BRUNO is a snore

After lunch, I taxi to my dentist on West 69th and Broadway.
Until I get an electric bike, cycling is out.
My lower back and hips ache.

The ride there is easy, no traffic, sunshine, green lights.
$8.00 with tip.

The city has that summer feeling. Everyone has left the city.

My visit to the dentist is too short.
I arrive early, wait ten minutes, and am then summoned to the dentist chair where my lady dentist is busy prepping my mouth guard. The dentist, her assistant and I are comfortable together. We are all friends now. It feels nice. And, THIS visit offers no fear. I am here to accept my reward... my dental guard.

It fits! and I am done. I am free to leave.

But I am at a loss. I've travelled all this way. I'm not ready to go.

I look to the attractive dental assistant I had flirted with the last time.

"Well, that was easy..." (I guess I should stand up. Stand up, get up and go)

The pretty assistantl looks at me with cautious curiosity - (you're that guy with the disease- I'm supposed to be careful and extra kind to you-) her face reads.

" Well then, I'm off I guess. So... so, so have a wonderful day!"

I throw my legs out of the dentist chair. My legs swing together like I have polio. I love the drama of this thing.
I am a hero. Look how brave I am!

(Somewhere in my skull, I feel like (like at any moment) I could drop this whole charade, like it's an affectation. I actually feel like that.)

On the elevator ride down I get a text message from my sister.

"DO YOU HAVE DAD'S PHONE NUMBER AT REHAB?" (which means ... why haven't you called Dad?)

- "NO" I lie. I falsely text back.

And then immediately find his number on my iphone and push the dial button as I slide along the wall the of the lobby at 1995 Broadway. There is a decorative runner along the wall ( a rail?) which is really pretty useless to most of the population but which I find comforting and helpful.

- "Dad?"

- "Is that Charlie?"

- "Yes, HI Dad!"

My Dad's voice is strong, clear, deep, young.
My voice is high, garbled, weak, old.

My Dad speaks in full sentences. He hasn't had a drink in two weeks. This gives his voice a new sober sound.

And, his voice cuts through me like a shot of Bourbon. I love my father. My father is difficult (for me). My father and I are cut from much of the same cloth.
I want to make sure my father feels loved and is happy. However, my role (as the son) is to keep my distance. We talk about cameras and bikes.


- "How are you?" Dad asks.

- "I'm great, everything is great."

- "Are you?"

- "Yeah... how are YOU?"

- " Well, I'm not doing so well..."

- "No?"

- "No, I don't feel very good. I threw up a couple of times this morning. My throat hurts, it's soar."

- "Well, you sound really good." And he did. He sounded clear and 20 years younger than he normally sounds.

- "Well, your mother just left, you missed your mother, she just left to play gulf."

- "It's a beautiful day for gulf"

- "Yes, it is. It's a very nice day.

- "So when are you we going to see you? When are you coming up?"

- "I think, I'll be up Thursday."

- "How will you get up here?"

- "I think I'll take the train, Amtrak from Penn Station, and then the bus to Falmouth.
The only problem of course is Penn Station. It's such a mess down there.
And the way that they call out your (that your gate) is open, and everyone rushes, and... its' just awful."

-"Well, that's right... it is."

" so.. I'll be seeing you in a couple days..."

- "good."

"have you been reading? Do you have your laptop?"

"you mean that laptop that nearly killed me?"

"um, yeah, well that one or your old one, do they have wifi there at the hospital, maybe you can go online and read the news."

"huh... that's a good idea, I'll have to ask, I'll have to ask if they have that, wifi."

"Ask Mom, to bring the laptop over and then see if you can get online."

"huh... I'll do that. That's a pretty good idea."

(My dentist lady passes me in the lobby. On her way to lunch I imagine. She gives me warm crinkly eyed smile. I nod back.
My dentist likes me. We have shared something. There is a trust.)

" Hey Dad, I'm going to get myself an electric bike."

" a moped?"

"No, it looks like a normal bike except you can switch to a motor when you get tired."

"Well, that sounds like a good idea. Where are you going to get it?"

"I don't know.

(pause)

-"How long will you be staying at the hospital?"

- "Well, I guess through July, I guess I'll be home in August."

- " That'll be nice, the Cape is certainly great in August."

"yes, it is."

"Well, Dad I think I should be moving along here."

"Okay Charlie"

"I'll be seeing you in a few days."

"Righto."

"Bye Dad."


And with that I crawl out of the hole of feeling like an old man. I realize that I am not 82. My father is 82. I am a young man.
(a young man that has difficulty stepping on to the sidewalk)

I follow tradition with lunch at "Ollie's". Happy Family Noodle Dish with Egg... $8.

Next, I go to Pottery Barn. The store is crowded with merchandise that will not move.
I buy an indoor out door pillow marked down from $40 to $13 and 4 candles all under $5. These are for my Mother's birthday.

I unsteadily walk across the street to Lowes Lincoln Square Cinema. It takes forever. It takes me two lights to get across.
But I haven't been to a commercial movie in months. Walking through that massive theatre complex takes the same kind of resolve it takes a normal walker to walk five miles along a busy highway. It goes on forever, and stranger after stranger is aware of my odd ball crippled walk.

I see Bruno.

Bruno is a disaster. Bruno is boring. People walk out, because Bruno is so boring.

I cab to an appointment for craniosacral therapy on 30th and 6th. I cab straight through the heart of Times Square.
I think it cost me $13.

Aroo, the cat who thinks he's all that.

LOVE, TRUTH, LIFE

Saturday night,

Mattie comes over to my place for a swim in my apartment building's pool.
We'll swim and do Feldenchrist.
My legs and hips joints feel bad today (burning). My voice and speech are weaker.

I am slipping.

Mattie sees this? She wants to help me (some how).

She'll be driving from New Jersey.

We'll meet in the pool. I alert the guys at the front desk that friend, Mattie will be joining me in the pool. Please give her access.

I wait and as I wait, I paddle around the pool like a dainty lady and talk to the lifeguard. I ask her inane questions.

"You like working here?"

"How 'bout this weather?"

"When does your shift end?"

It is clear from my sloppy questioning that I have nothing pressing this evening (or) that I am avoiding resposibility by filling up my head with puff.

Yes, puff.

And there is Mattie! She comes through the lady's locker room. (off limit to us men)

Like magic, really (I think). How did she ever find a place to park in my neighborhood? She is a magician.

Mattie and I splash around the empty pool with no real commitment.
It's a little awkward. Like the last scene from "THE GRADUATE" on the bus, so much effort for Dustin Hoffman and Katherine Ross to finally get together, so much effort for Mattie to get here, and now only 20 minutes left! And so here we are.
Now what?

Still,
we manage to do some movement exercises in the pool. Twists and breathing. Mindful movement (Mattie calls it)

My body IS happier in the pool. I am a child again. I NEVER want to leave the swimming pool.
I can walk and bend and stretch and sashay pretty easily, in the water.

After toweling down and blow drying my hair (makes my hair behave), Mattie and I meet in the work out area.

I show her how lame my walk is getting. it is Quasi Moto -ish.
When I come to a stand still, I teeter like I'm falling off a log. I have to bend my knees and duck forward like I'm on a boat during high seas.

(I must keep my body and muscles moving and circulating. BUT I must not stress them out too much.
When a normal person puts pressure on their muscles, they get bigger, stronger.
When I put pressure on my muscles they deteriorate.

Rats.

"Wanna come up to my place?"

- "sure!"

Mattie comes up to my place.

It is sparkling clean because Siska (my cleaning person) has just left with her two nieces.
It is the first time I have ever hired someone to help me clean. I clean with her, and we really can make the place shine in 2 hours. It's fun, like we're prepping for a show. Sweeping the stage, hanging the costumes, putting all the props in place.
When it's done, it's show-time!

I wish I had hired a cleaning person before. It's like getting a massage or going out to dinner. It's a great lift.

We sit down to humus and tea.

Something is up.
Mattie has a plan for me. She has been thinking about me. She has been doing research. A little. She is concerned.

She puts an idea on the table.

"Why don't you just assume that you can heal youself. Why don't you assume that you can stop this thing and get better? Why don't you just make this assumption for (maybe-even-for-just) a month (maybe).

I tell her "I feel like I have kind of lost ground. I have begun to give in. I have no hopes, no big ideas. I am just living in the immediate present. It's not a bad feeling. More, kind of like, someone in a blizzard lying down in a snow embankment to go to sleep. "

One problem I am having is getting around. Walking around is taxing. It is tiring, and my brain, my ethos, begins to match my decrepid walk. Putting things away in my apartment, getting up to feed the cat, makes my hip joints ache, my feet throb.

Mattie says she can understand how I would feel this way, BUT, why not try to really make a go of it for a month or so?!

Mattie continues, and I get inspired.

We do a visualization exercise related to chi Gong.
I imagine a the great power of the universe every where, expansive, in between everyone on my cells. Cleaning removing free radicals, energizing my body, my buzzing body healing through the power of this eternal limitless super power.

I grab a pad of paper and take notes like I'm getting notes from a director.

__________________________________________

1. Preserving energy equals preserving mental energy which will allow me to focus and pray and read and meditate.
For this month, be careful about energy. Use my energy to heal.

2. I can heal through, visualization, prayer, church, reading, a personal mantra.

3. Find JOY and let go or avoid anger.

4. Remind myself or become more aware of my purpose. I am not ready to leave, I have a purpose.

5. Prepare for the future, apply to a graduate school of my choosing.

6. Fight FREE RADICALS (black) with ANTI OXYDENTS (white)

7. AVoid the road to nowhere, (the end) if my present purpose is to heal. Make choices that reflect my G-d given health.

8. Look good and feel good.

9. Read and watch and partake in things that are LIFE affirming. LOVE,TRUTH, LIFE.

10. Purchase an electric bike to preserve my strength.

11. Create a disciplined day of MINDFUL MOVEMENT, MEDITATION AND PRAYER, READING, and eating organic wholesome food.

12. Investigate and work with alternative health practitioners, chi Gong, Feldenchist, Maio Facial release, massage, acupuncture,

13. Reconnect with a western doctor.

14. Keep a list but don't become overwhelmed.

___________________________________________________

Mattie and I go into the kitchen and stare at my food and vitamins.

Through the kitchen opening, we can see Aroo (the cat) lying on his back. That cat is so damn happy. It bugs me. I want to say to the cat, "can't you do a few things around here? Shouldn't you be hiding under the bed when I have company? Aren't you still traumatized from your early life on the streets of Brooklyn?"

The cat acts like he knew (when he was just a few weeks old) that he'd be lounging around on an expensive Asian carpet. The cat knew he was destined for the "good life".

(Bugs me). But he DOES lie on my throbbing feet at night (in bed).

Mattie is a rescuer. Mattie rescues cats in New Jersey.
I don't pay her for Feldenchrist and she doesn't have any money. She says this is what friends are for.
She is a healer.

Mattie recently rescued a cat and actually found a home for it. But the new owner (against Mattie's wishes) had the cat declawed. Now the cat won't poop in the litter box. Mattie thinks the cat doesn't like the feel of the kitty litter on it's claw-less paws. The owner returned the now defective cat to Mattie. The cat is now residing inside the box springs of a friend's bed.

Poor cat.

I remember this cat (that another friend of mine) rescued on the upper west side, 15 years ago.
This feral cat ("Tom", Merrill reminds me) lived with me for its short rehabilitation.

The woman who brought me Tom, recently committed suicide, I tell Mattie.
This is upsetting. But actually THIS rescue was successful. And the woman who killed herself might have remembered that she was gifted helping other living creatures.

This cat was a huge, scary piece of hairy muscle with no ears and jowls the size of tennis balls.

At first, he stayed under my desk for a couple of weeks. I never saw him.

When Tom farted, I would have to leave my small apartment.

But during his stay, he magically transformed. He became a domestic house cat.

And after about a month, the cat got it. He caught on. He knew what to do.

He started grooming himself and napping in the sun.
His fur changed and his jowls disappeared. He became happy and secure.

Still no ears, though.

After this Pygmalion transformation, he was flown to an apartment in San Francisco and lived blissfully for another 10 or 12 years.

Tom's life possible through the power of LOVE, TRUTH, LIFE.

8

Hey you,

I read your blog and saw the picture of Kite, so beautiful. You didn't mention all the tupperware and food and the needed laughs though. I was tempted to point that out in a comment but it seems that everyone is too awestruck by your genius to write comments in your blog! I feel tentative and hushed when I start to write a comment... I am feeling a little awestruck by your genius and your increasing significance and I'm starting to feel competitive. I'm going to start a blog anonymously too -- SEE IF YOU CAN FIND IT. :)

Anyway, it was really really fun. Except for the fact that you were so lovely with Kite, and if I'd had a choice, I wish I'd come alone and stayed with you.


-CAR

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________



CAR,


1. If I can get to it, I'll create a gorgeous blog entry (quite dry and plain) dropping little details about your intelligence, wisdom and ability to plan.

2. Comment away (on my blog entry) (if you care to). Maybe it will break the ice.

3. Try to remember to rent Paper Moon so that you can act it out with Sophie and Walter when you drive around town.

4. I will call Foster. I just don't like doing anything. And I don't like walking and talking in front of people.
I don't like being the "marked" person.

5. Thank you for all the shopping and help.
I really loved the bike and boat ride. That is my kind of sh-t. I am corny that way.
(Remember the day (22 years ago) we went to the top of the Empire state building and took pictures with your Dad's Leica.
And then we went to Crazy Eddie and bought a TV. The same damn TV I have now? I still count that as a recent visit to the Empire State Building)

6. I really like Kite. He is stimulating and funny, although I did feel a little defensive around him because he appears smarter than me.He is both (a bashful 10 year old) and (a stinging IVY league type).

7. I drank a lot of wine last night and ate the pasta salad from Jackie (next door).
Shall I have pate and brie for breakfast?
No! I'll try that tasty cereal you insisted I buy.

Charlie

8. The Dinosaur is on the kitchen counter with all of it's price tags intact.
I'll send it when you send that box to Merrill.

Ha.

HUDSON RIVER BOAT RIDE

WHERE'S G-D?

Charlie,

My colleague Donna got back to me. Here's what she said:

Rob Tokel 805 631-1184--I believe he's the PT who does chi gong. Works in NYC.
If you want me to call Rob, I'll give him a call to see if he thinks it would be beneficial for you to work with him.

Book; Cancer As a Turning Point, by Larry LeShan, psychologist. the info in it is appropriate for healing/helping more than cancer, it has written exercises in the back.

I think it would be a really good idea to get this book. I would think the exercises could be very helpful.

Did you listen to the Prairie Hoe Companion Joke CD yet?

Mattie

P.S. What is your birth date if you don't mind me asking



Hi Mattie,

Thank you for this.

Birthday is 9/26/62 LIBRA.

I suppose I will call him. Maybe today.
Or should you call first?

I will put the book on a list of ones to be investigated.
You have to be a good researcher/reader when you get into trouble (apparently)
I will read!

The weather today is so GREAT. It feels like I might be camping Franconia Notch State Park. I have loved the weather this summer.

I haven't played the cd yet. I was with my friend CAR and her son Kite last night.
They got a cheap room in a cool boutique hotel, THE TIME HOTEL on 49th and Broadway, right across from "Chicago".

Kite has Aspergers (so they say).
On the elevator ride down in my building Kkite saw me laughing with CAR and asked,
"Charlie, aren't you going to die anymore?"

I said, "Well... I'm not dead right now... am I !?"

I think I relate to Kite.
I remember taking my first ride in an airplane and when we were above the clouds, I turned to my mother and asked
in a (clear and loud) little boy voice,

"Where's G-d?"

All the adults around me laughed. I didn't understand why.

Car and Kite and I may take a boat ride on a schooner tonight at sunset on the Hudson.
Pretty cheap $25 with champagne!

CHARLIE

DON'T EVER THINK ABOUT IT

Thursday July 2nd, I meet (director and friend) Olivia.
She has dropped off food at my very tall high-rise on the very end of 42nd Street.
I had mentioned to her that I didn't want to be treated like "the ill" or I will become ill.
She reassures me that it is nourishment to heal, not to abet an illness.

But I am not at my glamourous high rise, I am at B&H on 33rd and 9th Avenue. I am at B&H to buy the FLIP video camera.

As I step into the B&H, I lose my balance (repeatedly) and a security guard grabs me by the elbow and won't let go.
The security guard is simple and thuggish and thinks I'm a rascal. He thinks I am out of control.

I tell him, "It's okay. It's okay, you can let go." (I am meek and this has some power over him)

"Man, you lookin' a little unsteady there."

"It's okay, I got it."

I totter to the mini video camera section.

(When I am out, I scout my destinations and prepare.
It may be a few yards away but I must plan, mentally)

While looking at various options (color and file size) of the FLIP, I get texts on my iphone from Olivia. She has delivered the food.

I text back to meet at the Cupcake.

I purchase my FLIP camera and bike back to the Cup Cake (going the wrong way on evil 9th avenue - more people are killed by cars and trucks on this stretch of 9th Avenue than any other part of the city)

At the Cupcake I am happy to see Olivia.
I have collaborated with her on so many plays and readings!
We have a history that came about through our work together here in New York.

We fall in easily.

She looks good (she will more than likely read this entry and so I tell her NOW that she I like the way she looks and I often appreciate her style)

and I guess... I look okay.

I have shaved my recent beard (too itchy, too distracting) and left a mustache ( a porn-stache)

"Nice mustache" Olivia comments.

"It's a porn stash!" This delights me. Porn stash! I am such an innocent (I think) that I enjoy playing freely with rank language.

We gather tea and coffee and I notice she carries a script.

(Ah yes, projects, plays, industriousness. People with futures. I remember that.
I make a mental note to talk to her about the script but I never do)

We begin...

and, against my better judgement, against what I had planned, had preconceived, I launch into my health crisis with the abandon of a proud parent talking about their talented child, I gush about my disease.

There is a disconnect here) I am detached from the whole issue. Oh I talk about it, but I talk about it like I am talking about somebody else. I am gossipy.

I am special. I have a disease, a TERRIBLE disease. I may as well be talking about an exciting role I just got.

"It's bilateral, which is the deciding give away" equals "I'm working on a little film with Mike Nichols"

I am important.

Olivia asks me about support groups.

I tell her I don't want to encourage the disease.
(Not true (okay maybe a little true) I am just too lazy and lost at the moment)

We continue with,
my bad appointment at Columbia Presbyterian. Unemployment. Denial.
Applying for disability.

I tell Olivia, I make my point to Olivia, that given my circumstances, the prognosis, it is difficult to get off the couch and work on myself. "I mean if it's progressive you're continually swimming upstream, I guess the whole thing, the whole idea (now) is about quality of life."

"Well you're in favor of that, right?"

(I'm not so sure I mean If I'm not here to contribute... I think, but don't say)

But (and) in any case,

We have a good laugh.
I release a needed laugh.
I describe getting out of a cab in front of my building, falling on my ass and asking the doorman to help me stand back up.
This is hilarious to me (now) and Olivia joins in my crying laughter.

Sad but in keeping with the best comedy, Chaplin, Keaton... and really ... these were my true connections... artistically.

We gossip about friends. We talk of projects.

Olivia asks me about the bike that I was trying to win in a website contest. (I didn't win)
She tells me that she wants to buy it for me.
But this is crazy, because you buy gifts for people who are dying and penniless. I am neither one.
I am in a difficult spot.

I tell Olivia about Mind Science and Christian Science. We talk about her Temple.
Maybe we'll do an exchange.
She will come to 10th Church and I will come to Temple.
She is game.

Olivia reveals that she has suggested this blog to a friend at the New York Times.

The pitch?
An artist's attempt to heal himself.
The problem is, I tell Olivia, I am not in touch with my present crisis.

(I explain in a vague way ... via Jane Fonda discussing Michael Jackson)

"I remember one day he was visiting me at my ranch north of Santa Barbara. I pointed to a spot where I told him I wanted to be buried. Michael had a melt down right then and there when he heard this. He shrieked and bent over and said “no, no, no!” “ What’s the matter,” I asked. “Don’t ever talk about your dying,” he answered. “Don’t ever think about it.”
I think about death all the time. I rehearse my death. I think that’s a healthy thing to do. Death, after all, is what gives life meaning the way noise gives meaning to silence. Ooh, I thought to myself, Michael will have a hard time of it as he ages. He will spend all his energy trying to flee what is inevitable."

The Cupcake is closing.
And it is pouring.

Today has been blessed (like so many days this month) with Hollywood-style rain - showers that appear piped in from nearby water tanks. Sunlight... and corny drenching rains.

We are stuck.

"Where would you normally go in this situation?" Olivia asks.

And I answer, "I am not sure."
(like my future and past, the present is unsteady and unclear)

But the rain stops and we walk to my bike parked outside.

(At my bike) I am suddenly starved to express myself, to discuss any left over ideas that weren't gotten to inside.
I have grown daffy in my isolation and so I ramble...

"Send me any stories about neurological illnesses where there is recovery" I ask.
"You've spoken to Norman recently?"
"How will you get home?" (as if I'd be any help hailing a cab)

Finally, "I could go to my friend John's for the 4th, but I'd have to climb too many stairs... or to Williamstown? Williamstown with it's creaky bridge and all the hiking?"

As we leave that patch of the city, the only section left that resembles the New York I remember as a kid, as an eleven year old commuting to 1970s Manhattan during the garbage strike, where there were still Chock Full of Nuts diners on every corner and I met the likes of a pre-adolescent Ally Sheedy at auditions, as we leave this mini section of New York,

I ask her if I look okay, or rather, I TELL her that I look okay... "right?"

"Yes'" she says, "it's a relief to see you, to see you standing here, I mean ... it's not ideal... but yes."

And this is hard for me because in my isolation, I have grown used to my lesser physical self.
(a minor sprain, an endless flu... my deceptive mind reasons... I am fine. Now even the doormen avert their eyes when they see me.

I am a defended man. "Reserved" they tell me.
I want to look okay. I don't want pity.
My life has been about striving, auditioning, staying in there.
I am (now) on permanent ... adrift.

I think about moving to the Portland and starting over.

I am on my bike.
I ride my bicycle to a destination of goose-egg.

When I get to my high-rise, there is a generous gift of several dinners in 5 to six Tupperware packages. Olivia has attached thoughtful labels. It is impressive and kind. And (later) the food tasted really good.

EMAIL TO the WEST

Hi Merril-

I am not a good phone talker. My voice is tired.
I shall have to add voice and diction to an endless list of daily chores to knock off.

I've been swimming... sometimes twice a day.

Sounds like you guys had fun at the wedding.
Did you sing? Or did you speak the words.

My Dad.
My Dad fell and broke a hip outside the Apple Store on Cape Cod. Fell with a brand new laptop in his arms.
Two weeks before he broke some ribs. Fell out of bed maybe?

But he is okay.
He is a survivor.

He is in a place you go after the hospital. Rehab?

None of this would have happened (maybe) if he did his daily exercises. He won't leave his chair.
So he loses his balance. He is willful and it has gotten him in trouble (is the way I see it)

I had a great fourth. Some friends came over -John, Sonya, Kathy and Ellen, and we had a huge dinner and danced and watched the AMAZING fireworks from the back deck of my building.

I made this excellent and super easy water-mellon salad. So good.

http://www.amateurgourmet.com/2009/06/watermelon_sala.html

It was good to see Norman. It was bad timing however.
I was un-showered unshaven sweaty and shirtless in underwear on the couch. My door was open.

I keep being sought out on Face-book from my best friends from child hood New Canaan. Four, in the last week!

How is Charles and bovary?
How is your DAd?

I guess it's hot out west... according to my iphone.

CAR and Cronkite are visiting tomorrow. Maybe.

I am zonked.

Charlie

I bought "the Flip". It's a mini video camera the size of a wallet.
It's VERY easy to use. (I think it's intended for you-tube)

I made this short film in about an hour using i-movie.

(It's my bike-ride down to the 10th Church in SOHO on Sunday morning)

Like a written blog entry, I tried to limit the time I spent creating it. (an hour)
It's a sketch (or an idea) for a short film.

That's Beethoven in the background.

CIRCLE

I saw The Norman Conquests tonight,
The production was lovely.

50% OFF

I get my filling replaced today.
I am nervous about getting my filling replaced because the muscles around my throat are weak.
I don't want Novocaine. I don't want to die today.

I consider not going to the dentist.
I consider staying home and folding laundry.

I call my sister from my bathroom and she says, "tell them not to use too much Novocaine. Michael (her husband) refuses it.
Doesn't use it all. But the pain can reverberate for days."

I go.

I bike through the twisted hell that is Midtown at noon on a Wednesday.

I see the same lady dentist.

I tell her right away that "I'm nervous."

She says "I know"

I tell her again,

"I enjoy taking care of my teeth, I've never had any issue with dental work, no fears, it's just that now, I don't trust my body, I mean one day I am having trouble walking, another day I can't swallow, I sit in that chair with a numb throat and I wonder if the reflexive muscles in my throat will just lie there and I'l choke to death."

"This time I won't use any topical solution," she says. " I'll just use half (50%) of the regular dose of Novocaine.
The topical stuff is what makes you nervous because it's so messy, it goes every where, in your mouth, in your throat, it's messy, but this time, we won't use, that we'll just use a little bit of Novocaine. And I'll use the kind that won't make your heart race."

(one has a choice?)


"okay, you think I'll be alright?"

"Yes"

She gives me a small shot to my upper left gum, I don't even feel "a pinch" and...

I panic.

But I wait.

A young female assistant comes in the operating room to give me a new fitting for a mouth guard so I won't grind my teeth.

I ask her her name?

"Amisha, it's Indian, I'm from Punjab?"

"Can you spell that?"

And Suddenly I am in flirt mode. Suddenly I am trying to pick up the young comely Indian dental assistant. Suddenly I am Andrew Mcarthy in his Brat-pack days.

I find out she's from California but has family in India.

"I've been to India a lot."

"I went to Bombay when I was in High School." I toss out.

"I met Indira Gandhi. " I add without restraint.

" I sang for Indira Gandhi. We were invited to her palace in New Deli. I have photograph of us together!"

(top that! I seem to be insisting)

"Wow... she's dead, or died, or something?" - (Amisha is part Punjab, part Valley girl)

"Assisinated" I correct.

"Oh. Right, wow...
I never met Indira Gandhi " she concludes inanely.

(Of course you haven't ! No one has! That's why I bring it up often and randomly!)

Amisha is acting like she's impressed (which is polite and game of her) and she's catching on to my flirty vibe.

So then...

she lets me know she is married.

"Did you get to pick your husband?" I ask (as a joke)... the caste system, get it?

"Oh, I had one or two choices" she volleys.

And then,

my dentist lady is back and my adventure in flirting (which I've always had a talent for but FORGET!) has deflected my angst.

"How are you doing?"

"You were right, I am fine. My throat feels fine."

And I am calm and confident. Happy to be sitting in the dentist chair, happy because I am taking care of myself and I am not home avoiding all the things that I'm supposed to be doing. Happy I am in the DENTIST chair doing what I am supposed to be doing.

And even with just a little dab of Novocaine, I am fine. No pain. I am blissful (really).

As she drills and pushes and pokes, the dentist lady checks in with me from time to time.

I am a good patient. Like a seasoned actor I take direction well.
I am good at listening to her various commands,

"Wider!"

"Clench down."

"Turn your head to the right? "

"Relax your lower lip..."

I am committed to all of her commands.

It is over.

And I feel super happy for having gotten through it. I am thankful to my dentist lady, "Thank you!" thankful to Amisha as I spit out, "Thank you!". I am delirious and jovial as I gather my things, my New York Times, my i-phone, my reading glasses.

I ask Amisha "and where will you be for the fourth?"

(she hesitates)

I follow up teasingly " it is Henry Hudson's 400th anniversary and the Hudson River is going to be hopping. Loads of fire works and crowds. It's the place to be! I'll be watching from the top of my building" I offer rediculously.

Amisha is slightly game, but not much.
"I'll be with my family, here in the city, my husband... celebrating."

"Well Happy 4th!" I come back! (like I'm Santa Clause and it's Christmas Eve)

I go to reception to check out. I owe nothing because I randomly, loosely, and sloppily, charged it to my American Express Card my last appointment. (I won't think about it today)

As I'm picking a date to pick up my mouth guard, the dentist lady walks by,

"Thank you" I intone again, and she says "your welcome" and then she touches me, ever so gently, on my upper arm.

I love that gesture. It's a favorite of mine. A warm, gentle affirmation of my existence with all the boundaries firmly in place.
I like it!

I go outside.
I go to Ollie's.

This time I have my glasses and prudently order brown rice and broccoli.

Next?
To Pottery Barn!
There's a 50% off sale.

MATTY'S APARTMENT on WEST 10TH STREET in the WEST VILLAGE

LIST

Sunday, my father goes to Falmouth Hospital.
I go to Church.

and then get stuck in the crowds of Gay Pride.

Sunday Night, I begin to watch The Bicycle Thief, a beautiful Italian motion picture from 1949.
I call my sister (though) as the bike is being stolen (put it on permanent pause) and we speak of my Dad.
who is not coming out of anesthesia.

And then we talk about my self imposed isolation.
She tells me that people have contacted her about me.
She did not return calls because she thought that I wanted to be in seclusion and handle it myself.

i think the whole thing has snow-balled.

Life is a list. And today I will make a list.

I will make a list of people to call and explain myself to.