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14 januari 2006

On the Mend

Made it out to the Castro today; we had haircut appointments with Joe the Barber. I love that barbershop. I've written about it before. It's always a treat to go there. Today, there wasn't a crowd. Just Joe. And the other barbers, Jeff and Danny. And Sam, of course.

When I woke up this morning, I felt so much better than yesterday. In fact, I felt better this morning than I've felt at all since the accident. So it was a good day. We walked all about the Castro and got some Mexican food and came home. Sam is laying on the floor, ready for afternoonsies. I'm going to a Housewarming Party this evening with FTP.

I'm a bit sore right now, and tired, to be honest, but it's been a terrific day.

The vicodin helps.

In other news, it seems like the Vespa suffered very little damage from the accident. Hurrah!

For all the pain, the 8+ days in the hospital and being away from work, I do feel lucky. Maybe that's the vicodin talking, but I don't think so.

This has been on my mind, from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing:

I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods
And made a push at chance and sufferance.

Can't imagine why.

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13 januari 2006

Apple v. Dell

Way back when—October 6, 1997, to be exact—Michael Dell was asked what he'd do if he were running Apple. His reply? “What would I do? I'd shut it down and give the money back to the shareholders.”

As of the close of market today, Apple Computer, Inc. is worth more than Dell, Inc.

Apple is worth $161,720,000 more than Dell.

Tipping point or technicality? You decide.

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Friday The 13th

Today I was stupid.

I had trouble waking up this morning, so I was late to my first physical therapy session, and in my haste I forgot to take my pain meds. Then I felt OK enough to stop at my doc's, stop at my eye doc's and most importantly, felt well enough to forget that I forgot to take the pain meds.

All that activity—including walking up, then down, a flight of stairs—and after lunch, BOOM. It all hits.

I wasn't “ahead of the pain” anymore and I've been utterly miserable all fucking day long. I took meds—the minimum—and took a little more (still within the prescribed limits) and I'm more loopy than anything else.

Yep, pretty loopy. Is my typing slurred?

•••

On another note, Soonae, of Cafe Commons, celebrates her birthday today. She's one of my best friends in the world and one of the most giving and selfless people I know. And her memory will scare you.

•••

Oh, and lidocaine patches are from Heaven.

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12 januari 2006

Trees in Heaven

Today I went to Cafe Commons to have dinner with my friend, Dave. Mostly it was because I hadn't had any facetime with Dave in a very long time. Long-time readers will remember Dave (and his wife, Lisa) as my cultural sherpas, teaching me much about Northern California culture. But in a fit of remembrance, I bought the lunch and offered it to Dave as a little birthday present for Allen, who would have been 48 today.

When I told Dave this was why I was buying lunch, he lifted his drink, raised it up and looked up, saying, “Happy Birthday, Allen.”

It was beautiful. And then it was done. We were back in the now, talking about various stuff. Apple and Intel, about San Francisco, about Lisa, about Sam.

After lunch we walked over to Dave's new workplace, a glass-sculpture shop. At 48 himself, Dave is apprenticed there and he gave me a tour. The studio was a large, tall triangular space I never knew was there. Dave gets to walk to work every day. Lucky.

Anyway, the space was incredible. Dave showed me how it all works and showed me some of the work they do. There, I saw the most incredible chandelier I've ever seen. Cool green glass, each piece having a uniform pocket for the lighting and each had tails that swept up! All pieces in a dance that seemed to move of itself.

After I left, I called Sam to come pick me up because, y'know, I still can't walk up a hill or up stairs. While standing there waiting for him—he was on his way home from an appointment—I noticed a newly-planted tree put there by the Friends of the Urban Forest. The sapling was fenced in with chicken wire and wooden stakes. Across one side was a placard which had on it:

“The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you don't expect to sit.” — Nelson Anderson

That's certainly one very specific way to look at life, but it's one that I utterly appreciate and agree with. And, of course, being none other than who I am, it set me to thinking. And then realizing.

The root of the Christian Idea is exactly this. That good works here, in this life, among fellow humans, would not be rewarded here. That payback was something you got after you were gone from this reality. Helping thy neighbor was a thing you did as a Christian without later handing that neighbor a bill, either implied or on paper.

Further, you were granted the opportunity to do good works when that neighbor allowed you to help. The person in need is, in a huge sense, the true giver. My friend Vincy helped me understand that point of view.

In any event, no one is supposed to keep score, right?

My beautiful and amazing friend, David (another different David) has taken me to task about my treatment of Christians on this blog, in the sense that I lump them all together and aim the flame at all of them.

With all these things in mind, I realized that he was right. And I realized that the Anderson quote provided the key to it all.

Look at all the Christians out there who expect that their “hard work” in getting people elected, in lobbying like hell, in launching enormous campaigns of ideology against their “enemies”, all to provide fast, concrete results and just as fast, just as concrete and immediate benefits to each of those Christians. The Robertsons and Falwells and DeLays and Santorums of the world are of this type.

Dear Auntie Brenda, my folks, and many of the people I know and love who believe in God and the Divinity of Jesus are the ones who plant that tree, help that neighbor, contribute to the world and don't ever expect the cooling shade here on Earth. Their trees are in Heaven.

And in having had to lean on people more than usual these last few weeks, in allowing Michael and Vincy and FTP (oink!) and Mark and Sam and Dave and David and Davey and James and Marie and Jack and Anthony and Brotherman Sam and all those others to help me (which isn't easy for me), I get the getting. I'd like to believe all along, god or no god, Church or no Church, that I've gotten the giving part as well.


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A Very Good Year: 1958

I noticed as I posted the last entry that today is officially January 12.

Allen Howland was born on January 12, 1958; died on Wednesday, July 13, 1995 at approximately 00:30.

He would have been 48; as it was, he only saw 37.

I miss him. He was the smartest man I ever knew, and that, gentle readers, is saying something.

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Work and Not Work

I miss being at work. I miss the friendships of the guys I work with. I'm gonna have about 57 metric buttloads of work to do when I get back to it all, but at this point, I'd rather that than limbo (which, it turns out, even the Catholics don't want anymore).

Am I what I do? No. But Who I Am gets expressed in What I Do. I know I'm (literally) feeling asymmetrical, but maybe I'm also just feeling blocked up?

Do they make a stool softener for the brain?

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11 januari 2006

Nerdy In-Joke

Apple's shares soared nearly five points yesterday. This is weird and I'm not sure what to do with it, because typically Apple could announce an anti-gravity fountain of youth at a Macworld Keynote and the stock price would waver and weakly fall a bit.

Yesterday, during the keynote, Apple's shares surged and mostly held on to the higher price til the close of the market. The closing price? $80.86

Yes, on the day that Apple announced Intel-based (x86) Macs, the price matches the very first x86 ever, the 8086. <spins propeller on beanie />

Oh, and Apple's up another 3 points today. Goooooo, stock options!

Oh, and also? Apple's ad heralding the arrival of Mac OS X on Intel chips...check it out...sassy and brill.


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The Tripod of Truth

Three is my favorite number. It's the most magical number, I feel, because it's more than this-or-that, black-or-white. It's just more.

Three forms a tripod, a steady base for a seat, or any kind of support. Tripods are everywhere, anywhere.

Some people think that truth forms a steady base, that certain truths are Truths, immobile, fixed, stuck. I'm not one of those people. I think that truth is a construct and a contract, agreement and articulacy.

Truth sits atop a tripod. The legs that form the tripod are Desire, Data and Doubt. Desire establishes intent and pace. Data provides answers. Doubt frames the questions.

Truth doesn't exist with out questions. Truth is rarely an answer. Truth is what you make it and where you find it.

Desire, Data and Doubt: the three D's of truth.

Where am I going with this? Well, I suppose that of the three, Doubt is the one that has been lynchpinning my day-to-days. Such as they are.

When dramatics devolve into histrionics, I am a Broken Man. It's just three ribs and a contused spleen—and, ok, maybe a contused lung as well—but I do not feel physically whole. There's literally a hole in my side. When I run my hands down my flanks there is asymmetry. One rib is still “floating”, as they say and I sympathize with it.

I am living with a Broken Man, one whose breaks are of a different sort. His disconnects aren't physical and, unfortunately, aren't as acute as mine, nor anywhere as easily healed. His Brokenness intrudes on mine. My brokenness brings him down.

In these times I am an old gray man. Oh, not the remaining hair—that's been gray for a while. I mean when I look in the mirror, in convalescence, I see a gray man. Gray skin, eyes that seem less blue and more gray. Maybe the mirror has a black-and-white filter. Maybe if I look more closely I can cast myself in sepia instead, something warm in these colder times. Maybe.

I always walk with the Desire to know myself and understand the world around me. The scientist and observer in me collect Data through the senses in ways and at speeds that sometimes frighten me.

But Doubt? There is doubt, but not Doubt, in me all of the time. Doubt is the anti-religion because it is its own One and Only Commandment: Thou Shalt Question!

In better days I'm just injured and not broken. In better days, my lower-case doubts move and shift and adapt and dodge, framing my day into something arable, abidable, understandable.

But these have not been better days, and today I've discovered why: Doubt. Not that my doubts have grown to Doubt, but rather that my doubting has fallen by the wayside and I have had no frame for what's been going on and thus it has overwhelmed. It's everywhere when there's no frame to provide context and scale.

Today I followed up my hospital care by going to my primary care physician, the glorious Lisa Capaldini. I spoke to her about the broken and the gray, about the nerve pain in my shoulder. She said my chest-tube incision was “beautiful”.

I told her I compared my pain to her now somewhat famous incident/injury. She had been working herself like crazy and was near exhaustion. She was at a private fundraiser in a private home. She walked through a glass door and managed to sever her femoral artery, femoral vein and femoral nerve. She arrived at the hospital with no vital signs. They “topped her off” with a couple of pints of blood and she just seemed to start up again.

What is a low-speed Vespa accident and three fractured ribs compared to that, I asked her? “But I didn't feel any of it,” she said. “I have no idea how much pain you must be in.”

I demurred, and blushed. And didn't quite know what to do with myself.

She spoke up: “You know what the worst pain I experienced was? I was menstruating at the time. Even though my body was so torn, I was still ovulating. And how Catholic is that?”

I laughed. Ribs hurt like a fucker. And in that moment, better days began.

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09 januari 2006

So...

Sf2006 Main Top

Y'all think Apple will announce anything new tomorrow at Macworld Expo SF?

I'm hoping to maintain my going-on-ten-years tradition with my friend, Steve, by making it down to the show floor, but with everything that's happened, that may just not work out this year. Should be exciting, though...

I work for Apple and I have no idea what might be coming out, though based on what the rumor mills think, and the state of the industry, I'd say we're coming out with a Perpetual Motion Machine that travels faster than light. Yeah, that's what we're coming out with.

Oh, and? A pony.

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Alexander the Grrrrrrrreat

Lesson Learned: never watch a gory movie after doing a stint in the hospital for injuries.

The ones that don't die. They're the ones to feel sorry for after an arrow or a knife or a Roman short sword or a Macedonian longsword finds purchase.

Lesson Number 2: a 15-mph Vespa sliding on a wet MUNI rail isn't even close to any of that.

Lesson Number 3: lessons learned through Vicodin-laced thoughts during an Oliver Stone movie watched at 2am should probably be ignored.

Then again, I did get to see Colin Farrell's junk.

Lesson Number 4: some things cut straight through vicodin hazes, Oliver Stone and late night wonkiness. Yowza.

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08 januari 2006

Sore

I have been moving around more; I'm sore more. The slow, plodding road to recovery.

Watching lots of movies, being lots of sore. Sometimes my left side feels puffy and rigid. Other times, ribs seem motile, which is a rather jarring (unjarring?) experience, no matter how you slice the pleura.

Off to watch Alexander, supposedly one of the worst movies ever made.

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