lab...with all the running around why am I fat?
jeeze...\
what did you eat at yankees stadium?
what did u eat?
you really want to know
4 burgers
3 chicken sand.
2 chicken sand minus the buns
2 hot dogs
5 cans of soda
from the 1st inn to the 7th
with one rain delay in between
My Stress Test
I can attest it that was aptly named
Per my doctor’s last check-up and being in my 40’s I was referred to my first stress test. I guess being fired last fall, then rehired and then occasionally eating foods name “The Alamo” may suggest a certain lifestyle is in need of some adjustments.
I was an interesting day – it started out smoothly. I took a rare el train ride, which is fun for me. I brought my camera with as well. I got there a little before about 6:45, about 15 minutes early or is it 75 minutes early…
…let me digress a moment on the scheduling oddity…
When I made my appointment, I was offered the early slot of 8:00 am, being the early bird person that I am I said fine, but then the person advised me that I will need to get here an hour before the appointment, “…so (they) can do all the preparation they need to do before the test”.
Pondering this, I was compelled to ask the obvious... “Wouldn’t it make sense to say the appointment is for 7:00 instead of 8:00?” She said “Yeah, I guess that would make sense, but we don’t do it that way”.
…OK then…
I get into the facility and it’s a newer building -- sort of 80’s retro-cool waiting room. I was hoping to hear some shoegaze tunes. It looked like I was the second person as the room was nearly empty except for a couple against the wall.
There was a signup sheet at the desk but no pen or pencil, so I called out “Hello?!?”
“Be there in a second”…I heard a woman’s voice call out from behind the maze of cubicles.
She comes out, hands me a clipboard of forms, many, many forms and I’m getting the jist of the one-hour prep time. These forms remarkably contain the same info that I fill out again, and again, year-after-year, insurance info, next of kin, yada, yada, yada…don’t tell me we can’t save billions overhauling our current system.
Ten minutes later, 19 forms duly filled in I hand the clipboard up and she asks me to take a seat and wait for my name to be called.
While I head for my seat, the same woman, now moves from the sign-up desk to, what I would I guess would be called the registration desk – a moment or two after I sit, she calls my name and we waltz through the clipboard information.
The info was already in the computer, SHOCKED I tell you… and she hands me a file folder, with a paper clipped note on it that has the number 303 on it.
“Wait until your number is called” with some added emphasis that my name will not be used from this point forward…and she adds
“…the numbers are also posted up on our announcement board”.
Sure enough, on wonderful Uber large LED board the number 300 is gleaming above her registration desk. Again, my curious nature, I offhandedly ask why wouldn’t I be number be number 2 or 3 instead of 303?
…at first I think my question stumped her, then later she at least chuckled at my question never quite explaining why we begin our number at 3xx.
I sit down again, gazing at the 303 while he couple next to me is still waiting…a nurse walks out, makes eye contact with them and without calling their number simple says “…please come with me”.
The big board number boldly glowing still says 300, so I am left wondering if their number was 302 or perhaps something like 281. Is there another room with 20 others stowed away?
Another person walks out from the back area, let’s call him Mr. White Hair, who is somewhere around my age, starts chatting with some of the folks who work here came in over the past 15 minutes or so. I’m the only left sitting in this reception area. After 10, 15, or so of him BS’ing at the front, he calls out to me, “you here for the stress test?” I responded, “Yes sir” and he then asked me to follow him.
There I am asking myself does this 303 serve some other purpose.
Skipping on from the boring waiting part, where I sit in a closet sized room for about 20 minutes, I then get moved to” The White Room”.
If you wanted to a room to look clinical, cold, and unpleasant…this was it.
I’m handed off to a woman, thick with Polish accent who asked to hop on the bed, in order to get the intravenous line put into my arm. She did this with barely a pinch of pain. She then loaded me up with the radiation stuff that takes 10-20 minutes to circulate, but “it’s harmless” she promises. She exits into the SCANNER room where I assume the ticket holder 302 is being scanned.
Then Mr. White Hair comes back. He does two things…first I am shaved in the spots where they attached the electrodes, so now I have an odd pattern of shaved skin areas somewhat reminiscent from Steve Carell from the 40-year Old Virgin.
He then tells me he has a special technique to make sure the electrodes make good contact, so he roughs up the areas of my skin with what amounts to sand paper before sticks the electrode on. After 14 or 15 spots I’m ready to tell Mr. White Hair to take his sand paper elsewhere. Finally, he finishes and he exits.
I’m left to gaze upon the white room still waiting for 302 to finish.
Oddly, there’s a HD screen above the treadmill. It’s playing a continuous loop of Sunset/Sunrise Earth. I’m quite familiar with it. When HD was just getting started; the few TV stations that were early broadcasting in HD had a dilemma. They didn’t have a lot of HD content to broadcast.
Someone had the bright idea of setting up an HD camera in a scenic nature setting. It may be some ocean front seashore with seagulls, crabs and such or stream of running salmon with bears. It’s sort of HD version of white noise, quite comforting. I once had it on TV one morning while I was getting ready for work and fell asleep on the couch.
One of my two cats, Annie, adores the program if only for the steady stream of bird sounds or the occasion shot of wildfire that would randomly pop up on the screen, but for the simian form of life, you watch 1 minute of this, and after that, it’s like watching paint dry…unless there’s a shot of some antelope being pounced upon by a Grizzly bear, it’s not really gonna hold my attention.
This now is my entertainment whilst I wait my turn for the SCANNER room. This is when I get my camera out for shots.
Polish Tech comes back in leads me to the SCANNER room. Now here’s a treat – an ice cold room, laying down on an ice cold table and humongous machine than comes way to close to my personal space. …and it takes 20 minutes while it moves about 1 centimeter every half minute…oh joy.
After what seems like an eternity, the machine finishes and now it’s time to go back to The WHITE ROOM.
Treadmill time.
Sadly I’m not in the best of shape so it’s pure joy to be climbing mount Olympus whilst watching penguins on the HD screen. I’m asking myself is this intended at motivation or relaxant, while dangling 15 or so electrodes from my body. Mr White Hair is trying to motivate me, instead of having the damn penguins he should have just waved that damn sandpaper he used on me 30 minutes ago.
I made my mark, get injected with my radiation stuff which I’m reminded
“…it’s harmless”
…which in retrospect was probably true, compared to the 100 or so zaps I’m getting from the Humongous personal space invading machine. Another half hour of humongous Zap machine changing my DNA to something else, and I’m DONE!!!
I adore this place for it's food, efficient service and its simple warm interior.
I've never had a bad meal here, in fact it's always been consistently good. In my neighborhood you cannot survive very long in the restaurant business unless you are very good, this includes Mexican cuisine which can be found on nearly every corner.
...and that salsa is exquisitely delicious. It' has a hint of sweetness is later betrayed with a wonderful heat that sneaks up on you.
I have not been here in years.
it's fear.
Well maybe not fear, but of facing the consequences of "that one evening".
My dear friend Kathy and I used to frequent this place and not having seen her in a ages we easily agreed this would be a great place to have dinner. As I said, the food, the decor makes for very comfortable atmosphere, except for....
...the strolling man with the guitar.
He's older gentleman and a fine musician very capable who signs Mexican ballads. Once he's there, you cannot help but feel like you're sharing the center stage while he's singing at your table, but at the end of the tune he's off to the next table when you hand him a tip.
This particular evening in question he didn't make it to our table, rather he was with a couple at a table on along the wall.
Unfortunately I happened to make eye contact with The Guy at the table while the balladeer was signing. His expression exposed his every emotion of awkwardness that was all too familiar -- from then I was using every ounce of strength keep from laughing.
At the end of the first tune, the balladeer have dropped anchor and moved on to the next tune. More eye contact, and the guy has noticed me holding back my laughter, and we've created a feedback loop. Mr. balladeer has parked it at Mr. and Mrs. table. I don't know if he was unaware of the "hand him a few bucks" and he'll move on, or he thought it would happen on its own.
Kathy knows all too well, once my laughing gets going there's no way to hold it back and it's become contagious with her....and Mr.Balladeer in on to song number three, Mr. Guy is also trying not to laugh but he's also got Mr. Balladeer keeping him company so he's torn between awkwardness and laughing while I'm in tears trying to pay the check.
Clearly I know I've become noticeable to others in the restaurant as Senor Balladeer continues croooning The Guy also Uber red in his face and I'm almost running to the exit before I lose it.
It's almost eight years now.
I had a business trip to Nuremberg in 2001. I had planned to see my mate from college in London on the way back home. I asked my Dad if he would like to join me in Germany, then London. I couldn't quite convince him for a trip to Germany, but he was game to see London.
This was his first visit to Europe and I was later to learn his last vacation.
Despite a few oops...like me being in London a day early on May 1st before my Dad got there, this was a grand vacation.
I had the pleasure of seeing my best friend Andy from college for the first time in more than a decade, but to share a wonderful and memorable evening with my Dad and Andy. In retrospect it was a blessing the pubs did close at 11:00.
I still miss my Dad. At least now the good memories, like this one overwhelm the not so good memories, and now I can publish these photos as a labor of love.
Ahhh....
The classic Big Baby.
No special sauce, no gimmicks. Two beef patties grilled in front of you, slap on some American cheese, on top of the grease toasted bun. Slap on the grilled onions, mustard and that's it. The heart surgeon's best friend. I think it was something in those grilled onions those Greeks added that kept patrons returning.
It was impossible to not stop here now and then. Commuting from IIT to home -- 35th St. bus to the Archer Express, then down Kedzie Ave, and there it was...like a shimmering light beckoning the hungry to come in.
It's been about 5 months since re-joining my company after being "fired" in September.
I knew then but now with a deeper perspective, that i was still much more fortunate than many, many others who are trying to meet the day-to-day demands of trying to get by. Very few folks have 60 days to remain on roll while seeking another job -- it gave me the window to return to my position at work. As my good friend Cal said -- "you're one lucky bastard".
I'd like to write more about my job, but frankly it still seems like I'm getting settled in and haven't quite the ability to articulate how I see myself -- career-wise. I'm certainly less susceptible to whatever rumour happens my way, having already been through it once. It does seem somewhat empowering and I think there's some truth to the saying "what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger".
I've lately become interested again in my photography including many photos taken during my "sabbatical". I was surprised at the emotional impact of being "fired" and the feelings of feeling less worthy or dare I say it -- a failure. I'm sure that's some of the feeling I still carry today.
My joy of photography was certainly dampened, but lately the itch has come back and it's interesting to see the photos I took whilst I was wallowing in failure-mode. My joy of writing seems to go hand-in-hand with my photography.
I'm not yet satisfied with my writing, I know I am being too reticent on expressing details and my feelings, but I'm hoping this is a growth process to be nurtured.
This took too long.
I drafted a couple of entries but didn't publish them -- somehow it wasn't quite right. So I am retracing my creative threads back to how my blog got started. Photos -- so I am reviewing some photos taken during my "sabbatical".
I kind of like this photo for the contrasting time line -- the old building and ornaments coupled with the green-friendly eco lights.
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