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I Rather Like This One

…although I do have to ask who is that skinny old man, and why is he following me around in mirrors?

I’ve been overweight for most of my adult life. That’s why seeing myself like this is more than a bit of a shock. I’m currently about 5 lbs. more than I was in 1980 (22 years old) when I moved out of my parents’ house and into my first apartment. How do I know that? It’s because I bought a digital bathroom scale (it was the future, baby!) and the number that flashed on its blue fluorescent display is forever burned into my memory. Right now my goal is to simply maintain this weight and not lose any more.

Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, I was listening to Forever by Flight Facilities, and the last thing I remember was the song Heavy. I was suddenly  the young man above, vibrant and full of energy, dancing and twirling to the beat. I felt the wind blowing in my hair and it was wonderful.

I may be an old fart whose body is seemingly disintegrating around me now, but that young man still lives inside.

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Further Praise For The Humble Compact Disc

I was chatting with my friend Ken earlier today about our mutually-shared passion for hifi equipment (he was the one who got me hooked on all this shit back when we were in high school), and after him sending me some reviews for impossibly high-end equipment (including the latest Technics turntable), I remarked that since I’ve gotten back into CDs and MiniDiscs over the past couple years, despite my huge vinyl collection, I’ve played maybe two records in that entire time—and that was to dub the records onto MD.

As the discussion progressed, I went on to say that even though I rationally understand how optical digital media works, to this day I’m still amazed that it does at all—especially when considering the level of precision engineering and miniturization  that went into MiniDisc equipment. It’s no wonder that in my nerd world I still sit back in wonder whenever I put on one of those shiny discs and music comes out the other end.

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This Is How Far We’ve Fallen As A Country

What happened to our “Can-Do” attitude?

What if one of America’s boldest “new” ideas for affordable housing was hiding in plain sight…in a 1930s suburb outside Cincinnati? Meet Greenhills, Ohio – a New Deal–era “greenbelt town” dreamed up during the Great Depression (construction started in ‘35 and residents moved in ‘38) as a federal experiment in healthier, lower‑cost living for working families…as part of a resettlement effort, Greenhills was one of only three model communities (Greenbelt, MD and Greendale, WI) built by the U.S. government to test whether good design, green space, and modest rents could tackle overcrowding and slum conditions in nearby cities…curving streets, superblocks, and shared courtyards pulled homes away from traffic…simple brick and stucco rowhouses, duplexes, and houses face parks instead of parking…the idea was radical and controversial: community first, cars second…rents were set to be affordable to working‑class households, but what residents “bought” went far beyond four walls…they got walkable access to schools, shops, recreation, and lots of open space…housing policy, urban design, and public health were all baked into the ideals of Greenbelts and the Greenhills plan…today, Greenhills is a National Historic Landmark and a case study in both the promise and fragility of design‑driven affordability, and early housing policy rooted in segregation and discrimination…in the past 10 years a struggle has emerged over those that want to keep it as originally designed and others that support demolition and redevelopment…housing—especially affordable housing—is a constant challenge, now and in the 1930s.

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PSA

If you are over 55, in the name of all that is holy, GET A FLU SHOT.

As I mentioned in my post from a week ago, Ben brought the flu home and graciously shared it with me. Last fall when I started seeing the ads for flu shots I thought “I really need to schedule mine,” but with everything else going on in our lives at the moment, we both kept pushing it off, and we’ve now both paid the price—me especially. (Ben is more or less back to normal at this point.)

I’ve been in the hospital since Tuesday. That morning I started hacking up stuff whose description is best left to the imagination and my O2 sats were under 90%, so together we ran over to Urgent Care. The doctor took one listen to my lungs and said, “You need to go to the ER immediately.”

So we ran over to the same hospital where I’ve had everything else done over the past year. To their credit, I was whisked immediately back and put in an isolation room and after meeting with a doctor, treatment was started. I stayed there for the next THIRTY EIGHT HOURS while waiting for a room to become available upstairs.

It seems my flu had morphed into bacterial pneumonia which—as we all know for people over a certain age—is a very dangerous thing to acquire. Since Tuesday I’ve been on some heavy duty IV antibiotics, multiple bdaily reathing treatments, and supplemental oxygen. I’m supposedly well enough to be sent home later today (with an oxygen concentrator to use as needed). Normally I’d be champing at the bit to go home, but as my Nurse Practitioner friend so succinctly put it, “You’re in the safest place you could be right now.”

So…if you’re an old fart, don’t ever forget that yearly flu shot. After all this, going forward I know I won’t.

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Taking A Break

Been under the weather for the last 48, and the last thing I want to do is be online. Don’t know if it’s the flu that Ben dragged home with him or a reaction to my latest infusion last Wednesday. The symptoms are similar so the timing was unfortunate. ​I’ve been camped out on the couch watching yard care, home renovation, stereo component repair, and Japanese ferry videos, and avoiding any and all mentions of the orange felon—because I just don’t need that in my life right now.

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From Positive Reinforcement from John Pavlovitz

OK, so this was not the greatest of days.
It may have been far less than ideal.
Actually, it may have been total sh*t.

This day may have beaten the hell out of you from the jump and left you here feeling exhausted, brokenhearted, frazzled, and not sure why the hell you even bother.

Two pieces of good news:

The first is that it’s over, and you’re still here.

The last twenty-four hours may have put you through all manner of fresh hell and f*ckery, and done their level best to bury you, but you refused to consent.

That means you’re either fortunate, blessed, strong, or stubborn enough to still be here, which in days like these is a bona fide miracle. Sometimes, survival is a win.

The second piece of good news is that if you’re lucky, you’ll get another one of these days tomorrow. And if you are, it too will come with all manner of fresh hell and f*ckery, and you’ll get through that one, too.

You always do.

And here’s the deal: it likely hasn’t been all bad.

You may have heard a song you loved, tasted something delicious, or been caught off guard by laughter.

You might have felt a breeze, or hugged a dog, or made something with your hands, or been held by someone who made you feel you were home.

You may have loved and been shown love.

That’s not a bad day’s work.

And I guess that is the point of it all.

Beautiful things still grow in the sh*t.

Sleep well.