From gray to blue to yellow
From gray to blue to yellow
A view from the birthing floor of the hospital
The houses outlying the university district look sort of neato from up high.
Bigger version of the photo (430 KB)
A first person view of the CT Scanner
LASER APERTURE : Do not stare into beam
Every six months I have to get some tests done to make sure my bionic parts are not going haywire. It never fails that the days leading up to the tests and subsequent visit with the doctor keep me up at night more than I usually keep myself up at night.
Getting a CT-scan is a shot in the dark—procedures vary between institutions. I am happy to report that a glowing enema was not required this trip around. I just had the contrast injected and the attendant warned me that effects vary. I may experience a warm feeling that would make it seem like I “made it” in my pants and a funny metallic taste in my mouth. Both rang true. Luckily, these feelings subsided rather quickly.
Tomorrow, I go back for a scan of “the other half” and get results next week.
Lots of photo opportunities around the hospital…
Lookin sorta sharp
I remember reading this article by Ken Rockwell, “Why Your Camera Does Not Matter” and thinking there was some truth to it.
I should take a moment and mention that going without a camera for 25 some odd days was both nice and sad. It was nice to just be in the moment and not worry if I brought along the heavy beast that was my old camera.
It was nice to find new ways to remember things. I paid attention to details. I picked up a pencil more often and used paper. It was refreshing.
At the same time though, my journaling slowed down. Taking photos has been a great and easy way for me to remember and record the day. I tend to limit how much time I spend writing an entry. Having a set of photos to cull from was a great cue.
Aside from all that, I think I’m getting the hang of this new device. I have to be more patient and take time to make sure the settings are adequate. My list of complaints is short, but I can satiate this desire to record life much easier. And this is good.
The tickets were cheaper than the beer
The day ended with a spur of the moment diversion for me, joining up with friends for an early evening game of baseball. I hadn’t been to the new Great American Ball Park yet, but I didn’t need any other excuse. Perfect weather and four dollar bleacher seats sweetened the deal. In return for a great view of the game, we couldn’t see the jumbo video screen.
I learned a slew of baseball terms, and have immediately forgotten them.
I thought the Dodgers were from New York. I’m just fifty years or so behind, apparently.
Some of the good stuff
It never fails that I remember all the people I should invite the day of the party. This wasn’t just any party though, it was Prom 2004—the blowout bash at the studio.
There were retro videogames projected on the wall, 80’s music (and I snuck in some recordings made within the past year), a balloon arch, and beer in the fridge.
The disco ball was lit one last time.
The fire dept was able to make the parade, this after the countless calls they had last night, blaring their sirens out my window.
Art and I crawled up on the roof last night to see the fireworks off in the distance of every direction. Seems that firecrackers sold on the sides of the interstate are approaching professional quality. Scary stuff, but pretty. Luckily we were safe from any stray ones gone wonky.
I’m not sure if it was a twinge of patriotism or simple celebration that got me wistful. At one moment though, that moment of pride vanished. I wondered if this is what the skies look like in Iraq.
Art left early this afternoon before the route for the parade would prevent his escape from Northside.
I went up to my mom’s house, located right at the beginning of the spectacle. My sis, niece, brother, grandmother and mom sat on the porch enjoying the breeze and lemonade.
Old favorites like the Ladies Auxiliary Lawnchair brigade and the Men’s Drill Team were present, along with a VERY large group of Republicans for Kerry.
I’ve not seen such a political bent against a President in my lifetime, Clinton’s ridiculous impeachment attempt aside.
A big grillout with all the expected fixins was had. One sole tomato from the garden was ripe and we divvied up slices. It was delicious.
My stomachs full again, now that I’ve finished off a plate of leftovers.
Hi, we’re just three bearded men hanging out at the skatepark with no wheels. Don’t mind us. Or the camera.
«Rewind — Sunday in Louisville.
There’s lots of fun ways to say Louisville:
– And my personal choice, Luhvul.
My last day there and we spent the day getting up leisurely, then off to breakfast at Lynn’s Paradise Cafe. Super yummy, and oodles of atmosphere. The gift store provided lots of fun, trying on hats, hairpieces and glasses, paying no mind to the germs.
A quick trip to another store of kitsch and we were off, to see Colonel Sanders’ grave, the big Louisville Slugger bat, Churchill Downs, and a skate park downtown. That’s where the photo above was taken.
Somewhere in the midst, Bob and I fought about whose cherry limeade was diet. The Sonic girl that took our order didn’t seem to know, but then again, she didn’t seem to know that she was working. If she was in roller skates, I would have forgiven her.
Overall, I have to say, I wish the drive to Columbus was 1/8th as beautiful as it is to Louisville. The rolling hills and tree lined highway is just sublime. The city itself makes me realize how Southern the state really is in attitude. It’s got personality, lots of liquor stores, and sweet tea.
I have gobs of photos from Wonderfest, but until I sift through them all, I can only offer…
I’ll attempt to capture some essence of my trip to New York City, but as the rhythm of home and work crescendo, there will be gaps.
I’ve seen NYC a handful of times — each visit completely different than the prior one.
My first time, with my brother 14 years ago revealed a dark but fascinating place. Clubs and tight shirts then retreats to Long Island where he lived. The compressed neighborhoods and filth. Then there were the museums, my mouth open, pointing and yelling to my brother, that’s (insert famous work from Art History 101).
Years later, another trip with friends, dancing all night at a rave hopped up on some drug of the alphabet, sweating and smiling, leaving at dawn for mimosas at an outdoor cafe in SoHo. Crashing the afternoon away, piled up on the living room floor of our host, only to wake up in the evening to people-watch on the lower east side from the fire escape.
Then, a business trip where I was scared and alone, but managed to befriend someone from the company to take in a reading of poetry in some trendy district. The lunches paid for by company card — I’m still not able to remove the taste of steamed dumplings that lingers in my noggin, hoping to find them again.
Years passed before I returned. This time for a long weekend with a business colleague, pampering ourselves with a stay at some Leona Helmsley hotel with a fantastic view of Central Park.
I found each visit to the city increases my comfort with the vertical expanse and blur of people. Each time, it seems cleaner and more approachable.
A formidable hat tip to Thor, for the company and touring. He made the few days I had there what it was.
I can’t really put it all together, so I’ll just whittle this to bullet points:
Hell, I can’t remember it all.