People have inquired on various occasions about things I've included herein, and at times I've been asked about things other people have written elsewhere. The Internet is an excellent tool to convey fact as well as opinion, and very often the line between those two is blurry, if not absent altogether. I've joked that I could erect a very clean-looking, slickly-designed website with a fancy URL and write articles which have the grammatical correctness of the New York Times but the factual validity of a Britney Spears movie. So even if said fictional site claimed the pope wears ladies underwear and Bigfoot was at Bowlmor Lanes last night, neither has any real validity even if it was read on the Internet.
So when I read the entertaining it-only-happens-in-Hollywood saga of Heather Locklear, Richie Sambora and Denise Richards (and Charlie Sheen), I found most of it entertaining but it was also a bit nauseating. How much of it is true from Heather Locklear's perspective (perhaps we can verify that with David Spade), Richie Sambora's and Denise Richards is anyone's guess.
Where this is all going is thus: I got link-dumped to a blog called Action!!! which ostensibly described a meeting between the author of said blog and the author of another blog entitled Charleston Jenerator. I'm not sure what actually occurred, but apparently Craig, the author of Action!!!, was visited by Jen, the author of Charleston Jenerator. His version is that she began flirting with him and he returned the favor; soon after, she became possessive and clingy and he tried extricating himself from the situation, but she persisted and eventually he reluctantly agreed to meet her, so she showed up, but he was disappointed that she looked worse than the pictures she'd sent him, so they spent a tepid weekend together, including some awful sex (all of which she initiated). She asked him to subsequently visit her, and he was ambiguous about it, and by the time the weekend was over he was relieved she was gone. Her version goes a bit differently; apparently, she thought he was sort of nice, but ungentlemanly. She agreed to sex but suggested, apparently, that he had a small weenie and should have performed oral on her to make sure she had real orgasms, not the fake ones she apparently experienced. She admits there was teeth involved in the BJ she administered, but that was, apparently, a result of him gyrating from enjoyment. She also suggested that he should have been more of a gentleman in public (ie holding the door open, wishing her a happy birthday, etc.).
Now I am not quite sure who is more accurate in their depiction of the weekend, but wading through two people's personal take on a weekend gone bad, it's fairly clear that it should have never happened. It sounds to me like she was more interested in meeting him than him meeting her -- at least based on the e-mails and IM's he quotes at his site -- but above and beyond that, it's pretty obvious that none of these details should be made public.
When we as individuals read about celebrities -- actors, musicians, performers, politicians, etc. -- and their trials and tribulations in their public (and private) lives, it's enthralling and entertaining (eg the Denise Richards/Heather Locklear/Richie Sambora clusterfuck). However, when regular people start taking shots at one another -- in mind-numbing detail, replete with quoted exchanges, pictures, names, etc. -- it goes from enthralling and into uncomfortable, unfortunate territory.
Blogs are an offshoot of people's opinions and their chronicles -- aka weBLOGs -- of their lives, and since blogs represent people, it's not a shock that blogs do include petty name-calling, fingerpointing and sordid, over-the-top details. The same applies to things like stupidity, hate, racism, intolerance and other negative traits of the human condition. Blogs reflect our personal experiences, our ideas, our reactions and our biases, pleasures and unhappiness. Personally, at least at the inception of the HoB, I decided to do so so that friends and family had a place to check in with my father's health, which as of November 2004 was finally, after three grueling months, on the mend. The source of the situation that caused all this pain was still focused on me and my life, and due to some mental and/or chemical issues, continued to attempt to remain connected to us, so between reporting and advising on my father's and my family's status, the HoB proved to be very catharctic. At this point, with that irritant deleted and far removed from us, I'm glad to proclaim that since then, despite encountering the problems and issues that we all face from day to day, I haven't experienced anything as negative, repulsive or plainly disgusting as that which inspired me to open these doors. However, I believe that if I did, I wouldn't allow myself to degenerate into the kind of fingerpointing, name-calling, or personal attacks that have consumed the above-cited blogs. I've never included anything herein -- aside from perhaps some language choices -- that I wouldn't be comfortable revealing to friends in person. Assuming this standard applies to most bloggers, it reveals a lot not about us as bloggers but us as people and us as members of a society. Seeing this sort of thing in print -- whether on paper or in pixel form -- is like a wreck during an auto race. As gruesome and difficult to view as it may be, we find our eyes drawn to and locked onto the site with a perverse, almost karmic need. But inasmuch as a confession or admission of events may be therapeutic, there has to be some measure or standard by which we respect the medium if not the object of our derision. That's the standard by which I've attempted to maintain in these pages, and it's not surprising -- even if it is unfortunate -- that this mentality, to govern this space with some measure of decorum, seems rare.
In either case, reading the above-cited blogs made me wonder whether this is an anomaly or typical, and whether this type of discussion -- given the anonymous, keyboard-commando mentality the Internet offers -- will increase or, as accountability grows, whether this type of thing will abate.
We shall see.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Thursday, May 11, 2006
The "Eyes" Have It
Given my penchant for cutesy misnomers, synonyms and semantical deviance, I figured this post's title was relatively in keeping with my normal routine.
This week, however, was my the culmination of another four years between visits to the eye doctor.
The last time I'd hit the eye doctor was March '02; I was about to undergo major surgery and needed to get my prescription (and my glasses) updated, so I did. I'm lucky; my prescription barely changed since the last time I'd seen my guy, so I needed to get new lenses only because I'd run out; otherwise, I could have just kept on going with the same prescription. However, given the allergy season approaching that seems to have everyone rubbing their eyes, sneezing and coughing up a rainbow of fruit flavors, I opted to see my guy now before the aforementioned symptoms affect me in a significant way.
Normally, I don't include minutae -- that is, boring, insignificant reportage of my daily activities and errands -- herein. However, the reason why I did so is not to see which of my readers wants to donate a new pair of Oakley prescription frames to me (feel free to do so, of course). No, the reason why I mentioned my jaunt to the eye doctor was because this particular work week is messier than usual -- we've got a few different deadlines, the ticking clock is particularly loud because my sister is heading out to help my mother relocate my grandmother (right around Mother's Day -- ooh, the irony) and everything on my personal end, workwise, is culminating over the next thirty-six hours. And, of course, to top it off, my regular doctor scheduled an appointment with me this week so between the eye doctor and the work stuff, I got the unpleasant task of seeing my regular doctor -- I don't mind seeing the doctor, but I do mind when the appointment drags on and eats away a weekday morning (an important one, mind you) in two-hour bites.
The good news, after all this medical inspection, is that I'll be healthy enough to continue writing until at least next week. After that, I make no promises.
Meanwhile, I'm now juggling a variety of miscellaneous crap at home; I've been doing lots of cleaning, organizing and upkeep in advance of Kaia's arrival in early/mid June -- normally, a month to prep the apartment for one's arrival isn't necessary, but despite Kaia being incredibly laid-back and not anal about seeing a dust bunny in a corner, my apartment is sort of mission control meets the junkyard. When I have friends and family over, it's relatively safe for human consumption, so I've tried to get it back to livable shape so when she's here she's comfy and she doesn't mind leaving the W.
However, having said all that, after the rush from The Godfather wore off (ie after I'd finished it for the second time) I went back into the well and pulled out Max Payne 2, a game I'd gotten from a friend a few years ago. It's more of a mystery/shoot'em up type game than The Godfather, but I figured I would try it out. The stories and the work put into games these days is almost more rewarding than movies, and this particular game is a mystery involving corruption, a large corporation, the Mafia and russian gangsters. So I have been moving through it slowly but surely, but again I am reminded that this is an occasional, rather than regular, hobby for me; there's too much else happening in my life for me to sit for hours in front of a PC, bleary-eyed and blistered, going in circles to try and navigate my way through a game. But every once in awhile, it's nice to dip my foot in that pool. It reminds me of my youth, and it also reminds me -- for better or worse -- that the garbage doesn't take itself out.
In either case, Kaia and I are trying to reconcile our schedules these days -- she's slammed as much if not moreso than me -- and we're lucky if we get an hour to talk at night. We'll each spend Sunday with our families, but at least she's working from home tomorrow and I'm around for part of the weekend. The hard part about us being on opposite coasts is that when we get busy with work, it's even more difficult for us to connect however we can in place of doing so physically and visually. Once she's living here, it will be a lot different; but until then, it's not easy for us to keep in touch 24-7. But as they say, nothing worthwhile is easy. When we're together, everything's awesome, and when we're apart and incommunicado for an extended period of time, it's difficult. So sometimes it's easy and sometimes it's not.
I am happy to admit, in this case, even when it's not easy, it's still absolutely worthwhile. Even if she doesn't care about Jorge Posada's two-bagger into left center ;-)
More later...
This week, however, was my the culmination of another four years between visits to the eye doctor.
The last time I'd hit the eye doctor was March '02; I was about to undergo major surgery and needed to get my prescription (and my glasses) updated, so I did. I'm lucky; my prescription barely changed since the last time I'd seen my guy, so I needed to get new lenses only because I'd run out; otherwise, I could have just kept on going with the same prescription. However, given the allergy season approaching that seems to have everyone rubbing their eyes, sneezing and coughing up a rainbow of fruit flavors, I opted to see my guy now before the aforementioned symptoms affect me in a significant way.
Normally, I don't include minutae -- that is, boring, insignificant reportage of my daily activities and errands -- herein. However, the reason why I did so is not to see which of my readers wants to donate a new pair of Oakley prescription frames to me (feel free to do so, of course). No, the reason why I mentioned my jaunt to the eye doctor was because this particular work week is messier than usual -- we've got a few different deadlines, the ticking clock is particularly loud because my sister is heading out to help my mother relocate my grandmother (right around Mother's Day -- ooh, the irony) and everything on my personal end, workwise, is culminating over the next thirty-six hours. And, of course, to top it off, my regular doctor scheduled an appointment with me this week so between the eye doctor and the work stuff, I got the unpleasant task of seeing my regular doctor -- I don't mind seeing the doctor, but I do mind when the appointment drags on and eats away a weekday morning (an important one, mind you) in two-hour bites.
The good news, after all this medical inspection, is that I'll be healthy enough to continue writing until at least next week. After that, I make no promises.
Meanwhile, I'm now juggling a variety of miscellaneous crap at home; I've been doing lots of cleaning, organizing and upkeep in advance of Kaia's arrival in early/mid June -- normally, a month to prep the apartment for one's arrival isn't necessary, but despite Kaia being incredibly laid-back and not anal about seeing a dust bunny in a corner, my apartment is sort of mission control meets the junkyard. When I have friends and family over, it's relatively safe for human consumption, so I've tried to get it back to livable shape so when she's here she's comfy and she doesn't mind leaving the W.
However, having said all that, after the rush from The Godfather wore off (ie after I'd finished it for the second time) I went back into the well and pulled out Max Payne 2, a game I'd gotten from a friend a few years ago. It's more of a mystery/shoot'em up type game than The Godfather, but I figured I would try it out. The stories and the work put into games these days is almost more rewarding than movies, and this particular game is a mystery involving corruption, a large corporation, the Mafia and russian gangsters. So I have been moving through it slowly but surely, but again I am reminded that this is an occasional, rather than regular, hobby for me; there's too much else happening in my life for me to sit for hours in front of a PC, bleary-eyed and blistered, going in circles to try and navigate my way through a game. But every once in awhile, it's nice to dip my foot in that pool. It reminds me of my youth, and it also reminds me -- for better or worse -- that the garbage doesn't take itself out.
In either case, Kaia and I are trying to reconcile our schedules these days -- she's slammed as much if not moreso than me -- and we're lucky if we get an hour to talk at night. We'll each spend Sunday with our families, but at least she's working from home tomorrow and I'm around for part of the weekend. The hard part about us being on opposite coasts is that when we get busy with work, it's even more difficult for us to connect however we can in place of doing so physically and visually. Once she's living here, it will be a lot different; but until then, it's not easy for us to keep in touch 24-7. But as they say, nothing worthwhile is easy. When we're together, everything's awesome, and when we're apart and incommunicado for an extended period of time, it's difficult. So sometimes it's easy and sometimes it's not.
I am happy to admit, in this case, even when it's not easy, it's still absolutely worthwhile. Even if she doesn't care about Jorge Posada's two-bagger into left center ;-)
More later...
Monday, May 08, 2006
And in this corner...
Later turned out to be much later.
It's not yet seven and I'm barely awake. Last night was the battle between good (the weekend) and evil (Monday morning). Good lost, as per usual, but it put forth a damn valiant effort.
I think it must be the weather changing; although it seems somewhat springy in the air (or should I opt for the term 'autumnal'), it still seems like it's 76 and balmy in my apartment. The TV is on for background noise as I wander aimlessly through cyberspace. I finally finished The Godfather -- twice -- the first time sort of backing into it and the second confidently ploughing through the entire mess of four families and a whole lot of crooked and/or dead cops each in under 40 hours of game-time. That sounds like a lot, but that essentially works out to fifty cents an hour, and I don't remember keeping myself occupied for an hour with two quarters in any arcade that didn't require ID to enter. The truth is that I'm far from a "gamer" -- as if the phrase "loser geek dweeb" needed to be summed up in one, marketable term -- and it occurs to me each time I delve into the world of PC games that I don't buy many, if at all, simply because I find too few games are so well done that they keep my attention; The Godfather did. There are some flaws in the overall play of the game, like the tedious need to drive everywhere (how many more times must I be forced to drive across the Brooklyn Bridge?), or the sometimes sticky gameplay, or the duplicate compounds, warehouses, transport hubs and businesses. And most odd, the game tries to include all nationalities in their portrayal of the various shopkeepers, so there is an Eskimo who owned -- in my most recent completion of the game -- a flower shop. Granted, the eskimo wasn't the proprietor of Louis' Italian Restaurant in the Bronx, but he should have been relegated to the fishmonger's place. I don't mind buying swordfish, salmon and lobster from an eskimo -- hell, I figure an eskimo's had his paws on my seafood at some point between when the fish comes out of the water and lands on my plate -- but I just don't see many people nabbing a dozen roses with baby's breath and a mini harpoon as decolletage. Then again, maybe I'm wrong.
Meanwhile, Kaia and I have taken to watching tv shows in quasi-real time; the few shows we enjoy are usually broadcast, luckily for us, at the same time on both coasts (thank you, HBO East) and we manage to do the coast-to-coast viewing party as if (almost as if, to be precise) we were sharing the same couch, the same blanket and each other's body heat. Until June, however, that is as good as it gets; since she's slammed at work as am I, we're not going to have the opportunity to get together before then. The one plus is that there's a party happening in the first or second weekend of June that's being given by a good friend, so I am looking forward to us spending time with friends and having a blast as per our usual.
Other than that, everything is typical -- work is good but keeping me busy, and with the onset of summer in the next four or so weeks, if not sooner, I'm looking forward to Mother's Day, my mother's and grandmother's birthday, and Kaia's birthday in July. And more time and energy to stop in here more often and actually produce something of merit rather than simply a run-through of minutae. On some level, I'm sure that this and all blogs is, or can be, put to that end. ANd barring a sexual tilt, this blog strives to be the best it can be. So if it's not hitting the mark, too damn bad -- go get what you pay for.
Finally, at left I've added a new link to a site entitled "Release Guide." It's a compendium of release dates for movies (in the theater), DVD's, music/CD's, games and books. It appears to be a tad mainstream, but I really can't recommend any site more or with more confidence; it's like a website for me personally. No more hitting Ice Magazine, Amazon and Moviefone for info; this sums it all up, and with pretty little thumbnail pics to boot. It's definitely a keeper, so stuff it into your net favorites and don't look back.
I'm off to lay low and hibernate for the night; I'll be sure and come back mighty soon, however, so don't stray too far.
It's not yet seven and I'm barely awake. Last night was the battle between good (the weekend) and evil (Monday morning). Good lost, as per usual, but it put forth a damn valiant effort.
I think it must be the weather changing; although it seems somewhat springy in the air (or should I opt for the term 'autumnal'), it still seems like it's 76 and balmy in my apartment. The TV is on for background noise as I wander aimlessly through cyberspace. I finally finished The Godfather -- twice -- the first time sort of backing into it and the second confidently ploughing through the entire mess of four families and a whole lot of crooked and/or dead cops each in under 40 hours of game-time. That sounds like a lot, but that essentially works out to fifty cents an hour, and I don't remember keeping myself occupied for an hour with two quarters in any arcade that didn't require ID to enter. The truth is that I'm far from a "gamer" -- as if the phrase "loser geek dweeb" needed to be summed up in one, marketable term -- and it occurs to me each time I delve into the world of PC games that I don't buy many, if at all, simply because I find too few games are so well done that they keep my attention; The Godfather did. There are some flaws in the overall play of the game, like the tedious need to drive everywhere (how many more times must I be forced to drive across the Brooklyn Bridge?), or the sometimes sticky gameplay, or the duplicate compounds, warehouses, transport hubs and businesses. And most odd, the game tries to include all nationalities in their portrayal of the various shopkeepers, so there is an Eskimo who owned -- in my most recent completion of the game -- a flower shop. Granted, the eskimo wasn't the proprietor of Louis' Italian Restaurant in the Bronx, but he should have been relegated to the fishmonger's place. I don't mind buying swordfish, salmon and lobster from an eskimo -- hell, I figure an eskimo's had his paws on my seafood at some point between when the fish comes out of the water and lands on my plate -- but I just don't see many people nabbing a dozen roses with baby's breath and a mini harpoon as decolletage. Then again, maybe I'm wrong.
Meanwhile, Kaia and I have taken to watching tv shows in quasi-real time; the few shows we enjoy are usually broadcast, luckily for us, at the same time on both coasts (thank you, HBO East) and we manage to do the coast-to-coast viewing party as if (almost as if, to be precise) we were sharing the same couch, the same blanket and each other's body heat. Until June, however, that is as good as it gets; since she's slammed at work as am I, we're not going to have the opportunity to get together before then. The one plus is that there's a party happening in the first or second weekend of June that's being given by a good friend, so I am looking forward to us spending time with friends and having a blast as per our usual.
Other than that, everything is typical -- work is good but keeping me busy, and with the onset of summer in the next four or so weeks, if not sooner, I'm looking forward to Mother's Day, my mother's and grandmother's birthday, and Kaia's birthday in July. And more time and energy to stop in here more often and actually produce something of merit rather than simply a run-through of minutae. On some level, I'm sure that this and all blogs is, or can be, put to that end. ANd barring a sexual tilt, this blog strives to be the best it can be. So if it's not hitting the mark, too damn bad -- go get what you pay for.
Finally, at left I've added a new link to a site entitled "Release Guide." It's a compendium of release dates for movies (in the theater), DVD's, music/CD's, games and books. It appears to be a tad mainstream, but I really can't recommend any site more or with more confidence; it's like a website for me personally. No more hitting Ice Magazine, Amazon and Moviefone for info; this sums it all up, and with pretty little thumbnail pics to boot. It's definitely a keeper, so stuff it into your net favorites and don't look back.
I'm off to lay low and hibernate for the night; I'll be sure and come back mighty soon, however, so don't stray too far.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
A Quick One Before The Sopranos
With less than two minutes to go until the Sopranos arrive, I just wanted to thank everyone for touching base here and elsewhere -- everything is good on the home front, and tomorrow is another day.
I'll be back a little later to go into more detail, but I thank you all in the meantime.
-B-
I'll be back a little later to go into more detail, but I thank you all in the meantime.
-B-
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
A Word To The Wise
The last 24 hours have seemed anything but.
Yesterday I woke up to a ringing phone -- not an unusual occurrence, incidentally, but yesterday it was my sister advising me that my mother was taking my father to the emergency room. Last week he had gotten sick after a not-brief-enough walk in the rain en route to Lincoln Center, and apparently he'd gotten a cold that, in tandem with his lack of sleep as of late, morphed into some sort of viral infection. Subsequently, he was prescribed Zithromax (aka the Z-Pak) and that apparently affected his stomach and not in a good way. So he had a few days of less-than-ideal stomach discomfort.
So yesterday morning he really was uncomfortable so they ventured to the hospital to insure it was nothing serious. My gut (no pun intended) told me it was some reaction to the Zithromax and his medicine (not to mention his feeling shitty to begin with), so when they advised us, after a battery of tests, that his heart was fine and his gallbladder was as well (they suspected there might be gallstones or a problem with his gallbladder, period), I was relieved. He's still in the hospital and he's being watched and prodded and poked a bit, but all in all he's going to be okay. Part of the problem -- with anyone in general, but him specifically -- is that he doesn't sleep as much -- or as well -- as he should. For some time now, he wakes up around 3 or 3:30 to go to the bathroom, and then once back in bed he gets some additional rest but the 3/3:30 zone is right smack in the middle of when his body should be hitting "REM" sleep, which is to say the most constructive, necessary aspect of sleep. Basically, if one takes a two-hour nap four times a day, that collective eight hours is more akin to four regular sleep hours; if a person manages only four hours in a night (without a break) that is better than the two-hour nap scenario because it gives the body a chance to not only get some rest but to go into a more deepened hibernative state. Sorry for the complicated explanation -- I don't make the rules, I just work here -- but the short and long is that he is not getting enough "productive" sleep.
In the meantime, we didn't know much of what was wrong -- or how serious it was -- until about 1PM. Thankfully, with respect to his health, I'm usually right -- I approach the situation logically rather than emotionally, so when I spoke to my mother yesterday morning and asked if he was having trouble breathing or if he was running a fever, she advised me that neither was the case, so I pretty much assumed it wasn't a cardiac issue. And while there still remains some unanswered questions regarding what is happening, I am confident and relieved knowing he'll be back to 100% in the next couple days.
Amid this backdrop was the usual pile-up of work; since I'm relatively organized, I managed to get most of the important stuff addressed and handled with his situation in the back of my mind, and once my mother called and let us know he was not in any danger, we opted to get out of the office for a few and get some lunch, so we hit a deli nearby and grabbed some salad bar fare.
Now normally, the collection of items at the various korean deli's salad bars are pretty safe, unless you head for the exotic -- they feature tuna, egg and shrimp salads, a variety of lettuces and vegetables, and a smattering of chicken, pork and turkey fare (both cold and heated) and a mix-em-up of fish/seafood and pasta and the quasi fake sushi (nori, aka seaweed, wrapped around rice and sliced vegetables). So I got some fresh plain turkey, some veggies (snow pea pods with straw mushrooms and broccoli) and some pasta. I didn't get a lot because I wasn't really hungry, but I figgered just in case that if I was, I'd grab a small bag of nachos. Sure enough, they didn't have any small bags thereof, so I was left with corn chips -- but instead of fritos, a childhood leftover favorite, they only had "Dipsy Doodles." So be it -- I grabbed the chips and my plastic food container and a 20 oz. Diet Coke and paid and we returned to the office.
Over the next hour I had most of the food but wound up tossing a little because, as predicted, I wasn't really hungry. However, due to anxiety or simply a need to keep my hands and mouth busy, I ended up chomping through the bag of chips. What struck me as odd was the fact that the bag of chips was stamped with the expiration date September 11th, and as I popped the bag open I mildly considered that it was not a good date to stamp on unnecessary snack foods consumed by Mr. and Mrs. America.
After mindlessly scarfing down three quarters of the bag -- it was a 4.25 oz bag, so you do the math -- I caught myself noticing that the chips seemed rather stale. Returning to my work, I was busy for another half-hour when I realized I had to hit the bathroom, so I hit a stall and did my thing. My stomach was bothering me a bit but I came back into the office and thought nothing more of it.
Until a half-hour later, when I had a recurrence of the same problem, so after a lather-rinse-repeat, I was back at my desk.
And then again.
And again.
In a three hour period, I went to the bathroom about five times, which is more than I usually go in a week.
Finally, after wondering when my next call from nature would occur, I looked in my under-desk garbage can and grabbed the nearly-empty bag of chips. I wondered if the staleness of the chips meant that the bag had been lying around and the expiration -- September 11th -- was referring to September 11th of 2005. Sure enough, the stamp indicated Sep1106, ie 2006. So I wondered if a snack company would stock their wares five months in advance -- that didn't seem likely -- and if that WAS the case, why would something with five months of shelf life remaining taste so shitty?
Then it hit me -- someone could have easily printed that bag, filled it with store-bought chips, sprayed something on them and then used some infomercial food sealer to get it onto market shelves, a la Tylenol from a long while ago.
And then, seeing September 11th on the bag, my mind began considering the possibilities. As I made another visit to the bathroom, these possibilities began pinballing around my head like a tic tac in the trunk of a car bouncing down a jagged ravine.
So once I was back at my desk, yet again, I called Wise in the hope that if this was not merely food poisoning but an actual poisoning issue, perhaps they could verify the stamp code and advise me how to proceed. Should I call a poison control center? Should I go to the emergency room? Should I see my physician? Should I drink a bottle or two of seltzer and go jogging? Who knew?
So I looked up Wise Snacks on the web, and sure enough they had a nice, shiny corporate web site -- without any contact phone numbers. So I used an Internet Yellow Page guide to find their phone number, and, not surprisingly, their Customer Complaint section had only a "leave a voicemail" response. I told them I was concerned this might be a poison/tampering issue, and that I needed to hear from them ASAP once they verified that code so I knew whether to go to the emergency room.
This was about 4:50PM yesterday -- and I still haven't received a call back.
I also e-mailed them and explained, in pretty polite, proper form, what I had explained in my voice mail.
I still haven't received a response from them.
So, inasmuch as I (and continue to) appreciate my father's situation -- it could be a lot worse -- yesterday was another roller-coaster ride, replete with more than my share of pit-stops along the way. He's doing well and will be back home in a day or two; and I'll be sure and thank Wise foods, by way of the FDA, for their courtesy and attention to my adventures in the land of the Dipsy Doodle.
But a word to the wise: never, ever, eat anything emblazoned with an expiration date of 9/11.
It's just bad juju.
Yesterday I woke up to a ringing phone -- not an unusual occurrence, incidentally, but yesterday it was my sister advising me that my mother was taking my father to the emergency room. Last week he had gotten sick after a not-brief-enough walk in the rain en route to Lincoln Center, and apparently he'd gotten a cold that, in tandem with his lack of sleep as of late, morphed into some sort of viral infection. Subsequently, he was prescribed Zithromax (aka the Z-Pak) and that apparently affected his stomach and not in a good way. So he had a few days of less-than-ideal stomach discomfort.
So yesterday morning he really was uncomfortable so they ventured to the hospital to insure it was nothing serious. My gut (no pun intended) told me it was some reaction to the Zithromax and his medicine (not to mention his feeling shitty to begin with), so when they advised us, after a battery of tests, that his heart was fine and his gallbladder was as well (they suspected there might be gallstones or a problem with his gallbladder, period), I was relieved. He's still in the hospital and he's being watched and prodded and poked a bit, but all in all he's going to be okay. Part of the problem -- with anyone in general, but him specifically -- is that he doesn't sleep as much -- or as well -- as he should. For some time now, he wakes up around 3 or 3:30 to go to the bathroom, and then once back in bed he gets some additional rest but the 3/3:30 zone is right smack in the middle of when his body should be hitting "REM" sleep, which is to say the most constructive, necessary aspect of sleep. Basically, if one takes a two-hour nap four times a day, that collective eight hours is more akin to four regular sleep hours; if a person manages only four hours in a night (without a break) that is better than the two-hour nap scenario because it gives the body a chance to not only get some rest but to go into a more deepened hibernative state. Sorry for the complicated explanation -- I don't make the rules, I just work here -- but the short and long is that he is not getting enough "productive" sleep.
In the meantime, we didn't know much of what was wrong -- or how serious it was -- until about 1PM. Thankfully, with respect to his health, I'm usually right -- I approach the situation logically rather than emotionally, so when I spoke to my mother yesterday morning and asked if he was having trouble breathing or if he was running a fever, she advised me that neither was the case, so I pretty much assumed it wasn't a cardiac issue. And while there still remains some unanswered questions regarding what is happening, I am confident and relieved knowing he'll be back to 100% in the next couple days.
Amid this backdrop was the usual pile-up of work; since I'm relatively organized, I managed to get most of the important stuff addressed and handled with his situation in the back of my mind, and once my mother called and let us know he was not in any danger, we opted to get out of the office for a few and get some lunch, so we hit a deli nearby and grabbed some salad bar fare.
Now normally, the collection of items at the various korean deli's salad bars are pretty safe, unless you head for the exotic -- they feature tuna, egg and shrimp salads, a variety of lettuces and vegetables, and a smattering of chicken, pork and turkey fare (both cold and heated) and a mix-em-up of fish/seafood and pasta and the quasi fake sushi (nori, aka seaweed, wrapped around rice and sliced vegetables). So I got some fresh plain turkey, some veggies (snow pea pods with straw mushrooms and broccoli) and some pasta. I didn't get a lot because I wasn't really hungry, but I figgered just in case that if I was, I'd grab a small bag of nachos. Sure enough, they didn't have any small bags thereof, so I was left with corn chips -- but instead of fritos, a childhood leftover favorite, they only had "Dipsy Doodles." So be it -- I grabbed the chips and my plastic food container and a 20 oz. Diet Coke and paid and we returned to the office.
Over the next hour I had most of the food but wound up tossing a little because, as predicted, I wasn't really hungry. However, due to anxiety or simply a need to keep my hands and mouth busy, I ended up chomping through the bag of chips. What struck me as odd was the fact that the bag of chips was stamped with the expiration date September 11th, and as I popped the bag open I mildly considered that it was not a good date to stamp on unnecessary snack foods consumed by Mr. and Mrs. America.
After mindlessly scarfing down three quarters of the bag -- it was a 4.25 oz bag, so you do the math -- I caught myself noticing that the chips seemed rather stale. Returning to my work, I was busy for another half-hour when I realized I had to hit the bathroom, so I hit a stall and did my thing. My stomach was bothering me a bit but I came back into the office and thought nothing more of it.
Until a half-hour later, when I had a recurrence of the same problem, so after a lather-rinse-repeat, I was back at my desk.
And then again.
And again.
In a three hour period, I went to the bathroom about five times, which is more than I usually go in a week.
Finally, after wondering when my next call from nature would occur, I looked in my under-desk garbage can and grabbed the nearly-empty bag of chips. I wondered if the staleness of the chips meant that the bag had been lying around and the expiration -- September 11th -- was referring to September 11th of 2005. Sure enough, the stamp indicated Sep1106, ie 2006. So I wondered if a snack company would stock their wares five months in advance -- that didn't seem likely -- and if that WAS the case, why would something with five months of shelf life remaining taste so shitty?
Then it hit me -- someone could have easily printed that bag, filled it with store-bought chips, sprayed something on them and then used some infomercial food sealer to get it onto market shelves, a la Tylenol from a long while ago.
And then, seeing September 11th on the bag, my mind began considering the possibilities. As I made another visit to the bathroom, these possibilities began pinballing around my head like a tic tac in the trunk of a car bouncing down a jagged ravine.
So once I was back at my desk, yet again, I called Wise in the hope that if this was not merely food poisoning but an actual poisoning issue, perhaps they could verify the stamp code and advise me how to proceed. Should I call a poison control center? Should I go to the emergency room? Should I see my physician? Should I drink a bottle or two of seltzer and go jogging? Who knew?
So I looked up Wise Snacks on the web, and sure enough they had a nice, shiny corporate web site -- without any contact phone numbers. So I used an Internet Yellow Page guide to find their phone number, and, not surprisingly, their Customer Complaint section had only a "leave a voicemail" response. I told them I was concerned this might be a poison/tampering issue, and that I needed to hear from them ASAP once they verified that code so I knew whether to go to the emergency room.
This was about 4:50PM yesterday -- and I still haven't received a call back.
I also e-mailed them and explained, in pretty polite, proper form, what I had explained in my voice mail.
I still haven't received a response from them.
So, inasmuch as I (and continue to) appreciate my father's situation -- it could be a lot worse -- yesterday was another roller-coaster ride, replete with more than my share of pit-stops along the way. He's doing well and will be back home in a day or two; and I'll be sure and thank Wise foods, by way of the FDA, for their courtesy and attention to my adventures in the land of the Dipsy Doodle.
But a word to the wise: never, ever, eat anything emblazoned with an expiration date of 9/11.
It's just bad juju.
Monday, May 01, 2006
The Weekend's Here and Gone
This weekend was a bit unusual because Kaia went to Tahoe to hang with friends and my friend Ron was in for a few days from Tokyo so Chateau Boogie was relatively silent until 9PM Sunday night when The Sopranos hit the air.
I got a chance to hang out with a friend I've known since college, and since we've gone to war together -- ie played a lot of hockey games, during many of which we spilled blood together (usually, thankfully, not our own) -- we've got lots of history. For sure, I'm not minimizing what's happening in Iraq, but when I use the term "go to war" it's not as far off as it might sound to someone who has never played hockey with a close-knit group like ours. We played regularly at Skyrink at Chelsea Piers as well as other rinks, and for the most part, we happily woke up at 5:30 on Sunday mornings just for the chance to skate and battle together. Aside from the stitches, the casts, the braces, the hospital stays and the surgeries, everything went great -- and we have the bloodstains on our sweaters to prove it. The only unfortunate part is that, at 36, we're not really suited to playing competitively, although I think it has more to do with the fact that we'd rather sleep in on Sundays then skate. Another friend of mine asked me what I thought of Mark Messier, who retired after the 2003-04 season at the age of 43 after 25 years in the NHL. It's impressive that he was able to last that long in the NHL, and it's a testament to the mental discipline and the physical shape he has demonstrated over the course of his Hall of Fame career. However, aside from the fact that I think he stuck around way too long -- the Rangers re-enter (andswept from) the playoffs for the first time in 9 years the year after he retires is not a coinkidink -- if I was a guy who had no real education and lived my entire life going from hotel to hotel and city to city merely to play hockey, I'd make sure I was in peak physical form, even at 43, so I could (barely) compete and cash a $5 million paycheck for another year or two.
Having said that, it was nice to skate again with a friend I hadn't seen (nor skated with) for far too long. The fact that our skate occurred the same weekend the Rangers were bounced from the playoffs was sort of ironic; the last time we played hockey together the Rangers were a competitive team, so let's hope that both occur with more frequency and far less time between.
Meanwhile...I watched a couple movies over the weekend in between conversations with Kaia and other meandering, miscellaneous stuff. The first, "Lord of War" stars Nicolas Cage as arms dealer Yuri Orlov. Right off the bat that should tell you something's amiss -- Nic Cage as a Ukrainian-born arms dealer? Next you'd expect Betty White co-stars as his junkie love interest (she doesn't). The movie is actually pretty decent once given a whirl, but the suspension of disbelief, ironically, isn't simply a good strategy for the viewer but for the characters in the movie as well. The movie's premise, basically, is that the people who put guns in others hands are just as guilty as are those pulling the trigger. Nic Cage usually plays likable characters, and despite the fact that Yuri is a lousy human being who disappoints everyone who cares about him, his character is a likable guy -- sort of. The movie sort of muddles its message three quarters of the way, but overall it is a fairly predictable, if not interesting, story of how some kid from Williamsburg wound up being on a first-name basis with every warlord or paranoid dictator in the post Cold War world (again, suspension of disbelief). And the shots (no pun intended) of Africa and other desolate, burned-out third world locations was striking. It brought back my recent memory of "The Constant Gardener" which was a much more streamlined, sophisticated, real story -- but in many ways, this was a memorable movie as well. And the opening title sequence does Martin Scorcese proud -- and no, I won't explain.
The second film in the BoogieMarathon was "Picture Perfect" starring Jennifer Aniston...entertaining, light and fun, although also predictable, syrupy and formula. It's on par with other "romantic comedies" like "The Wedding Date" and "13 Going On 30." Corny and disposable but far less threatening than The Sopranos was last night...
If you haven't seen last night's Sopranos, I won't reveal anything beyond that this ultimate season has not let loose like it has in years past; however, the show is showing signs not of slowing down per se but finding answers to questions and as it winds down, leaving these characters to where they should be in their respective lives. I'm not having the kind of fun this season that I did watching Goodfellas, which was affirmatively electric, or The Godfather, which was pure heat; however, the season's been a lot of fun so far and I am hoping that if this is the final season it should wrap up properly.
Speaking of The Godfather, I completed the entire game and had a blast (no pun intended) doing so; since the game is set up so you don't need to complete every task perfectly or accomplish every goal to the letter, I managed to win the game with 91.5% of the tasks completed. So I opted to go back in and re-do everything (knowing what to do this time, I surmised, might help me along). Eh...still not easy, but a lot more entertaining. And driving around NYC -- especially up to my neighborhood, and to my work neighborhood, while I am in my apartment, is surreal, especially because many of the buildings represent the current visage of the City.
Finally, I'm enjoying the fact that it's beautiful in the City and I'm looking forward to Kaia's next trip here; I wanted to head there for the Union Street fair in June but I think she'll be here by that time, so until she's here, I'm going through the motions and counting the days.
I got a chance to hang out with a friend I've known since college, and since we've gone to war together -- ie played a lot of hockey games, during many of which we spilled blood together (usually, thankfully, not our own) -- we've got lots of history. For sure, I'm not minimizing what's happening in Iraq, but when I use the term "go to war" it's not as far off as it might sound to someone who has never played hockey with a close-knit group like ours. We played regularly at Skyrink at Chelsea Piers as well as other rinks, and for the most part, we happily woke up at 5:30 on Sunday mornings just for the chance to skate and battle together. Aside from the stitches, the casts, the braces, the hospital stays and the surgeries, everything went great -- and we have the bloodstains on our sweaters to prove it. The only unfortunate part is that, at 36, we're not really suited to playing competitively, although I think it has more to do with the fact that we'd rather sleep in on Sundays then skate. Another friend of mine asked me what I thought of Mark Messier, who retired after the 2003-04 season at the age of 43 after 25 years in the NHL. It's impressive that he was able to last that long in the NHL, and it's a testament to the mental discipline and the physical shape he has demonstrated over the course of his Hall of Fame career. However, aside from the fact that I think he stuck around way too long -- the Rangers re-enter (andswept from) the playoffs for the first time in 9 years the year after he retires is not a coinkidink -- if I was a guy who had no real education and lived my entire life going from hotel to hotel and city to city merely to play hockey, I'd make sure I was in peak physical form, even at 43, so I could (barely) compete and cash a $5 million paycheck for another year or two.
Having said that, it was nice to skate again with a friend I hadn't seen (nor skated with) for far too long. The fact that our skate occurred the same weekend the Rangers were bounced from the playoffs was sort of ironic; the last time we played hockey together the Rangers were a competitive team, so let's hope that both occur with more frequency and far less time between.
Meanwhile...I watched a couple movies over the weekend in between conversations with Kaia and other meandering, miscellaneous stuff. The first, "Lord of War" stars Nicolas Cage as arms dealer Yuri Orlov. Right off the bat that should tell you something's amiss -- Nic Cage as a Ukrainian-born arms dealer? Next you'd expect Betty White co-stars as his junkie love interest (she doesn't). The movie is actually pretty decent once given a whirl, but the suspension of disbelief, ironically, isn't simply a good strategy for the viewer but for the characters in the movie as well. The movie's premise, basically, is that the people who put guns in others hands are just as guilty as are those pulling the trigger. Nic Cage usually plays likable characters, and despite the fact that Yuri is a lousy human being who disappoints everyone who cares about him, his character is a likable guy -- sort of. The movie sort of muddles its message three quarters of the way, but overall it is a fairly predictable, if not interesting, story of how some kid from Williamsburg wound up being on a first-name basis with every warlord or paranoid dictator in the post Cold War world (again, suspension of disbelief). And the shots (no pun intended) of Africa and other desolate, burned-out third world locations was striking. It brought back my recent memory of "The Constant Gardener" which was a much more streamlined, sophisticated, real story -- but in many ways, this was a memorable movie as well. And the opening title sequence does Martin Scorcese proud -- and no, I won't explain.
The second film in the BoogieMarathon was "Picture Perfect" starring Jennifer Aniston...entertaining, light and fun, although also predictable, syrupy and formula. It's on par with other "romantic comedies" like "The Wedding Date" and "13 Going On 30." Corny and disposable but far less threatening than The Sopranos was last night...
If you haven't seen last night's Sopranos, I won't reveal anything beyond that this ultimate season has not let loose like it has in years past; however, the show is showing signs not of slowing down per se but finding answers to questions and as it winds down, leaving these characters to where they should be in their respective lives. I'm not having the kind of fun this season that I did watching Goodfellas, which was affirmatively electric, or The Godfather, which was pure heat; however, the season's been a lot of fun so far and I am hoping that if this is the final season it should wrap up properly.
Speaking of The Godfather, I completed the entire game and had a blast (no pun intended) doing so; since the game is set up so you don't need to complete every task perfectly or accomplish every goal to the letter, I managed to win the game with 91.5% of the tasks completed. So I opted to go back in and re-do everything (knowing what to do this time, I surmised, might help me along). Eh...still not easy, but a lot more entertaining. And driving around NYC -- especially up to my neighborhood, and to my work neighborhood, while I am in my apartment, is surreal, especially because many of the buildings represent the current visage of the City.
Finally, I'm enjoying the fact that it's beautiful in the City and I'm looking forward to Kaia's next trip here; I wanted to head there for the Union Street fair in June but I think she'll be here by that time, so until she's here, I'm going through the motions and counting the days.
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