Nuinca.com

Yes, no, really

This afternoon I had the most wtfomgdayum conversations ever had by anyone ever. Brace yourself.

I’m sick and left work early to go home and rest. Well, today is the day our repairman finally decides to show up and finish some repairs we had been asking for. A solitary creature, especially when sick, Jonathan was forced out of him home and into the streets.

I decided to stop by the optometrist and pick up some contacts I had recently ordered. Basic, boring chore, all the less notable while sick. Except for this next part.

I strike up a Dayquil-induced conversation with the receptionist while she’s fetching my contacts and I mention that I’m sick and just out of work. She says to me, “Yeah, I’m sick too, but I have something else going on so I’ll just combine the two trips and go to the ER tonight.”

She tossed it out there so I felt OK taking a swing.

“What’s bad enough to plan a trip to the ER?”

“Well, I have a second job at the mortuary. Last night this O.D. came in and I was working on her. The doctors there are always yelling at me to hurry up.”

She walks out of my eyesight at this point and keeps talking from the back room.

“So the doctors are yelling at me to hurry up and they’re always stressing about things. So as I’m cleaning my equipment after the examination, one of them come up behind me and yells. I kind of jerk up and stab myself with one of the dirty needles I had used on the body.”

This lady is back in front of me and I hold on to the counter with both hands hoping to emit a faux-cool, James Dean thing while my mind fights to escape out of my ears.

“Turns out this lady might have HIV and Hepatitis C, so now I have to go get tested. The needle I had stabbed myself with I was using down in her belly, just below the sternum. I had the belly clamped open and….”

She stopped. She could tell I had enough and I had.

We kept talking after this, mostly me asking stupid questions like in sex ed in 7th grade when you’re really not prepared for the issue at hand but feel like you should learn more just in case it comes in handy later. She was all very matter-of-fact about the whole thing and like I mentioned earlier, planned an ER trip to deal with it. She might be there now.

Now, in case you do a bunch of blog reading, you’re probably disinclined to believe this story. Well believe it. It isn’t April 1, Halloween is passed and it sure as shit ain’t a Thanksgiving parable. It happened, and this lady now has the best “It-happened-to-me” story ever and I’m left with a permanent brain scar.

Any questions? Ask away. I probably either asked her (like “Um, you didn’t do anything about that RIGHT THEN? Like scream and push the red contamination button that bathes everyone in a green mist and red light?”) or have since wondered.

Awwww yeah

Hey. Check it out.

nuinca.tumblr.com

I’m posting one photo a day about a monthly topic. This month: My sweet ride.

Why bother

In 1565 Spanish explorer and admiral Pedro Menendez de Aviles founded St. Augustine, Fla., which has gone on to be the longest continuously occupied European city in America.*

Now, I’m no historian, but I have to assume that those guys showed up wearing lots of wool and steel. Probably no air-conditioning. Flash forward to 2010 where I have lightweight clothes, near-constant access to cold air, and endless supplies of refreshing beer.

But if I were to discover Florida today, I’d say “Fuck it,” get back on my boat and sail away. Lord it’s been a hot summer.

*thanks, wikipedia

Land of the tomorrow!

I’m going to make this blog post a photo essay. You get three clues, each in the form of a picture. At the end of the third clue, I want you to give it your best guess (leave a comment, natch). Sometime between next week and never, I will post the correct answer.

Question: Where am I, and what sort of magical tour am I on? The first person to get both parts of that question correct will win one free at-home dinner prepared by yours truly. AND I MAKE A MEAN BOX OF MACNCHEESE.

Have fun guessing, snitches! Oh, and Luis, the only person who still reads my blog, don’t spoil it for everyone.

Birthday

August 15, 2010.

The first time in 27 years I didn’t get a birthday card from my grandparents. Getting old sucks.

On the doctor’s office

So thanks to the Internet power of my iPad, I’m blogging from my 3:15 doctor’s appointment.

I’m going to paint you a picture. Sixth floor of the Dillon building of St. Vincent’s. Heat index of 108. Pale yellow walls, worn carpet and the most desperate hallway in America. The waiting room is overflowing and children, who I’m sure are in the waiting room, but whose cries echo down the sad hallway like a shitty brass band, are running wild. And the air conditioning is out. Out as in prop-the-door-open-and-hope-the-patients-don’t-revolt sort of out.

My doctor has leased a small office on this floor. I can’t blame him for the choice of music since it’s probably piped in from hell’s elevators, but Edwin MCain is on. I clearly don’t go to church enough.

I’m through! Now done standing in the sweaty hallway and in an examination room so interchangeable that if the door opened and I was back at my family doctor in Travelers Rest I wouldn’t be surprised.

Except for the two model esophaguses (esophagi?) resting on the sink counter, this room isn’t so bad. Nevermind. Just noticed the “Internal and External Hemorrhoids” poster behind my head. Graphic. Gross.

Dear hospital

Hello St. Vincents. I want to formally thank you for the prompt reply to my billing inquiry. Why, just 344 days ago I had surgery on my birthday. That one surgery alone immediately maxed my yearly deductible and that one charge made for a fantastic pre-wedding present.

Two weeks later, you informed me that I had overpaid by some $84 dollars and the check would soon be delivered, akin to offering a band-aid to a man who survived a 400-foot fall down a cliff made of salt and broken glass.

Now, only 344 days later, I received said check.

You’re a special type of person, St. Vincents.

/grief

Egg toss champion!

Deathcab for Forrest

I’m talking about that guy up there. Forrest. My friend, your friend, all-around nice guy. Or so I thought.

As you probably didn’t read in my earlier post, I don’t dig the soccer thing, the World Cup thing and most definitely don’t dig the vulvazella thing. Well, this weekend Forrest came down to hang out with Diana and I. Beer flowed and good food fell from heaven. And along the way, Forrest got me to watch the America/Ghana soccer game. Since I’ve always considered myself the best thing that’s ever happened to Forrest (with the notable exception of Liz), I decided to give it a go; really get into a soccer game.

I asked questions, learned player names and actually felt happy when some guy, Donovan or something, scored on a penalty kick. After about 110 minutes of soccer action, I’ll admit to being hooked like a meth head after his first hit on the communal pipe.

Then we lost. And I blame Forrest, I think that’s fair.

A star is born then instantly collapses

This year, the 48 hour film festival was different. Different in a number of ways, mostly good, and in one way very bad. Let’s start with the good ways.

The Times-Union team featured an all TU staff this year, no professional script writers, actors or trophy-chasing producers. We were a bunch of hearty, motivated, sleep-depraved souls with more talent in a twist of our pubic hair than in the entire self-aggrandizing bodies of years past. That is to say, we rocked.

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