The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.





Thursday, August 31, 2006

Freaking Memes

Usually, I'm an avid reader. Lately though, I've not been reading as much as I'd like to. My reasons? Well I have a few.


  • All of my books are still in Cleveland at a friend's house. I was hoping to go in September and get them...but seeing that I'm not going to be allowed to lift anything heavier than 15lbs for 8 to 10 weeks, I'll have my books by Christmas.

  • I have no bookshelves in my apartment. Then again...I don't have a couch or a bed either. I do have a lawn chair to sit in though.

  • Books are so damn expensive. Seriously...remember when you could go to a book store and buy a paperback for $2. When did books become so pricey?

  • I hate library books. This is a big one for me. I love the library, but I've got an issue regarding people who read in the bathroom. Call me a germ-a-phobe...I don't care. People, if you are spending that much time taking a dump that you need to bring a book into the bathroom...eat some damn fiber!



But now, I've been "memed" and need to come up with answers. Problem with this meme is that I've read more plays than books, so for a lot of these answers, I've



  1. A book that changed my life: And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic by Randy Shilts.
    The only book I've read that made me so angry I actually had bad dreams for weeks. I read it back in 1987, the year I had moved out on my own and was living in an apartment building full of other homos. I was one of the only men in the building not HIV positive, and this book explained exactly why I needed to take a stand.


  2. A book I've read more than once: Hamlet by William Shakespeare.
    One of my favorite tragedies, I love the painful ending.


  3. A book I'd take to a desert island: The Norton Anthology.
    This way, I'd get to read some masterpieces in literature, and the paper is so thin I can use it as toilet paper when I'm finished.


  4. A book play that made me laugh: Easy one. Laundry and Bourbon by James McLure.
    This is a short play that is pure comedic genius. Using three types of comedy: slapstick, physical, and storytelling, the playwright is able to bring an audience into his main idea of small town living.


  5. A book that made me cry: Charlotte's Web
    Hey, I was eight years old. As I said two days ago...I'm not one to cry.


  6. A book I wish I had written:
    Harry Potter and the Sorcer's Stone by JK Rowling.
    The woman now is richer than the freaking Queen! I'd kill for that financial security.

  7. A book that should never have been written: The Bible.
    The only book I can think of that causes more wars, persecution, and murder. The Inquisition, The Holy Crusades, the conversion of the Native American Savages, even current political conservative backlash are all based on biblical beliefs. A little ironic since the bible was written to promote tolerance.


  8. A book I'm currently reading: The Hand Maid's Tale.
    Love the way feminism is explored in this work of fiction.


  9. A book I'm planning to read: The Great Gatbsy
    I'm blaming this on Ricker...who convinced me to read this while I'm recovering.


  10. Five people to whom I'll send these questions:

    How about five people I either haven't slept with, or I'm not planning on sleeping with, or who haven't already gotten this meme.

    1.
    2.
    3.
    4.
    5.

Patrick - 4:05 PM -








Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Grand Canyon

You ever have one of those "friends". You know the one. The friend you tell others about because you really don't want to admit that the "friend" you are talking about is really yourself.

Well I have this friend who's been "sort of seeing" someone here and there. It's not serious, and really...he knows it's never going to go anywhere, but for the time he was just enjoying the other guy's company. But a significant problem has started to become an issue. Now yes..."my friend" knows that the other guy likes him a hell of a lot more than "my friend" likes him. Surprisingly, this isn't the problem.

The problem is a bit more physical. You see...the guy "my friend" is spending time with is what the gay community would categorize a "power bottom". Normally, I wouldn't see the problem with this, as "my friend" is a top, but the issue does involve compatibility. Apparently, this power bottom uses toys on a regular basis. Very large toys. One of them being 18 x 7. Yes...7" around.

Besides the fact that "my friend" could get a complex when comparing himself to the latex competition, "my friend" has described sex as throwing a hot dog into a wind tunnel. When the wind blows, you can hear the distinct sound of a fog horn coming from this power bottom's ass. Staying power is not proving to be a problem for "my friend". Hell...at the rate he's going, he could probably move in and call it an apartment.

Thus, "my friend" needs to end it. Tactfully. How does one say, "It's not me...it's you."

Patrick - 3:17 PM -








Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Crying

tIt's time to admit something here. During theater school, I discovered very quickly that I was usually unable to cry. I'm not a crying kind of guy. Not because it isn't "manly" or butch, but I'm just not one to cry. Not that I haven't wanted to at times. What I discovered was that usually my sadness turns to anger, and from there we go straight into rage territory.

This was a problem for me when I was auditioning seriously, as roles that involved an emotional depth of sadness were often too difficult for me. I just couldn't break into those tears, and I refuse to "fake" cry. In fact, if I did, my old advisor would hunt me down and kill me.

In my personal life, it's been the same. I can only think of 4 people that have seen me cry since I turned 17, and only in the most extreme cases have I done so. During the whole time that I went through cancer treatment, the chemotherapy, the radiation treatments, the absolute hell...not a tear shed. Some of the worst pain I've ever gone through, but I remained in control. I've never even cried at the dentist (although I have had several panic attacks in the chair and now have a prescription for Xannax before going).

Yesterday, during one of the last medical tests I needed to have before surgery, I cried. Even with a nurse holding me, telling me I was doing fine while I couldn't stop shaking, I couldn't hold back.

***Warning, medical heebie jeebies begin here. If squeamish, perhaps you you would prefer to read yesterday's post again***

I arrived at the doctor's office and for the first time since I've began seeing doctors this year, brought back to the examining room at the scheduled time. The doctor asked that I remove my shirt and wear a rubber gown. He explained that sometimes people will gag and vomit this particular procedure, called an esophageal manometry. I love the way doctors refer to medieval torturing as procedures.
"We're going to stretch your arms and legs in opposite directions on this device we call a rack. It's a common procedure."

He asked that I open my mouth and say "ahhh", and as I was doing so, he sprayed the back of my throat with a numbing agent. Unfortunately, this is the only allowed anesthetic as any sedative can affect the esophageal muscle...causing the test results to be inconclusive. His nurse then held my shoulders still while he took a tube 1/4 of an inch thick and began threading it up the right nostril of my nose. He went a good six inches in before he had to remove the tube. Apparently, my prior history has involved a broken nose and the right nostril was too difficult to thread. So he switched to the left nostril.

Up the left nostril, through the sinus cavity and what felt like the bare grazing of my brain, he finally reached the back of my throat where he told me to begin swallowing. The quarter inch tube felt more like the size of a golf ball, and I began coughing as I swallowed more and more of this hideous contraption. Thankfully, I didn't puke.

This test is normally difficult for anyone, but with the scar tissue I've got accumulated from my past, I had to twist left and right several times just to get the tube further down. Each time I moved, I felt this tube cause pain in my sinus, throat, and cold feel it all the way in my chest.

Now during difficult procedures in the past, I've focused on pleasant imagery as a way of getting past the pain. It's how I got past the hours of puking after getting chemo, the buring sensation while getting a potassium drip, and magically...it got me past one particular time involving a hugely endowed boyfriend. But during this test, my mind was blank. All I could think of was the feeling of the tube being pushed further down my throat, and how it felt as it finally hit the top of my stomach. He had inserted about two feet of tubing.

It was at this point I cried.

For the next 40 minutes, this doctor would pull the tube out about an inch, have me swallow, and then place it back. Then pull out two inches, and put it back. Swallowing with water, swallowing without. Each swallow felt worse that the first as the anesthetic began wearing off. When he finally removed the entire tube, I just couldn't stop shaking. He let me sit in the room and just get my bearings as he prepared the results for the surgeon, and gave me a copy. The results were as expected, but I'm left thinking forward now.

This was the worst experience of my life. If this was bad...just how fucking bad is this surgery going to be? I know I'm just psyching myself out...but I would rather kill puppies for a living than do that test ever again.

I think I need to cry again.

Patrick - 1:57 PM -








Monday, August 28, 2006

How to Tell

I was recently speaking with a single female friend of mine that lives out of town. She's been my personal relationship and sex advice guru for a while, and whenever I do something and haven't consulted her...I hear her voice inside my head ("You called him?!?!? Oh God...Throw his number out!").

But this advice thing goes both ways, so when she called me last week, I sat down to listen to the story. She had met a man at a wedding they were both in. This man basically indicated that he wanted to get to know her in a "biblical" way (must be those wedding blues), and my friend decided to give him a trial run.

Now anytime you take a new person to bed, you run a risk. Sure you run the risk of STD's, but you run an even bigger risk that the sex is so bad that you actually wish that you hadn't had sex in the first place. But my friend assured me that he had been previously good with his hands on their prior meeting, and was earnestly shaving her legs in preparation of their big night. He was supposed to meet her on Thursday evening, but called very late. This, I took as a bad sign and told her to dump him. If he wants to partake in her heavenly gates...well he should crawl on the ground worshiping her first. If he can't do that, he's not worth it. She agreed...or so I thought.

I get a call from her on Friday. It seemed that she had met him after our conversation and consummated their relationship after all. However, the event was not news worthy.

"Patrick...I think I slept with a gay man!" she exclaimed.
"Again?" I asked. (we have a history...but not me).
"Yes!"
"Well what makes you think he was gay? Did he want you to strap one on?"
"Well for one...It was really boring."
Recalling more than 1/2 my ex boyfriends, "That means nothing."
"Second...I don't even know if he finished!"
"Well...Sometimes guys get a little too sensitive and can't finish."
"Lastly...in the morning, when he came out of the bathroom, he was wearing bronzer!"
"Yup...He's gay."

So for all you straight women out there. If he's wearing bronzer...Don't bother.

Patrick - 1:08 PM -








Thursday, August 24, 2006

Hot All Male Action

When I was a teenager and had first come out of the closet, I used to lament to my mother about my friendships. Specifically the gender of my friends. Throughout highschool, I had primarly women for friends.

And I treasured them all, but being friends with women does not always get you laid. And lets face it...what else does a highschool aged boy want to do besides get laid? It used to crack me up that we would drive around scoping out guys...but unfortunately it always turned out better for the women in my life. The fathers loved me, as I always made sure their daughters got home safely...and hanging out with me meant no accidental pregnancies.

By the time I went to college, I was ready to change the primary gender I interacted with in my life. I went to Boulder for a few reasons, but one of them was that the male population on campus was 62% at the time. Odds were in my favor, so I thought. Yet when I started making friends, most of the more meaningful relationships were women again. I dated (AKA slept around), but the people I connected with on a friendship level were mainly women.

Somehow that changed in my 30's. I was looking at the pictures from my vacation and noticed something kind of strange. Where have all the women gone?

How the hell did I move into an all male society? Granted...I still maintain friendships with women, some being more like family to me, but somehow I moved into an all male society.

Come to think of it...I don't know any straight men. So I live in an all GAY male society.

What am I complaining about?

Patrick - 11:31 AM -








Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Up Yours!

I have worked in bureaucracies for over 15 years. Financial aid is one of the biggest organizations of crap and paperwork I have ever had the pleasure of navigating. And working on the inside...well, it's even worse.

I had thought I had seen it all, and then I did some work with the INS. Suddenly the paperwork of financial aid offices was completely dwarfed by the problems of people waiting 10 years to get their citizenship or naturalization papers. The INS has the biggest bureaucracy!

Until now.

On August 1st, I met with my gastroncologist for the first time. He gave me a thorough physical (including a digital exam) and scheduled an additional test two days later. Based on the results, I was referred to a second doctor for additional tests.

One week later, I get my tests done by a new doctor. This doctor, upon meeting me, gave me a full physical...Including a digital exam. He then ran the tests that the first doctor ran and sent me back to my first doctor, who referred me on to the surgeon.

First appointment at the surgeon's office. Upon meeting me, he gave me a physical...And another digital exam. He scheduled my surgery, but he also wants me to see another doctor for a specific test called a manometry. This doctor will be doing this test on Monday morning, but he also insists on giving me a full physical, as I've not seen him before. Yes...Another physical...And another fucking digital exam.

I was also given a huge amount of forms to fill out that I will need to bring to the hospital a week before I go for surgery. One particular form needs to be filled out by a primary care physician.

I don't have one. I haven't had one since I was 12. I called the hospital and no matter what...I have to have a primary care physician fill out the form clearing me for surgery. Apparently a person who meets me for the first and likely only time in my life will be qualified to state that I'm ready to go under the knife.

I found a doctor and she will only fill out the form after she gives me a full physical. In fact, after looking up some of her scholarly papers, I've found out that she feels that all men should have a digital exam yearly during their physicals. Yes...One more finger up my ass. Because...really...things can change so drastically in the week since my last digital exam.

So getting frustrated, I looked at all of the paperwork that will be filled out at the hospital when I do my pre-admittance. Apparently the attending physician is required to do a physical examination. One of the items on the Attending's check list is a rectal exam. That's 6 fingers up my ass in less than 6 weeks. This is the equivalent of giving a woman 6 pap smears in 6 weeks. In case you didn't know this, if you suffer from the difficulty swallowing food, your asshole will be the primary way of checking the symptoms. Either that, or these doctors think I'm a bottom.

I've become angry...and I've decided. You've heard of woman "Taking Back the Night"?It's time to take back my asshole! I'm going to be a pain in their ass. You want to slip a finger up there? You better damn well have either bought me dinner or expect to bend over and let me slip a finger up yours first. I've had enough physicals to last a lifetime. These doctors need to communicate their findings better.

I've been playing nice...but not anymore. It's time to cut deals. You want to do a rectal exam? Fine...no med students are allowed to view my case or any of my files. You want to check for a hernia? Only if you sign a paper agreeing that you will not use a catheter on me.

Maybe I'll get myself good and constipated right before my next physical. That'll teach them. What can I eat to be constipated?

Patrick - 4:20 PM -








Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Guessing Games

Today, I feel like playing a game. So how about a guessing game here. Based on the pictures...any guesses what I did over the weekend?











Patrick - 10:28 AM -








Monday, August 21, 2006

Running Away

This summer, I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish. Places I wanted to go, or things I wanted to see. It was sort of my task list to keep me entertained, but the thing is...the summer has been flying by and once the fall hits, I'll be unable to travel or do anything athletic for at least 10 weeks. Hell...I'm just hoping I don't claw my eyes out from boredom. So I figure I've got about 4 weeks to do as much on this list as possible. Oddly enough...I wonder if I'm forgetting something really cool. Any suggestions?

My List of things I want to do this summer.

Go to Brighton Beach
Attend a Yankees game
Visit Rehoboth Beach (I have reasons for not doing this one.)
Go back to Provincetown
Visit the Statue of Liberty
Attend a production of Shakespeare in the Park
Tour Ellis Island
Picnic on Governor's Island
Take a Sea Tea Cruise
Ride the Coney Island Cyclone
Swim off Fire Island
Go back to Cleveland for my books stored at a friend's house.
Tour the Metropolitan Museum of Art
Take a trapeeze class at the trapeeze school
Hit some golf balls at Chelsea Piers
Run the Pride 5 mile race

Patrick - 11:47 AM -








Thursday, August 17, 2006

Bonfire of the Vanities

They say that fat people are jovial, and if you had been with me at the surgeon's office on Monday, you might have made the same observation. His waiting room was full of potential patients from the moment I arrived, all of who apparently knew each other.

This doctor, who happens to be a leader in obesity surgery, requires that all of his obese patients go through several steps before they can ever meet with him. Group information sessions, proven attempts at "Weight Watcher's" styled programs, group therapy sessions and private psychotherapy sessions, and nutritionist meetings are all required of them. They've all become friends in the waiting rooms of some of the finest offices in New York City.

A woman who was sitting on my right asked me when I had had my bypass surgery. I looked at her with an ice cold stare, and snipped "Eight months ago when I got on the treadmill". Not one of my nicest moments, but my anxiety level is extremely high about this whole procedure I'm going to have to go through, and having someone ask me that was a wrong move. Karma is going to bite me on the ass now and I'm going to put on 50 lbs after the surgery.

The door opens and the woman eating a Big Mac in the outside hallway finally comes in. "Denise!!!!" a fellow patient shrieks and a chorus of "hello" is followed by everyone. She gives hugs hello and takes the extra wide seat to my left. I felt left out, except I'd rather not have to get morbidly obese just to feel welcome.

Another woman came out of the office door in tears. The other women got up and began to console her, while a nurse gave her the horrible news. Her insurance didn't approve her surgery because she wasn't fat enough. She was given the advice to go out to eat and binge for a few weeks and she would then qualify. The nurse actually told her to gain weight and come back. Ethically not the greatest of advice.

For such jovial people, I saw one thing though. They were all full of hate. They all hated their obesity problem, and worse themselves for not being able to manage their weight. Mostly though, they hate the way the society has determined that they are less of a person for being the size of two persons. They hated their fat.

I wonder what these people would say if they knew that the hate never goes away. More importantly...I wonder if I can find a plastic surgeon to give me a liposuction while I'm undergoing this thoracic surgery. I've got some love handles and a gut I'd love to get rid of.

Patrick - 10:24 AM -








Friday, August 11, 2006

Mack the Knife

I'm going to break my own cardinal rule here. I'm going to share something I normally wouldn't do, mainly because it's all that is on my mind. Thus if I purge it here, I can focus on something...Anything else.

One particular fact of the medical field makes me hate doctors. We as patients are only numbers. Doctors have to see so many patients in order to even pay their malpractice insurance that I'm surprised if my doctors even know my name. Add to it that they have to "educate" most of their patients, and their bedside manner begins to suck.

I received the results of my medical tests and it's been confirmed that I need surgery. My doctor is hesitant to perform the surgery himself, as with my prior history and significant scar tissue, this surgery is going to be a much more difficult one. So I was passed off to another surgeon...Like a freaking deck of cards. This new surgeon is a professor of surgery (which I hate) and has experience in post esophogial cancer surgeries, but his specializes in a particular surgery I really hate. Obesity surgeries involving gastric bypass.

So on Tuesday, the day we meet to discuss my procedure and schedule my surgery, I have to go to his private clinic where he will have an extremely heavy caseload of patients. His secretary admitted that he has 60 patients scheduled. I'm calling myself patient number 26 (the age I'm claiming to be right now). I've got so many mixed emotions on this. I hate the fact that I'm going to feel like a bariatric "success story" to any potential patient in his practice. But even more so, I hate that since my case is significantly rare (my age to have had a rare cancer and survived it), every medical student in the city is going to want to see my case.

Since this surgeon is a professor, I already know I'm going to be the newest hot teaching case. I was the last time. My problem with the whole thing? Imagine sitting in a room, wearing only a hospital gown that opens up the back. Your doctor comes into the room followed by 12 medical students. The doctor turns his back to you and begins discussing your health history to the med students as if you were never in the room. Med student number one walks forward and asks the doctor is she can feel your abdomen for rigidity. He tells her yes and she proceeds to push on your stomach without ever asking you. This all happened to me the last time.

That experience has forced me to be a little combative with physicians. No med students, I'm not a teaching case, and trust me...I've read every article about my particular condition published in the last 12 years before I even meet with the doctor. If he talks down to me...I'll make his life hell by having him paged hourly all night while I'm in the hospital.

I will say one more thing...give me a sub-standard doctor with a great bedside manner and I'll choose him over any leading physician that can't remember my wishes anytime.

Patrick - 2:32 PM -








Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Murder and Outrage

Saturday, after my run and weekly brunch, I went back to my apartment and was sitting outside talking to my neighbor, when a strange man came walking down the street. As he walked down the sidewalk, he would grab the city garbage cans and place them in the middle of the street so that no car could safely drive down the street. Me being curious (I know...didn't that kill a cat?), I asked him what he was doing.

"I'm protesting!" He screamed. "I went to the police station to report a crime that happened in this neigborhood and they won't believe me. So I'm moving all the garbage cans until they actually will listen to me. Somone has got to believe me. I'm a witness to a murder."

I was intrigued (hey...it's my neighborhood!).

"Three men snuck up and attacked using pipes. Nobody around would help! They beat me for nearly 5 minutes, and committed murder! I called for anyone, and nobody would answer my calls for help."

"Did you know the guy they killed?" I asked.

"It was me. They killed me in the street that night and the police won't believe me!"

***Blank Stare***

That's one order of Lithium for table 3 please.

That will teach me not to talk to strangers.

Patrick - 11:08 AM -








Monday, August 07, 2006

Testing...


Esophageal Videography
Endoscopy

I hate that these words have so much meaning to me.

It's been 5 years since I've had to face either of those words. I hate them both. When I first got back to the states, my doctors scheduled me to have each of them on a near monthly basis for the first 6 months. We then went to a bi-monthly schedule. I should have been having them annually after that, but without insurance or employment, that became a luxury item...like toilet paper.

Based on meeting with my doctor this past week, he immediately scheduled these two tests. Now my old doctors grew to understand me. I don't like being kept out of the loop, and I'm a demanding patient. I read up on the articles and know about the different tests and procedures. When I get a new doctor, they usually don't like me. This doctor is still learning.

My first test, the Endoscopy: I arrived to the testing site to have an anesthesiologist begin prepping my arm for the sedation. She hooked me up to the monitors and inserted the IV. I then rolled on my side, and was asleep for the next 10 minutes. I was up and ready to move within minutes, and in fact, moved myself to the waiting room without the nurse...so that she was a bit pissed she couldn't find me.

Based on the results of the first test, the doctor immediately scheduled , scheduled two more, to be on the same day as the videography.
MRI and CT Scan.

These tests are like old friends. The kind of friends who've come to visit and just never leave. You love them...but are ready to not see them ever again.

So, I've had all four tests. I'm still cancer free. But there are some issues that have been found that are more serious, issues I don't plan on telling here just yet. It does mean that I have to go for ANOTHER TEST (why the hell doesn't modern medicine get smart and do all tests the same day?). This one will involve having a tube placed through my nose and down my throat. I dread this test, as it makes you gag quite often.

Therefore, I need to work on my gag reflex as much as possible before going for this particular test. Anybody interested?

Patrick - 11:40 AM -








Friday, August 04, 2006

Tick Tock

Tick, Tock.


Anyone ever seen the movie Hook? For the most part, it's a cute movie for kids that has a message for adults as well. We adults (Christ...When did I become an adult?) have set up expectations in our lives, things we think we should have accomplished by a certain point, both personally and professionally. When we don't achieve those accomplishments by a certain date, we often just push back the deadline. "I want a baby when I'm 25! 28! 30! 35! When I meet someone."

Tick, tock, tick, tock.


This past Tuesday, a waiter at the restaurant turned 40. He works 6 days a week doing double shifts, and with those hours, he's able to afford to live with 4 roommates in Brooklyn. He's got no savings at all, and his prospects are pretty bad, and worst of it...He has no future goals. He's stuck exactly where he is. He could make better money by switching jobs, but he doesn't have the desire to change.

That same day, I had an appointment with my doctor. Yes, he's gay. He's also got a partner, an adopted child and owns a home just outside the city. At one point in my life, I thought I was going to have all that. My Ex and I talked of adopting when he finished his PhD, we were already looking at homes to purchase, I was on the "Educational Institution fast track" and moving up in my career. But things change. We broke up. I seriously don't see any of this in my future anymore. Time to let the dream go.

Over the last 5 years, I feel like my life switched to the path of the waiter, without any future goals. For the most part, I wasn't sure what I wanted. Hell...I'm still not sure what I want, but I know what I don't want.

I had said back in February the number "one". Specifically, I wanted to work ONE job by December 31st, 2007. Not a huge goal, but for someone that was facing homelessness a summer ago, one job is an improvement. Seriously, I don't want to be a 37 year old man who has to bartend two nights a week to be able to buy groceries. But time is ticking away.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. Who's afraid...


Watching that movie Hook, I found myself indentifying with the villain, Captain Hook. A man who can't stand hearing the ticking of the clock. That ticking is what tells us what we haven't accomplished yet. Almost mocking you, telling you what you are failing at. It was a line from the movie that has been stuck in my head since I watched that movie.

"Tick, tock, tick, tock. Who's afraid of the ticking clock?"



I am.

Patrick - 1:54 PM -








Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Buyers Remorse

Since I worked in a financial aid office, I've been a very strong believer in needs vs. wants. Students would constantly complain that they didn't have enough money to pay for their car payments, tanning salon visits, spring break trip. My counter to the argument was "do you need it?" Most of the time, the answer would be pretty lame (I "need to be tan"). Most expenses can not be justified as a life or death expense. Medication, food, housing, utilities are necessary (although I did go without electricity one summer in college).

I've gone without a lot of things over the past year, mainly because I didn't need them and I couldn't afford them. The paychecks go to rent and bills, and what's left over buys food for the week.

But sometimes, things become a necessity. Before last week, I only owned two pairs of shoes.

Before

The black shoes were 5 years old, and were my bartending shoes/dress shoes/work shoes. The soles were worn away at an angle, and if I wore them for longer than 8 hours, I would limp from foot pain.

The lighter shoes are my running shoes. The arches had collapsed and my feet would ache if I ran any further than 6 miles (of course, so does everything else if I run further).

For both shoes, I had purchased inserts to make them last longer. The black ones had both arch supports and insole supports. The inserts were over a year old as well.

I couldn't take the pain anymore, so I did what any self respecting homo would do. A pilgrimage to DSW (Discount Shoe Warehouse) was my only option, and to insure that I actually bought shoes, I threw out the black pair before making the trip.

A wise woman said that "all of life's problems can be resolved with a good pair of shoes". I think I solved the Middle East's crisis.


After


Each of these shoes were in the clearance section. Do you think the student loan people will understand why I might be a little late?

Patrick - 1:34 PM -








Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Dr. Digital

Today, I had my first appointment with my new oncologist. It's been long overdue, but when you don't have health insurance, you really don't have a choice. We did the basics, complete history, list of drugs taken, dates of surgerys, and type of chemotherapy I went through.

Next comes the complete physical, where the Doctor takes me into the back room, asks me to wear only a hospital gown and does the basics. Height (5'6"), weight (158 with clothes), Blood Pressure (114/72), Resting Heart Rate (51...woo hoo), Colesterol (103). We continued through the physical as he asked more about me.

"Are you straight or gay?" he asked.
"Gay" I answered.
"Dating anyone?"
(Thinking about my left hand), "No."
"Please Roll on your left side and face the wall."
I roll onto my side, while he puts on a glove.
"You said you were gay...this shouldn't hurt."
I wish I was somewhere else.

Good news though...my prostate is fine.

Patrick - 1:05 PM -








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