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Wednesday, August 20, 2003
EXPECT THE EXPECTED, OR, THIS EYE-I-NEUROSIS MUST BE PUT TO REST

SXX's photos of BlackOut_Roof_Sleep_2003: night of, night of, and morning after turned out so much better than mine.

good dough there, too.

. . . . . .
i went to the opthamologist today


"My Left Eye Hurts"
   —Liz Phair

Today I'll be a blogger and write about today and what i did today.
The story is a story about my eye.
It starts at the beach. Sunday.

At the beach Sunday, this:
sky with hand in it
photos were taken of the sky-hand

...also at the beach, some more enjoyable moments, and some time spent reading, and soon, some pain in my left eye was noticed.

Again with the eyes and the pain.

Believing it not to be from last week's boiling soapy water incident, believing it was, this time, sand... we carried on with our weekend at the beach; me with eye pain, jkh_22 now experiencing some significant back pain.

Big dinner at a restaurant we like with the greatest wine ever ever, Harvest. We with no reservations ate dinner sitting at the bar.
We actually sat at that bar next to 2 friendly fellows whose wives weren't able to join them. We all shared all of our food. Finish, goodbye, race back to room to catch Sex and the City and Project Greenlight.

It isn't until the next morning, after coffee, that it dawned on us: Me, with some eye pain more now, jkh with back pain still, it dawned on us: Last night, those dinner-acquaintances: to my immediate right Mike: An Optometrist, to his right, his pal, Elihue: The Chiropractor.
For someone with eye pain and no health insurance you'd think I'd be more resourceful than to miss out on such an opportunity.

Back in NYC, left eye hurting still; now a visit to the Eye Clinic on 14th and 2nd Ave. After a good long walk-in clinic-style wait,Hello, Doctor Alfonse...

I don't actually remember his real name. He never told me.

I like a left-handed doctor.

I can imagine that he has a creative mind. Not too cerebral. Clearly brainy, yet imaginitive. This will save him from sliding into a walk-in-clinic-outpatient-routine, I think. I overhear him use the word "wise" to one of the other doctors. Wise. Maybe he's wise.... He drew a lot as a kid maybe. Spaceships, and animals. Animals in space. He did well in highschool biology. Scholorship to college, or not. Pursued Bio-Medical Illustration to merge his talents; it was there that he became so irrepressibly fascinated with the inner-workings of the eye. Lenses and corneas, pupils, and irises, and stuff. He becomes so fascinated. He must become an Opthamologist. He leaves his homeland of Puerto Rico to get an education at NYU.

He puts some drops in my eyes after my vision test. I have no idea the results of my vision test. They tell me nothing here.

My eyeball being shined light into it, i can see my own little eye veins and capilaries in my line of vision now. I don't know how or why that is. I start to think about what kind of Doctor I'd be. I'd be the doctor who explains everything.
I'd be a right-handed doctor, but I'd intuit what the patient was thinking and answer her questions before she could even think to ask them. I'd be bilingual of course, somehow.

     After these drops, You will have some blurry vision.

     Blurry how?

     You will have trouble to read....

He is Benicio Del Toro, in accent, cadence and volume of speech.

     ...for a few hours.

Waiting for the drops which will render me unable to read, I'm directed back to the waiting room. I wait with children all wearing glasses and speaking Spanish.

There is a young autistic girl, I think; She rocks on her mom's lap while her grandmother sings in her ear. "Mariana's a beautiful girl...Mariana's a beautiful girl...Mariana's a beautiful girl... Mariana's a beautiful girl" to the tune of the Mexican Hat Dance, I think. Later in it's cruelest betrayal my brain will replace this sweetly sung song and sentiment with instead the tune of La Cuccaraccha.

Then her grandma sings Frére Jacques, but... in Spanish.

I am called back into Doctor DelToro's office,
He is holding a pointy, needle-sharp tweezer in his left hand. My left eye is opened and kind of numbed. He pulls out a black speck.

     Aha, The Sand, I think.

And Now he's intuiting my thoughts:

     Too small. Don't think you'd feel that.

Back in with tweezers.... its like he's digging under a couch cushion. With tweezers.
He's playing Operate.

Out he pulls... something else... a....

a Long, And Blond... hair.

     This is a hair.

     Really? A hair?

     A hair....
     ...it's quite.... long.

Benicio is done. My pain is gone. No glaucoma, no diabetes, no conjunctivitis. Just hair.

Outside now, you know what? After drops in my eyes that they put there on purpose, which turn my pupils to silver dollars, I cannot see. For the next couple of hours, I do have trouble to read. I can't read my phone to tell what time it is. No phone calls. No seeing camera display. No banking at the atm, no matter how hard I squint I have no idea who these 22 new emails are from. There is no backing up far enough to read. It's really true. It's incrediby impossible to overcome this handicap until the drops wear off, no matter how much squinting.

Go to the park. Lay down. Rest. Wait.

EYE COVER

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Friday, August 16, 2003
BACK IN BLACK' HIT THE SACK'(ON THE ROOF)

NY blackout 2003
night of

blackout 2003 brooklyn roofbed
morning after

when the lights go out, you discover some things.
about yourself and your partners-in-darkness.
the person you sense will reliably show up with the battery-operated radio does, right on time.
it's like camping.
your friends will do your dishes.
if ice cream is 1/2 off; order twice as much.
candles in jars.
makeshift dinner-in-the-dark of black beans and quesadillas.
much later in your rooftop-bed you'll have two overnight dreams of diner food and only one nightmare of terrorism.
pigeon wing-flapping wakes you up on the roof at dawn.
bright morning sun wakes you up on the roof every half-hour after dawn.
you wear the same clothes over and over. days and days; blame it on power outage.
banjo picking needs no electricity.
horns. people break out their horns. not cars' horns, but trumpets, and slide trombones.
and cowbells.
beer all over, not inside, but outside. on the streets, in parades.
bread dough can't get baked in electric ovens. bread dough gets thrown out, dumpster style.
free air-conditioned busses.
next-day diner food in Redhook is a dream (or 2) come true.

some facts: We weren't back up in Williamsburg parts of Brooklyn until after 5 pm Friday...
we will sleep on the roof again. soon.


. . . . . .
blackout 2003 bakery dumpster
blackout 2003 bakery dumpster detail

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Friday, August 08, 2003
I WAS JUST WONDERING IF YOU TALK TO YOURSELF

MATTRESS AND STUFF

Combo-Digital Ocular Destruction:
Hot water has not come from the tap in days so a sinkside-bath is an exceptional idea.

Put on a kettle to boil and when it's just shy of boiling but definitely steaming and vibrating, carry kettle into bathroom. Address the sink. Cleanse the sink if your cat happens to often pee down the drain here.

Put some soap on your left hand. Pour generous amounts of newly purchased liquid tea tree oil soap right there, on your left hand; also have the phone hooked in between your right shoulder and ear. You're talking on phone while soaping left hand (which is sporting a drugstore exfoliating glove which will hold more water than bare fingers alone. Recall this detail later in the story.)

Pick up kettle of nearly boiling water in right hand and don't test it first but pour it pour it right there on left hand, which is gloved and teatreeoilsoap-laden. Now. You've just poured boiling water on your left hand. Boiling water on your left hand will make you jerk-fling the hand in a sudden shock motion, upwardly, expressively.

There is a strong burning sensation; sure the hot water, but more so from the self inflictedness of it all because of that searing stupidity factor, which burns even more than the tee tree oil, which burns only slightly less than boiling water... especially as you're flinging that boiling tee tree oil soapy water up into your own left eye with that sudden shocking burning hand-fling-jerk (more water thanks to glove). Now you have boiling teetreeoilsoapy water on your left, still-gloved hand, and in your left eye. It is here that you hyperspeak into the phone "oh my god oh my god oh my god i have to call you back" and then, lest the person thinks you're being attacked by terrorists—you actually think of this—add "i got something in my eye."

Your biggest fears involve screwing up your hands, and going blind... whose biggest fears arent that? And you've almost self-fulfilled both of them here over a sink that doubles as a cat-toilet tonight in one pouring-flinging split-second, on a humid summer night. Question this... the whole self fulfilling fear prophecy thing. Go to bed with ice on your eye and left hand, and spend a few more days continuing to question it...


. . . . . .
+ this page really esists (click if u like ponies)

I have a story about living in L.A. one summer and I swear I'm gonna tell it pretty soon.


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Wednesday, August 06, 2003
  3 TITLES INCLUDING: WHY BECAUSE IT IS SO HARD SO VERY VERY VERY
      VERY VERY VERY VERY HARD SOMETIMES IN AUGUST

  IT'S NOT PERSONAL

  SPILLED RAIN

Digital Injuries Damages: The left thumb i burnt "tlt" on hotly boiling water for softboiling of softlyboiled (softly) eggs and the finger that well that I sewed on the sewing machine you shoulda seen that needle how it bent and me me me with just a long fine line for a hole a linehole leaking blood but not on the fabric none on the fabric and it did not hurt not at all not at first anyway and the right knuckle that in a dog's mouth a nice dog even playing for a tennis ball and not on purpose even but and but dogs bites really really hurt even when they're not on purpose and not from a mad dog but a happy accidental finger not tennis ball biting dog.

it is good to swim.
bathtub grime, brooklyn grime
When you shower in brooklyn you wash off the brooklyn and there it is it is your bathtub grime.

AND THESE THINGS:
Root canal; gynocologist's office (only magazines in the waiting room: Racing Weekly!, Sports Illustrated!, Car Digest!, Golfing Digest!) leg waxing (diana ross sings about orphans during this); work work work work work; pool; food; WORK; sewing; sewing; swimming; bands in the park; fallen rain; friendvisitor!; 2 picnics in 1 day; harvey keitel; shakespeare in the park; some fidgeting; again with the harvey keitel; sewing; banjo; talk on the phone after years of silence forgetting to mention banjo; swimming; birthdays 3 of them; swimming; sewing; sweatbands; art; littered flowers; spilled rain.

mexican plastics
In mexico i took a photo of some plastic. in america it sold as stock photography to an american plastics company. they didn't mind that it was mexican plastic. i photoshopped the peso pricetags off and it was no different than american plastic.

And these things:
+ Galapagos Wednesday night: Gloria Deluxe! (+ Bluegrass in the big space)

+ Galapagos Thursday night: McS's presents Marcel Dzama doing some thing.


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