Random

Shyte’s been whacky lately.  Have a lot to think about.  I sewed stuff tonight, too, after making one US gallon of homemade salsa for my mother, for M-Day.

My youngest brother and I have the same birthmark on our shoulders: three moles in a diagonal line, perfectly spaced.  Same arm.  Same size.  Same direction.  Yesterday, I was watching “The Simpsons” with him at my parents house after having pizza with our grandmother.  During a commercial, he said, “John, you know that feeling like you crushing your fingernail?”

“Yes!  My @#$%ing finger has been hurting all day.  Is it your index finger?”

“My right one.”

My left finger was hurting yesterday, like it got crushed in something.  And, while I am clumsy, I know I didn’t crush it in anything.  Both our fingers hurt, for no reason.  His left, my right.  So I have to call our middle brother this weekend to see if both of his hurt, in an act of brotherly symmetry.  How creepy and…connecting that would be.

Frikkin cosmic.

My grandmother, pictured here on Easter this year, is at my parents’ house in Hampden.  She fell in 2003 and required a metal rod be inserted into her leg; she had heart surgery then to boot.  Before, actually.  She fell last week and wrenched the same leg.  While the X-rays came back negative for breaks, they think she either sprained or tore something.  I am watching her today while my mother goes for a doctor’s appointment, then with my mother and uncle to take my grandmother to the hospital for her appointment to see the extent of the damage in her leg.  I don’t like seeing such an independent woman laid up and unable to even walk.  Or the look on my uncles’ and mothers’ faces when they realize that their mother is getting older.  I am just hoping she will pull through and literally get back on her feet.  No one ever thought she’d get around after her last accident.  I did not believe she’s ever get upstairs in her Canton rowhouse again.  But she did.  She loved walking around in the grocery store with a cart.  I hope she gets to do it again and soon.

View larger to see my street in the red ball. Got this by accident. I have not been taking a lot of photos lately. I did update to the newest Wordpress, though, along with some theme-related updates. Like it?

I thought I saw snow flakes blowing around outside my fourth/top floor window a while ago. Strange, I thought, it’s warm today. Then I realized they were bugs.

I have been on a tea kick again lately. I have not had coffee today at all and have not had any large amount of tea — just a few cups. The dry skin on my hands is healing, and I swear I have more energy. Maybe I’m sleeping better. It’s nice to be getting a handle on my caffeine addiction, at least a little. Or maybe I’m kidding myself.

Photo Friday: The Good Life. You might be thinking, “The good life? Coffee? Isn’t that shallow?” I mean, after a decade of studying Western philosophy, shouldn’t this be a photo of a relaxed person, contemplating comfortably in a cafe’? Or after studying Eastern philosophy, why photos of a mind-altering substance like coffee?

It’s been…a week. So right now, Friday morning, when I have to run around until about ten or eleven tonight, teach kids about bikes, go see my sick grandfather days after his 80th birthday, work on job stuff, etc., coffee is the good life. I know; everyone is busy. So you should know what I am talking about then.

Something like a Gnome is scaring people in Argentina and throwing rocks at kids:

We were chatting about our last fishing trip. It was one in the morning. I began to film a bit with my mobile phone while the others were chatting and joking. Suddenly we heard something - a weird noise as if someone was throwing stones. We looked to one side and saw that the grass was moving. To begin with we thought it was a dog but when we saw this gnome-like figure begin to emerge we were really afraid.

Watch the video to see his walk, which is probably the scariest part of all.

Is Hillary Clinton a crone? Beats me, but I don’t think I could do the “party-line” thing and vote for her. I don’t. I think she would be a terrible President. Yes, I said it. She seems like a pretty mean person to me. Unless, of course, she has always hidden her identity and is, in fact, a cuddly sensation. Now she goes so far in trying to smear the image of the man who’s beating her pant-suited butt that she actually makes fun of him for being a better speaker than she is. This is freshman locker room crap, and I imagine she would do worse to John McCain and prove very bad things about the Democratic party.

And let’s not forget that she was only a Senator for a few years longer than Obama, and the whole Whitehouse experience? Yeah, she didn’t do that, Remember? That was the other Clinton. My wife thinks that claiming credit for something your husband did is very “un-feminist.” I don’t know. I think it’s just lying.

There are some ridiculous things being said about a lot of issues and events this time around, like always. Someone very close to me said he would never vote for Obama because “he says the war was a bad idea, and that dishonors the troops.” I mean no offense, and as I love the guy that said this, but what? Is denying the truth a good way to honor brave people who died? Or making things up after the fact to make the war seem like a good idea to save some people’s careers and the Republican party? I said of someone else we know that she only voted for Hillary because she is a woman (behind her back, of course, because I can be as mean of someone losing a primary — no he di-int). My wife said, “At least she’s voting Democrat.” I don’t care if she’s a Democrat. Voting for your party is something illiterate hicks can do. If she is the best we can do as a party, then, hell, I think I’ll find another party.

Please no hatemail if you are a supporter. I mean, don’t go all Hillary on me.

Last night, I was walking home on Roland Avenue.  I saw a man sitting in a very modern car, with the engine running.  After a mouthful of fumes, I thought to myself, “What is this creepy guy doing sitting in his car?”

Yes, people sitting in their cars with the engine running kind of creeps me out.

I looked, and amidst all the colorful lights and dingies and flingies and beep-beeps [I imagine], there he was.  Quietly winding his watch.

How strange.

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This is from a few years ago. With several attempts at filling a Pepsi bottle with fluid from a Bic lighter, Dan and Paulie produced this cool blue display at Dan’s house in Hampden.

Photo Friday: What Is That?

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I really don’t mind that it’s warm today, in the dead of winter. I know, if you’re awesome enough to have been around Pragmatik for a few years, you know this has been an issue for me in the past. I was jealous of New York’s storm. Then just annoyed at the lack of winter weather.

I sure whine a lot. Yes. I know.

Obviously, it was largely an issue of not liking where I lived. But also, I don’t know, my hands are cracked from walking and cycling (with sweet cycling gloves, no less). I’d really like to walk around my apartment barefoot for a day or two. Going to walk to Hampden because Mrs. Pragmatik needs more yarn from the yarn shop. Don’t need my large coat or huge scarfage, and my feet will not be “I wear Chucks numb.” How Kneat. I sure know how to spin…a….y-, arn, huh?

I have a headache and need like three gallons of water and maybe, I guess, one of coffee.

So temperatures in the 50s are Okay today. It’s not the world asked me or really cares if the Magical Pragmatik Guy thinks it’s Okay. Nonetheless, ask me Monday if I feel the same way.

I should really get around to getting my novel into better shape. And the whole, you know, dissertation I wrote. Geez.

For Photo Friday: Misty.

After our weekly band practice, the boys and I hit the Dunkin Donuts on 41st Street in what is technically I-don’t-know-what but what gets counted as Hampden usually. We enjoy our treats and coffee/hot chocolate standing at the bottom of the steps there at Tower Square. We even have our customary standing spots. I lean on the railing, and Paulie stands on my left against the wall, Dan against the wall on the right. It’s as much fun as band practice, and the ritual helps us unwind, I think. (Pictured here and here.)

Last night’s practice was a little frustrating since we intend to start recording and soon. We were doing some rough-draft recording already last week and this week. Put in some new monitor speakers last night and got a late start.

Anyway, there we were last night. I heard Dan yell, “Oh, shit!” and I heard the rustle of a plastic bag and steps on the stairs. A fractional second of silence and the unmistakable sound of a head hitting the sidewalk.

Thud.

I know this sound because, well, I’ve hit my head on the sidewalk enough to know and have the scars to prove it. (For the record, several of these happened after I decided to major in philosophy, thank you.) But last night, it was as loud to my ears as if it were my own head.

We rushed over, and there was a man with silver hair and blue eyes sprawled on his back, eyes rolled back and mouth wide open. I know what I thought. I thought he was dead. I had never seen anyone’s eyes roll back like that. I know from talking later than Dan and Paulie thought so, too. That we just saw someone die.

I have been told I am calm in emergencies, like changing a tire along an interstate at night, someone bleeding like a hog, etc. I take that as a compliment. So last night, I don’t think I panicked enough, in a bad way. I was a dud at first. I found myself standing over this guy looking at his eyes for signs of movement while dialing 9-1-1 on my cell phone and waiting to hit SEND. Dan did the right thing, though, and tried to get the guy to talk and come to, which he successfully did. He got him to say his name. Warren. After a few minutes, he regained some consciousness, and we got him propped up against a wall. He left blood on the sidewalk and a smear on the wall. Paulie got him some napkins, and he was wiping the blood from his own head and telling us he was “all right, believe me.” For a head wound, he was not bleeding very much at all.

He was clean-shaven but had snow in his jacket and blood near his ear, which must have been from a fall other than the tumble down the snowless stairs we were congregating at. He smelled like booze but was coherent enough to have gone to Supercrap to buy toothpaste.

With some struggling, we got him to his feet and tried to talk to him. To see if we could take him home, call someone for him, maybe the doctor. He got slightly more coherent and thanked us dozens of times, with at least seven rounds of handshakes. I noticed that we all silently avoided the blood on the back of his right hand, for which I felt badly later, even though there were probably good reason. He left up the stairs he fell down, and we saw him go around the whole mess and start down Hickory, hopefully toward home. Hopefully not toward bed, lest he would have gotten a blood clot and died in the night, alone, with a bag of toothpaste.

We were talking yesterday about living in the city when we heard two men arguing over the same steps. Sometimes other people’s drama can be entertaining, when they drunkenly argue over who is the best friend and then “go down Falls Road to prove it.” But when people crack their heads on the sidewalk, it’s just downright scary.

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After Easter this past spring, we had a band practice at Dan’s house. We were fooling around in the kitchen, and someone got the idea to melt a marshmallow Peep in the microwave. I thought it would be funny and whipped my camera out. It was funny, albeit somewhat yucky.

It smelled like eggs and meat. Know why? Yeah, there’s gelatin in there. “Gelatin is a protein produced by partial hydrolysis of collagen extracted from the bones, connective tissues, organs, and some intestines of animals such as the domesticated cattle, and horses.” I learned what gelatin was right when I went veggie when I was browsing a book about vegetarianism in Cambridge, and I was disappointed at the number of things that currently have that crap in them. Pop Tarts. Frosted Mini Wheats. Yeah, your breakfast has horse bone and bung in it. I wonder if kids would eat Jello if they knew what it was.

But now I’m nearly preaching, which I don’t mean to do. The idea that your sweet treat has gross by-product freaks out some folks who do eat meat that I know. Apparently, I dropped a bomb on them much like the one that shrapnels your legs when you find out what’s in a hotdog.

I miss Pop Tarts.

For Photo Friday: Disastrous.

So I woke up Monday from a busy weekend to a warm morning. My window faces East, and I greeted the sun with a big streeeeeeeeetch. And I pinched/pulled/tweaked something in my neck and back. I was planning on being productive that day, maybe doing some cooking, a bike ride. Instead, I was down all day, then most of yesterday. Aleve did not work at all. All the warnings kind of freaked me out, too. You’re supposed to drink an entire glass of water and call your doctor if you feel like the pill is stuck in your throat. Ick. I took four Advil with dinner yesterday before band practice. Four is the same dosage I know I can take safely, from what they gave me when I had a tooth accident fixed once. Anyway, those huge blue pills didn’t do anything and just got me weirded out.

Or maybe it’s just the first time I actually bothered to read drug warnings.

It still hurts today, but I can keep my head up straight and was just in a good mood anyway. Took three walks, went shopping made a batch of burritos, did some birthday shopping for the Mrs. and took care of a job application. Much better.

I did have a good weekend, too, with a lot of good food. I will get some photos going soon, mostly at Flickr.