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Entry 07/25/2014 01:02:38 PM - Mentat 706
As the month is coming to a close, and the laziness of summer is still upon me I've got to say that what we've gotten for the summer so far has felt quite atypical to me. While it's had its typical moments of heat and humidity; there have been quite a few days like today: the free of humidity sort of days after a storm front has cut through the Tundras of New England. This is the sort of thing that I got rather used to living in the Crotch of the Bible Belt (Atlanta, GA) and during the winter. The difference though is that the amount of humidity during the summer feels infinitely more oppressive than getting it in the winter.
So there's a couple of things to cover from the last time I sat down and wrote a journal entry. Sure, I didn't write or even create all that much in the last couple of weeks; mostly because the temperatures has been swinging like a pendulum between beautiful and absolutely fucking miserable. Sure I have air conditioning and while it's not the sort of necessary BTU's to keeping the whole of the house cool (and dry), closing certain doors (and curtains) keep the vital rooms at least comfortable to sit in for the duration of the day until the sun goes down and everything outside is cooling off appropriately.
Fun thing about that was that I learned where the threshold for the fuses for the house are. Didn't experience it the first couple of times I experimented, nothing really annoying occurred -- and so I thought that the electrical balance for the household was better than my mother's. Then when I was warming leftovers in the microwave and sitting at the desk waiting patiently for it to finish while the fans were running and the AC was quietly pushing cooler air into the kitchen, everything in the house shut down or went blank. A quick rush to the basement and fighting the eroding stairs and busy cobweb spiders, I was able to reset the power without my UPS trying to turn off my computer after an allotted amount of time (to conserve battery power). So like my mother, I need to shut off the AC if I'm going to use the microwave to warm up my food or else everything will shut down.
Then there was the beginning of the week where at 3:30 PM, it was time to go for a walk with my mother and her monster child Jack. My mother's been walking the dog more the last couple of weeks to get her out of the house for some exercise and to get her used to walking the dog when I'm not around. Normally I'm just there for moral support and to teach my mother the commands the dog's gotten used to (I don't use heel or stay, as I use Stop and Go instead). Also to teach her how to handle the dog when he decides on going ape-shit (and more importantly how to avoid the potential). Of course, it doesn't help matters any as the last month of so, Jack's been getting more hyper and spastic about the potential of seeing dogs (or more importantly anything larger than an English Sparrow that he could bark at and/or chase) during the 3:30 PM walk.
My mother, Jack and I were in the parking lot on Adams Street on the way to the field off of Marcello and Atwells, when I was dawdling between Adams St and my apartment as I was indecisive about going back to the apartment about a piece of mail I was expecting and catching up with the two of them heading toward the field. Deciding against going back to the apartment, I was a bit behind my mother trying to get nearer to her and the dog when Jack saw another dog and its owner in the field and went completely ape-shit.
Needless to say that my mother wasn't prepared for him going insane and bee-lining at the dog in the field and while she was braced, Jack pulled her off her feet and proceeded to drag her down the remainder of Adams Street and onto Marcello before I was able to get hold of him by the harness and get him to calm down a bit.
The poor man that was walking his dog in the field looked completely mortified at the fiasco, apologized and tried to get himself and his dog as far away from my mother sprawled on the road as he possibly could.
Jack only calmed down enough to get him back to the house after a couple of swats to the nose, and I only did so at my mother's request. Though getting back to her after putting the dog at the house did I realize her ankle wasn't the way it's supposed to. We both had hoped it was a sprain, but given the shape of the ankle along with the connecting bones -- my mother was more sure it was completely broken.
She was also scraped up along her right hand and arm and a bit of her shoulder from the pull down and drag across the asphalt. The thing about my mother (and her mother -- my grandmother (RIP)) is the way that if they've had an accident in the street, they stay put and not move... In spite of the fact that they're in the way of any incoming traffic. If I didn't know any better she did it expecting the police to suddenly show up and witness it as a crime scene or something.
Hell, I tried to convince her when she was insistent I head back to her place and pick up some band aids, towels and antiseptic to move her ass to the sidewalk and out of the road while I'm getting the stuff... But of course she won't have anything of it. She stayed where she was and waited for me to get back.
A few minutes passed between my going back to her place to pick up what she requested, and getting back to her while she was checking the cuts and scrapes she got from being dragged across the road. A few minutes after that it and after the call to her husband telling him he'll need to find alternative transportation as she was unable to drive because of her right foot being broken and needing to go to the emergency room.
Then came the final part of the ordeal -- supporting her while we hopped and hobbled our way from the corner of Marcello and Adams street to the car in the driveway. Sure, it's less than 170 feet (51'ish meters) but when you're trying to support someone that's stubborn about help and tiring rather easily - it might as well have been a mile.
Fortunately for us, one of our neighbors was on his way to the garage so that he could take his motorbike for a spin and he was gracious enough to help us get her to the car so that she could sit there waiting for her husband get back to the house so they can scoot off to the Emergency Room of the nearby hospital (Roger Williams Hospital).
The final verdict after almost 4 hours at the ER: She had fractured her ankle, completely removing the tibia and fibula from her anklebone. After seeing the orthopedic doctor about it yesterday -- it looks like they're going to need to do an ankle reconstruction involving pins and a plate which is going to be performed this Monday.
My aunt on the other hand, hasn't exactly been the model of compassion through all of this, as my mother's pulled me off my aunt's request for me to head up to the trailer park of the state (Woonsocket) to set up her e-mail so that she can read it in off-line mode. Stories there on that, but I'll save that for another time. This of course will open up the same old BS with her when I do eventually go up there that will start with such things as, "When uncle..." (her brother) "...calls, you drop everything to help him. But you don't do the same for me."
What she always seems to forget is that Uncle calls and schedules something a week (or longer in advance). He always sets which date it's going to be. None of this, "is this day good... is that day good..." never makes noise about picking me up at my apartment in Providence to bring me to his place out in BFE in Foster/Gloucester (and yes, that's pronounced GLAW-stah). He basically understands the three-day rule because he lives by it as well. Nothing's ever sudden or off schedule and if it is, it's pushed farther ahead.
My aunt doesn't though. Not in the least. Everything must be dropped immediately and if the schedule can't be done when she needs, well... manners fly out the window.
My mother talked with her this afternoon on her way back from the CAT Scan and my aunt completely forgot (read: ignored) her pissy attitude from the day before.
[Last Edited: 7/26/2014 4:39:53 PM]
Finally comes the last part of what I've been doing during my down-time/lazy days of summer here in the Tundras of New England. I'm not entirely sure how I want to label it; but it's been partially educational -- and I have gotten quite a lot of entertainment from it. Partially it's been an obsession with me trying to understand (and unravel it). Partially because of the fascination of how such things attract so many people (usually youngins) to watch, subscribe and comment.
What I'm talking about are Youtubers.
Truth be told, I can't exactly remember how I stumbled across the ones that I did… Part of it I think had to do with how YouTube gave me random recommended when I was sitting at my computer and looking for something to watch without committing to watching something for hours. The rest of it had to do with my ending up in bed at the end of a day, and popping YouTube onto my iPod Touch and watching a bit of something as I either fell asleep - or worse - the random bouts of insomnia I'd get from suddenly waking up at 2 in the morning and not falling back to sleep until almost 4 AM.
Almost two weeks into this momentary obsession (and just the other day), I talked to Glenn (yes, my favourite attention whore and friend) about the discoveries I had made…. And of course being the sort of curmudgeon-in-training that he often is -- went off on his usual tear of how fake and pretentious the lot of them are, using the usual disgust and sneer that he has for anyone (and anything) that caters to the 14 year-old girl mentality that he hates dealing with so much in daMN chat and on Tumblr, I personally gibe him relentlessly on it because of how he hates the competition for Queen Attention Whore™ that he gets from 14 year old girls. Well that and he's so much like a 14 year old girl sometimes. But I'll digress from my usual argumentative banter with him as this paragraph is sure to cause him to respond later on.
Then again the discussion Glenn and I had about Google/YouTube's secret algorithm as I linked earlier is probably the culprit between why I ended up with the recommendations I get versus the recommendations he gets. I had been a bit more blunt about it, snarking the ever living shit out of him stating his love of crap videos and checking out the kind of garbage that 14 year old girls squee on is why he ends up with the pretentious, oftentimes fake and extremely controversial YouTubers he gets to watch. I thought about mentioning names as examples, but I won't.. It's about tastes and opinions and unfortunately for Glenn sometimes, he gets it in his head to chase after the things girls squee over so he can snark them, deride them and sneer because of his superiority instead of finding the sort of people and channels that would help with a more positive opinion.
While I only subscribe to 2, I find myself watching quite a few more for various reasons. Following is that list of YouTubers I watch regularly and/or subscribe to:
There's so many others, I could mention I watch, but instead I'll just give honorable mentions. MarkE Miller (who is the first YouTuber that I actually watched) along with his boyfriend Ethan Hethcote, Connor Franta (though there's something about his Wisconsin/Minnesota attitude that puts me off. Well other than watching this video which has me cackling with sadistic glee), Good Mythical Morning, Alfie Deyes/PointlessBlog, Troye Sivan (and yes, he has an Australian Accent), Caspar Lee, Sawyer Hartman (although I find it camp when he and Tyler Oakley have their drinking contests), Joey Graceffa (from the Tundras of New England, even though he has a habit of hiding the Yankee accent when he's in front of the camera) and finally Will Shepherd
Thinking about it as I was proofing this part of the entry, it's like the old Public Access video channels on local cable television back in the day when I was used to watch it living here in Providence with Darin (early 90s). To answer the question I have in my head and knowing a couple of my friends would ask -- would I do it? Would I put my memories to video? Nope. It won't ever happen. I like my old-fashioned method of writing. I've been writing a journal since I was 17. I don't see any reason whatsoever to change on this either. When I can't type because of arthritis, I might consider it. Until then I will remain in print.
That's about it for the time being. Off to make supper and perhaps to blow up things before I pass out with Moe. Until the next time.