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Oh, me and my moving about. I have been living in this apartment in Chelsea for only 8 months (still more than double the last place I lived), but I have come to like the neighborhood and its conveniences quite a bit. That said, I am very excited to be moving into my new place in Hudson Yards (or Clinton, or Hell’s Kitchen, or Hellsea), a new one bedroom all to myself. This will be the first time I have lived alone in something like 15 years. I have always had roommates (and almost always liked having roommates), so it will be interesting to set the rules of a place by myself. The movers come in just 10 hours or so, and this time tomorrow night I will be all settled (more or less) in the new high rise, 14 floors above ground. And although one can never predict the future, I have a feeling I won’t be moving again for a good long while.
Satori, Stephen on 4 March 2010 @ 10:34 PM — 0 comments
Lest you think I have permanently abandoned the idea of keeping a blog the answer is no. I shall return at some point in the very near future, I am just experiencing a perfect storm of a LOT of new work (a very good thing indeed) coupled with making preparations for my impending move to a new apartment next Wednesday (also a very good thing). I have been going non stop between the two and feel slightly nauseas at this point when anyone mentions sleeper sofas.
I was developing a bit of a cold and didn’t feel like going out, so I rented and watched the movie “Synecdoche, New York” last night. It is both one of the most incredible and saddest films I have ever seen. The film follows the life of the main character of theater director Caden (played to perfection by Philip Seymour Hoffman), who after winning a MacArthur grant, begins work on his magnum opus. It also details his loves and inevitable losses and essential loneliness in the face of other people. The film skips through time and one is never sure if the events are happening in the past or present or in some dystopian dreamworld. His masterpiece is essentially a recreation of the minutiae and scenes of his own life, and throughout the film he spends many many years on it as it becomes more and more unwieldy and self referential. In addition, he keeps seeing parts of his body break down with multiple trips to various doctors. This film is a meditation on the inevitability of death and the futility of holding on to things and people too tightly. There are many scenes pregnant with dark humour and metaphor, and the film could (and probably should) be watched multiple times, trying to integrate all of the chaos. There was something heart-achingly true and precise about the film, and I would be lying if I said it was uplifting in any way. But through this deep sadness is a sort of cautionary tale about our own ego and illusion of control. We are far better off to let go a little and enjoy the ride without always needing to steer.
I love fortune cookies, but I admit to having some fairly specific ideas about what constitutes a good one vs a bad one. The best fortune cookies, in my opinion, are the ones that tell you something specific that is about to happen to you. Something like “You will win a million dollars next tuesday” is an example of a good fortune cookie. Even something less specific, such as “A great day lies ahead for you” is within the range of what I consider a correct use of the form. On the other hand, I loathe fortune cookies that lack fortunes, as this is clearly a letdown and an affront to the definition of fortune. When (after enduring an entire meal of greasy take out) I open a cookie only to read “A rolling stone gathers no moss” or “A wise man thinks before he speaks”, I get a little bent out of shape. What kind of crap is that? Imagine my surprise when I received a kind of hybrid message in my fortune cookie this evening.
It read: “You should be able to undertake and complete anything.”
Come again? What is that supposed to mean? I mean, it has the advantage of addressing me directly, which is a good thing…but what is this “should” business? If it had said “You can undertake and complete anything” it would be a dull but expected compliment I guess, arriving in this way from a fortune cookie. But “should”? That throws a whole air of uncertainty into the mix. Is this a challenge? An insult to my current situation or some sort of rebuke? I scour my brain for all the things I have undertaken and left hanging, as well as for those things I thought about and didn’t undertake in the first place. And the nerve of those taunting smiley faces at both ends and those “lucky” numbers along the bottom…
This is (apparently) Fashion Week here in NYC, and my friend Boris invited me along with him to one of the shows, that of South Korean designer Park Choon Moo. Boris knows one of the guys organizing the show, so we got to go backstage beforehand where all the stick figure models were being made up and dressed. There seemed to be an awful lot of paparazzi snapping all kinds of photos. (especially of one short, severe looking, over tanned woman wearing a long straight black wig with bangs. I wonder who she was.) We then went out to the main room when the show was about to being and before sitting down I noticed how similar a lot of the men in attendance looked. I must have seen about 8 look-alikes, all sharing the same buzzed on the sides long on top haircut, the big pouffy wrapped scarf about the neck, and pseudo-military pants tucked into pseudo-military boots. Each making a statement no doubt about their total creative uniqueness. As the show began, I was reminded (to slight dismay) that one of the dangers in being over 40 is seeing fashion motifs from when you were 20 repeat themselves. Everything old is new again, after all, and always has been. That said, there were some really beautiful looks for several of the women. I didn’t really care for the men’s looks as much, but it was a lot of fun peeking into this rarefied world and watching the spectacle.
Satori, dreams — Stephen on 12 February 2010 @ 9:36 AM — 1 comment
I had a strange dream last night with a lot of moving parts to it. It really ranged across a ton of subjects, but I can only remember a few details. I was in some sort of hunting lodge type place with a bunch of people, cozy around a fireplace having drinks. To my right was the Queen of England, and she was saying something about her father the King who had died in the year 499. I somehow knew she meant to say 1499, but still I called her out on it.
“You are telling me that you have been Queen since 1499? That is over 500 years. No way.” I said, with a fair amount of nonchalance.
“Of course not,” she said, “I became Queen much later, but my father did die at that time.”
Incredulous, I consulted with a couple of friends near me over a hot toddy. “She is either lying or crazy,” I said.
I don’t remember much else in the dream except some long house with a bunch of rooms where a group of us were staying. We were hanging out at one end and some middle aged, blond female benefactor kept calling me on the intercom from the other to ask me for help with something.
Today I decided to go by the Apple store to pick out a new pair of headphones. I was a little peeved on my way over to tell you the truth, because I have gone through 3 pairs in the past 18 months. They always seem to break in some way, seemingly related to my using them at the gym. The cable cracks, or my sweat gets inside the microphone and causes the buttons to stop working properly or just fizzle out. And although there are several nice pairs out there that don’t have a control/mic on them, I prefer the ones that do so that I can use them with my iPhone. I was determined to find something more rugged. As I arrived at the headphone area of the store one of the (seeming hundreds of) Apple employees approached me with a smile and asked if he could help me. I motioned to my ears and looking him directly in the face told him that I needed new headphones with a microphone for my iPhone. He led me over to the Apple-branded headphones and I went off on a small tirade about how I had previously purchased them, and how they were crap, breaking after a few months. As I glanced at a number of the products hanging there, I emphatically stated how important it was to have a rugged pair that I could work out in. I must have gone on for a good minute as I was looking at the headphones, when I felt him tap me on the shoulder and apologize, telling me he was deaf and could I please look at him while I spoke. I was mortified, I hadn’t realized. But now that I was paying attention, his speech was in fact a bit muffled in that particular way, like the few deaf people I have had interactions with. I apologized profusely, and then overcompensated the rest of the time by over-mouthing every word that issued from me. While I was still basking in the shame of my self-absorption, he led me over to a pair of headphones he said were really great, and I had to stop myself from asking if he had used them. He took them out of the case and at least I could verify that the cabling seemed rugged. He told me that the sound was very high quality and as we were examining them, a colleague of his came over to tell me that these were really great and did I need any other assistance. A little too loudly (it seemed to me) I told the other guy that “NO, I AM IN GREAT HANDS HERE, THANKS” and sent him on his way. My Jewish guilt was really setting in and the guy asked me if I needed to see any other pairs and I just responded that if he thought these were the best that was good enough for me and I handed him my credit card.
And that, friends, is how I bought stereo headphones from a nice deaf man.
EPILOGUE: I have been listening to the headphones for the past hour or so, and I have to say they are quite good sound.
EPILOGUE II: The buttons stopped working in less than 24 hours and I returned them.
Last night I was invited to a small house party to watch the season premiere of RuPaul’s Drag Race. It is a reality show in the mold of Project Runway, but for aspiring drag queens. I had never seen the show before, and it was quite a hoot watching it in the company of fellow gays. As we were watching, one of the things that really struck me was how niche one had to be to get all of the in-jokes and references. I was talking with a few other people there and we agreed that if you were, say, a 30 year old straight dude watching in Topeka you would probably be utterly lost by the spectacle. Whether it was the multiple references to Mommie Dearest peppered in RuPaul’s dialog, or the lexicon of drag gestures or diva swagger, one really needed years of exposure to the culture to be able to fully appreciate this show. Then again, perhaps it is fascinating for those in a different culture to get a glimpse at life on Mars, and attempt to understand and deconstruct the milieu. Of course this isn’t unique to gay culture, there are millions of subcultures that people are a part of, and most times several at once. To list but a few of my own: foodies, webheads/technogeeks, architects, polyglots, travelers. Each of these are subcultures with their own preoccupations and terms that can seem impenetrable to those on the outside. But in building these communities, and integrating their peculiar symbology and slang over many years, we obtain a cultural literacy that gives great pleasure whenever we see it employed. And this pleasure comes from being in on the joke and feeling no small sense of belonging, made all the more satisfying by sharing the laughter with others and feeling connected to them.
I had a rather disconcerting visit this morning to one Dr. Howard Levy, Orthopedic specialist. Referred there by my doctor for a shoulder injury, and armed with my MRI films I arrived at his office on the Upper East side a few minutes early. The very first thing the receptionist asked me was if I had X-rays with me. I informed her that no, I had (much more accurate and expensive) MRI films. She then told me that the doctor likes to have X-rays, and asked me to go to another floor to get them and then return. She looked shocked when I refused, telling her I preferred not to.
Let me stop here and tell you that this is one of the biggest problems with our current system of health care: It is fee for service. That means the more unnecessary tests and exams they can foist on you, the more they can charge and collect. This is a scam of the highest order, and the reason that despite all these tests and money, people in this country (even those that have insurance) are not at all healthier than those in other countries where this is not the case.
She huffed, told me I could discuss it with the doctor, and gave me forms to fill out. A few minutes later she led me to an office and told me to remove my shirt. The doctor’s assistant (a sort of physician apprentice specialist I guess) then came in and asked me a few questions about my shoulder history, then gave me a few strength tests. After that he told me I could start with physical therapy, but I would definitely be needing surgery at some point. He then carefully explained the surgery and recovery period, and patiently answered all of my questions. He was making me feel a little better about the whole thing, or at least better informed. He then left me, telling me that the doctor would be in shortly.
A short while later, Dr. Levy entered the room, shook my hand and said, “So, you know what you have to do…”
To which I responded, “I guess, but is it dangerous for me to wait a while? I am not in a lot of pain, and I need to think about it…”
He brusquely told me I could think about it, but this is where it was headed, this was his specialty and he knew all about it. Noting the various pictures of famous (I suppose) football players on the walls, signed in appreciation, I acceded that this was probably the case, but then by way of explanation started to say,”Well, the thing is Doctor, I am not sure how much my insurance will cover, I think my deductible is quite high, so I need to check with them…”
He cut me off quickly with “I can’t help you with that.”
“I wasn’t asking for your help or a discount or anything, I was just explaining why I may have to wait a bit while…”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do anything about your insurance. If you want to get the operation here is my card, you call us back.”
Once again, I explained that I wasn’t asking for anything, and he cut me off once more to tell me that he would give me a prescription for physical therapy and sent me on my way. What an asshole. This guy clearly wasn’t interested in actually healing anyone. All he cared about was the money and the prestige of being at the “top” of his field. This is one of my biggest complaints about some doctors. The patient is really just an object to be acted upon (and sucked dry financially), not a human being with feelings to relate to in any way.
As it turned out, I didn’t need the X-rays after all. Shocking. I left thinking I would rather have my shoulder fall off then let this jerk touch me.
Brown may win in Massachusetts. Coakley is a shitty candidate. And this may be a bit of a referendum on health care, but not the way you think. I maintain AGAIN that if people are upset with the health care bill, it is not because it is some sort of socialist/communist takeover. They are upset, nay pissed off that it is such a win for the vested interests of insurance companies and drug makers at the expense of the people it is supposed to help. Lawmakers do deserve to be punished for this. I am sick to death of hearing that this “backlash” has anything to do with some leftward lurch of the country when it is so demonstrably false. The problem is that the people got shafted, again. The way large industries control the policy making in Washington, we might as well just pay our taxes directly to them. As it is there is only the thinnest veneer of paying them to the government, so quickly does it pass to those who need it the least. Unfortunately, electing Brown will just make a bad situation even worse.
