franklanguage: Having a tooth pulled (tooth)
Had a resurrection dream last night; my dead roommate reappeared and said, "No, it's me; I've been here all along."

I was like, "I'm not buying that…" considering it had been over three months now. So I wasn't overly disappointed to wake up and be proven right, but I've been depressed for quite a while now thinking this is the future.

His memorial had been the other day—Sunday—and as I had planned, I didn't go. I had promised his girlfriend I wouldn't be there so she could share with abandon. There was no video or audio taken, and I don't care. I can surmise what she talked about, and fuck it. I don't care.
franklanguage: album cover (weasels)
Because I've tried to stick to my routines and keep busy, the reality of Richard's death is just hitting me now, two months later. Even though I was at his side when I saw his head slump forward, and even though he hasn't been home at all in two months, and I haven't been back to the hospital in that time. I mean, I have his ashes in a can in the other room, but it's hard to put two and two together sometimes.

And the memorial service will be November 20th at a church around the corner. I've graciously offered—in a FB message—to Richard's girlfriend that I'd stay away so she could share about their special bond. She replied, "Thanks."

My plans are to take myself up to Harlem for a vegan soul-food brunch and totally blow off the memorial. In a group chat on FB Sara muses that she'll probably stay at the memorial just to say a few words and then go home to Cold Spring, so conceivably I could slink in after I was sure she'd left. Slink in, right: because I've always felt like I was the "other" woman, even after I'd lived here over 20 years. That's why I'm not buying into that "sneaking in after I'd made sure the coast was clear"; people who know of my plans say they'd always thought of me and Richard as a couple and would be puzzled not to see me at a memorial for him.

Sara was there first. She used to plan activities for the two of them, Richard said, probably in an effort to keep them together.
I've also taken a very hands-off role in planning the memorial next month: my downstairs neighbor Elizabeth told me up front: "I'm an excellent event planner," and proceeded to take care of most everything; I paid for the rental of the room. I complained to her once that she took over everything, even things I wanted to do, and she said she'd cleared it with me first. (She hadn't; but at that point I gave up and figured I'm not going to be there anyway, so who cares?)

She did try to involve me in decisions, saying, "How do you like the setup of the chairs; do you think they should be facing the park?" I told her I didn't care since I wasn't going to be there.

I've been very depressed today, and it's a strange feeling; I haven't been depressed like this in well over 20 years. It'll pass; I just don't know when.
franklanguage: Having a tooth pulled (extraction)
Some are now calling Columbus Day "Indigenous Peoples Day," but to me it will always be "Genocide day," as in this Kurt Vonnegut quote from Breakfast of Champions:

"[T]eachers of children in the United States of America
wrote this date on blackboards everywhere and asked the children to memorize it with pride and joy:


"The teachers told the children this was when America
had been discovered by human beings.

"Actually, millions of human beings were living full and imaginative lives on the continent in 1492.
That was simply the date when sea pirates came to cheat and rob and kill them."
franklanguage: (Default)
Yesterday I had to take my cat Stacey for an emergency vet visit: she had gone missing (not like her) for two days and I found her, silent, in the closet, looking up at me. When I had found her two days previous—wedged between shelves in the MetroShelving™ unit where I keep my clothes—she had run and hid, and I couldn't find her until yesterday.

So I took her up to Heart of Chelsea Animal Hospital right away and the vets took some bloods. What they found was grim: basically, her vital signs were not capable of sustaining life. Her red blood cell (RBC) count was extremely low and the reason I hadn't found her in two days was she had become too weak to get up and go to the litter box. She would require a blood transfusion, the treatment would ultimately cost many thousands of dollars, and it wasn't known if they would be successful.

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They let me sit with her and she cleaned herself and purred a little. It was heartbreaking, but they sent her to slumberland and I took home an empty carrier. "Too much death," I muttered all the way home.

I'll get the ashes back in about a week; maybe I'll make a LifeGem™ out of them.
franklanguage: Man-in-the-moon belt buckle (moonbuckle)
I've been meaning to put together a post about the events of the past month, but I just can't—my roommate died about a month ago. It's not like it was unexpected; he had had cancer for several years, and pretty much kept it at bay, until the last clusterfuck that did him in. Cause of death: congestive heart failure, a result of a heart attack several years ago that was probably a side-effect of chemotherapy.

Plus, he was 83, meaning that the only way we would die together would be if we were to die in a fire. Fortunately that didn't happen.

I miss him terribly, though; for the first two weeks after he died, I wasn't willing or able to believe he had passed on, even though I had been at his side when his spirit left his body. I would walk in the door and automatically think he was home.

He was embalmed and cremated, and now his ashes reside on the shelf beside those of Tipper, our beloved golden retriever who passed away in the mid-90s. And that's probably as complete as it's ever going to be.
franklanguage: animation of christopher walken (Walken In a Winter Wonderland)
Well, yesterday evening I was on my way home, and took the 6 train uptown to Astor Place. It was only a few stops, and as I left the train, I saw a guy—didn't make eye contact—just aimed himself into the doorway of the train and shouldered me aside. (People! There wasn't a crowd, there wasn't a bottleneck; what's the rush?)

Waiting area at Beth Israel ER

Because he had pushed me and I was off-balance, my left—leading—foot went into the gap between the platform and the train. I screamed, loud; in a situation like that, I want people to know there's a crisis. (I want the conductor to know he can't pull out of the station yet, either.) So a few people pulled me to safety—thank you! I staggered over to a bench and sat. A [different] guy had stayed behind, and asked if I was all right. I really was; I really felt all right, and also, I felt embarrassed. I always feel embarrassed when I fall. So I told him I was okay.

I called home and told Richard what had happened, then set off for the M8 crosstown bus. (I had no money on me, or I might have taken a cab. Probably.) My foot and knee were hurting by now, and I decided to take myself to the ER, which wasn't far. I was really lurching along, so if there was a break, I might as well know it and take appropriate action. I transferred to the M15 up First Avenue, and it let me off at 14th street; I lurched the two blocks to the Linsky Pavilion of Beth Israel Medical Center at 1st and 16th, and then had to turn the corner to the ER.

Nice thing about a holiday weekend; there are a lot fewer people around. [See my first-ever post on LJ.] Triage was a breeze, and I went to wait in a little cubicle, and started to make a post, when I was interrupted by a nurse. She needed to see my wristband; I showed her. I had to use the bathroom, so they gave me a pair of yellow size XL socks with non-skid patterns on top and bottom.

(I lost my draft of the LJ post; fuck you, LiveJournal. To tell you the truth, I hate writing posts on my phone anyway.)

The adrenaline! I'm hung-over from the adrenaline; glad today wasn't a day I had to get up early. I'm walking with a cane, because all they gave me was an Ace bandage and a scrip for some ibuprofen. (Fuck you, Beth Israel.) But nothing was broken; I was in worse pain earlier today, and I got through it. Officially speaking, I was discharged with a contusion, and that makes sense. I hate having to do 100 stairs up and down just to get home or leave home. Perversely, they gave me a referral for follow-up to a doctor across town on 23rd street and 7th avenue, so I guess I'm not going to bother with that; I'll do what I did for my other knee: ghetto physical therapy.

And I hate sleeping in my loft bed when I'm so compromised; it feels awkward amd dangerous to be four feet off the ground. (I've always hated my loft bed, but I hate it more when I have trouble getting in and out of it.)

Tomorrow is another day. (I was afraid of that!)
franklanguage: cute green monster (KILL YOUR PARENTS)
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Purgatory (Repending Believers)Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)Very High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)Extreme
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)Extreme
Level 7 (Violent)Very High
Level 8 - The Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)Extreme
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)Very High

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test
franklanguage: (Default)

Friday evening I went over to @WORDbookstores in Greenpoint, Brooklyn and met [personal profile] theferrett for his booksigning party. True to his word, he brought Dunkin' Donuts and wine.

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Ferrett, it turned out, is a real person. He wore his Borsalino hat and Italian suit; I had to see his nails, and wasn't disappointed. Naturally, I also bought a copy of FLEX, so I could have him sign it. (When I got home later, we bought the Kindle edition, which is better for toting around.)

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I am remiss in not having photographed Gini, Ferrett's wife, who was along for the book tour. She is a lovely person. I hope they come back to promote the sequel, but regardless I'm sure I'll buy it.

(These thumbnails open out, people! Click, click, click!)
franklanguage: (Default)
Sorry to burst anyone's bubble, but snow is not fun. (Everything you know is wrong. Dogs are not our friends. Benjamin Franklin was the only president of the United States who was never actually president of the United States.)

We had more snow today, and I'm getting very tired of it. It gets crappy and dirty fast, and it's thawed and re-frozen so many times this year, it makes walking very treacherous. I haven't broken any bones yet this winter, but unfortunately winter isn't over.

I'm looking forward to Sunday, when we'll get a full hour extra of daylight! It's something, anyway.
franklanguage: (Default)

Please support Afro-Vegan cookbook rather than Thug Kitchen. Here’s why:

”Bryant Terry is a chef, educator, and author renowned for his activism to create a healthy, just, and sustainable food system. Bryant’s fourth book, Afro-Vegan was published by Ten Speed Press/Random House April 2014. Just 2 months after publication, Afro-Vegan was named by Amazon as one of the best cookbooks of 2014. In December it was nominated for an NAACP Image Award in the Outstanding Literary Work category.

If you want a taste of culture-rich, ethnic and truly vegan food, (Thug Kitchen uses honey in some recipes), without the culture appropriation and perpetuation of negative and racist stereotypes about an entire community, consider getting Afro-Vegan.” ~ Hugo Dominguez
franklanguage: cute green monster (KILL YOUR PARENTS)

Here's Clayton Patterson's version of New York City's new spokesperson's ode to her new home. Note that most or all of the inserted footage was shot by Clayton, including that of the 1988 Tompkins Square Park Riot.
franklanguage: (Default)
My favorite Columbus Day quote:

"[T]eachers of children in the United States of America wrote this date on blackboards everywhere

and asked the children to memorize it with pride and joy:


"The teachers told the children that this was when America was discovered by human beings.

Actually, millions of human beings were leading full and imaginative lives on the continent in 1492.

That was simply the date that sea pirates came to cheat and rob and kill them."

—from Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
franklanguage: My cat in a box (Tripod in box)

This is the picture I took with my iPhone tonight from the roof. Every year the searchlights; never forget.
franklanguage: (Default)
Yesterday (Sunday) there were a few downpours, and I got soaked in one:

IMG_3386 IMG_3387 IMG_3389
Eighth street and Sixth avenue, in case you're wondering;
the imposing building in the background of picture 3 is One Christopher street

I ducked into a niche [doorway with locked door] in the building where I was waiting for the bus, but it was too shallow. Fortunately my pack is waterproof—got to test that theory yesterday—and the piece of [vegan] blackout cake I was transporting home made it safely. (Half last night, half for breakfast.)

Before the rain, there was this:

IMG_3262 IMG_3263
10th street and Avenue B

Of course, if I'd realized it was going to rain, I would have worn rain gear—Gore-Tex® hat, slicker, Sneads Ferry SneakersSneads Ferry Sneakers, but alas. No real harm done, and this was the only time this summer I got caught in the rain. Went home and dried off; no harm done.
franklanguage: "it's not me it's you" button (notmeitsyou)
Well, Sunday was a helluva day; it was Go Topless Day, a worldwide event. Go Topless Day is observed on whichever Sunday falls closest to Women's Equality Day, which is August 26th. (It's awfully good that it's in summer, and not winter! Brrrr!)

Women in New York City are allowed to go topless in public, but there are still many communities that prohibit the showing of [gasp!] female breasts.

In a truly free society, these pictures would be safe for work )

In other news, Saturday was the last day for C'est Magnifique on 9th street. After over 40 years, they had been rent-hiked out of their storefront on MacDougal street, and set up shop here on 9th street a couple of years ago. Sadly, business just wasn't enough to support the rent at this location.

This was a family-based jewelry store (since 1959!,) and Alfred was the third generation. That in itself is tragic; I hate to see these longtime family businesses dissolved, and it's happening more and more frequently.


Fortunately, Alfred will continue running his business over the web as Sterling Assault. The site is under construction, but we can look forward to "something quite cool." I wish him all the best, and I'm sure I'll continue to be a customer.
franklanguage: Having a tooth pulled (extraction)
Well, last Monday [edit: it was actually Thursday] I had a dental appointment where I had to have a filling replaced; I was also told I had decay on the root of the tooth. (The end is near.)

But, surprisingly, I was admonished for taking selfies in the dentist chair; I've been taking selfies in the dentist chair since there was even a word for them! It's my unbearable curiosity that makes me do it; plus, I always carry a camera on me, so the temptation is just too great. Here's what I looked like Monday; they used a full dental-dam setup and everything:

IMG_2347 IMG_2349 IMG_2351

The student who was working on me—this was NYU dental—came back into the room and said, "You're not allowed to take pictures in here; please delete these pictures."

I mumbled that I'd do it after, since we were in the middle of a procedure, after all. When she was out of the room again, I switched memory cards on my camera. Sure, I understand the liability issues, and that this is student work being photographed, but I've never had any trouble about this before—not even at Columbia dental.

Seriously, I may have found my Halloween costume for this year; it's definitely scary enough!
franklanguage: (self with shades)

Yes, I'm a feminist; this pretty much sums up why.
franklanguage: (Default)
Sixth street and Avenue B

In this country, jingoism and patriotism come to a head on the 4th of July and we shoot off these dangerous and illegal—in the wrong hands—pyrotechnics to show our love for this country. (Wrap your head around that!) We are also instructed to call 311 with reports of any illegal fireworks being shot off. (Unfortunately, there are all these independent contractors out right now, even though they're clearly not part of the show, which is long over; it's after midnight.)

This year, the fireworks were shot off from spectacular Brooklyn Heights, where I walked a dog this afternoon; they went into lockdown mode after 4 PM, at which time no cars were to be moved. So I only got the above picture when I happened to be out with my dog, a couple of hours ago, from my neighborhood.

I walked a dog in Brooklyn this afternoon, and although I'm familiar with most parts of Brooklyn now, I decided to get myself a little lost so I wouldn't get back too early. This made an hour-and-a-half walk turn into two—we ended up going to downtown Brooklyn, Flatbush Avenue and almost to Park Slope—and was fun but I got a little dizzy with hunger—having only had a donut and coffee for breakfast. Just as we were getting back to Brooklyn Heights, I managed to snag my ankle in a tree well, and went down.

This freaked Olive (the dog) out, which is why I always keep the leash wrapped around my hand, as a contingency measure. I just had to explain yesterday in a text to Michael, who is Olive's daddy, that I have ataxia as the result of a car accident over 30 years ago; he had sent me a text complaining to me that I had left smudges on the walls of his new apartment. (Well, if you're going to require that I take off my shoes before I enter your home, I have to hold onto something; I'm not a dancer. Oh, and did I mention I hate texting?)

Olive the dog

Worse than the humiliation of the fall itself is walking around with a scab on my knee for a few weeks—especially in summer, when I usually wear shorts. No matter, I'll just rock those big band-aids until the scab chips away; this, I know, is a surface scrape, so it should heal pretty quickly—probably within a month.

Mulberries! Now!

One nice thing about late June/early July is that mulberries are in season. There are many mulberry trees around town; I'm always delighted to discover them. There's even a fruit-bearing mulberry tree in the Hillside Dog Park, where I take Olive some days. Although the tree (and park itself, of course) is right by the BQE [Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, for you out-of-towners] I'm not afraid of exhaust fumes settling on a few berries; that sure isn't going to be what kills me. The thrill of picking wild berries and eating them eclipses any danger there might be to it.

We didn't go in there today because it was a little misty and I even wore a slicker and rain hat. Overkill, but I hate getting caught in the rain and having my wallet soaked. And my phone, now that I carry one.

So it was a good walk; I didn't get to say it—Michael didn't ask "How was the walk?" when I returned—but honestly, there's no way I'd rather spend my day off. It would have come out sounding sarcastic if I had. Olive is a fun dog; she loves me and I love her.

That's the crazy thing about Aaron, to whom I said, "My dog's a better date than you!" Most dogs are better dates than most guys: they like to go places, they're excited to be with you, and they'll lick your face and gaze into your eyes. It's just the truth; there was no reason to be offended by it.
franklanguage: Lost in Space B9 robot (B9 robot lost in space)
I was slightly worried when my iPhone got waterlogged today (from all the rain) but I figured all I could do was take it home and see if it dried out; if it didn't, I'd have to make an online appointment at the Genius Bar. All the hipsters from Brooklyn use the Apple Store on Prince street, so it's always booked up.

The worst thing is I couldn't talk on it; the earpiece was waterlogged so I couldn't hear and didn't know if I connected when I called home.

This is why I hang onto my little "welfare" phone, and try to use it once a month—if only to make a test call—so it will stay active. Fortunately my iPhone dried out and worked again.

rain, canal street, chinatown
Waiting for a break in the rain
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