventful, and even the border guard was pleasant. We got into Toronto at 6 pm, and with the show not until 8, we stopped into the Elephant and Castle across the street from the hall for dinner (We already bought the tickets prior.).

The concert itself was magnificent, the acoustics in the hall were perfect, and we got to see Greg while he was "working." While he often does some solo signing with the chorale, it is quite another thing to see him in action, and what a magnificent voice he possesses. You can get a sample here, and here. Afterward, as we were invited guests, we went back to his dressing room to congratulate him, as well as the others with whom he was singing. Ah, but the night was not over.

Greg invited us to go out with him to Le Select Bistro, a wonderful French bistro off of Spadina Ave. I cannot even begin to describe how perfect the food was in this place. Greg's comment was "You're in France when you eat here." As he has been to France so many times, we took him at his word. He did not disappoint. While we had already eaten dinner, we decided a nice dessert and coffee would top off the evening. I chose the chocolate gateaux with passion fruit sorbet, and fresh blackberries.

Mrs. Nighttime had the creme brulee, and both were done to perfection. This was washed down with Spanish coffee with a liqueur whose name escapes me. Greg had a risotto dish that he passed around for all to try, and it was incredible. After much food and talk, it was time to leave, as it was almost 1 am. Greg was grateful that we made the trip to see him, and we thanked him for the meal, as he picked up the tab.

We made it back to Rochester at 4 am, exhausted, but satisfied with such a great evening. It's a rare treat, but I have bookmarked that bistro, and will find a way to get back there for a full dinner.

Hope springs eternal.

2009-02-26T13:57:00.004-05:00

I have been in something of a funk lately. I would have thought with so many things going right, that the last thing I would have to deal with is being in a revolving blue mood. No, it's not the economy that bothers me, though it does impact me in some ways. It's not the stock market tanking worse than the Buffalo Bills did this season. It's just this odd feeling that I am not progressing as fast as I would like with my writing business, and in part that I need to get out of my current place of employment. Fast. Like, yesterday. Yes, I know I have expressed this opinion in the past, but the need to find a healthier work environment has never been more dire. It will mean giving up the nice, cushy environment of telecommuting every day, but at this point my mental health is of far greater importance. I'm just sick of my brain turning to goo every night that I log on to my work VPN and deal with the same stuff over, and over and over.

To that end, I have stepped up my job search efforts through relentless networking. I did get hooked up with a recruiter who was very supportive, and very impressed with my resume. They specialize in IT and healthcare, and this was the first recruiter that I have ever met that truly seemed personally interested in helping me. I need to follow-up with her today or tomorrow, but I am somewhat hopeful that she will be able to crack open some doors in places that I have not been able to get into in the past.

I also have needed to step up my business efforts. It's been a difficult transition to learn how to be a businessman, and I know a lot of it is my fault. I have been concentrating far more on the writing aspect, which is no less important, but I also need to concentrate on how to effectively market myself. I'm going to start next week by attending a local networking organization for small businesses to try and make more contacts and get better ideas.

I found some inspiration in my friend Sonia. She is a dynamic British transplant that has been living here in Rochester for many years, though she did a stint in Atlanta for a few years. She moved back here after deciding that two hour commutes was just not her thing anymore. Sonia was big in the PR community and film community here, as well as having an incredibly good outlook on life. We talked a lot about self-motivation, how we change and mature through different stages of life, and that she is going to use whatever contacts she has to try and help me out. We met at a local Starbucks, and between her and the cup of Sidamo, it was a much needed shot in the arm.

I have accomplished a great deal in the past year or so. I gained a great deal of traction in taking charge of my life again, like I used back in NYC. I lost a lot of that drive over the past few years, and worked like a dog to get it back.

I don't want to lose that momentum. I think it is time for a retread.

The night sportsmanship and humanity were revived.

2009-02-20T00:33:00.004-05:00

A-Rod admits to steroid use. Fighting in hockey games is epidemic. Parents at Little League games beat up on each other. Large salaries, bigger egos. Welcome to sports, 2009. While this is not a new phenomenon, it still makes one long for the days when playing for the love of the game, whatever it was, and not only the money, was what made sports so good. Even the most dedicated fan has an edge of cynicism about the state of sports.

However, every once in a while, a story comes along that restores your faith, even if it is only for the moment. I can't say anything more than what has been reported here, so read on and enjoy.

http://highschool.rivals.com/content.asp?CID=914609

Bittersweet.

2009-02-15T01:33:00.008-05:00

Under normal circumstances, the title of this post would refer to chocolate, today being Valentine's Day. For the pessimistic amongst us, they view this holiday as a contrivance, something made up so that certain corporations, the greeting card industry amongst them, can increase their profit margin. For the romantics of the world, this is their day to celebrate. For me, it is a day that results in an emotional rollercoaster. On this day, in 1988, my dad died.

In 1984, I was in my junior year at college. I was living off campus at the time, right outside downtown Buffalo. It was a great apartment, though far removed from campus life. It was a Saturday morning in April, and I got an early morning phone call from my mom. Dad had a heart attack. I still remember very vividly slumping to the floor, overcome with emotion. I was working as a paramedic part time while away at school. They say too much knowledge can be a bad thing. In my case, it turned my life at that moment into a horror show.

My first reaction was to hop in my car and run down home, but my dad was not having any of it. He told me, through my mom, that he didn't want me coming. He said he was okay, and didn't want me to lose any time in school. I was extremely conflicted, but acquiesced to his wishes. However about four days later , though he was stable, it was determined that he would need double-bypass cardiac surgery. This time, I was the one not having any of it, and I told my mom I was coming down. "Don't tell him I'm coming if it is going to upset him." I said.

Driving down, as it turns out wasn't an option, so I quickly arranged to fly out of Buffalo into Newark. My brother picked me up, and we went to the hospital the day of the surgery. It went well, and he came out of it with flying colors. During the surgery however, he did need to have a unit of blood transfused. Not unusual for this surgery. Unfortunately, this was 1984, and in 1984, having a blood transfusion was anything but normal.

The signs of it should have been obvious to me. Denial is a powerful tool, and I probably was using it far more unconsciously that I would have cared to admit. It wasn't until a short time before he died that reality came crashing down.

Dad had AIDS. He contracted it in the transfusion. It was six months before the screen had come out. It was now 1988, and he was laying in a hospital bed, on a ventilator after going into cardiac arrest while undergoing a bronchoscopy. They revived his body, but his mind was gone. On February 13th, I kissed him good-bye for the last time. I went home, (I had graduated and was working in Brooklyn at this point.) crawled into bed, and was awakened by my brother the following morning. Dad died around 6 am, Valentine's Day, 1988.

It would forever alter what should be, under normal circumstances, a pretty happy day.

Last year was the worst it had been in a very long time. Twenty years was a bit of a milestone. This year was was better. Mrs. Nighttime and I went to dinner at a great Italian place near our home last night, and tonight we went to an improv comedy show that had a couple of friends performing in it. It was a good way to keep my mind off of it, not that I was forgetting about dad, but trying to counteract the sadness that in the past has overtaken me. Dad loved a good laugh, gave me some of my best jokes, so I think it was a rather appropriate thing to do.

So, the bittersweet feeling may not be from the chocolate that is consumed today, but it does have the same effect. In the end, you accept it for what it is, and try to enjoy the good parts, the parts that satisfy.

Broadcast me a joyful noise.

2009-02-08T01:17:00.009-05:00

" We're sick of being jerked around
We all fall down."

I have a friend I will call "Sam." Sam is one of those people that look at life as something that is constantly out to get him. Mind you, he's had some rough going in recent years; multiple moves within a 2-3 year period, a job that he thought was going to be far better than it is, and dealing with a whole host of other ills. He's a friend that I have needed to step back from a bit, especially after a nasty incident last year that tested my patience. I can be a very loyal friend, but when I feel that friendship is being abused, I do not take it well.

All this aside, he is simply not an optimistic individual. It is not in his make-up, and therein lies the problem. Negativity. It seems as though over the past several years, I have been encountered too many people in my life that are of the "glass half empty" variety. It is especially difficult when I am trying hard to keep focus on carving out a new career, or rather an old passion that is turning into a new career.

The yin and yang that is life requires us to accept that which is inevitable; people in our lives come and go. They can energize us or depress us, but it is how we react to it that molds our outlook. I think that what partially fueled my depression in past years was the fact that all too often I paid too much heed to those that swung too far in the direction of that which is dark. It was easy, as misery does indeed love company. There was a certain solace in the fact that others were in an even more screwed up state than I was, which is pretty amazing looking back on it from a distance.

"Its been a bad day.
Please dont take a picture
Its been a bad day.
Please"

After going through my illness and transplant experience, you might think that it should be easy to look at life more positively, and on the whole, I do. Coming close to death (twice now, actually) made me understand that truth that I always knew, but never fully realized; life is fleeting. Enjoy your life now. One of my heroes, Joseph Campbell was asked by Bill Moyers, "You mean you are describing the search for the meaning of life?" "No." was Campbell's reply.
"I think that what we're searching for is an experience of being alive."

I think that this is what has allowed me to shift my view of who I am keeping company with these days. I don't deny the existence of the negative elements of my life, as this would be too Pollyana-ish of me. It would also go against the realistic, cynical part of my nature, which helps keep my common sense in tune. I do think though that it is far more important for me to maintain and nurture those friendships that help me keep focused on the energy that is positive, that will drive me towards making what I want to do a reality.

"Broadcast me a joyful noise unto the times, lord,
Count your blessings."

I feel guilty.

2009-02-03T21:53:00.008-05:00

Is it normal for bloggers to feel guilty for not posting as often as they were in the past? It certainly isn't by choice on my part. I just have been so busy over the past two weeks, that every time I sit down to write something, my brain freezes, and I am not really sure what I want to write about. One thing is for sure; I must be hallucinating. I could swear when I sat down in front of the computer the other day, I heard it say to me (in a Jewish mother kind of way), "Nu? You couldn't pick up the keyboard and blog a little? What am I, chopped liver?"

Either I was dreaming when I thought I heard this, or I need to up the meds.

Well, let's see; on the good news front, that friend of mine, the actor who was let go from the improv troop, has just about secured an interview for a professor position at the local community college for early childhood development. I helped edit her teaching philosophy statement, and I'm crossing my fingers for her. Everyone who knows what happened to her was shocked, and I think it is going to hit the fan at that improv team. They need more oversight from the theatre they work out of, and this might be the straw that has broken the camel's back.

However, she has also invited me to help her teach an acting class for adults and another for high school kids. The one for high school kids came out of a discussion we had one day where we both agreed that doing the school play isn't really learning how to act. Most high school kids aren't taught the tools of acting; how to break down a scene, what is an action, what is an objective, how to stay "in the moment." This will be a first for me, but she feels I am ready to go for it.

It is 3:16 in the very early morning here, so I am off to bed.

Ignorance can be cured. Stupidity is forever.

2009-01-29T00:11:00.003-05:00

The utter stupidity of people never ceases to amaze me.

I have a friend, a local actress, that was working with a local theatre's comedy improv company. I say was, because as of today, she was let go. Mind you, she's probably the most trained member of that group, has formal and informal credits up the wazoo, takes her art very seriously, and therein seems ot have been the issue. She was evaluated as being too serious for comedy improv.

What a load of crap.

I have seen her perform, and she was one of the best up there during the skits. (She probably was number two, behind this one guy who was very good.) It seems as though the powers that be that run this circus act seem to think that during rehearsals, she was too serious, and that she didn't loosen up enough. Excuse me, but, at the end of the day, what counts is what happens on stage during performance, period. From what I can tell, she was just fine, very loose, not nervous, and very quick as far as the routines were conencerned. (Short-form improv, a la "Whose Line Is It Anyway?")

Now, there was a small problem with one skit that they were planning to do, based on horror movies. She had an incident happen to her many years ago in which a friend of hers was killed, and while she was willing to participate in the skit, she just asked that nothing be directed at her eyes or neck. Of course, the heads of the troupe were a little shocked by what she told them, but, she never expected them to react the way they did.

So I get a phone call from her today, and she tell me they let her go. No explanantion other than what I described above, refusing to give her any other reason.

In essence, they fired her for being human.

So, they let go someone that could have been an asset to them with just a little more time to adjust to this style of performing, (she had been there about 8 months.) instead of trying to approach her and extend a hand to help. They blew it, and as I also found out, they never really made her feel totally welcome in the group, which didn't help matters any.

I am here to listen to her, but I know this has killed her self-esteem big time. She is a talented childrens educator, she uses improv and theatre to create innovative programs for kids, and I have seen the letters of commendation and outright gushing over what she has created for a variety of children's organizations. Oh, and in case you were wondering, she's acted in off-Broadway, regional, and London West End shows, so she's no slouch.

As far as I'm concerned, this improv group is run by a team of trained monkeys. For now, the best I can do for her is lend an ear, and hopefully offer some suggestions.

Nighttime disturbances.

2009-01-23T22:30:00.005-05:00

I'm not sure why this is happening, but for at least 3 nights this week I have been having a series of pretty violent nightmares. Nothing cohesive mind you, and hard to remember them after I wake up (not the I really want to remember them anyway). I'm not sure why these are happening, as I don't get nightmares on any sort of regular basis. There is only one relevant factor I can point to, that being my blood sugar being somewhat lower than normal before I go to bed. I have to give myself a dosage of long acting insulin prior to bedtime, so I am wondering if it is dropping lower during sleep than normal, hence causing my neurons to fire wildly, and causing my brain chemistry to play nasty tricks on me.

Unfortunately, there was no constant theme throughout these horror images, other than the fact that all involved a woman that was trying to do me harm. As I have read Jung in the past, I am tempted to try and find the symbolic nature of what all this represents (I'm staying away from Freud. Don't even want to go there.). Female looking to destroy me...hmm...will have to look this one up.

I did however have one moment of terror, in which I woke up practically hyperventilating. It took me a good 2-3 minutes to get my bearings, and when I did, the entire imagery of what got me into this state was gone. I couldn't remember what exactly it was I was dreaming about or why. Maybe this is the brain's way of protecting itself against trauma, or maybe I unconsciously chose not to remember.

Ah well. Maybe it's true that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Ok, you can stop peeking now...

2009-01-19T12:08:00.006-05:00

...as this is National De-Lurking Week. I had no idea there was such a thing until Jay over at The Depp Effect clued me in. So please, pop in, say hello, and have a coffee on me. I know there are peekers (yeah, I know, it's not a word) out there, so please, let's see you.

Through my mind, darkly.

2009-01-19T02:13:00.002-05:00

"I caught sight of my reflection
I caught it in the window
I saw the darkness in my heart
I saw the signs of my undoing
They had been there from the start
And the darkness still has work to do
The knotted chord's untying
They're heated and they're holy
Oh they're sitting there on high
So secure with everything they're buying

[Chorus:]
In the blood of Eden
Lie the woman and the man
With the man in the woman
And the woman in the man
In the blood of Eden
Lie the woman and the man
We wanted the union
Oh the union of the woman
The woman and the man

My grip is surely slipping
I think I've lost my hold
Yes, I think I've lost my hold
I cannot get insurance anymore
They don't take credit, only gold
Is that a dagger or a crucifix I see
You hold so tightly in your hand
And all the while the distance grows between you and me
I do not understand

[Chorus]

At my request, you take me in
In that tenderness, I am floating away
No certainty, nothing to rely on
Holding still for a moment
What a moment this is
Oh for a moment of forgetting, a moment of bliss
Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

I can hear the distant thunder
Of a million unheard souls
Of a million unheard souls
Watch each one reach for creature comfort
For the filling of their holes

In the blood of Eden
Lie the woman and the man
With the man in the woman
And the woman in the man
In the blood of Eden
We wanted the union
Of the woman and the man

In the blood of Eden
Lie the woman and the man
I feel the man in the woman
And the woman in the man

In the blood of Eden
Lie the woman and the man
I feel the man in the woman
And the woman in the man

In the blood of Eden
We've done everything we can
In the blood of Eden
Saw the end as we began
With the man in the woman
And the woman in the man
It was all for the union
Oh, the union of the woman, the woman and the man."

Peter Gabriel - "Blood of Eden"

Since hell has frozen over, I'm moving to limbo where it's warmer.

2009-01-14T21:38:00.006-05:00

By even western NY standards, it is really cold. I mean freeze your butt off cold. I mean the kind of cold that makes you think that living in a western state like Arizona, even with the possibility of it having no water in the future, looks like a good idea.

Please take note of the image above. While you can't see it, the temperature is 9 degrees. (That's Fahrenheit, not Celsius, for all my European and other worldly bloogers.) That's the temp right now, and it is expected to dip even further tonight, and in the coming days. It will even enter negative territory with the wind chill. In short, my kitchen freezer will seem like a tropical paradise compared with being outside.

I had to go into my basement just to make sure the sump pump is not freezing up, and it seems to be okay. We haven't had this kind of cold in several winters, so I suppose we were due for it, but still, it is annoying. I blame Canada. Why? Well, first off, it's easy. Secondly, they always seem to dump their weather down on us here.

I suspect I will now get a tongue lashing from Violet Sky about this. Must be the cold.

You know that old saying; "It'll be a cold day in hell when...(insert your favorite action here)"

If you live up this way, you had better start making good on those promises.

Another interview meme.

2009-01-13T21:15:00.009-05:00

Julia, over at In Java, Literally, has answered an interview meme, and passed along her willingness to do the same. While I did this a few posts ago, I thought it might be nice to try a different one, but will make it my last for a bit.

1. You walk into a room, what do you see?

A mess. A bloody, awful mess. This is my home office, and I really need to make more headway in getting it into shape. The funny thing is, when I was the director of QA back in my medical center in NYC, having a messy office was so anathema to me. I kept it very organized, so I am trying to remember back to my days of yore and figure out what I need to do to get organized.

2. What year changed your entire life?

Easy. 1997, the year I had my liver transplant. Everything changed after that, mostly good, some bad.

3. What are you proud of?

The work I did as a NYC paramedic. I did things and helped people in ways that most others only read about. Of all the titles I may carry, that of NYC-EMS paramedic will always be my proudest. I also am proud of what I see as my growth as an actor. I have been asked to do plays and movies without needing to audition, which tells me I must be doing something right. I also am proud of the things I have written, even though there are many times I really don't believe I'm any good at it.

4. Why do you live where you live?

Quieter life, and because while I miss many things about NYC, I simply can't live there anymore.
I needed to slow down.

5. What is your favorite hobby and why?

Not to beat a dead horse, but acting. It is very, very freeing. It allows me to express things that I have hard time doing in my everyday life. It is also the thrill I get from feeding off the energy of an audience, or the sensation of what can only be akin to an orgasm when I do or say something that makes an audience laugh. I love taking the printed word, creating a character with it, and bringing it to life.

Want to be interviewed?

Follow these instructions:

Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Another coffee post.

2009-01-13T02:12:00.005-05:00

Back in June, I posted this about my semi-obsession with a good cup o' joe. I have been meaning to post another one of my java hangouts, Starry Nites Cafe, in the city of Rochester at the University Ave/Atlantic Ave. split.

While I don't get there as often as some other places, I do enjoy the atmosphere here, and they have an excellent wireless connection, which makes for some good work when I do get here.

This is technically a coffee shop and wine bar, and they have an excellent selection of food and desserts as well. (The brownies are to DIE for.)

They are in the Neighborhood of the Arts, which you can find out more about here. It is also a favorite hangout for a lot of the RIT filmmakers, and after doing a staged reading of a fim script late last September, we all piled into cars and took over the place.

So, when you come to visit, I'll be more than happy to take you there, and feed you a brownie. Oh, and as the name suggests, it has a bit of a Van Gogh theme to it, but you don't have to give up an ear to enjoy the place.

I'm so damn tired, so...

2009-01-12T01:19:00.001-05:00

I wonder if my health insurance covers this?

2009-01-09T10:27:00.001-05:00

Wonder what my co-pay would be?

Changez I make...no argument.

2009-01-08T01:43:00.005-05:00

I didn't go to school to become a writer. I did it by writing a piece for a professional journal for paramedics in 1989, and it sort of took off from there. Along the way, I was guided by an editor at the magazine that taught me by simply taking my articles, and pointing out what had to be changed and why. With each succeeding article I got better and better, and learned my craft the old fashioned way; I just did it.

Of course, she could be brutal at times, and this earned her the nickname of "The Chainsaw," among the rest of us that wrote for the magazine. She could be merciless on articles when needed. I remember one particular time when I submitted a book review on a non-fiction novel about life as a NYC paramedic, and promptly tore the book to shreds in the review. Barbara called me up and said that she loved the piece, but, she couldn't print it.

"Why?" I inquired, somewhat devastated. I was so very proud of the piece, especially as it came out of a stream of consciousness, one of the first times I had ever done that while writing.

"Well, it's very good, but it borders on libel." she explained.

"Oh." I said, realizing that maybe I went just a tad too far in my criticism of that piece of shit that was passing for a "real look at the life of a NYC paramedic," an opinion I hold to this day.

So, she kept the good bits and in true chainsaw fashion, made it more palatable to the legal department at the magazine. I still felt as though I had my heart torn out, but I understood the reasons why.

So today, I came across the feline above , and thought to myself, "This was probably the kind of cat Barbara had." Yeah. Editor Kitteh.