RandomCha

I really do try to be a nice guy. Philosophically speaking, I’m a big believer in the value of public transit, and consequently I do whatever I can to support it, both by using it daily and also being nice to transit personnel whenever I can. Good karma you know.

Last night at about 11.30 Andy & I were leaving Joey’s apartment and found ourselves at Montrose/Sheridan. I saw a bus coming from about two blocks away. It was very late for being out on a school night and we wanted to get home by catching said bus, but the light was red and we needed to cross the street to get to the bus stop. Andy was a bit intoxicated. Well actually very intoxicated. But whatever. So there finally manages to be a break in traffic, the bus is just down the block, and I drag Andy out into the street. I stick out my arm and wave to the bus just as it’s pulling up. The bus driver looks me right in the eyes, smiles, and drives right past. Almost hitting both of us.

I started swearing at the top of my lungs. Andy said, “Looks like you have to stand in front of the bus to make it stop for you.” It was a good thing a #36 bus came by a moment later. I wanted to smash a few windows.

I’ve been too busy to catch up here on LJ, or write anything of substance. So instead I’m merely writing this.

This morning I got up when Andy did and went to the gym. I got back and he was just leaving for work. After my shower I made coffee, got dressed and settled down to the morning’s task: going through my overstuffed filing cabinet. I took out each folder one by one and went through them, saving a lot but also pitching a fair amount into a big black trash bag. It was mostly stuff I’d saved from college and high school. Old scripts, letters, filmmaking notes, handouts from classes. A lot of memories, not all pleasant ones.

I was just about finished when the phone rang. It was my grandmother. She asked me how I was and when I’d last talked to Mom. Monday. My grandmother told me that on Wednesday my mom went into for her yearly mammogram and they’d seen a spot. And a biopsy has been scheduled for Friday. Why hadn’t my mom called me?

When I got off the phone with my grandmother I tried calling home but no one answered for awhile. Finally about 1 o’clock my dad called me and filled me in. They had indeed seen a very tiny spot, but it was so small they couldn’t even be sure what it is, or even if it’s anything. The biopsy will only take about 40 minutes and she is only going to need local anaesthetic. He said that in 90% of cases spots like these amount to absolutely nothing. My mom is on a church retreat all day and so I won’t get to talk to her until tomorrow, but what my dad told me was reassuring.

This led to a fairly long discussion about socialized medicine, a topic upon which I’ve reached a stalemate with my mom. Even though my dad freely admitted that their insurance is terrible (because they are basically self-employed at this point; the procedure will cost about $4500 and her insurance will only pay for $1500) he said he still thinks socialized medicine is a bad idea. Because even though “you’re covered” there are still “long waiting lists for surgeries and bad doctors who don’t diagnose correctly.” The whole “Canadians don’t like their healthcare system and buy American insurance when they can” argument, which is half myth and half wishful thinking. I countered that for millions of people, having even mediocre coverage is better than having none at all, and that millions just don’t have a choice and cannot afford to buy ANY coverage. He reluctantly seemed to agree. And then I said, “It’s not the QUALITY of healthcare that’s the problem in the US, it’s the SYSTEM. The fact that it’s profit driven. Mom’s procedure is going to last 45 minutes and cost $4500; you know that SOMEONE is making more than just a living from that, they’re making plenty of money.” Once again he agreed and then said, “Well, what can you do?”

Weird day. My dad and I have never had a talk like this.

I feel okay about things now. I managed to do some writing this afternoon and so feel that the day has been adequately productive. I think I will not feel guilty should I decide to partake in a little Popeye.

Two phone calls in a row here at work: our shipping manager calling in sick, our lead account executive calling in sick. And we have at least 25 orders to get out before Tuesday. Well guess what? Ain’t happening till Monday.

Trader Vic’s last night was so cool. I’m seriously considering writing a scene about it in the new book. Not because it would really be cruicial to the story but just because I want the excuse to describe it. I guess it would contrast nicely with the Empty Bottle scene. Ha, now that’s irony: a morning person like me who rarely stays up past 11 o’clock writing a novel filled with vivid descriptions of various Chicago nightspots.

Looks like Andy is going for martinis in a big way. I bought him an olive pick set. I’ve taken to making him what’s called the Dirty James Bond:

In a well-chilled cocktail glass, pour a healthy splash of olive juice. Skewer 2 or 3 olives on an olive pick, add to glass and place in freezer. Meanwhile, to an ice-filled cocktail shaker add 1 jigger of vodka, 1 jigger of gin, and a splash of vermouth. Shake well. Remove glass from freezer and strain contents of shaker into glass.

Goodness. These days I’m forced to do WORK at work instead of my Internet Perusal Project. Whose idea was this? Back to work.

Brandon’s doing a great job on his first day! Wow, this will be fun.

I just did my income taxes, because I’m always anxious to get my refund. I’ve always gotten a refund. This year, I don’t get a refund. I owe $155.

Last night I made chili and Andy raved about it, but it was really quite simple to make. It was so spicy I almost cried. Loved it. Then he called his dad and I sat in front of my computer munching Jujyfruits. My favorite movie candy.

When my mom and dad had been dating for awhile, one night they went to the movies. Now, they knew each other pretty well at this point. They got to the theatre late; the previews were about to end. But once they stepped into the lobby my dad stopped dead in his tracks, sighed and looked over at my mom and said, “I suppose you still want your Jujyfruits …”

I really need to cast aside distractions and get some writing done tomorrow morning. I’m still on the Elliott Smith scene and it’s scaring me. I want to do it just right, and it’s so hard. How to write about the Empty Bottle without merely stringing together stereotypes? There’s that saying that goes: behind each cliche is a truth waiting for rediscovery.

“O Lucky Man!” arrived from eBay yesterday. Gosh, I am excited to own a copy. Even if it is on VHS. When the the hell is it going to come out on DVD?! This is a film without which Paul Thomas Anderson (and more specifically “Magnolia”) would not exist.

upsidedownblue was hired and starts work on Monday. Good and weird. I feel great that I helped get him the job, but I sure never would have dreamed we’d be working together. As Neil Young would say, “Very innerestin’.”