Vintage holds Lulu somewhere near Chester, Pennsylvania (this past Friday):
Chester, Pennsylvania**:
Correctional Facility located in Chester, Pennsylvania**:
"..when you bend down to give Lulu a pet she enthusiastically mashes her Timothy Bradley forehead into your palm..."**
"...she gets all the pent-up loving I'd give to my dog Spiffy if she were with me in NY."
So its the end of the weekend, but I’ve yet to go out and drink since I really need this antibiotic I’ve been taking to work on my ears. I’m scheduled to fly out to Denver on Tuesday and I’ve heard painful stories ‘bout what happens if you fly with an ear infection. So this weekend I’ve just stayed home, on intermission from the world.
Actually, this weekend I’ve had to work a lot. Get all my files current so that my diary’s clear for the week I’ll be gone. That means all my camera pics have to be downloaded and labeled; all my time has to be data-entered; all my field-work has to be dictated; all my reports that have come back from dictation need to be reviewed--then emailed to my manager; and finally all the enclosures and hard-copy documents I’ve gathered have to be mailed to the office.
Its a lot of moronic shit to do as I catch-up on last minute field-work; especially when you’re as congested and zoned-out as I’ve been.
To top it off, this past Friday I had an investigation in a shit-hole called Chester, Pennsylvania. Course my territory’s supposed to be Manhattan and the Boroughs, but what’s my boss care about a handshake agreement between men?!
Anyway, Chester, Pennsylvania is a three hour drive from Brooklyn, which meant six hours round-trip. And I’ve had severe vertigo for the last two weeks.
Luckily my man Vintage offered to ride with me. He used to be a long-haul trucker and loves a good roadtrip. So I picked-up him and his dog Lulu and we drove to Chester, Pennsylvania.
Vintage is real good company. He’s attentive to the roadway and patient; whereas a lot of times I’ll drift between lanes in distracted thought. Or hit the gas when I get excited over a point of conversation.
But Vintage was always right there. Lodo. Lodo!
I’m on it. ...Thanks Vintage.
I have to be careful around Vintage’s dog Lulu (not to be confused with Ms. Lulu, star of previous posts) 'cause she really winds me up. Lulu’s only about 20 pounds, but its all muscle; in condensed Bulldog physicality. When you bend down to give Lulu a pet she enthusiastically moshes her flat, Timothy Bradley forehead into your palm; and when another dog comes over to give her a sniff Lulu inevitably attempts a head-butt. All in good fun and everybody loves it.
When I start to pet Lulu, its hard for me to stop. She gets all the pent-up loving I’d give to my dog Spiffy if she were here in NY. But unlike Spiffy, Lulu loves a hard pet. My problem is what starts as a nice stroke builds into something else. I begin to massage and dig my fingers harder and harder into Lulu’s back muscles until she reacts with a grunt; then I’ll slap at her sides to induce her to play before I scoop her in my arms and squeeze her against my chest in an Abominable Snowman bear-hug; mashing my forehead into hers as I grit my teeth and repeat baby-talk nonsense: Who's the tough girl? Yeah, you're tough. You are tough. Lets play rough. C’mon toughie, lets be tough. Who’s cute toughie? You’re cute toughie! Yes you are. Good cute toughie! Now I'm the cute toughie. No you're the cute toughie. Now I'm the cute toughie. No you're the cute toughie. Who's the cute toughie? No you're the cute...
After awhile even the ever-patient Vintage (who's about as easy-going as they get) can’t take it,
“Hey Lodo. You think you can give it a rest already? She’s a ten year old dog and you’re beatin’ the crap out of her.”
Sorry Vintage. ...Lulu just gets me worked up.
* NOTE: Due to certain time and space constraints, I'm gonna have to split this post into a second part.
** NOTE: Photos with the (2) asteriks were not taken by Lodo Grdzak and are subject to copyrights. Abominable snowman created by Chuck Jones and I'm quite sure is copyrighted.
So Saturday night I caught Chris Potter at The Village Vanguard. It was an odd night in what has been a very odd, stressful month for old Lodo. I've been fighting a double ear infection coupled with a sinus infection. The combination's left me in a bit of a fog, and my forces aren't exactly rallying to the challenge. I've been wobbly on my feet, which, if my quack doctor is to be beleived is due to a mechanism in the ear that helps maintain balance. Guess mine's off-kilter somehow.
At first, I still did things my regular way. Took my Z-Pack and just kept partying and working. But as my symptoms have become more--as opposed to less severe I began to lay-off the weed and the booze a little bit. That has its own ramifications for someone like me who smokes weed everyday, but that's subject matter for a later post.
Anyway, by Saturday night I couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out and do something; and since Chris is one of my favorites it was an easy choice. Only problem was I had so much pent-up energy that I kind of binged on the booze and the smoke. Got really fucked-up.
Maybe that's why I look so discombobulated in this photo (below) with the great Eric Harland and why he seems to be keeping his distance. My pants seem to be spun one way like an aging Florida retiree; my top faces the opposite direction; and my jacket collar's folded-in on itself.
In fairness, we'd taken about 6 pics--all of which were out of focus. So by the time we got to this final one I think Eric's good sportsmanship had reached its threshold. For the record, I was absolutely prepared to quit after the 1st pic failed; but the girl taking the photos insisted we continue til we got one right. Thanks anonymous Vanguard patron!!And big thanks to Eric Harland. One of my favorite drummers of all time, if not my favorite at the moment.
Joe Lovano (center) w/ Us 5 at Village Vanguard. Esperanza Spalding is 2nd from left.
And while were at it, a big shout-out to Esperanza Spalding on her Grammy win for Best New Artist. Now you've joined the esteemed ranks of Joe Lovano and Milli Vanilli! Congratulations girl--you deserve it!!
I don’t have a girlfriend; nor do I plan to if I can help it. Why that is may prove fruitful subject matter for a later post; but for now, as Kanye West put it, I don’t need your pussy bitch I’m on my own dick.
Spoken like a true blogger and artist.
Unlike Kanye, I’m happy to say my mom’s still alive and well. She’s down in Buenos Aires for the next few weeks, but perhaps because she knows I’m single and alone she decided to send me a Valentines day card. A bit odd that she listed my dad on there, but overall I'd say it's a card worthy of a superstar.
Last summer I quit my job and God damn did my mom let me know what a dumbass she thought I was for that! Who did I think I was? she asked as she attempted to shame me into groveling back to my old bosses for forgiveness.
Ha! That’ll be the day. My mom learned a lot about me that conversation. I told her what I’ll repeat right now, and what she should’ve known:
I’m great. And just for the record reader, I think you are too (why else would you be at my blog?). It irritates the shit out of me to see people sell-out or settle for less than their worth.
Yet people do it all the time. Perhaps its just a lack of confidence or sense of worth; but usually its wives and houses and car payments and kids that’s got their balls in a vice. And student loans. Life’s endless array of options exchanged for a steady check and its relief from the pursuit of greatness. And from pursuing.
I hope that brings these people peace.
And then there’s me. I have nothing. No wife. No house. No loans. No kids. Except for my job I’m free. And I’m about five minutes away from quitting.
‘Cause people, I don’t sell out. I’ve been at my present job for 6 months now. I’ve made my boss a shitload of money and cleaned-up dozens of stale files. All seamlessly as I regained some goodwill from our clients. Just stepped-in and began turning over cases, and with the exception of some long hours it wasn’t hard since I’ve been an investigator a lot of years now. This is what I do.
Course before I was hired my boss made me a bunch of promises, and I’d say he’s come thru on maybe 30-40% of ‘em. He pays my salary (late) and put me on his cheap health insurance plan (belatedly). Other than that, I’ve had to scratch and claw for whatever I can get, promises made or not. And that’s not gonna work. I don’t have any mouths to feed. I have nothing to tie me down, and I’m a Scorpio (as women like to remind me). I’ll quit a job in a heartbeat--without a back-up plan, just to watch the guy’s jaw drop. Especially if I think he’s an asshole. Or a liar.
And now its time for me to get paid. I mean if Sarah Palin got $8 million dollars for her book deal then I should get at least $250 trillion dollars and the 99 cents. Easily.
And I’m not even asking my boss for that.
But you know what? I’m not gonna quit. That’s the same impulsive, reflex-response that’s always worked against me. Can’t allow emotion to overwhelm my logic. Maybe that was the whole purpose of my old blog Stays Put. To help me flesh-out that psychological lesson. Now it's Long Intermission, and it's time to apply what I've learned.
So I’m not gonna quit. I’m just not gonna work hard. When its 5:00 and :01 second I’m done for the day and in the morning I’m gonna sip my 2nd cup of coffee, read my Yahoo boxing page and scan my fellow bloggers before I check my email.
‘Cause I know my personality. Confrontation with my boss is just gonna lead to aggression and the whole situation will blow-up. Sure I’ll have taken him down, but I’ll have been a suicide bomber, taking myself with him. Like I always do.
So avoidance is my best strategy. It’ll make a louder statement, precisely because my boss knows my feelings. And when the money and billing stop rolling-in, how’s my boss not gonna notice that?
So my motto for this weekend is gonna be Just Don’t Work! Which doesn’t sound too hard.
* NOTE: Only (2) of these pics are mine. I'm sure the rest are copyrighted up the ass.
Bronx:
Bronx:
Brooklyn:
My man Vintage outside BB Kings a few months back:
Brooklyn (somewhere off the M or J train):
w/ Ms. Lulu (looks like Summertime):
w/ Agata and Ilona (this past Friday):
Business Money (5 Pointz):
Todd Rundgren at Gramercy Theater (about a month ago):
Dumpster (5 Pointz):
Bronx:
Bronx:
* NOTE: All pics taken by Lodo Grdzak (except those in which I appear). 5 Boroughs of NYC. All rights reserved.
Regular readers know I like to smoke a lot of weed; drink a lot of booze; pop a lot of pills, and listen to live music. Apart from sex, these are the most pleasant ways I know to spend this intermission between states of existence known as life.
I have a real strong spirit and life-force; but my body breaks down easily. Especially in winter. I tend to get boozed-up to brace for the freezing temps, only to lose my ability to sense cold by the end of the night. It might be 25 degrees outside, but I’ll be oblivious as I walk back to the train with my jacket open and my hoodie unzipped. Drunk, high and sweat-drenched from the crowded bar or club, I’ll get home exhausted and pass out for 10 hours in dreamless sleep.
But so far there’s always been tomorrow.
Course if tomorrow’s a workday I may have to walk a mile or so in the cold to my appointment. Then I’ll enter one of these hundred year-old buildings in East New York or the Bronx with the radiator heat turned-up to 95. Sends my internal thermometer into apewire confusion. Couple that with the 500 people that have pulled the front door handle with their grubby hands and the thousands more who’ve sneezed into their palms while they held the handrail on the 6 train and you’ve got one sick Lodo Grdzak.
Luckily I have a great doctor. By now he knows me well enough where I can basically secure a prescription for a Z-Pack over the phone without an office visit. In fact, he must have some kind of arrangement with the makers of Z-Pack ‘cause no matter what my ailment, it somehow requires a Z-Pack prescription.
“What’s the problem today Lodo?”
“Ah, my back’s killing me Doc.”
“Really? You probably need a few physical therapy sessions.”
“I’d appreciate that if you can swing it.”
“Sure,” he’ll respond as he writes out the prescription to give to my health provider, “...And here’s one for a Z-Pack, you may need it.”
I have to say my doctor’s pretty liberal with the prescriptions. I like that about him. Not that he’s a quack or doesn’t genuinely consider my symptoms; but he seems to have a lot of respect for my ability to medicate myself.
Last time I had a sinus infection was around May of last year. That one was pretty serious, so we went through a real in-person examination. When we were done he led me back to his office.
“Alright Lodo, it’s pretty obvious to me you’ve got another sinus infection. Pretty bad one this time, with some upper respiratory symptoms as well. I’m writing you a prescription for a Z-Pack and an antihistamine. You know you’ve gotta finish the whole regimen.”
“Oh yeah doc, I know the drill.”
My doctor finished writing the prescriptions and slid them across the table.
“What else?” he asked me. “Anything else?”
“...Yeah doc. Actually, my knee’s been bothering me. If I ride that scooter it gets real sore.”
“Well you’re getting old Lodo, time to put that stuff aside. Especially with your back. ...Here,” he said as he began to write a prescription, “this is for Naproxen. This’ll be real good, but you gotta be careful. Take it with food ‘cause its strong. It’ll chew up your gut.”
“Thanks doc,” I repeated as I grabbed the 3rd prescription off the table.
“We good?” he asked again with a smile.
I smiled in return, but remained seated.
“...Actually doc, I’m taking a flight out to Denver in a few weeks and was wonderi...”
Before I even finished my sentence my doctor began to scribble another illegibly written prescription on his pad.
“You need some Xanax?,” he said. “How many?”
“How many? Oh,..uh...actually, I was kind of hoping I could get some Ambien.”
“Oh, you prefer the Ambien? Sure, I can give you some of that. Will a half-dozen do it?”
“Oh sure,” I said as I reached across his desk and grabbed the hastily written Ambien prescription. “ Really appreciate it.”
“Of course,” he said as he stood up with a wry smile, and shook my hand.
“Oh look,” he said as his eyes fell to the table. “I already wrote that prescription for the Xanax. Why don’t you take it, you might prefer it over the Ambien.”
“Oh wow, thanks doc!”
So yeah, my doctor’s always been real cool and I assumed he’d be so again tonight.
‘Cause again, I’ve got another sinus infection!--and even an ear infection to boot. So tonight we went through the whole drill, just like last time. I got my Z-Pack and after waiting for an appropriate time, I subtly mentioned.
“Gosh doc, I’m going to Denver again in two weeks. Any chance I can get some Ambien? Or maybe some of that Xanax? Its a long flight and I get nervous when I fly.”
“Sure,” he said, “I hate that shit. With the security and the stress and all that. ...Let me just see here,” he said as he looked at my file. “...Looks like a gave you a dozen Xanax last time you were here. You finished those?”
“Oh,...uh, yeah. I just started a new job in September and I’ve been under a lot of stress.”
The doc nodded his head and appeared to take note of my demeanor before he returned to my chart.
“..And I gave you a half-dozen Ambien. Those are done too?”
“Oh, yeah. I,...uh, used them on that flight. Plus I went back to Denver in August. Its a long story.”
Again he nodded his head. Silence ensued for what felt like a long time until he finally spoke up.
“Listen Lodo, I don’t just dole-out pills without considering what’s best for my patient. You know that don't you?”
“Definitely,” I responded eagerly even as my spirit began to sink. “I don’t think you’d do that.”
“Good,” he responded, “ ‘cause I wouldn’t do that.”
Silence returned to the office. I could hear the second-hand on his wall clock as I dejectedly watched the doctor write in my manila file notes.
“...So listen Lodo, you’ve gotta tell me,” he said as his looked up from the desktop."
“Yeah.”
“Which did you like better, the Xanax or the Ambien? ‘Cause I can give you a dozen Xanax, but only three or four of those Ambiens. What d’ya think?”
What did I think reader? Ha!
