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Before work, Monday May 24, 1999 I’ve never asked much of my readers. Unless I’ve forgotten about something, which is entirely possible, all I’ve asked is that you think and find something among the eight or so megabytes around here to take with you. I ask a small favor now. Jeffrey’s birthday is coming up, he’ll be 35 on Sunday June 6th. Would you be so kind as to send him a birthday card? Don’t enclose anything other than your sentiments. He’s not allowed to have money, stamps, even an SASE. All those things are considered contraband and are confiscated as such. (Which explains why I journey to the jail to deposit funds to his account, even when I have no visit.) If you prefer, send him e-mail or e-cards to [...]. I’ll print and mail them. By whatever method you choose, I’ll put them all in a big envelope and mail the lot off to him on Thursday June 3rd. Please allow an extra day or two for forwarding to my new address. For those who do send something, you shall have my eternal gratitude, and are hereby absolved of any responsibility to send me a card for my birthday on Saturday June 19th. Thanks in advance!
AM @ Work, Monday May 24, 1999 Today's Monday humor piece is something you may have seen before. Still, I think it bears repeating. Questions for Heterosexuals
At lunch, Monday May 24, 1999 Well I'm fucked for phone until I pay off the cellular bill Jeffrey ran up. Time-Warner Cable TV doesn't have a magic box for phone service on Upton Park, or Rundel Park immediately behind, nor do they have plans for putting one in. On the plus side, they have turn on appointments for cable TV and Road Runner on Saturday and Sunday this weekend. I got a machine at the movers and left a message, and electric gets switched-over as of Tuesday. I'm wondering how Jeffrey is going to take this. He ran up the bill which I haven't paid, so I can't get phone service until it's paid. This also means the end of free phone calls. I've never been billed for a call from either jail for a single phone call. I expect Frontier will have things working properly and I'll be charged the $1.50 plus all the taxes, so figure $2.00 per 15 minute call. Only one call a day is $60.00 a month.
Evening, Monday May 24, 1999 There's a whole lot of bad news tonight. After what I thought was a nice reconciliation on Friday, a letter Jeffrey had mailed to Debbie earlier in the week arrived on Saturday. He was so full of hurt and pain. Whatever was in that letter, hit her hard. Like really hard. She's alive, not suicidal, (at least not when we talked this afternoon,) but she's decided to end their relationship. Last night, Jeffrey decided he wanted off the roller-coaster. He told me he would call only once or twice a week, just to check in with me. But the anticipation of speaking with Debbie, followed by the disappointment when he'd find she wasn't here and hadn't called, was too much. He instructed that I call a particular number at the jail and leave word with a particular person, and he would call when he got the word. I called and left word. Either the message died right there, or he decided not to call. I have no clue which. He also asked that I not visit on Wednesday morning. The appointment is 8:30 to 9:30. It cuts a half-hour off his one hour of rec in the yard, and another half-hour off his one hour of meditation. Ya gotta respect that. On the bright side, he's been granted "permanent visits", essentially a standing appointment Thursday afternoons at 1:45. On the down side, it will cost me $80 in lost wages to visit during the week. Adding in the $20 a week I put in his commissary account, I'm not sure how many of those I can afford.
As for me, I'm a fucking mess. I'm stuck in the middle with nowhere to go. In rehab when they would discuss anxiety, one of the physical manifestations they'd refer to was tightness in the chest. I've never experienced that before today. On top of big time tension in my upper back, my usual anxiety storage area, it's not too pleasant. I'm getting hit from both sides. I can understand how people could mistake it for a heart attack if they didn't actually know the symptoms of a heart attack. Although the difference was drummed into our heads in rehab, I still find myself checking every now and again. All this on top of moving. Something will have to give or else I'm just not going to make it. I hope it's not me that gives out. At least the movers left a message. They do have some openings this weekend. That is one HUGE load off. I may wind up having them pack shit too. I'm no farther tonight than I was last night. They only hit when you're already down. Two of my demons have returned. Loneliness is one. This demon sits on my shoulder. Every once in a while he'll whisper into my ear, "You're a worthless piece of crap. That's why you have no one." The other made a fleeting run from one side of my head to the other, just enough to let me know he's not far away. The "S" word. No chance tonight. He just wanted me to know he was still around. Waiting in the wings, is yet a third demon. My addiction. Only two things right now, this particular instant, are holding him at bay. First, I know it was he put me into the whole fucking mess. And I'm pissed. Second, fortunately the last crack dealer I know was arrested last week. I still know where and how to find it, and what I, as a middle-aged white guy, would have to do to get it. And then where to get a stem without having to pay for it. The things you want most to forget, are the things that stay with you. So I'm back from a day at a time, to an hour at a time. That's okay. I'm cool. I can handle it for another hour. I made it through five already tonight. That's a damned good track record under the circumstances. Yeah, I've done well. I can tick off another hour. Maybe I'll made a sandwich.
I got off the roller-coaster today. Thanks to Mark, I'm okay. And I guess that's enough. Small easily acheivable goals.
PM @ work, Wednesday May 26, 1999 I am bored practically to tears. In six hours I’ve logged 18 calls. One can only do so much web surfing before even that becomes boring. I’ve read all the journals I read with anything approaching regularity, (Gee, I haven’t read this one since Thanksgiving), and I've read so many new ones they all blend together in my head, and I've read all the sites in my Daily Dose group, and I've read my entire Science group, including the Shuttle stuff from NASA... Scientific American, by the way, has an interesting topic for this week’s Scientific American Presents. It’s called "MEN: The Scientific Truth". It’s broken up into topics like, Defining Men, Home, Work & Play, Sex and Fatherhood (which is only about the reproductive aspects of fatherhood. Nothing about their roles after conception.), and Lifelong Health. As is custom, not all the articles are online. They really want you to buy their quarterly special editions. But what is online is really fascinating. Interestingly, the complete monthly magazine and back issues are always available online. In any event, it’s official. The new apartment’s mine. Apparently they’re satisfied with my job, credit worthiness, references, and of course what the manager told them, (with her fingers and toes crossed.) The movers are hired and will show up Sunday morning at 9:00. Monday I turn in the keys to my old place. As with every silver lining, there comes a cloud. The guy moving out still has a lot of stuff there. Most of it looked to me like stuff he didn’t really want. There is a beat-up, ugly, old Mediterranean-style kitchen set. I hope he leaves it. It’s not pretty, but it’s a start. Anyway neither the Realtor nor the landlord can get a hold of this guy. Which means my move-in date could change to Tuesday or Wednesday. K Second cloud, the movers will only do the job with three men, not two as I’d budgeted for. Cha-ching $270! As you may recall, I paced it off between the two places, 260 paces. For all practical purposes, it’s costing me a dollar a pace. And what if I have to move the move? As if that’s not enough, I think I’m coming down with a cold. I couldn’t figure out last night why my vision was blurry and one minute I was hot, the next cold. I awoke like the weather today. Sodden and gray. No sooner did I sit down at my PC, and the sneezing started. It’s been downhill ever since.
Late evening, Wednesday May 26, 1999 Just in case you hadn’t heard, as of May 20th, our neighbours to the north now have one up on us. From the weekly newsletter of Datalounge (c) 1999, Mediapolis, inc. All rights reserved.
While you’re there, sign up for their weekly e-mail newsletter.
There’s nothing like a big dose of testosterone to lift one’s spirits. J Mark’s timing was perfect. (I know he’s foreseen this, but how did he know the date?) I hopped off the bus at his street on the way home, we picked up Brian (str8, oh so cute, and tolerant of my sister and I) and hit Nick Tahou’s Hots on the way to the hockey game. Although Nick Tahou’s is a Rochester institution, I’ve never actually been there. It’s, well, poorly located from the perspective of someone who lived in the suburbs for nearly 40 years. Funny how one’s perceptions of a neighborhood changes after spending so much (or so little) time in and around crackhouses. Actually, it’s not that bad a neighborhood since they put the 911 center across the street. The décor is best described as "easy to clean". Formica booths and tables in a lovely, and shiny, fake wood grain, with Formica seats in a delightful shade of blaze orange. The walls were so nondescript, I don’t even recall what they looked like. Pulling the room together, and toning it down a bit, is the sealed concrete floor. All lighted in the most garish fluorescent I’ve ever seen. Anyway, Nick’s is "The Home of the Garbage Plate". Yes, you can buy t-shirts emblazoned with their slogan for only $9.00. The garbage plate is best described as a cardiologist’s dream (or nightmare) and starts with your choice of sides: macaroni salad, baked beans, home fries and french fries. Take as many or as few as you like. They fill your plate with whatever sides you’ve ordered. Let's say you order just baked beans. Your plate is completely covered with baked beans to a depth of roughly two inches. HINT: To avoid boredom, it’s best to order at least two sides. "Whaddaya want fer meat?" Need you ask? J The choices are hot dog (sorry, no white-hots L ), hamburg, cheeseburg, pork chop (!), italian sausage pattie, and several other tempting selections. Your meat is served over your sides, with your personal selection of toppings, onions, peppers, hot sauce and so on, in a big, (really big), dollop on top. BTW, bun is optional, but not extra. All this is yours, served on a paper plate with plastic flatware and a generous, (huge really) helping of bread and butter, for no more than $5.25. I ordered mac salad, beans and two hots with everything. Mark had the hamburg with everything over mac salad with extra onions and french fries. Brian, well Brian wolfed down his plate so fast I didn’t have time to notice what had been on it. Pepsi all around to wash it down. I can see why Nick Tahou’s is a Rochester institution. It’s just tacky beyond belief, the food really is out of this world, the portions are huge, and the price is right. And frankly, I’ve never been one for hauté cuisine. Having sated ourselves, each with an amount of cholesterol sufficient to drop a rhino, it was off to the game. Parking next to the jail was $3.00. I’ve never paid more, and never less in that particular lot.
The home team is the Rochester Amerks, AHL farm team for the NHL Buffalo Sabres. The guest team… wore purple. [Philadelphia Phantoms] This is the first of the divisional playoffs on home ice, and we’re behind two games to none. The seats were perfect. Seven rows behind the home bench, just lean over the rail to the tunnel for easy access to the locker room! And hunnylemmetellya, they had to hold be me back. Besides our goalie, who I fell in lust with last year, there are three guys who were right up my… alley. And quite a few more just in the next block, so to speak. Excuse me while I get a grip on myself. Oh… poor choice of words. J We scored two goals within eleven seconds of each other, nine minutes into the game -- third goal to an empty net with 20 seconds left in the game. Then there was a nice bench-clearing fight, only seconds after the game. And a long one too. It was like a double-feature with "WWF on Ice" as the second half. Oooo. There’s nothin’ like a bad boy! And a whole team of them all rough and ready and athletic and cute and sweaty with gallons of testosterone coursing through their veins… Oh, excuse me again. For their little post-game romp, each team got 20 minutes of penalty time added to their stats. The 3-0 game puts us on the board in the playoffs, 2-1.
I didn’t get to finish what I wanted to write this afternoon. I was interrupted by a call from Jeffrey’s mother. We had a nice long talk - nearly half an hour. I’m putting this in here as a note to myself so I can pick up tomorrow.
This will be my last update until I’m back at work next week. I’ve decided not to have cable installed at my new place until next Saturday, June 5. So I won’t be replying to e-mail at all over the holiday weekend, and only during working hours during next week. It should be very interesting at home next week with no phone service or cable modem, sort of a self-imposed exile. I won’t have any distractions, well no external ones anyway, so maybe I’ll get something done evenings. I’ve gotten nothing done this week. I always wind up at the PC. Since I can't stay off the 'net, I'll just not have it for a while. Sooo, have a happy and safe holiday weekend. J And provided I’m not too sore to get out of bed on Tuesday, I’ll come to work, check e-mail and update y’all. Gee I just thought about that. If I can’t come to work on Tuesday, I won’t be able to call in, fax in or e-mail in. I guess I’ll just have to hobble down to The Corner Store...
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