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Morning Gkory

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“Good morning, my name is Melinda.” I nodded and returned the greeting, or at least I think I did. I was still kind of bleary-eyed, having hauled my keester out of bed at 5AM on Saturday, made a predawn, five-block walk through the nearly empty streets, so I could get a transthoracic echocardiogram, yet another one of my cardiologist’s recommended tests. What made it even funkier was that, upon my arrival, the facility at Fourth Avenue and Senator Street, a century-old structure that once housed a city welfare department office, was completely empty. There was no security guard in the lobby, no receptionists on the second floor, no other patients sitting in the waiting area—the damn lights weren’t even switched on. I had full run of the place, as I walked up and down the hallways, shouitng “is anybody here?” while the lights in various rooms automatically lit up as I passed by. I heard voices and for a moment I thought I’d found a fellow human, but it turned out to be comin

The Strawberry Statement

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“Ahh, but the strawberries! That's - that's where I had them.” – Captain Queeg, The Caine Mutiny Court Martial I walked 30 blocks on Friday morning just to prove a point. I’m not exactly sure what the point was, but I’m glad I made the effort. This was the culmination of a rather strange week with some very happy events and a couple of senior moments I sincerely could’ve done without. And along the way I confronted some character flaws that I would like very much to correct. It started on Tuesday. I was at the gym, all set to begin my heavy bag workout, where I put in a pair of earbuds and listen to boxing combinations as they’re called out on the Precision Striking app. But on this morning, I opened up the earbud case and saw one my buds was AWOL. At first, I couldn’t imagine what had happened and then I remember that the carrying case had fallen out of my gym bag a few days earlier. I quickly retrieved it, but apparently one of the buds had shaken loose and I d

Drop the Beat

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“You may breathe now.” I came sliding out of the CT scanner like an overcooked pizza and resumed taking in oxygen just as the android voice commanded. My cardiologist has suggested that I get this test—a CT coronary angiogram—and I happily complied, though I wish they’d find a way to take the word “coronary” out of the title. I hadn’t eaten all day, as per doctor’s orders, but I wasn’t even remotely hungry, due to a particularly vicious stomach bug that had invaded my innards the night before and played merry hell with my digestive system. This old heart of mine got quite a workout as I staggered through a crappy week marked by frustration on so many levels, personally and professionally and even on the national level thanks to the Supreme Court and a certain orange-hued scumbag who shall remain nameless. The hospital emailed the test results to me within hours and while it was packed with medical terms that I didn’t begin to understand, I couldn’t help noticing one line that

Music Man

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“Music is the soundtrack of your life.”--Dick Clark. In 1983, German musician Peter Schilling had a hit single with the song “Major Tom (Coming Home).” The song, which features a character unofficially related to Major Tom from David Bowie’s 1969 song “Space Oddity”, peaked at No. 14 in the U.S. on Billboard’s Hot 100 singles chart during the final week of the year. I remember hearing “ Major Tom (Coming Home) ” while working out at a neighborhood gym and one of my buddies starting whistling along with the chorus. “ Earth below us, Drifting, falling, Floating weightless, Calling, calling home... ” The song faded from my memory for the longest time, but it made a surprise comeback a few days ago when I decided to enlist Major Tom in my Mental Health Hit parade. Let me explain. I struggle with depression, anxiety, hostility, and a slew of other issues that circle my brain like a colony of vampire bats swarming around a 20-story blood bank. But I’m on a journey to become my

Dead Man’s Hand

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The minute I saw the guy I knew it was time to end this thing. The guy in question was a former friend and fellow blogger whom I had not communicated with in three years. But then here he comes walking back into my life and I say to myself, enough already, just go over and talk to him. Life is too short for this nonsense. So, I approached my friend, stuck out my hand, and said I was sorry that we had disagreed. He returned my handshake, and for a few seconds, I was feeling pretty good. Until I realized he was dead. Well, all right, the guy isn’t dead in real life. This was a dream, so none of what I just described actually happened. I had met this man through blogging several years ago. He was so supportive and friendly and he always left these wonderful comments on my posts. I’ve been blogging for nearly 20 years now—oh, God, is that possible?—and, to be honest, there were times along the way when I felt like calling it quits. But then I’d read one of his glowing

Back to San Antone

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Hey, what’s the deal with San Antonio? That may sound like an opening line from a cut rate comedian, but seriously, people, why does this Texas city that I’ve never visited keep popping up in my life? San Antonio is the second-most populous city in Texas after Houston, as well as the site of the Alamo Mission, where Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, and many others died in 1836 in the infamous battle with Mexican troops. The city of 1.4 million people is also known for Paseo del Rio, a 15-mile-long river walk, the McNay Art Museum and the Natural Bridge Caverns. I once had a five-minute crush on a woman from San Antonio many years ago. She was an operator for a credit card company, or some other outfit and I was just so pleasantly surprised by her kindness. We chatted for quite some time, long after she had helped me solve whatever problem I had called about. The conversation was flowing so naturally that I dropped a hint that, hmm, maybe we should stay in touch? I know this

Trolley Dodger

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In 1957, a year that will live in infamy for many baseball fans, the Brooklyn Dodgers packed up all their cares and woe and headed west to Los Angeles. Brooklyn fans were devasted by the news and they directed all their hatred toward Walter O’Malley, the real estate businessman who acquired majority ownership of the team in 1950. The 2007 HBO documentary, “Brooklyn Dodgers: The Ghosts of Flatbush,” noted that if you asked a Brooklyn Dodger fan whom they shoot if they had a gun with only two bullets and were facing Hitler, Stalin, and O'Malley, the answer would be “O'Malley, twice!" Now, all you of old time Dodger fans, please put down your weapons, because, as I note in my blog’s bio, I was “born in Brooklyn in the same year the Dodgers moved out”-- and I had absolutely nothing to do with it. The team was once known as the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers, which was reportedly coined by Manhattanites to mock the Borough of Church’s extensive surface transit system. Tr