Sunday, April 22, 2012
Saturday, April 07, 2012
40 Days of Lent: Day Forty
Easter Eve
So early one Saturday afternoon in August 2010 I got a Facebook message from my friend Colette letting me know that they had moved our friend Ben into hospice. "His liver is failing so he's confused and jaundiced." I knew I had to get home to Wilkes-Barre immediately to see him. As soon as I realized this, I began to procrastinate. People sometimes live in hospice for months so I probably had plenty of time to see Ben before he died, perhaps even get to see him a couple of times.
Ben had liver cancer for some time, this after a heart attack and a previous bout with cancer. The tumors in his liver had been too big to safely remove surgically, so he had been undergoing chemo and radiation but so far they were unsuccessful at shrinking his tumors to removable size. Every treatment had come with a plan B. "We're going to try thing and if that doesn't work, then we'll try that." But in late July, not only had the tumors not shrunk but they had actually increased in size. A new chemo regime was recommended but this time with a difference, in that there wasn't a plan B. The doctor said that if it didn't work they didn't really have much else to offer.
Colette told me Ben was moved in hospice on August 14. An email from his wife Cindi dated July 26 mentioned that Ben was still working because they didn't have the money for him to quit and go on disability yet. On August 5th, I got an email from Cindi that's a comedy of horrors as Ben's chemo makes him loopy but she can't get anyone to take him to the hospital as her mother's car isn't working and her brother is having an allergic reaction to being stung by a bee.
If Ben died before I got to see him, I would regret it the rest of my life, so I was on the bus to Wilkes-Barre. It was raining when I arrived, a nice piece of pathetic fallacy, as I walked from the bus stop to what used to be General Hospital. My aunt worked at General Hospital for many years, and the few occasions I had been there, for bloodwork or to visit a friend, it had always seemed like a busy bustling place. Not this time. I don't think I can express how eerie, how "off" it feels to walk around a deserted hospital. The security guards and tough nurses you expect to see, directing and restricting you, are missing as you walk along empty uncomfortable hallways by yourself, left to find your destination. In high school I had a friend who worked at the hospital and he used to swipe bottles of wine from the store room. The wine was intended for new parents but who would miss a bottle or two? But in this empty hospital, not even someone at the information desk, what mischief could you do? What would it matter?
On a rainy Sunday afternoon I found my way to Ben's room. He slept much of the time I was there but when he was awake he did recognize me and tried his best to keep up polite, enjoyable conversation. Cindi and I chatted for a bit, but she needed a break from being in the room. So Ben and i fell into a pattern where he would sleep for a bit, wake up and talk about nothing of any significance, certainly nothing related to what was happening or would happen soon, and then he would sleep some more. I watched tv. I remember watching an infomercial for a dvd collection of the old Dean Martin celebrity roasts. I couldn't help but notice that almost everyone at the roast was now dead. That world of celebrity, already dying when I used to watch the roasts as a child, was gone now.
Then it was time for me to go. Cindi and her daughters Emma and Veronica returned. I said my goodbye to Ben, thanking him, telling him it was good to see him, meaning it but without belaboring it. After I said goodbye, Ben responded "I'll be in touch." It was something he said almost every time we parted company; this time it made me say "uh...okay" as I looked quizzically at Cindi. Did he not know he was in a hospice? Did he think he was going to go home? Cindi later told me that no, when this was discussed, Ben fully understood. His comment was probably a matter of an automatic response and not thinking completely clearly due to the painkillers.
My optimistic denial of "people live for months in hospice" proved wrong. That night, Ben was awake less and less and was less coherent even when conscious. The next day he was barely conscious at all; he died around 1:30am on Tuesday, August 18th. Cindi told me she spent Monday night with him alone. The lights were dim, candles burned, music that she and Ben both loved accompanied his sometimes labored breathing. "One of the nurses walked in while Robyn Hitchcock's It Sounds Great When You're Dead was playing. I can't imagine what she thought but I don't care. To me, that's comfort music." I know exactly what she means.
One of the most peaceful moments of my life I owe to Ben. It was the December after I had graduated college. I had reestablished my friendship with Ben and Cindi some months before and we spent much of that time sharing enthusiasms and discoveries. "Have you seen this movie? Oh, you're going to love it! Have you ever heard this record?" I worked at a bookstore during the week and then on either Friday or Saturday night, sometimes both, I went to Ben and Cindi's house after work and we hung out and had dinner and drank beer and watched tv and talked. Even at the time I knew that those were some of the happiest times of my life. That December I was driving to upstate New York to go with my friend Jane to her company Christmas party. Hearing I was going to be traveling, Ben loaned me some cassettes, including one that consisted of two albums by Robyn Hitchcock: I Often Dream of Trains and Element of Light. Mr. Hitchcock was one of Ben and Cindi's faves and I had heard a number of his songs over the preceding months and liked what I heard. Sixties-style pop with surreal smart-ass biology based lyrics: how could I not love it? On the trip home, after making my way through the Escher-like elevated highways to finally drive on some roads through the mountains, I put one of Ben's cassettes on. It was I Often Dream of Trains and, in addition to thinking "this is great" I thought "this is me - this is what it's like inside my head, the good and the bad." Driving through mountains as the December sky slowly shifted to beautiful dark hues as the light faded far away and listening to that music was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I've never taken that car ride for granted.
Shortly after Ben died I watched a videocassette he had made for me over twenty years before. For a time Ben had worked at a video transfer and duplication company, so he was able to make mix videotapes the way others might make a mix audiotape. The cassette I watched was a record of what we watched during that halcyon time we hung out: music videos by bands we liked, Bugs Bunny cartoons, Monty Python skits, parts of Ben and Cindi's wedding video showing us dancing happily but badly.
There's a neat effect you can do with video. It's fairly easy: you plug a camera into a television monitor and then point the camera at the monitor. It produces feedback, the visual equivalent of the squeal you get when you put a microphone too close to a speaker, but the images produced from video feedback are swirling psychedelic patterns of color and shape, similar to the sequence towards the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey. The tape Ben made for me ended with such a sequence. Brightly colored lights spun around the black screen, seeming to emanate from some point in infinity. In the lower left corner was Ben's final message.
It said "Bye."
Goodbye Ben.
So early one Saturday afternoon in August 2010 I got a Facebook message from my friend Colette letting me know that they had moved our friend Ben into hospice. "His liver is failing so he's confused and jaundiced." I knew I had to get home to Wilkes-Barre immediately to see him. As soon as I realized this, I began to procrastinate. People sometimes live in hospice for months so I probably had plenty of time to see Ben before he died, perhaps even get to see him a couple of times.
Ben had liver cancer for some time, this after a heart attack and a previous bout with cancer. The tumors in his liver had been too big to safely remove surgically, so he had been undergoing chemo and radiation but so far they were unsuccessful at shrinking his tumors to removable size. Every treatment had come with a plan B. "We're going to try thing and if that doesn't work, then we'll try that." But in late July, not only had the tumors not shrunk but they had actually increased in size. A new chemo regime was recommended but this time with a difference, in that there wasn't a plan B. The doctor said that if it didn't work they didn't really have much else to offer.
Colette told me Ben was moved in hospice on August 14. An email from his wife Cindi dated July 26 mentioned that Ben was still working because they didn't have the money for him to quit and go on disability yet. On August 5th, I got an email from Cindi that's a comedy of horrors as Ben's chemo makes him loopy but she can't get anyone to take him to the hospital as her mother's car isn't working and her brother is having an allergic reaction to being stung by a bee.
If Ben died before I got to see him, I would regret it the rest of my life, so I was on the bus to Wilkes-Barre. It was raining when I arrived, a nice piece of pathetic fallacy, as I walked from the bus stop to what used to be General Hospital. My aunt worked at General Hospital for many years, and the few occasions I had been there, for bloodwork or to visit a friend, it had always seemed like a busy bustling place. Not this time. I don't think I can express how eerie, how "off" it feels to walk around a deserted hospital. The security guards and tough nurses you expect to see, directing and restricting you, are missing as you walk along empty uncomfortable hallways by yourself, left to find your destination. In high school I had a friend who worked at the hospital and he used to swipe bottles of wine from the store room. The wine was intended for new parents but who would miss a bottle or two? But in this empty hospital, not even someone at the information desk, what mischief could you do? What would it matter?
On a rainy Sunday afternoon I found my way to Ben's room. He slept much of the time I was there but when he was awake he did recognize me and tried his best to keep up polite, enjoyable conversation. Cindi and I chatted for a bit, but she needed a break from being in the room. So Ben and i fell into a pattern where he would sleep for a bit, wake up and talk about nothing of any significance, certainly nothing related to what was happening or would happen soon, and then he would sleep some more. I watched tv. I remember watching an infomercial for a dvd collection of the old Dean Martin celebrity roasts. I couldn't help but notice that almost everyone at the roast was now dead. That world of celebrity, already dying when I used to watch the roasts as a child, was gone now.
Then it was time for me to go. Cindi and her daughters Emma and Veronica returned. I said my goodbye to Ben, thanking him, telling him it was good to see him, meaning it but without belaboring it. After I said goodbye, Ben responded "I'll be in touch." It was something he said almost every time we parted company; this time it made me say "uh...okay" as I looked quizzically at Cindi. Did he not know he was in a hospice? Did he think he was going to go home? Cindi later told me that no, when this was discussed, Ben fully understood. His comment was probably a matter of an automatic response and not thinking completely clearly due to the painkillers.
My optimistic denial of "people live for months in hospice" proved wrong. That night, Ben was awake less and less and was less coherent even when conscious. The next day he was barely conscious at all; he died around 1:30am on Tuesday, August 18th. Cindi told me she spent Monday night with him alone. The lights were dim, candles burned, music that she and Ben both loved accompanied his sometimes labored breathing. "One of the nurses walked in while Robyn Hitchcock's It Sounds Great When You're Dead was playing. I can't imagine what she thought but I don't care. To me, that's comfort music." I know exactly what she means.
One of the most peaceful moments of my life I owe to Ben. It was the December after I had graduated college. I had reestablished my friendship with Ben and Cindi some months before and we spent much of that time sharing enthusiasms and discoveries. "Have you seen this movie? Oh, you're going to love it! Have you ever heard this record?" I worked at a bookstore during the week and then on either Friday or Saturday night, sometimes both, I went to Ben and Cindi's house after work and we hung out and had dinner and drank beer and watched tv and talked. Even at the time I knew that those were some of the happiest times of my life. That December I was driving to upstate New York to go with my friend Jane to her company Christmas party. Hearing I was going to be traveling, Ben loaned me some cassettes, including one that consisted of two albums by Robyn Hitchcock: I Often Dream of Trains and Element of Light. Mr. Hitchcock was one of Ben and Cindi's faves and I had heard a number of his songs over the preceding months and liked what I heard. Sixties-style pop with surreal smart-ass biology based lyrics: how could I not love it? On the trip home, after making my way through the Escher-like elevated highways to finally drive on some roads through the mountains, I put one of Ben's cassettes on. It was I Often Dream of Trains and, in addition to thinking "this is great" I thought "this is me - this is what it's like inside my head, the good and the bad." Driving through mountains as the December sky slowly shifted to beautiful dark hues as the light faded far away and listening to that music was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I've never taken that car ride for granted.
Shortly after Ben died I watched a videocassette he had made for me over twenty years before. For a time Ben had worked at a video transfer and duplication company, so he was able to make mix videotapes the way others might make a mix audiotape. The cassette I watched was a record of what we watched during that halcyon time we hung out: music videos by bands we liked, Bugs Bunny cartoons, Monty Python skits, parts of Ben and Cindi's wedding video showing us dancing happily but badly.
There's a neat effect you can do with video. It's fairly easy: you plug a camera into a television monitor and then point the camera at the monitor. It produces feedback, the visual equivalent of the squeal you get when you put a microphone too close to a speaker, but the images produced from video feedback are swirling psychedelic patterns of color and shape, similar to the sequence towards the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey. The tape Ben made for me ended with such a sequence. Brightly colored lights spun around the black screen, seeming to emanate from some point in infinity. In the lower left corner was Ben's final message.
It said "Bye."
Goodbye Ben.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Nine
Pop Up Mysteries of the Rosary: Part III The Glorious Mysteries
The Glorious Mysteries are the final part of the rosary trilogy. They present Our Lord triumphant over death and Our Lady crowned in Heaven.
Intro: The Family Recitation of The Rosary
Said to be the most effective way of saying the rosary. Note that the man on the right is levitation. I prefer to think this is due to the power of the rosary rather than a flaw with the pop up book. I'm not entirely sure why the face of the little girl on the right is so red. Expelling demons, perhaps?
I. The Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ
I particularly like the look of panic on the guards' faces. This is not a case of schaudenfreude.
You'll note, by looking at the one guard's spear and the other's hand, that the pop up figures were cut out by hand. I can't imagine a machine being that precise. Impressive.
II. The Ascension of Out Lord Jesus Christ Into Heaven
III. The Descent of the Holy Ghost upon Our Lady and the Apostles
I like how the Holy Ghost doesn't look like a realistic bird at all, as opposed to the human figures. It's more abstract, almost iconic or cartoonish.
Apostles with tongues of fire above their heads.
IV. The Assumption of Our Lady Into Heaven
When Mary died, her body did not decay, the reason being that because she was born without Original Sin. Therefore, it is Original Sin that makes your body decompose after death. Anyway, as her body was still in a perfect state, it was reunited with her soul and was transported to Heaven.
Some of the stagecraft used for this miracle. (In the book, not real life.)
V. The Coronation of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Heaven and the Glory of All the Angels and Saints
The three members of the Trinity, The Father, Son and Holy Ghost, crown Mary as the masterpiece of creation.
The Glorious Mysteries are the final part of the rosary trilogy. They present Our Lord triumphant over death and Our Lady crowned in Heaven.
Intro: The Family Recitation of The Rosary
Said to be the most effective way of saying the rosary. Note that the man on the right is levitation. I prefer to think this is due to the power of the rosary rather than a flaw with the pop up book. I'm not entirely sure why the face of the little girl on the right is so red. Expelling demons, perhaps?
I. The Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ
I particularly like the look of panic on the guards' faces. This is not a case of schaudenfreude.
You'll note, by looking at the one guard's spear and the other's hand, that the pop up figures were cut out by hand. I can't imagine a machine being that precise. Impressive.
II. The Ascension of Out Lord Jesus Christ Into Heaven
III. The Descent of the Holy Ghost upon Our Lady and the Apostles
I like how the Holy Ghost doesn't look like a realistic bird at all, as opposed to the human figures. It's more abstract, almost iconic or cartoonish.
Apostles with tongues of fire above their heads.
IV. The Assumption of Our Lady Into Heaven
When Mary died, her body did not decay, the reason being that because she was born without Original Sin. Therefore, it is Original Sin that makes your body decompose after death. Anyway, as her body was still in a perfect state, it was reunited with her soul and was transported to Heaven.
Some of the stagecraft used for this miracle. (In the book, not real life.)
V. The Coronation of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Heaven and the Glory of All the Angels and Saints
The three members of the Trinity, The Father, Son and Holy Ghost, crown Mary as the masterpiece of creation.
Friday, March 30, 2012
40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Eight
What I Saw on My Bike Ride Across The Golden Gate Bridge
I'm not a fan of bike riding, not the way I was when I was a boy when I spent at least one entire summer doing nothing but riding my bike around the neighborhood from early morning till after sunset, taking breaks only to pee and eat (not at the same time). I have several friends and acquaintances who are avid bike enthusiasts; interestingly enough, they're all male, as opposed to most of the runners I know being female.
But I am a fan of "I'm on vacation, I'll do things I don't normally do." Hiking trails, eating something I'd normally skip so as to favor local cuisines, shamelessly going to tourist spots. I had originally planned to walk over the Golden Gate bridge, especially after learning that it was only half a mile longer than the Williamsburg Bridge, currently my favorite path to walk. But the appeal of doing something out of character, not to mention the time it would save, won out. I rented a bike (and helmet, thank God) at Fisherman's Wharf and was on my way.
The gears on the bike were not in perfect condition, probably from overuse, but the brakes worked which was more important. I did manage to bike up all three steep hills, save one, before reaching the bridge. The first hill inspired the "I can do this" spirit, the second "okay, alright" and the third "to hell with it, I'm walking up."
The bridge is undergoing some work for the celebration of its 75th anniversary this year, which meant that pedestrians and bikes going in both directions had to share the same none-too-large pathway. But the combination of motion and the views were worth it, would be worth almost anything.
If you look at the sky in the above pictures, you can see how fickle San Francisco's weather is.
The other side of the bridge is in Sausalito. Rather than turn around and ride back over the bridge I took a ferry back to the city. I love boats and being on the water. Riding back to San Francisco, I suspect I had the same look on my face that dogs do when you take them for a ride in car.
I'm not a fan of bike riding, not the way I was when I was a boy when I spent at least one entire summer doing nothing but riding my bike around the neighborhood from early morning till after sunset, taking breaks only to pee and eat (not at the same time). I have several friends and acquaintances who are avid bike enthusiasts; interestingly enough, they're all male, as opposed to most of the runners I know being female.
But I am a fan of "I'm on vacation, I'll do things I don't normally do." Hiking trails, eating something I'd normally skip so as to favor local cuisines, shamelessly going to tourist spots. I had originally planned to walk over the Golden Gate bridge, especially after learning that it was only half a mile longer than the Williamsburg Bridge, currently my favorite path to walk. But the appeal of doing something out of character, not to mention the time it would save, won out. I rented a bike (and helmet, thank God) at Fisherman's Wharf and was on my way.
The gears on the bike were not in perfect condition, probably from overuse, but the brakes worked which was more important. I did manage to bike up all three steep hills, save one, before reaching the bridge. The first hill inspired the "I can do this" spirit, the second "okay, alright" and the third "to hell with it, I'm walking up."
The bridge is undergoing some work for the celebration of its 75th anniversary this year, which meant that pedestrians and bikes going in both directions had to share the same none-too-large pathway. But the combination of motion and the views were worth it, would be worth almost anything.
If you look at the sky in the above pictures, you can see how fickle San Francisco's weather is.
The other side of the bridge is in Sausalito. Rather than turn around and ride back over the bridge I took a ferry back to the city. I love boats and being on the water. Riding back to San Francisco, I suspect I had the same look on my face that dogs do when you take them for a ride in car.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Seven
My final day in San Francisco saw me returning to Kayo Books, a used bookstore that specialized in pulp novel paperbacks and The Magazine, a store that sold old magazines. Mostly porn but there were some other journals, too. I then checked out of the hotel and headed to the Embarcadero area to have lunch by the bay.
I was feeling rather melancholy. Rather than sensing it was time to go back, I was wishing for one more day to revisit some sights, in Berkeley mainly. As I sat there and watched two sailboats in the water moving so slowly they might as well have been still, Olivia Newton John's "Have You Ever Been Mellow?" began playing. Something about the music and how it fit the calmness of the bay was actually causing tears to well up. However, I was damned if I was going to sit there and be sad to some schlocky Olivia Newton John song so I instead focused my attention on my shrimp cocktail, which contained so much cocktail sauce (the restaurant's doing, not mine) that it reminded me of how I prefer my macaroni and cheese bathed in ketchup.
Then it hit me: macaroni and cheese covered in ketchup is the poor man's shrimp cocktail. It was time to go home.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Six
If you're taking your vacation properly, you should be doing things you've never done before or at least doing things that you wouldn't do in your regular life. For me, this turned out to be watching CSI Miami, a show that's interesting because it tries so hard to be intriguing and arty and cutting edge, but just seems a little silly. It's ripe for parody because the show is so over ripe, from it's bad performances to scenes that consists of nothing but exposition ("Why the DNA test wouldn't find that from his left hand which is why we're testing his right") to David Caruso's William Shatner-like performance.
But I've found myself these past few days lying in bed after the hotel's complimentary continental breakfast and watching back to back episodes. I suspect that after I get back to NYC I will never see another episode again. Otherwise, God help me.
But I've found myself these past few days lying in bed after the hotel's complimentary continental breakfast and watching back to back episodes. I suspect that after I get back to NYC I will never see another episode again. Otherwise, God help me.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Five
I spent almost all of today walking around the Mission District taking photographs of the incredible graffiti murals in the neighborhood. It's funny to go on vacation and do the same things that you do at home. I took photographs of murals, went to some bookstores and when the rain got too heavy, ducked into a bar (Irish, natch) to wait it out.
Not that I needed any proof, but I also discovered that I am my mother's son. My mother is a fan of returning to the same restaurants where she had good experiences or food, even if she is one vacation. The best example of this is when she and my father were in London and they ended up going to the same restaurant (Ask Pizzaria in Belsize Park) each of the three Saturdays they were there.
Since having the delicious salmon sandwich at Triple Rock brewpub this past Saturday, it's been at the back of my mind that I've got to get back there and have said salmon sandwich one more time. Goal was accomplished tonight, though there's nothing wrong with, schedule permitting, going back one more time before I leave.
I don't have many photos of today's journey around the Mission District to share, as the pics are all in my camera and I have no way to upload them until I get home. However, I will share the below photos with you. At the end of the day, as I was making my way to the subway to go to Triple Rock (did I mention how much I like their salmon sandwich?) I stumbled on the below murals. I assume they were painted recently in memory of Moebius. They made me gasp like a woman with the vapors. They they made me happy at how well they were done, and shortly after, sad once again that he is gone.
Not that I needed any proof, but I also discovered that I am my mother's son. My mother is a fan of returning to the same restaurants where she had good experiences or food, even if she is one vacation. The best example of this is when she and my father were in London and they ended up going to the same restaurant (Ask Pizzaria in Belsize Park) each of the three Saturdays they were there.
Since having the delicious salmon sandwich at Triple Rock brewpub this past Saturday, it's been at the back of my mind that I've got to get back there and have said salmon sandwich one more time. Goal was accomplished tonight, though there's nothing wrong with, schedule permitting, going back one more time before I leave.
I don't have many photos of today's journey around the Mission District to share, as the pics are all in my camera and I have no way to upload them until I get home. However, I will share the below photos with you. At the end of the day, as I was making my way to the subway to go to Triple Rock (did I mention how much I like their salmon sandwich?) I stumbled on the below murals. I assume they were painted recently in memory of Moebius. They made me gasp like a woman with the vapors. They they made me happy at how well they were done, and shortly after, sad once again that he is gone.
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