Eyeballing It

Took a trip back to Central Pee-Yay, the Place to Be, earlier this week to help out my dad, who at the ripe old age of 58 just had his first cataract surgery. I hear 58 is a little young for cataracts, but in any event, all went well, and having a cataract removed is apparently less of a bother than having a tooth extracted, especially when your doctor is at once deft and decent and doesn't load you up with antibiotics that trigger the dreaded C. Diff bacteria. The only mishap was of my dumbass making when, on the way out of the clinic, I backed up into a Jaguar (!) and cracked the turn signal light. Fortunately, the Jaguar was at least ten years old, it was "just" a turn signal light, and the guy driving it was, like, the nicest guy in the world. So hopefully not too much harm done there, unless the nicest guy in the world does a complete 180 and decides to sue me for triggering some long-buried neurosis or hairline fracture. Which I kind of doubt, but then again, I once believed that if a thief stole money from your account, the bank would give it back to you, no questions asked.

As you may recall, my train trip home necessitates a close shave past Three Mile Island, which is always a source of mirth for a black-hearted, anti-nuke wretch like me. (My friend Marcia's dad likes to tell me that "Three Mile Island is good!" in his Transylvanian accent, another source of bleak mirth, especially since the Marcia family was living in Bucharest at the time of the Chernobyl disaster. I also fondly recall the time my friend DJP called me up at work and helped me waste some time MapQuesting the ol' radioactive holiday camp, not to mention all the "Simpsons" jokes you care to eat.) This trip found me unintentionally, I swear, cueing my portable CD player to Nena's "99 Luftballons"* just as the reactors appeared on the horizon--in both directions. Freaky! I may have to get a copy of Timbuk 3's "The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades" and stage a mini-tableau.

Other than that, not much else to say about the 'Burg except the obvious. Hasn't changed much, will never change much, still feel a strong pull to move back there and live a socially sanctioned lifestyle instead of fucking around in NYC, especially when visiting the grandparents who genuinely mean well but get all up in arms about my fucking around in NYC, except I'm forbidden to use the word "fuck" and all its conjugations in their presence. Which is okay, really.

*As in the German version, thank you, not the English remake. The next time some teeny-bopper calls up WPLJ's "'80s at 8" and requests "Ninety-Nine Red Balloons", I am going to rip my eyeballs out and fax them to the request line, I swear.