Best This Is What I Have Been Up To

Ok, so. I've had this fake elbow and partial ulna replacement since the end of 2000, and when I say "fake" I don't mean something made out of metal but the bone of a dead man was used to replace my own elbow and ulna because they were full of bone cancer. Got it? Then at about Christmas (2012) I began noticing strange symptoms around my elbow, symptoms that progressed into painful redness and swelling and I stopped being able to straighten out my arm all the way.  It took a few visits to the doctor to determine that I'd developed a bone infection just below my elbow. Who knows if I caught it from something or if it had been living in my fake elbow for twelve years, cooking itself up and getting ready to attack, but this infection was bad news. Basically the #3 worst health news I could have received, given my history. Doctor said the elbow had to come out. I didn't like it, but I couldn't disagree. Once the tire finally hit the road the surgery was scheduled real quick (for February 28th, in other words, a month ago today).

Me illustrating that I cannot straighten out my arm on the morning of my surgery.

Something I want to emphasize and clarify: my doctor wanted to take the elbow out. The plan wasn't to put anything back in. Which sounded crazy to me and goes against everything I ever understood about the skeletal system. But that's how I'm living now (spoiler!): no elbow with most of my forearm gone. And now I can say that I've seen for myself that it seems my exptert doctor was right, you don't need a bone between where your elbow was and your hand is. I'm living in the future, you're all stuck in beta bodies.

Moving on . . .

Because she is good and because she is my mom, Mom flew out to help me out before and after the operation (during the operation she had to stay in the waiting room).  As I said weeks ago, we ate at Parm with the Hanlons her first night in the city. The next morning I had to get up bright and early for my surgery. Just kidding! My operation was in the early afternoon. I didn't have to show up to the hospital until 11 or something. And what hospital was it? Why the one across the street from Carol's old place!

Upon arrival I signed a lot of stuff and waited in a lot of places and met many nurses and doctors. A lot has changed since my last big operation—for example, now there's hospital underwear to go under your hospital gown.

I had a few needles stuck in me but by far the pre-surgery thing that hurt the most was when my surgeon came by and signed my infection with a Sharpee that felt more like a dentist's tool being scraped against the angry bone. Not sure why he signed it...either giving me his autograph or signing off (literally! Ha!) on which elbow was coming out, I guess.

Then the nicest nurse in the world appeared and walked me back to the operating room. As usual with me and my surgeries, I only had one concern: I didn't want to die during the operation. But if that were to happen I surely couldn't have asked for a lovelier grim reaper.

 It's odd to walk into an operating room instead of being wheeled into it. Strangely participatory, too much volition remains. You have to cooperate in the strapping of yourself to the table and the minor adjustments made for the sake of your comfort, a comfort that matters for maybe four minutes, while you watch all these busy people busy themselves with tasks that seem to have nothing to do with you when you know that doing terribly violent things to you in your sleep is their business. The anesthesiologist came in and got me set up and goin, I counted to 20 before the record ends, asking myself in those lasts moments, "I wonder if I'll remember this when I wake up?" Then deciding, "I must remember it if I'm thinking it now." Was it drugs? Or had I become unstuck from time?

I woke up in the recovery room a few seconds later, but the clocks said two hours had passed. My arm was intensely swaddled. Mom came in for a minute and then was told she could come back in an hour. To the post-surgical, an hour is like five minutes for a human. An anesthesiologist put a giant needle in my shoulder (gigantic! I'm so glad I didn't see it until after) for a nerve block to cancel the pain in my arm. It numbed my chest, it numbed my mouth (for a few hours I could not speak except in the "I've lost my voice!" style. I found this exciting) and made my eyelid droop but it did not take away the pain of having half my forearm removed. Much to do was then made of getting me properly infused with a proper painkiller. A very adequate anodyne was found. Eventually I'm taken upstairs.

I don't know why my knees look gigantic.  There's nothing wrong with them.

Upon arrival in my shared room I have two concerns: pain and hunger. I go a good hour without anything for pain and the passing of time has begun to slow down to the measure of men as I return from the land of the post-surgery light speed creatures. It seems like everyone has overlooked this need. It takes a while to get it squared away, but eventually I'm put on a bit of morphine.  It just doesn't muddle my mind like it used to.  Too much opiate experience, I guess. Then I ask if I'm allowed to eat. No one is sure, but an orderly unassociated with the conversation appears with a plate of (holy smokes!) salmon in saffron sauce and sautéed kale. I wolf it down. NYU has the finest hospital food I've ever known.

The story does not get much more interesting from here. (But please, read on!) The main issue is staying comfortable and getting myself properly arranged on the bed. Before going home mom gets me KFC and the new issue of Lucky Peach.

Even in a post about a trip to the hospital this blog is nothing but food photos.

All my Thursday night NBC comedies are repeats. My chicken tenders are DELICIOUS, one of the best things I've eaten so far in 2013. I don't sleep a wink. My roommate is a terrible snorer. My night time nurses are very strange visitors, it isn't clear if they know how to operate my bedside machinery (pumps and such, you know). Once morning comes I'm able to sleep pretty well—this is my hospital style, up all night, asleep all day—but I'm not at the hospital much longer.

From my window I can see a cool rooftop playground and Emily's old place.

Example of me getting ready to leave the hospital.

The hospital was very big on setting goals.  The only goal I was willing to set during my short stay was to have a good lunch.  My nurse invented the other goal.

Lunch #1

Lunch #2

By noon, ish, I'm out (having arranged the delivery of two lunches before going. I couldn't get enough of that NYU hospital food!) I was back in the street. Look at me! Basically the same as when I went in a day before, right?

Mom and I celebrate my escape efficiently with Red Mango while my prescription is filled at the Walgreens next door. Can you tell which yogurt is mine and which belonged to Mom?

 Coming Soon: Exciting Tales of Recovery!

Best New Babel

 

Here's something I didn't know until this week: construction is well underway for "432 Park Avenue", a new 89 story, 140 unit, 1400 foot tall luxury apartment building on Park Avenue. When completed in 2015 it will be the tallest building in New York and North America, if you don't count the spire on the new World Trade Center building. Why aren't we all talking about this super tower that will soon be casting its money shadow all over the city like a sun dial all the time?!

 

Now here's the crazy thing about it: Apartments in this building Start at $20 million and top out at $80 million. Start at $20 million! That means you could kidnap basically anyone coming out of the building and the ransom would have your family set for generations. As shocking as the entry price is, I call baloney on the top price, too. Only 80 million to live on the top of this building? The top floor apartments of the new, not yet complete One 57th street building go for $90 million and that building is just 1000 feet tall. The most expensive NY apartment listing yet is $100 million for a penthouse at 15 CPW. There's got to be a supervillain dying to break all those records for a lair higher than any apartment or observation deck in this whole country.

Best Other Favorite Lingos of 2013

All my internet wishes have come true and my three other favorite Lingos are now* online.

(*"now" here used loosely)

First of all, "Fievel", a suspense masterpiece.  Everyone was on the edge of their seat during this one, tittering nervously.  Like a doofus I happened to be looking away (not out of fear but distraction) at the climactic moment.

Fievel from Alan Buchanan on Vimeo.

Next, "Utah Names", which I did NOT realize was already internet semi-famous.  I move to revoke their award for Best Documentary!  But still I like the video.  Simple concept executed simply.  That's the way to do it.



Finally, I'm fond of this Young Men Give Dating Advice short because it features Christian, the kid I tutor each week.  Which one is he?  The funniest one.  You should be able to figure it out.

Best Informational Film

The Lingos, the Manhattan Stake's annual film festival, were Saturday night.  For an evening that has been known to sometimes try one's patience more than entertain, this was a surprisingly strong year.  Good little movies were in the majority this year and the runaway crowd favorite of the night was Robert's explanation of the Harlem Shake.  An informative and lighthearted little documentary, the crowd was cheering Robert's name by the end of the film.  Check it out:

And now check out how badly Robert trounced the competition in the People's Choice voting:

There were a few other fine Lingos this year that I'm really hoping show up online soon, particularly "Fievel" and "Utah Names", to name two.

Best Cowboy Book I've Ever Read

Last night I finished Warlock by Oakley Hall. It's a western from 1958 that nearly won the Pulitzer back then and is lauded by authors such as Michael Chabon and Thomas Pynchon now. Basically, if the new edition of your 50+ year old cowboy book has got a great big blurb by Pynchon on the back there's nothing I can do, I will be reading your book.

Warlock was a little hard for me to get into at first for a silly and simple reason: all the cowboy names. I had such a hard time telling Clay apart from Curley and Cade, distinguishing between two Gannon brothers and so many judges and generals, marshals and deputies. But as the book moved along it got easier (partly due to the reduction in the size of cast thanks to shoot outs and murderings) to remember who was who and the last 100 pages were a regular "I can't put this book down" situation. The table of contents had clued me in on some ominous chapter titles and I was dying to see how they'd play out.

Although I don't think I've read any cowboy novels besides Warlock, I'll still dare to say this must be one of the best there is, just based on what I think other westerns are like.  You could certainly read it as a straightforward cowboy adventure (a year after its publication it was made into a straightforward Henry Fonda cowboy film) but its also ready to be appreciated as a real western tragedy of more complex character arcs and trying moral decisions. If there's anyone out there that's read this book can we please talk about the journey of rustler turned deputy Johnny Gannon? Please?

In conclusion: I say Warlock is a fine, fine book. An excellent addition to any bookshelf in want of more Americana or a brain in need of tumbleweeds and shot outs and the pondering of the meaning of it all.

Best Special Day Made Even More Special

Patricia and I met 10 years ago Wednesday...we think...and it was so snowy that day. Friday we had a good, solid snow so Patricia and I took a commemorative anniversary snow walk through Battery Park.

 Everything was nice and lovely and then I saw something that I only barely dreamed I might see.

The famous and mysterious Wild Turkey of Battery Park! And on a snow day!

If you're not sure if you've ever seen me when I was real happy, I suggest you see me when I run into the wild turkey of Battery Park.

I wonder what it's like to be the wild turkey of battery park. Do you think he wonders where all the other turkeys are?



ADDENDUM: A little Googling can teach you so much about that turkey.  Like that he's a girl, he's named Zelda, and he's very old.

Best Historic Meeting.

Tonight Claire met Claire and Evan and I were there to say that it happened.

To commemorate?  Supper at Parm.  Among the things eaten:

Brussels Sprouts

Meatball Parm Platter with Baked Zitti in Gravy.

Root Beer Float Ice Cream Cake. a dessert special.

I think Parm gets better every time I go.  What a treasure to have up the street from me.  And how lucky I am, too, to have my mom for a temporary roommate.

Best Part of Oscar's Night

Was watching these two Youtubes, first: Hugh Jackman's opening number from the 2009 Oscars, which somehow I'd never seen before. What was I doing Oscars time 2009?  I must have been late to a party somewhere.  So now I'm super late to this party:

Second: Dan Harmon and company accepting an Emmy for writing that opening:

I thought I didn't care about opening numbers or acceptance speeches, but tonight the internet taught me they both can be done well.

Best Long Island Style Wedding Bash

Saturday night we celebrated Claire and Evan's New Year's Eve Wedding with a Long Island Style Wedding Bash in Woodbury (that's a town out on on Long Island).  Halfway there I realized I had left my camera at home.  Great, Brigham, just great.  Most photographable event in ages and you show up with nothing but your iphone?  Oh well, let us proceed and I will do my best to illustrate and recount.

Good establishing shot for a wedding celebration: Photo of your place card.

Tablemates!

Additional tablemates

Additional tablemates, cont'd

After hors d'oeuvres, drinks and another buffet, the dinner buffet is open (along with mashed potato bar, not pictured).

While traditionally one to load his plate to the point of embarrassing his neighbors, Saturday night I think I was a little intimidated by the options and ate much more respectably than usual.  Or maybe I'm just growing up?

And then Claire and Evan started the first dance of the night.  To what I think I remember being a country song?

But soon the DJ started laying down the Top 40 party jams and also Hava Nagila.  The revelers did that thing, you know, from the movies?  Where they lift the bride (and then the groom) up on a chair and bounce them up and down.  And you know what?  I think that's a great way to celebrate and show you're excited about something, that you literally take the person into the air and try to throw them into the ceiling. No, I'm being real.  It's a great gesture of happiness.

Later, after many more jams (and I won't lie, my toes were tapping throughout) the cutting of some cake.

And you know what else was cut?  A giant block of ice.  Into this sculpture.  (photo snatched from Alpha's Instagram feed.  Can you see me? There I am, putting cheese on my plate!)

In conclusion: Great party, great gathering of people from up and down both coasts of the country (and perhaps parts in between?).  A big thank you to the Pritchetts, the Hanlons, and the Pritchett-Hanlons.

Best Night of Laughs

Last night I went with Chaunte to see Brent Weinbach at a little comedy show in Brooklyn.  He asked Chaunte to come up on stage with him to help "with his next trick."



Not only did he make a star of Chaunte but he made a song out of my name.  He has this joke that goes (I paraphrase) "I'm half-filipino, half-jewish.  Sometimes people ask me, oh, is it your mother or your father that's from the Philippines?  My name is Brent Weinbach." or something like that . . . at the end of the joke, he looked at me and asked, "You sir, what's your name?" and I answered.  He began repeating my name in a variety of accents before settling on Jamaican and started singing like a dance-hall reggae sounding song about me/my name before stopping abruptly and saying: "So, you're white?"  I'd never been the center of so much comedy before.

Best Game Show

Man.  I just love a well played game of Jeopardy.



Only criticism: Why not make it a true Daily Double?

Best Three Day Weekend Three Weeks Ago

One of the reasons I haven't been blogging much is I haven't known what to blog.  But just now I realized, "Duh, I can blog about Martin Luther King Day Weekend."  So here we go!  Let's take a look at Rev.Dr.MLK.jr.Day.2k13!

Friday night I went with Jesse to the MoMA to watch some of the Clock.  It was the Clock's last full weekend.  Crowds were out of control.  We waited maybe an hour and a half to get in?  The line was 3 to 4 hours long in the middle of the night later that weekend.

And what is the Clock?  A 24hr long movie made up of clips of movies perfectly synched with the time of day . . . meaning if you're watching it at 8:15pm, you'll see a scene from a movie that took place at 8:15pm.

After waiting to get into the Clock we waited to get into Totto Ramen, their chicken-based soup is regarded by many as the best ramen in the city.  I thought it was plenty good, I was glad they weren't stingy with the meat, but I'm not ramen expert enough to say what's the best ramen.  I mean, I'd definitely eat it again, don't get me wrong. 

Then Saturday morning I hopped on a Washington Deluxe and went down to DC.  Shortly upon arriving I discovered that there's a Bojangles at Union Station.  Bojangles is a southern fried chicken chain I've been keen to try, I told myself: Brigham, you're going to get that chicken before you catch the bus back to New York.

But my first DC meal was Shop House in Dupont Circle with Kat.  Shop House is the new Asian concept from Chipotle.  I liked that it wasn't just Panda Express, it was more fish-saucey and adventurous than than.

This is me posing with the treats that I brought down for my DC peoples.  Because I'm not just some bum that shows up without treats!

MLK Jr. weekend was also Inauguration Weekend, the whole city was so excited for the inauguration.

Saturday night it took trains and busses for Carol and I to get to the Dan Harmon show, the motivation for why I was down in DC in the first place.

Here it is!  Our bus!

I already posted about the Dan Harmon show, but here's a reminder photo.

But I haven't shown you my show-mates, Richie and Carol, yet.  Ta-Da!  Here they are.  Plus a friendly stranger.

Show got out well after midnight.  Saw some of the wonders of Arlington.

DC Metro.  Always looking so good, even when it's looking bad.

Sunday: Some of the colorful sights in Carol's neighborhood.

Sunday night Carol had a chili and macaroni and cheese gathering.  This is my only photo because I was pretty busy meeting some DC legends, being reunited with Dave and Christina and Jenica, and finally meeting Marcilyn.

Spent all Monday watching TV (starting with the Inauguration) and I could not be happier about it.  CNN said to Instagram yourself watching the Inauguration.  This was my effort.  I did not upload it and, therefore, I was not featured on CNN.  Regrets.  You just had to live with them.

Funny thing that happened: Emergency Broadcast System test interrupted inauguration proceedings. 

View from Carol's roof.  So glad I was inside and warm and not over by that dome.

I got to the bus station an hour early so I could get my Bojangles.  I stood in this line for half an hour (there was only one cashier and everyone was ordering suitcase-sized boxes of chicken) when I realized that I'd miss my bus if I kept waiting for that chicken.  So I had no Bojangles!  No Bojangles at all! Sometimes life just throws you these curve balls and you have to deal with them, you know?

But at least I've got a good reason to get back down to the District soon.

Best Tale of Plucky Orphans

Look at all that LES underwear hanging out to dry.

Saturday night, quite unexpectedly, I found myself gifted a ticket to see the 35th Anniversary revival of Annie on Broadway.  It was like a dream come true that I didn't know I had even been dreaming of.  Watching the show, I realized I knew Annie a lot better than I realized--meaning, I knew Annie the movie a lot better than I realized (I saw first saw it in the theater when it came out for my friend Elliot's birthday) so pretty regularly I was going "Wait, they changed that from the movie!" But some post-show wikipedia'ing taught me that it was the movie that changed things, not this musical, and that the 35th anniversary production was a faithful presentation of the story as it was known in 1977.

The "changes" that most irked me were the absence of Daddy Warbuck's helicopter car and his two bodyguards (Punjab and the Asp) and the anarchist attacks on Daddy Warbucks . . . you know, the stuff they added to the movie for the sake of young boys.  Most definitely this is a musical for little girls, and for people with little girls to bring to the show.  Those of us who are not little girls can still enjoy it quite nicely, but still, too bad you're not a little girl, you know what I mean?  Still, the musical is full of famous and familiar Broadway jams, and watching it live my guts got all stirred up and nostalgic over Tomorrow, You're Never Fully Dressed, and Maybe, to name a few.  All well presented in this presentation, although I though their version of the Ghetto Anthem lacked a certain swagger.

Here is something about New York that I learned watching Annie on Broadway: In it they go to the Roxy to see the movie.  I'd never heard of a Roxy movie theater.  Turns out it's a 6000 seat single-screen movie palace that used to be on 50th street between 6th and 7th avenue.  6000 seat!  The Ziegfeld, Manhattan's current largest single screen theater, seats about 1000 . . . and it's huger than huge inside.  My beloved Jersey Loews theater seats 3000, counting the balconies, which haven't been reopened to the public.  The Roxy didn't last past the 60's, there's a TGI Friday's now where the Roxy's lobby entrance used to be.  A second, "smaller" Roxy was opened on Broadway in the Upper West Side, now it's known as the Beacon Theater.  It only seats 3000.