I do my vata oil massage before my bath.
I juice. Vitamins and eat.
I sit down at my desk for several hours and open mail.
I order a pillow-top mattress from Land's End.
My legs and hips have thinned out. It's difficult and painful to turn in bed.
I love my mattress. I require a very firm mattress and it took me years to find this one, the right one.
Now, this mattress isn't working for me.
I get out my bike.
The wind is so strong behind my building on West 41st that I'm frozen in the street. I straddle the bike, stuck (the battery can't defeat the wind). Traffic is coming. I can't move. I scan the street. I call for help from a near by deliveryman.
"Hey!"
"HEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The delivery-man ignores me or thinks I'm nuts. I manage to turn the bike around and use the wind to propel me towards midtown. I'll go to the Cup Cake.
At the Cup Cake, Andy (my barista of ten years) brings my green tea to my table because I'm too unsteady to carry it myself. He looks nervous and shy about my present condition but doesn't ask any questions.
Andy is my age. He has a rock band. It's Andy and three younger women.
Andy has curly hair and a kind folksy disposition like maybe he grew up around hippies in the South.
Andy is anchored in ways that I'm not. I feel like a shallow, money grabbing, suburbanite (around Andy).
He gave up a cheap floor through apartment in Chelsea to move to Brooklyn because he can't stand the way Chelsea has changed. "Too many people shopping, you don't recognize anyone anymore."
(This floored me).
He loves his new Brooklyn apartment and doesn't mind the commute.
Andy has no cell phone or health insurance. Andy doesn't have cable TV.
Last year, he married his longtime girlfriend but they didn't make a big deal about it. I think they did it for legal reasons (taxes or something?). But I saw him the day after he got married and he looked different, calmer, handsomer. Like he saw something he wasn't prepared for and was pleasantly surprised. I was jealous.
I pay for my tea. He always charges me less. I then always tip what he saves me. This is our ritual.
"Ahhh... thanks Charlie." As if he never expected it.
I sit with my tea at the front table that is just one large white marble slab. I read pamphlets about the Vata Oil I massage into my skin every night (Ayurveda), the glutathione spray, and my (top of the line) juicer. I like this juicer, something I should have acquired years ago.
And... I pull sheets from various catalogs for looks that I might like for the apartment.
(This new look may never happen).
Before going home, I stop at LONGO Brothers Liqours at 36th and 9th and buy red wine. I like that place. I choose the Chillean Cabernet "DUO". I hate it. Don't buy it. (I'm sipping it now).
At home, I put away my delivery from Urban Organics.
And I e-mail Taliah Lambert, the artist is going to do a portrait of my bike!
She will come by tomorrow and ride my old Schwinn back to her Brooklyn loft.
__________________________________
Taliah!
I checked out the bike. The tires are a bit soft, but ridable.
There's a pump in the bike room and we can fill the tires before you go.
I really have a love for this bike.
It's served me well in the city.
It's a good bike too. Better made than newer Schwinns (I think).
There is one thing. The seat is a bit frankenstein-y.
It fell apart years ago and I taped it up with black gaffers tape.
Maybe I should cheat and but a new seat for the bike's sitting.
I don't want my bike to look ghetto-ish (I guess).
We can talk about it when you get here tomorrow.
Charlie (Yay)
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
STEM CELL
Unfettered by regulation, India pulls ahead on stem cell treatments
A controversial New Delhi clinic deploys advanced therapies that are unavailable in the U.S. to cure Americans suffering from MS, diabetes, paralysis, Alzheimer's, Lyme disease and cerebral palsy.
NEW DELHI, India — In December 2007, Californian Amy Scher got on a plane to India, wheeled herself into the Nu Tech Mediworld hospital in New Delhi, and started the first phase of an experimental embryonic stem-cell treatment.
Her American doctor had warned her against this untested procedure. But 27-year-old Scher was making no progress with conventional medicine, and she was fed up with the constant visits to hospital emergency rooms.
Scher suffered from chronic Lyme disease, which had gone undiagnosed initially, causing serious damage her nervous system. After researching her options for months, talking to several people who had benefitted from these treatments in India, and reading up about therapies available stateside, Scher decided the American medical system couldn't help her. She chose to travel to India.
For eight weeks, she was injected with stem cells and underwent extensive physical therapy. The treatments cost an average of $20,000 to $30,000 for a first round of injections. They were not covered by insurance.
Today, Scher's U.S. physician, Dr. Steven Harris considers her "asymptomatic." He is uncertain whether the disease has been eradicated, or if it’s just dormant, but he says the treatments appear to have helped.
From India, Scher brought back a SPECT scan, which measures blood flow in the brain. Before India, Harris says, the blood flow in her brain was impaired. "At the end of her stay, a repeat scan showed normalization of her blood flow — in effect, an improvement in brain function." Scher no longer takes nerve stabilizers or cardiac medication. The chronic pain, a constant companion since 2001, is gone.
Unknown risks
But some scientists and stem cell researchers in the West believe that patients like Scher are putting themselves at a huge risk by coming to India to get these experimental treatments. The problem, they say, is the lack of legislation governing the use of stem cells in the developing world.
The Indian Council of Medical Research (ICMR) allows the use of embryonic stem cells if the condition or disorder is considered incurable. But Dr. Satish Totey, Chief Scientific Officer at Stempeutics, a private stem cell company, and the Secretary of the Stem Cell Research Forum of India (SCRFI) believes there needs to be tighter regulation.
"There is nothing in those ICMR guidelines that can actually be called a guideline," he says.
Unlike in the West, there has never been a controversy about the manipulation or destruction of human embryos in India, giving the country’s doctors a head start in the field.
The growth of private hospitals providing stem cell therapies, however, is breeding a rift of a different kind. Given that most of these treatments have not been proven safe or effective, medical professionals dispute whether these clinics should be allowed to exist at all.
A controversial doc
At the heart of the controversy is Dr. Geeta Shroff, the doctor who treated Scher.
Being both fiercely independent and intelligent has earned Dr. Shroff the criticism and scorn of many. A pioneer in many ways, she developed a technology through which, by the use of a single donated embryo, she has been able to treat 600 patients for conditions such as Alzheimer's, multiple sclerosis, renal failure, cerebral palsy, and diabetes. What's also unique about Dr. Shroff's technique is that's she's been able to grow embryonic stem cells without the use of any animal products.
Dr. Shroff converts the stem cells into a clear substance that can be injected into her patients. The treatments include four to eight weeks of injections with intense physical therapy. In a progressive disorder, such as multiple sclerosis, the aim is to first stabilize the patient, in order to stop further deterioration, and then eventually, to start rebuilding through the use of stem cells.
The greater the damage to the body, the longer it takes for the stem cells to start regeneration. In a static injury, such as a stroke or a spinal cord injury, the stem cells have to bypass the thick scar tissue and form connections around it. Patients who come seeking a "miracle cure," are often disappointed, she says. The stem cells need time to regenerate the body, and often take months or years depending on the injury.
Dr. Shroff started out as an infertility specialist. That, and her practice as a gynecologist, helped fund her early work, which was carried out in her garage. It also gave her insight into embryonic stem cells.
In the nine years that she's been treating patients using this technology, she says that not one has reported any side effects. For GlobalPost Passport, several of her patients were happy to lay out their medical reports, wiggle their toes where they once had no feeling, and share details of their stay in the hospital — including complaints about the food. The scientific community, however, remains unconvinced.
In what is probably her most controversial move, instead of publishing her findings, Dr. Shroff decided to patent her technology. (Her patent application is available online.)
Totey says Shroff is taking advantage of her patients’ desperation. "Under the pretext of patents, she says that nothing can be shown," he says. "Why does she not publish a paper?" He believes that by not doing so, she is putting her patients at a risk of getting a teratoma — a type of tumor “that may contain several different types of tissue and sometimes mature elements such as hair, muscle, and bone,” as defined by medterms.net. (Teratomas are a common challenge for embryonic stem cell researchers.)
Initially, Dr. Shroff explains that she did think about publishing her results. "You do try and get out there and at the end of the day, I am a doctor," she says. She tried to present at some conferences, but was rejected and told that there were already too many people presenting on embryonic stem cells. That's when she decided to patent her work instead. "With the patent, I could protect the technology. I could make sure that somebody who doesn't understand the business can't stop it." Once the patent is granted, Dr. Shroff will be able to move forward with the next step.
The dream, she says, is to make stem cell injections available in pharmacies across the world, so that the process of stabilization and treatment can be started right at the onset of disease. She likens it to the discovery of penicillin. "That was the beginning of the antibiotic era, and it changed the entire face of infection around the world. This is similar to that."
Favorable outcomes
Of her 600 patients, 30 percent are either doctors or have physicians in the family, she says. Despite her critics' claims, Dr. Shroff says she has always put the well being of her patients first. An ethics committee at her hospital evaluates every case that comes in. The first two years, she says, were spent exclusively in the lab, testing repeatedly to make sure the treatments were safe.
In time, she's sure the controversy will die out, as laws will come into effect. "It's important to have certain guidelines or laws, but they shouldn't curb research," she says. "The law has to be such that the work does not stop."
But Dr. Totey rejects proceeding with treatments before the science has been published and vetted. He points out that no one knows what she is putting into those injections. "If it is intravenous, I can use river water and inject that," he says. Until she shows the scientific community what she is putting in there, he says he'll remain unconvinced.
Some doctors argue that the U.S. puts up too many barriers, and that India's regulations are appropriate in allowing stem cell treatments for incurable and terminally ill patients. One such physician is Dr. Laurance Johnston, who in 2007 was the first American scientist to visit the Nu Tech Mediworld clinic.
Dr. Johnston’s credentials make him well-placed to judge: he is the director of the Spinal Cord Research and Education Foundations, Paralyzed Veterans of America (PVA); and he was formerly director at the Division of Scientific Review at the U.S. National Institute of Child Health and Human Development, a division of the National Institutes of Health (NIH). He told GlobalPost Passport that he's convinced she's sincere and conscientious in her endeavors.
"As you probably expect, there are a lot of politics, agendas, and economic interests when it comes to various emerging stem-cell programs," he says. "In general scientists think they are being good scientists if they point out what is wrong with a program rather than its potential."
Dr. Harris, Scher's physician, is also impressed. After advising his patient not to go, and being pleasantly surprised on her return, he decided to travel to India himself to see Dr. Shroff's work. "She has been able to accomplished two feats quite advanced in the field of stem cells," he says. "The ability to freeze and thaw her cells to allow storage and transport and the creation of an immortal cell line without animal feeder cells." Harris was most impressed with Shroff’s success treating patients with spinal cord injuries, and children with cerebral palsy.
According to a report by the SCRFI, India’s stem cell industry — including mainly research, but also stem cell therapies deployed by Shroff, and other stem cell therapies — is expected to grow at a rate of 15 percent, to $540 million by 2010.
"I think India is at the forefront of emerging stem-cell treatments in many ways," says Dr. Johnston. "Convinced of their superiority, American scientists hate the notion that the hottest breakthroughs may be happening in other parts of the world and vociferously denigrate them."
Dr. Totey agrees that it would be a mistake to base India's stem cell guidelines on those of the U.S. "The way we work is different," he says. "We should look at our own system and make our own guidelines. There is no point in looking at the U.S. and thinking that they're the best."
Scher, who spent years going in and out of U.S. hospitals, shares this sentiment. "I had really tried," she says. "I had tried all the traditional things, but I had also tried alternative therapies. And then, when you don't have any of that left, you have to be open-minded. It's ignorance to not look anywhere else. You can't think that the U.S. has the only good treatments in the world.
Editor's note: this article was originally published on GlobalPost's premium content section, Passport. For more articles like this, please join Passport.
Passport helps GlobalPost support its worldwide news operation. By joining, you'll get exclusive in-depth reporting, access to conference calls with our foreign correspondents, and a voice in the topics Passport covers. Support GlobalPost by becoming a member of out inner circle. Learn more about Passport's innovative community.
Her American doctor had warned her against this untested procedure. But 27-year-old Scher was making no progress with conventional medicine, and she was fed up with the constant visits to hospital emergency rooms.
Scher suffered from chronic Lyme disease, which had gone undiagnosed initially, causing serious damage her nervous system. After researching her options for months, talking to several people who had benefitted from these treatments in India, and reading up about therapies available stateside, Scher decided the American medical system couldn't help her. She chose to travel to India.
For eight weeks, she was injected with stem cells and underwent extensive physical therapy. The treatments cost an average of $20,000 to $30,000 for a first round of injections. They were not covered by insurance.
Today, Scher's U.S. physician, Dr. Steven Harris considers her "asymptomatic." He is uncertain whether the disease has been eradicated, or if it’s just dormant, but he says the treatments appear to have helped.
From India, Scher brought back a SPECT scan, which measures blood flow in the brain. Before India, Harris says, the blood flow in her brain was impaired. "At the end of her stay, a repeat scan showed normalization of her blood flow — in effect, an improvement in brain function." Scher no longer takes nerve stabilizers or cardiac medication. The chronic pain, a constant companion since 2001, is gone.
Unknown risks
But some scientists and stem cell researchers in the West believe that patients like Scher are putting themselves at a huge risk by coming to India to get these experimental treatments. The problem, they say, is the lack of legislation governing the use of stem cells in the developing world.
The Indian Council of Medical Research (ICMR) allows the use of embryonic stem cells if the condition or disorder is considered incurable. But Dr. Satish Totey, Chief Scientific Officer at Stempeutics, a private stem cell company, and the Secretary of the Stem Cell Research Forum of India (SCRFI) believes there needs to be tighter regulation.
"There is nothing in those ICMR guidelines that can actually be called a guideline," he says.
Unlike in the West, there has never been a controversy about the manipulation or destruction of human embryos in India, giving the country’s doctors a head start in the field.
The growth of private hospitals providing stem cell therapies, however, is breeding a rift of a different kind. Given that most of these treatments have not been proven safe or effective, medical professionals dispute whether these clinics should be allowed to exist at all.
A controversial doc
At the heart of the controversy is Dr. Geeta Shroff, the doctor who treated Scher.
Being both fiercely independent and intelligent has earned Dr. Shroff the criticism and scorn of many. A pioneer in many ways, she developed a technology through which, by the use of a single donated embryo, she has been able to treat 600 patients for conditions such as Alzheimer's, multiple sclerosis, renal failure, cerebral palsy, and diabetes. What's also unique about Dr. Shroff's technique is that's she's been able to grow embryonic stem cells without the use of any animal products.
Dr. Shroff converts the stem cells into a clear substance that can be injected into her patients. The treatments include four to eight weeks of injections with intense physical therapy. In a progressive disorder, such as multiple sclerosis, the aim is to first stabilize the patient, in order to stop further deterioration, and then eventually, to start rebuilding through the use of stem cells.
The greater the damage to the body, the longer it takes for the stem cells to start regeneration. In a static injury, such as a stroke or a spinal cord injury, the stem cells have to bypass the thick scar tissue and form connections around it. Patients who come seeking a "miracle cure," are often disappointed, she says. The stem cells need time to regenerate the body, and often take months or years depending on the injury.
Dr. Shroff started out as an infertility specialist. That, and her practice as a gynecologist, helped fund her early work, which was carried out in her garage. It also gave her insight into embryonic stem cells.
In the nine years that she's been treating patients using this technology, she says that not one has reported any side effects. For GlobalPost Passport, several of her patients were happy to lay out their medical reports, wiggle their toes where they once had no feeling, and share details of their stay in the hospital — including complaints about the food. The scientific community, however, remains unconvinced.
In what is probably her most controversial move, instead of publishing her findings, Dr. Shroff decided to patent her technology. (Her patent application is available online.)
Totey says Shroff is taking advantage of her patients’ desperation. "Under the pretext of patents, she says that nothing can be shown," he says. "Why does she not publish a paper?" He believes that by not doing so, she is putting her patients at a risk of getting a teratoma — a type of tumor “that may contain several different types of tissue and sometimes mature elements such as hair, muscle, and bone,” as defined by medterms.net. (Teratomas are a common challenge for embryonic stem cell researchers.)
Initially, Dr. Shroff explains that she did think about publishing her results. "You do try and get out there and at the end of the day, I am a doctor," she says. She tried to present at some conferences, but was rejected and told that there were already too many people presenting on embryonic stem cells. That's when she decided to patent her work instead. "With the patent, I could protect the technology. I could make sure that somebody who doesn't understand the business can't stop it." Once the patent is granted, Dr. Shroff will be able to move forward with the next step.
The dream, she says, is to make stem cell injections available in pharmacies across the world, so that the process of stabilization and treatment can be started right at the onset of disease. She likens it to the discovery of penicillin. "That was the beginning of the antibiotic era, and it changed the entire face of infection around the world. This is similar to that."
Favorable outcomes
Of her 600 patients, 30 percent are either doctors or have physicians in the family, she says. Despite her critics' claims, Dr. Shroff says she has always put the well being of her patients first. An ethics committee at her hospital evaluates every case that comes in. The first two years, she says, were spent exclusively in the lab, testing repeatedly to make sure the treatments were safe.
In time, she's sure the controversy will die out, as laws will come into effect. "It's important to have certain guidelines or laws, but they shouldn't curb research," she says. "The law has to be such that the work does not stop."
But Dr. Totey rejects proceeding with treatments before the science has been published and vetted. He points out that no one knows what she is putting into those injections. "If it is intravenous, I can use river water and inject that," he says. Until she shows the scientific community what she is putting in there, he says he'll remain unconvinced.
Some doctors argue that the U.S. puts up too many barriers, and that India's regulations are appropriate in allowing stem cell treatments for incurable and terminally ill patients. One such physician is Dr. Laurance Johnston, who in 2007 was the first American scientist to visit the Nu Tech Mediworld clinic.
Dr. Johnston’s credentials make him well-placed to judge: he is the director of the Spinal Cord Research and Education Foundations, Paralyzed Veterans of America (PVA); and he was formerly director at the Division of Scientific Review at the U.S. National Institute of Child Health and Human Development, a division of the National Institutes of Health (NIH). He told GlobalPost Passport that he's convinced she's sincere and conscientious in her endeavors.
"As you probably expect, there are a lot of politics, agendas, and economic interests when it comes to various emerging stem-cell programs," he says. "In general scientists think they are being good scientists if they point out what is wrong with a program rather than its potential."
Dr. Harris, Scher's physician, is also impressed. After advising his patient not to go, and being pleasantly surprised on her return, he decided to travel to India himself to see Dr. Shroff's work. "She has been able to accomplished two feats quite advanced in the field of stem cells," he says. "The ability to freeze and thaw her cells to allow storage and transport and the creation of an immortal cell line without animal feeder cells." Harris was most impressed with Shroff’s success treating patients with spinal cord injuries, and children with cerebral palsy.
According to a report by the SCRFI, India’s stem cell industry — including mainly research, but also stem cell therapies deployed by Shroff, and other stem cell therapies — is expected to grow at a rate of 15 percent, to $540 million by 2010.
"I think India is at the forefront of emerging stem-cell treatments in many ways," says Dr. Johnston. "Convinced of their superiority, American scientists hate the notion that the hottest breakthroughs may be happening in other parts of the world and vociferously denigrate them."
Dr. Totey agrees that it would be a mistake to base India's stem cell guidelines on those of the U.S. "The way we work is different," he says. "We should look at our own system and make our own guidelines. There is no point in looking at the U.S. and thinking that they're the best."
Scher, who spent years going in and out of U.S. hospitals, shares this sentiment. "I had really tried," she says. "I had tried all the traditional things, but I had also tried alternative therapies. And then, when you don't have any of that left, you have to be open-minded. It's ignorance to not look anywhere else. You can't think that the U.S. has the only good treatments in the world.
Editor's note: this article was originally published on GlobalPost's premium content section, Passport. For more articles like this, please join Passport.
Passport helps GlobalPost support its worldwide news operation. By joining, you'll get exclusive in-depth reporting, access to conference calls with our foreign correspondents, and a voice in the topics Passport covers. Support GlobalPost by becoming a member of out inner circle. Learn more about Passport's innovative community.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
CAUGHT ON
In the afternoon, JD comes over.
I called him because I have to redo my apartment.
It needs to work in a more integrated way. Right now, it's clumsily put together and confusing.
I can't find anything.
JD drives over after his (afternoon yoga class) in the west village. We pour through Ikea, Room and Board, and Crate & Barrel catalogues.
JD is a builder and just finished converting a (never touched) 19th century townhouse into three apartments. He took the top floor for himself and has spent the last year collecting new furniture, staring at paint chips, buying - installing (and then returning) fixtures, until he finds the fixtures that look just right.
His condo is about as nice as it gets.
It has a yoga room, fireplaces in the bathrooms, a new garden deck off the master bedroom (the wall facing this garden is all glass and has a theatrical curtain to pull across it, at night. JD kept most of the original details. But on the parlor floor, there were original frescos painted directly on the walls over all the fireplaces. JD painted over them.
JD is a builder and just finished converting a (never touched) 19th century townhouse into three apartments. He took the top floor for himself and has spent the last year collecting new furniture, staring at paint chips, buying - installing (and then returning) fixtures, until he finds the fixtures that look just right.
His condo is about as nice as it gets.
It has a yoga room, fireplaces in the bathrooms, a new garden deck off the master bedroom (the wall facing this garden is all glass and has a theatrical curtain to pull across it, at night. JD kept most of the original details. But on the parlor floor, there were original frescos painted directly on the walls over all the fireplaces. JD painted over them.
JD is fifteen years older than me and we're quite different. But, we're both romantics and we both like to make things. We're nerdishly fastidious about our projects.
JD is a bit of a hetero-nerd who at one time was soap opera handsome. He was on a lot of soap operas.
Maybe he was kind of a mean straight dude, but after years of therapy, and now couple therapy, he's in touch with himself, and opens up easily. (But) he can fall back to being a tough talking, (slick and/or sleazy) - real estate guy when it suits him - (I mean... who isn't in New York - it's a deal with the devil just to dwell here).
A month ago, an angry tenant - a tenant he went to court with - (a tenant he got rid of) - sent him a kit in the mail for increasing the size of his d*ck). JD (to his credit) genuinely found this hilarious.
Maybe he was kind of a mean straight dude, but after years of therapy, and now couple therapy, he's in touch with himself, and opens up easily. (But) he can fall back to being a tough talking, (slick and/or sleazy) - real estate guy when it suits him - (I mean... who isn't in New York - it's a deal with the devil just to dwell here).
A month ago, an angry tenant - a tenant he went to court with - (a tenant he got rid of) - sent him a kit in the mail for increasing the size of his d*ck). JD (to his credit) genuinely found this hilarious.
JD is randy, always watching the women who cross his his path as he drives through the city.
He has this game. The game is this.
If he's stopped at a red-light, he must choose one of the pedestrians on the crosswalk to have sex (with*).
* I hate ending a sentence with a preposition but sometimes can't figure a way (out).
Even, if there are only men, even if there are only old, handicapped hunched over men, he must choose which of the old hunched over men. I guess this keeps him sane it the manic Manhattan traffic. He encourages others (in the car) to join in.
If he's stopped at a red-light, he must choose one of the pedestrians on the crosswalk to have sex (with*).
* I hate ending a sentence with a preposition but sometimes can't figure a way (out).
Even, if there are only men, even if there are only old, handicapped hunched over men, he must choose which of the old hunched over men. I guess this keeps him sane it the manic Manhattan traffic. He encourages others (in the car) to join in.
This juvenile game leave me tongue tied for reasons I won't go into here.
JD keeps himself in great form. He surfs every weekend and teaches yoga during the week. He gets his haircut often and it often looks good. At age 61 he just got a retainer to fix his bite.
JD is kind. He is self conscious. He can't read out loud without stumbling over the words.
JD is a good listener and hands out advice. Often this advice goes on forever.
(Sometimes) JD over does the helping thing, insisting I take his arm even when I don't want to.
It bugs me. Having to act out the role of the invalid. I feel like I'm putting on a show. I've never had tolerance for other people's physical weakness.
As we finish up my improvement list, JD insists I come over TONIGHT to see the improvements he has made on HIS startling gorgeous condominium.
The spotless wood floors, 19th century encasement windows, six panel wood doors with copper doorknobs, the very LATEST and best modern kitchen, make his home look like the kind of rooms you see as backdrops in Pottery Barn catalogues.
The spotless wood floors, 19th century encasement windows, six panel wood doors with copper doorknobs, the very LATEST and best modern kitchen, make his home look like the kind of rooms you see as backdrops in Pottery Barn catalogues.
Susan picks me up and we drive through the Lincoln tunnel to Jersey City.
I climb the stairs as Susan and JD watch or (smoke). My arms propel and my legs are lazy followers.
It can be done! ... the three flights of stairs. It just takes about 15 minutes to climb it.
(The next day I realize that I over did it. My left arm feels broken).
It can be done! ... the three flights of stairs. It just takes about 15 minutes to climb it.
(The next day I realize that I over did it. My left arm feels broken).
JD makes the natural mistake of flattering me for my progress. "You're doing amazing Charlie! I'm impressed!"- (Like I'm getting better instead of worse). This is the same mistake my doorman make.
Earlier in the evening my doorman Spiro offers "Glad to see you walking sir, working it out. Don't you worry, as long as you keep working on it , you'll be better in no time!"
This (of course) is not the case. I don't bother to explain why to Spiro, but carry on my own withering conversation in the confines of my head.
Now on the third floor, I drink good wine (a Cabernet, Shiraz and Malbec mix) and watch Ross's newest commercial. (Ross is JD's wife and looks like the actress Catherine Ross of "Stepford Wives" and "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid"
It's an Osteoporosis commercial. It was shot in New Zealand. The New Zealand mountains in the background- (they are camping in the commercial) - are glorious. And Ross is so good in it!
We watch it three of four times.
JD has a new big flat screen TV with hidden speakers through out the two floor condominium so that watching TV feels very important.
It's an Osteoporosis commercial. It was shot in New Zealand. The New Zealand mountains in the background- (they are camping in the commercial) - are glorious. And Ross is so good in it!
We watch it three of four times.
JD has a new big flat screen TV with hidden speakers through out the two floor condominium so that watching TV feels very important.
We have shrimp and pasta and salad for dinner. Mattie brought an organic wine.
The food is excellent. I skip the gluten pasta.
Being in JD's ritzy apartment is rubbing off on everyone. We're all feeling a bit successful.
I toast JD for creating this incredible home.
I toast JD for creating this incredible home.
"This apartment is magnificent, as great as creating any play, independent film, as great as creating any first rate performance.... Congratulations JD!"
JD blushes.
(When I like something, I can really pull out the stops).
Whenever I speak during our dinner, the table stops to listen, like I'm channeling wisdom from another galaxy. d
"I think it's great that you live in all this physical perfection. When I was young(er) I thought it was kind of cool to live in a sort of ugly squalor or chipped furniture and found paintings. Because when you're young, you live with all this untapped energy and there is your own physical beauty and of those of your friends that surround you - so, you really don't need or crave clean pretty surroundings.
But when you get older, like your energy, you lose your beauty and you need to compensate and have the beauty and order around you. And I think like viewing a painting, there is a metaphysical dialog going on between you and your surroundings. One needs to pay attention to this relationship and take care that the conversation is good, that your surrounding are making up for your lost energy and beauty. So really... design is just as important as a healthy diet, exercise and a positive outlook."
(I said something like that, only through the wine, I said it better).
(I said something like that, only through the wine, I said it better).
"Hmm.. that's cool. I like that" nods Mattie.
JD says, "I'm glad you said that because I've been having doubts if all of this was worth it, if I really needed this... but you've given me something to think about."
I am a dying guru.
I am a dying guru.
It's time to go. I climb down the stairs. Susan drives me home back through the Lincoln Tunnel.
We stop in the front driveway of my building and sit like teenagers not ready to go in (just yet).
Susan hates her life (right now). She teaches school and is getting her doctorate at the same time. I try to convince her that it's not the right choice, to be miserable. But I ramble and can't get my thoughts across.
Somehow, I find myself at this question.
We stop in the front driveway of my building and sit like teenagers not ready to go in (just yet).
Susan hates her life (right now). She teaches school and is getting her doctorate at the same time. I try to convince her that it's not the right choice, to be miserable. But I ramble and can't get my thoughts across.
Somehow, I find myself at this question.
"Do you think Christ rose from the dead?"
"No Charlie, it's just a big metaphor! The whole thing is just a big metaphor. Christ was probably some really great hippy with a lot of talent and insight and it caught on."
"Yeah, but it's got to be more than that, it can't be that simple, things don't just "catch on" and then stay caught on for two thousand years!" My brow is furrowed and my mouth is open and I'm making an upside down smile. I rebel against this tiny view of the world.
"I just think we're all living in this very limited consciousness and no-one is willing to believe in anything outside the scope of their own boxed-in reality and I think it ruins your life. Your success, your happiness? ... is based on some (agreed upon) - some (made-up) reality, where you're either winning or losing!"
(and why should I agree to this reality? Why should I hang around or live with people of limited vision? It certainly won't make my life, my present situation, any better).
Susan is driving to Vermont in the morning. She needs to get going.
I get myself out of the car and weave to the lobby door. It's always a gamble.
I get myself out of the car and weave to the lobby door. It's always a gamble.
She waits until I'm inside, like a concerned parent, and drives back into the dark city.
I stand frozen at the lobby entrance. It's just me and the doorman, Spriro.
Spiro looks up from the big marble reception desk and sees me pinned to the entrance.
"You wanna hand, sir?"
"No... I'm good... I'm fine."
(pause)
(pause)
"You wanna use the luggage cart to get across the lobby."
(pause)
(pause)
"Um.... sure, thank you. Sure! I'd like that, thanks Spiro."
Spiro brings me the cart over to me and I use it to steady myself, to roll myself safely across the vast, shiny lobby.
I take the elevator home to the 9th floor, discarding the rolling cart as I go.
When I get home, I write this blog entry.
Friday, October 9, 2009
SWEDEN
Hi Charlie!
I'm sorry you have to read my bad english(spelling), but I really try hard to get it right. I don't write in English that very often.
ALS is a very, very sad "story" for me, but I don't think people around me can see that. They always say that I look "really great". I hate it! Inside me I feel very sick and helpless.
Me and my partner was training - "Powerwalking" when my legs started to hurt, it did hurt that much I couldn't do any powerwalk no more and after that everything changed. In november 2007 I fell and broke my left arm (upper) and since then I can't walk at all, just a few steps. I put on weight because I cant do any exercise at all. I miss my powerwalks and I hate my new weight. I know that I'll lose weight in the furure, but as I live day by day I hate beeing fat.
How often do you see your doctor? I see my ALS-team (Dr, welfare officer, nurse, occupational therapist) every 3 to 4 month and I also meet my Speech therapist and a dietician now and then. They are all very helpful and kind.
Today me and my partner and our dog are going to our weekend cottage. That'll be nice!
Take care!
Kevin
________________________
Kevin,
I had a bad doctor situation. An excellent doctor in the city, but he was rude.
I have been a bit of a problem patient because at first I said "no". This is not for me. You are wrong.
I don't see ANY doctors right now which worries me.
I DO see an alternative doctor and take glutathione once a week (IV).
I take tons of vitamins. I am eating all organic. I bought a juicer.
I bought a motor bike for the city.
I write every day.
My speech is terrible, escpecially when I drink wine... which I like to do.
I live alone. So I have a cleaning lady once a week.
My apartment is mostly a mess because I can't be bothered to pick things up.
My life before ... (I was never home) so my apartment is not set up well.
I've been thinking about redoing it (somehow) since I am here a lot of the time.
I'm not depressed. I take St. Johns Wort 3 times a day and that seems to do the trick.
I want to write and work on photography but I have mounds of paperwork and I am so sluggish.
I guess I'm hoping everything will be okay.
(GREAT that you have a weekend house) That was big on my list before "this" came up.
CHARLIE
I'm sorry you have to read my bad english(spelling), but I really try hard to get it right. I don't write in English that very often.
ALS is a very, very sad "story" for me, but I don't think people around me can see that. They always say that I look "really great". I hate it! Inside me I feel very sick and helpless.
Me and my partner was training - "Powerwalking" when my legs started to hurt, it did hurt that much I couldn't do any powerwalk no more and after that everything changed. In november 2007 I fell and broke my left arm (upper) and since then I can't walk at all, just a few steps. I put on weight because I cant do any exercise at all. I miss my powerwalks and I hate my new weight. I know that I'll lose weight in the furure, but as I live day by day I hate beeing fat.
How often do you see your doctor? I see my ALS-team (Dr, welfare officer, nurse, occupational therapist) every 3 to 4 month and I also meet my Speech therapist and a dietician now and then. They are all very helpful and kind.
Today me and my partner and our dog are going to our weekend cottage. That'll be nice!
Take care!
Kevin
________________________
Kevin,
I had a bad doctor situation. An excellent doctor in the city, but he was rude.
I have been a bit of a problem patient because at first I said "no". This is not for me. You are wrong.
I don't see ANY doctors right now which worries me.
I DO see an alternative doctor and take glutathione once a week (IV).
I take tons of vitamins. I am eating all organic. I bought a juicer.
I bought a motor bike for the city.
I write every day.
My speech is terrible, escpecially when I drink wine... which I like to do.
I live alone. So I have a cleaning lady once a week.
My apartment is mostly a mess because I can't be bothered to pick things up.
My life before ... (I was never home) so my apartment is not set up well.
I've been thinking about redoing it (somehow) since I am here a lot of the time.
I'm not depressed. I take St. Johns Wort 3 times a day and that seems to do the trick.
I want to write and work on photography but I have mounds of paperwork and I am so sluggish.
I guess I'm hoping everything will be okay.
(GREAT that you have a weekend house) That was big on my list before "this" came up.
CHARLIE
Thursday, October 8, 2009
WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE
Car climbs up the center-hall stairs of (the century old farm house on the water) puts a cup of coffee on my bedside table and says,
"It's amazing out there, the weather is perfect! They said it was going to rain. It's so nice!"
We got in so late last night. The weather doesn't have much impact on my expectations for the day. I don't really know where I am yet. I feel like I fell asleep on a speeding train and (hours later) found myself in a different state.
Car is caffeined and full of ideas.
I can't really hear or see anything until my first (or second) sip of coffee. But after my first (or second) sip, Car and I laugh and fumble around and make plans (like we did in college).
"We should get the paper! I want to make lists for you. I think there are eggs, you want eggs benedict?
I'm not sure if we have cream, though. I want you to see downtown. Let's drive into town. And later we can go to Target! That's a great idea! We should figure out everything you need and do some bulk shopping at Target!"
My mind is open and giddy (in the very early morning). Yesterday's confusion has been worked out through eight hours of sleep. (I am a blessed and gifted sleeper). When I wake up, for a short time, I see life anew. For this short time, the hopeful expectations of the day, the joy in knowing I'll spend it with my friend, the smell of fresh brewed coffee - (the caffeine!) fuels my giddiness.
"It's amazing out there, the weather is perfect! They said it was going to rain. It's so nice!"
We got in so late last night. The weather doesn't have much impact on my expectations for the day. I don't really know where I am yet. I feel like I fell asleep on a speeding train and (hours later) found myself in a different state.
Car is caffeined and full of ideas.
I can't really hear or see anything until my first (or second) sip of coffee. But after my first (or second) sip, Car and I laugh and fumble around and make plans (like we did in college).
"We should get the paper! I want to make lists for you. I think there are eggs, you want eggs benedict?
I'm not sure if we have cream, though. I want you to see downtown. Let's drive into town. And later we can go to Target! That's a great idea! We should figure out everything you need and do some bulk shopping at Target!"
My mind is open and giddy (in the very early morning). Yesterday's confusion has been worked out through eight hours of sleep. (I am a blessed and gifted sleeper). When I wake up, for a short time, I see life anew. For this short time, the hopeful expectations of the day, the joy in knowing I'll spend it with my friend, the smell of fresh brewed coffee - (the caffeine!) fuels my giddiness.
I like a good high.
(And) then there is always something oddly absurd and funny about waking up with your friends.
(or to Car and me, apparently).
Eventually, I'm forced to accept my place in the life I have and know. So, I make my way down the bare wooden stairs. I climb down them carefully and patiently, like a drunk who has sobered up just enough to know to slow down and watch it.
(or to Car and me, apparently).
Eventually, I'm forced to accept my place in the life I have and know. So, I make my way down the bare wooden stairs. I climb down them carefully and patiently, like a drunk who has sobered up just enough to know to slow down and watch it.
I find CAR in the kitchen making eggs. We plan our day... this time more sensibly (I need my ritual hot bath), a bike ride, a drive into town, swimming in the pool, gin and tonics by the water, dinner on the porch?
I fish Carrie Fisher's slim memoir, “Wishful Drinking” out my my man-bag and hand it to Car. (I got it in on the Cape for the beach). I thought she'd fan the pages and say "thanks... maybe later" - but she swallows it up and carries it around for the rest of the weekend.
(I didn’t think much of it, but sometimes she lets out an astonished guffaw which makes me reconsider).
(I didn’t think much of it, but sometimes she lets out an astonished guffaw which makes me reconsider).
We go over to the pool house, (I bike, Car walks) and I take a bath to heal my angry body. I steep in a claw foot tub (a gift from a falling down embassy in DC?) and read a novel written by a friend of CAR's.
We take a short bike trip.
The Duponts live next door.
There is an Audubon Sanctuary two driveways down.
We bike to a pier.
I've never been to the Chesapeake Bay.
The land is squat around the water.
The water is more friendly than the Cape and cleaner (of course) than Long Island Sound. The historic town looks like Main Street USA at Disney World.
I ask CAR "who lives over there? On that big piece of land directly across from us... is that a private home?"
"hmm...” says CAR. “I'm not really sure. Actually, I've never really thought about it before. Good question Charlie. Very good question, now stop bothering me."
On the bike ride home, I ask her about writing. We discuss how impossible it would be to come up with full blow fictional characters. "How do people do it?"
"It's something that must come to you over the years, trial and error, and getting involved with other writers, asking questions."
I tell Car that sometimes writing falls out of me and there is no struggle but other times, it's just plodding at the key board."
(Since I'm new to writing, it allows me to talk naively)
Car says "Of course, there are all kinds of theories about one's muse. About writers missing their daily appointment with their muse."
"Huh." I like that. I can chew on that. Get lost in that.
On the bike ride home, I ask her about writing. We discuss how impossible it would be to come up with full blow fictional characters. "How do people do it?"
"It's something that must come to you over the years, trial and error, and getting involved with other writers, asking questions."
I tell Car that sometimes writing falls out of me and there is no struggle but other times, it's just plodding at the key board."
(Since I'm new to writing, it allows me to talk naively)
Car says "Of course, there are all kinds of theories about one's muse. About writers missing their daily appointment with their muse."
"Huh." I like that. I can chew on that. Get lost in that.
We drive through the sleepy historic town St. Michael's or is it Easton?
I’m not sure. There are piles of Mums by the roadside. 2 for $15! Big and healthy.
(I always planted mums for my parents in Connecticut. I miss these seasonal cues).
(I always planted mums for my parents in Connecticut. I miss these seasonal cues).
CAR and I find a health food market at a strip mall. We buy organic, non gluten products. I sit down at a booth and let CAR do the hunting and gathering. A store employee has taken a shine to her and advices her which non gluten products are digestible.
CAR (in her enthusiasm) becomes interested (on my behalf) in many non gluten products, she becomes interested in all the possible non gluten products we could test out! She brings products to my table like I'm sitting outside a dressing-room and CAR swings by to model the possibilities. I think we bought some non-gluten pancake batter.
We agree to organic chicken for dinner. Later CAR cooks it in fresh herbs from her mother's garden. The chicken is tough and plain. It takes a lot of chewing to get it down.
"Are you afraid you're going to choke on the chicken?"
It takes me a full twenty minutes longer than Car to finish my dinner.
(Terrible chicken)
Before dinner, I go for a swim in their beautiful swimming pool.
The pool uses salt water. It feels like soothing and organic.
While I lower myself into the pool, CAR tells me about a medication she is on. We compete about the dangerous side effects of our competing medications. Her medication adds weight, mine causes liver disease! Car jokes that she knows exactly what I’m going through because of her weight gain.
"It's just like ALS!"
"It's just like ALS!"
ALS becomes a punch line for a few jokes throughout the weekend.
The drama of the word, the absurdity of having it, is pretty funny.
CAR is worried that the water will be too cold for me. She's worried that I might cramp up in the water. (Because of my disease? Others have warned me about this cramping thing. I swim every day and have never experienced cramping. Has CAR done some preventative investigating on the web?
“DO NOT LET YOUR FRIENDS WITH ALS SWIM IN YOUR POOL. OFTEN THEY WILL INSIST, BUT DON'T LET THEM. THEY CRAMP AND DIE AND LATER THERE ARE LAW SUITS."
... such is my mind these days.
I swim in my boxers. When I get out of the pool, CAR has to help me put my shoes back on. I stand there (like a preschooler) as we try to shove them back on my feet.
Car cooks dinner and I bike around the property leaving loopy grooves in the manicured lawns. The house is like a movie set. Most of the windows have gorgeous water views. There are chairs set up around the property for reading, contemplation, or a late afternoon vodka tonic.
There is a dock with a Boston Whaler.
We have drinks under a grape arbor.
"You must sit out here all the time."
"We never do. We mostly eat on the porch." But later she admits. "this house really has been kind of a great thing for our family which is why I'm reluctant for my family to give it up."
We eat guacamole and drink wine and I begin the tale of my family history and Car is a good listener. I tell her that I realized that my family is not old money but old timey. We’ve been here for centuries but never really climbed too high.
After dinner, we get into a complicated discussion about G-d.
I try to tell her about how I arrived at the idea that the world was created.
That all material, comes from an idea.
That G-d is right here and now, that we are made from the same force the same material that G-d is.
This idea, this material is eternal, universal and ubiquitous and endless.
This idea, this material is eternal, universal and ubiquitous and endless.
I tell her I thought about this through a window of the unfathomable concept of infinity and the blunt realization of my own plight.
CAR says she’s interested in Mary Baker Eddy but "I don't believe it. I think the opposite. I think our existence is a cosmic mistake.”
She does allow that there is something to prayer and a world of communication we simply don't understand yet. Like the invention of the internet and the arrival of space age technology, we will discover (in the future) a mindful communication that we can't conceive of yet.
CAR is articulate and opinionated and her mind is (generally) swifter than mine, so I retreat. Glumly.
I feel defensive.
(I should have gone to grad school if only to learn to out BS other people!)
But I do know that people who are near death shake cynicism and (shake the hand) of spirituality which in their former healthier lives, wouldn't have been possible.
(I should have gone to grad school if only to learn to out BS other people!)
But I do know that people who are near death shake cynicism and (shake the hand) of spirituality which in their former healthier lives, wouldn't have been possible.
Ricky Gervais has a new movie where he laughs at Christianity and spirituality. I can’t help but feeling anger. So egocentric! Our world is a BIG “if” so what makes him think he can sneer at the possibility of a spiritual world. Let us all concede that we’re limited in what we are seeing and experiencing. Like the fish in the sea, we don't really know what we are in.
We watch movie trailers on the web site HULU.
Jennifer Anniston movies, Sandra Bullock movies, A Serious Man, A Single Man.
and Where the Wild Things Are directed by Spike Jonze and written by Davie Eggers.
I can't wait to see "Where the Wild Things Are".
I can't wait to see "Where the Wild Things Are".
STAN
Biking along the highway at around 33rd street, I lose control of my bike. I fall under the bike and land on the side of the highway. I can't right myself because my legs are caught under the bike. I am still and calm.
A car pulls over, and a plain middle-aged man walks over and asks what he can do.
"Why don't you stand up and I'll lift the bike."
"Well, that's the thing. I can't. I have ALS and I can't move very well."
(Which I hate saying, I hate saying the words. Maybe it's not even true! BUT, in certain circumstances you have to make your point).
I ask for his shoulder. The man helps me stand. He sets me up on my bike. Gets it placed in the right direction. He tells me that he drives a pedicab. (So funny. Another pedicab reference for my blog).
He tells me I should get a three wheeler so I won't risk falling.
"Good idea, but where would I park it? ... it would have to fit through the narrow door of my bike room."
(Regardless) He gives me his card so he can email me the information.
He tells me his name is Stan.
And I can tell that we have experienced something here. We have shared. I share - so much of the time -with strangers, that I'm getting a bit bored, a bit jaded.
(I used to volunteer at the center for the blind on west 23rd Street and I remember thinking that blind people (as a rule) were so insensitive! So cold to my empathy, to my sensitive caring help, to their sad existence.)
What did Stan and I share? Something about the joy of helping a stranger, something about being intimate with someone for a few short minutes, something about the admission of disease and not letting it phase either one of us but just moving on to practical solutions...
____________________________
Hello Stan,
I just found your business card in my pants pocket.
I wanted to thank you (again) for helping on the West Side Highway last Wednesday night.
I love my Eco bike. It really makes miracles happen for me.
But sometimes there is nothing I can do except wait for others to help me when I land on the pavement. Thank you for being that person last Wednesday.
I remember you're telling me that you own a pedicab.
We rented one last month when my mother was in town, in Central Park.
We loved it.
Hope all is well for you and thanks again for being a good samaritan.
CHARLIE
___________________
Charlie,
You're welcome. I'd help any cyclist in need. Just be glad you weren't 15 feet out into the highway.
You should look up George Bliss. He creates personal trikes for people; an engineering kind of guy. He has a bike shop down on Morton Street about 3 blocks from the highway. You need something that
a. folds
b. is more stable
c. can carry or already has a motor.
That's a toughie, but George may be able to help.
Before they became illegal, many pedicabs had hub motors in the hubs of the front wheels. I bet they can be put into folding bikes. The bikes would just be more cumbersome to move around because of the added battery weight.
Just a thought: what if you had a trike with a foot-wide stance between the two back wheels? The hinge to fold would be on top of the horizontal tube, so the front wheel would swing up and over the seat, to rest in a basket between the two back wheels. I don't know if it's feasible, though.
Anyway, look George up. If anyone can engineer a folding, motorized trike, he can.
Best wishes,
Stan
A car pulls over, and a plain middle-aged man walks over and asks what he can do.
"Why don't you stand up and I'll lift the bike."
"Well, that's the thing. I can't. I have ALS and I can't move very well."
(Which I hate saying, I hate saying the words. Maybe it's not even true! BUT, in certain circumstances you have to make your point).
I ask for his shoulder. The man helps me stand. He sets me up on my bike. Gets it placed in the right direction. He tells me that he drives a pedicab. (So funny. Another pedicab reference for my blog).
He tells me I should get a three wheeler so I won't risk falling.
"Good idea, but where would I park it? ... it would have to fit through the narrow door of my bike room."
(Regardless) He gives me his card so he can email me the information.
He tells me his name is Stan.
And I can tell that we have experienced something here. We have shared. I share - so much of the time -with strangers, that I'm getting a bit bored, a bit jaded.
(I used to volunteer at the center for the blind on west 23rd Street and I remember thinking that blind people (as a rule) were so insensitive! So cold to my empathy, to my sensitive caring help, to their sad existence.)
What did Stan and I share? Something about the joy of helping a stranger, something about being intimate with someone for a few short minutes, something about the admission of disease and not letting it phase either one of us but just moving on to practical solutions...
____________________________
Hello Stan,
I just found your business card in my pants pocket.
I wanted to thank you (again) for helping on the West Side Highway last Wednesday night.
I love my Eco bike. It really makes miracles happen for me.
But sometimes there is nothing I can do except wait for others to help me when I land on the pavement. Thank you for being that person last Wednesday.
I remember you're telling me that you own a pedicab.
We rented one last month when my mother was in town, in Central Park.
We loved it.
Hope all is well for you and thanks again for being a good samaritan.
CHARLIE
___________________
Charlie,
You're welcome. I'd help any cyclist in need. Just be glad you weren't 15 feet out into the highway.
You should look up George Bliss. He creates personal trikes for people; an engineering kind of guy. He has a bike shop down on Morton Street about 3 blocks from the highway. You need something that
a. folds
b. is more stable
c. can carry or already has a motor.
That's a toughie, but George may be able to help.
Before they became illegal, many pedicabs had hub motors in the hubs of the front wheels. I bet they can be put into folding bikes. The bikes would just be more cumbersome to move around because of the added battery weight.
Just a thought: what if you had a trike with a foot-wide stance between the two back wheels? The hinge to fold would be on top of the horizontal tube, so the front wheel would swing up and over the seat, to rest in a basket between the two back wheels. I don't know if it's feasible, though.
Anyway, look George up. If anyone can engineer a folding, motorized trike, he can.
Best wishes,
Stan
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
THE LITTLE FOXES
I spend the weekend with CAR in the swanky section of Maryland, Bozman Neavitt, also known as the Boz?
CAR picks me up at my towering apartment building on west 42nd Street around 8 pm.
I've managed to make my bed and straighten the living room, but as soon as she gets here, I ask her to sweep the kitchen floor, pick up the mess in the bathroom and empty a week and half's worth of garbage trash. I have to follow along for the this particular chore because the smelly fetid trash is bursting at the seams. In the trash room, I fish around for recyclables (encrusted with coffee grains, old wet cereal, and carrot scrapings, before we dump the loot down the chute.
Car is visibly disgusted which surprises me because she always has seemed to have a low bar for all things gross.
(My bar is lowered every day).
We pack up the car, including my bike, my laptop and some of my vitamins. Her car-van is perfect for my bike and CAR single handily lifts it and it goes in standing up.
"Piece of cake" says CAR.
(I am impressed -now- with everyone's strength, with everyone's mobility, with everyone's motor-neurons).
We stop at the dollar pizza place on ninth and fortieth*. CAR gets two slices and a diet coke. I am off wheat so (no pizza for me) and "diet coke is poison" I admonish her. Car seems to have some risky handle on health, she's created her own philosophy, which she firmly believes... and she's convincing. I have to grip my seat not to be swayed. Basically her concept is that nothing can hurt you as long as you don't believe it can hurt you (or) ... something like that. It's actually very Mary Baker Eddy of her. It goes the same way with medicine too (I tell her) you have to research vitamins and herbs and medications and understand what you are taking so that the mind cooperates with the potions.
My throat is bothering me. I am fighting a cold. I can't clear my throat easily.
When CAR gets pizza, leaving me in her blinking van under the Port Authority Bridge, I have a moment where I can't get air down my throat. I DO panic. But I wait it out. I did one search about this very issue on the web and it basically said. very, very few, ever die of choking. So. I let it go. And CAR doesn't seem concerned so why should I? It's a relief to have someone around who doesn't buy into the drama of this thing.
The drive is fun. I eat CAR's lettuce, nuts and water.
CAR and I have a way of talking endlessly. I ask inane questions and she allows for this. I ask things like...
"Do you ever wish you didn't own a car?"
(or)
"Is it hard to keep you bathroom clean? and who does the cleaning? And moreover, what kind of cleaning products do you use?"
I am endlessly fascinated by the smallest, tiniest subjects. I have an endless facility for imaging things in my mind's eye so these absurd (out of left field) topics are really entertaining to me.
I imagine that my interviewees must feel a little defended. That I'll have some insightful thing to add at the end of my endless questions. But I never do. I sit there, my mouth slightly open (like the village idiot) pondering, imaging, how (CAR gets baking soda and white wine vinegar to work around the bathroom tile and toilet bowl. Does here daughter stare at her as she scrubs? Is the cat in the way? When can she possibly have time to do it?) And so on...
Perhaps, I too am on "the spectrum". The spectrum (a word that CAR uses often) being the wide possibilities from ADD to Autism (I surmise).
We take 95 to 301 and cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge (really something to look at!).
We get lost and CAR makes urgent calls to her husband as she stares in frustration at her GPS devise on her Blackberry. I sit in my docile and inchoate state as CAR whips herself into small bouts of angst and apology for our meandering. Since I don't care to look at the future (these days), since I don't want to face planning, the present moment is always perfectly fine with me.
I am (indeed) - (zen-like) out of necessity.
We get to CAR's parents house around 2 am. There is a long driveway lined with Sycamores. It feels grand (with a touch of humility) and historic. It's so late at night, I am reminded of Scarlet returning to Terra in Gone With the Wind after the civil war is over.
Like a play, the drive in, is an overture to the front of the house which is... (I guess) ... the first act?
The house is great looking. The groomed property seems endless. The Maryland water hugs the property. There are multiple outbuildings which is a sure sign of prosperity (in my book).
The place is called "Gratitude". There is a sign hanging by the entryway. CAR says "we tried to change the name of the place but it involved too much paperwork or something."
I suggest they rename the place, "Complacency" or "Deserved It!" Car and I find this amusing but she tells me she's gotten guff for the name before so I imagine and I'm bringing up old jokes and she is giving me the courtesy laugh.
CAR and I get right to it and have a glass of wine at two in the morning.
CAR initiates a conversation about me.
"Charlie" she says "I just can't believe this, this is just UNbelievable."
I don't really want to talk about it, but I do offer, "well from where I'm sitting it doesn't seem so far off the path. I've always had these mess-ups along the way."
I go through a list of health scrapes I've had.
I was in and out of the hospital a lot when I was a little kid.
I just can't get a handle on it except to say that it feels familiar.
I scale the stairs (I grip the banister and pull!) and choose a bedroom, coughing along the way.
It feels dramatic and ominous like I'm Horace Giddens in "The Little Foxes".
CAR picks me up at my towering apartment building on west 42nd Street around 8 pm.
I've managed to make my bed and straighten the living room, but as soon as she gets here, I ask her to sweep the kitchen floor, pick up the mess in the bathroom and empty a week and half's worth of garbage trash. I have to follow along for the this particular chore because the smelly fetid trash is bursting at the seams. In the trash room, I fish around for recyclables (encrusted with coffee grains, old wet cereal, and carrot scrapings, before we dump the loot down the chute.
Car is visibly disgusted which surprises me because she always has seemed to have a low bar for all things gross.
(My bar is lowered every day).
We pack up the car, including my bike, my laptop and some of my vitamins. Her car-van is perfect for my bike and CAR single handily lifts it and it goes in standing up.
"Piece of cake" says CAR.
(I am impressed -now- with everyone's strength, with everyone's mobility, with everyone's motor-neurons).
We stop at the dollar pizza place on ninth and fortieth*. CAR gets two slices and a diet coke. I am off wheat so (no pizza for me) and "diet coke is poison" I admonish her. Car seems to have some risky handle on health, she's created her own philosophy, which she firmly believes... and she's convincing. I have to grip my seat not to be swayed. Basically her concept is that nothing can hurt you as long as you don't believe it can hurt you (or) ... something like that. It's actually very Mary Baker Eddy of her. It goes the same way with medicine too (I tell her) you have to research vitamins and herbs and medications and understand what you are taking so that the mind cooperates with the potions.
My throat is bothering me. I am fighting a cold. I can't clear my throat easily.
When CAR gets pizza, leaving me in her blinking van under the Port Authority Bridge, I have a moment where I can't get air down my throat. I DO panic. But I wait it out. I did one search about this very issue on the web and it basically said. very, very few, ever die of choking. So. I let it go. And CAR doesn't seem concerned so why should I? It's a relief to have someone around who doesn't buy into the drama of this thing.
The drive is fun. I eat CAR's lettuce, nuts and water.
CAR and I have a way of talking endlessly. I ask inane questions and she allows for this. I ask things like...
"Do you ever wish you didn't own a car?"
(or)
"Is it hard to keep you bathroom clean? and who does the cleaning? And moreover, what kind of cleaning products do you use?"
I am endlessly fascinated by the smallest, tiniest subjects. I have an endless facility for imaging things in my mind's eye so these absurd (out of left field) topics are really entertaining to me.
I imagine that my interviewees must feel a little defended. That I'll have some insightful thing to add at the end of my endless questions. But I never do. I sit there, my mouth slightly open (like the village idiot) pondering, imaging, how (CAR gets baking soda and white wine vinegar to work around the bathroom tile and toilet bowl. Does here daughter stare at her as she scrubs? Is the cat in the way? When can she possibly have time to do it?) And so on...
Perhaps, I too am on "the spectrum". The spectrum (a word that CAR uses often) being the wide possibilities from ADD to Autism (I surmise).
We take 95 to 301 and cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge (really something to look at!).
We get lost and CAR makes urgent calls to her husband as she stares in frustration at her GPS devise on her Blackberry. I sit in my docile and inchoate state as CAR whips herself into small bouts of angst and apology for our meandering. Since I don't care to look at the future (these days), since I don't want to face planning, the present moment is always perfectly fine with me.
I am (indeed) - (zen-like) out of necessity.
We get to CAR's parents house around 2 am. There is a long driveway lined with Sycamores. It feels grand (with a touch of humility) and historic. It's so late at night, I am reminded of Scarlet returning to Terra in Gone With the Wind after the civil war is over.
Like a play, the drive in, is an overture to the front of the house which is... (I guess) ... the first act?
The house is great looking. The groomed property seems endless. The Maryland water hugs the property. There are multiple outbuildings which is a sure sign of prosperity (in my book).
The place is called "Gratitude". There is a sign hanging by the entryway. CAR says "we tried to change the name of the place but it involved too much paperwork or something."
I suggest they rename the place, "Complacency" or "Deserved It!" Car and I find this amusing but she tells me she's gotten guff for the name before so I imagine and I'm bringing up old jokes and she is giving me the courtesy laugh.
CAR and I get right to it and have a glass of wine at two in the morning.
CAR initiates a conversation about me.
"Charlie" she says "I just can't believe this, this is just UNbelievable."
I don't really want to talk about it, but I do offer, "well from where I'm sitting it doesn't seem so far off the path. I've always had these mess-ups along the way."
I go through a list of health scrapes I've had.
I was in and out of the hospital a lot when I was a little kid.
I just can't get a handle on it except to say that it feels familiar.
I scale the stairs (I grip the banister and pull!) and choose a bedroom, coughing along the way.
It feels dramatic and ominous like I'm Horace Giddens in "The Little Foxes".
Maybe CAR will kill me in the night for my life insurance.
CAR graciously sets me up with some water and my medicine.
As I fall asleep, I worry I'll choke to death in my sleep.
_________________________
* 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 Chock Full of Nuts diners on every corner and I met the likes of a pre-adolescent Ally Sheedy at TV auditions
CAR graciously sets me up with some water and my medicine.
As I fall asleep, I worry I'll choke to death in my sleep.
_________________________
* 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 Chock Full of Nuts diners on every corner and I met the likes of a pre-adolescent Ally Sheedy at TV auditions
Monday, October 5, 2009
PETE AGAIN
Charlie!
How are you my friend? Are things well on your end? Doing any theatre that I should know about?
Things here are pretty good. Working on a new play and trying to produce this festival of new plays and readings that is to go up in January at the Access Theatre in Tribeca. Have you ever been there? Great space, that. I'm actually writing a play that I would star in myself so that's pretty vain of me, isn't it?
Would you like to grab coffee soon?
Your friend,
Pete
-------------------------------------------------
Pete!
Coffee would be great.
That is a perfect idea. To write a play for yourself.
Not vain at all. The right thing to do.
I am not doing theatre as I struggle these days.
I am presently keeping a blog and will begin other writing endeavors soon.
A play? Short stories? The madness of screenplay writing?
I would like to grab coffee but I'm a bit unraveled.
I am kind of hiding out. Not a great idea.
I am on my way to making plans.
I just got back from the Chesapeake Bay Area.
A friend's parents has a house that looks like a movie set for old time wasps.
Next week our short film plays in Bend. Wanted to go, I hear Bend is magic.
But, no go.
We also got into Beloit College's festival.
But this may be the end for (the short film) maybe you should write a feature using bits from the short play.
CHARLIE
_______________________________________
Charlie.
So sorry to hear you are struggling. You are in my thoughts, surely.
What is your blog called? Can I read it?
Yes. I agree. I want to write a feature one of these days. Using themes, maybe characters, from stuff I've already written. But, yes, screenplay writing is madness.
My girlfriend and I moved to the west village and it was all fine and dandy but I think we have, dun dun dun, bed bugs. It's really awful. And itchy. I blame the exposed brick that we had hitherto found so charming.
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with you, as you have shrouded yourself in mystery, but if you ever want to talk about anything, know that I'm hear to listen. Or, if you want to talk about anything BUT what is going on, I'm happen to do that do. Whatever you need, Mr. Roberts.
Pete
_______________________________________
Charlie.
So sorry to hear you are struggling. You are in my thoughts, surely.
What is your blog called? Can I read it?
Yes. I agree. I want to write a feature one of these days. Using themes, maybe characters, from stuff I've already written. But, yes, screenplay writing is madness.
My girlfriend and I moved to the west village and it was all fine and dandy but I think we have, dun dun dun, bed bugs. It's really awful. And itchy. I blame the exposed brick that we had hitherto found so charming.
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with you, as you have shrouded yourself in mystery, but if you ever want to talk about anything, know that I'm hear to listen. Or, if you want to talk about anything BUT what is going on, I'm happen to do that do. Whatever you need, Mr. Roberts.
Pete
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