Category: General

Not a good way to spend the last day of vaction

General

Content Warning: physical injury, blood

I sat down on the St. Charles streetcar bench behind the driver, dragging my suitcase behind me, and waited for dad to climb up the very high stairs into the car along with his suitcase after me. He sat down and his face was scrunched up in pain. He hunched over to one side.

“You OK?” I asked. Earlier today as we left the hotel room to check out, he had complained about diarhea so I knew he might be getting sick. We had planned to have a nice light day sightseeing New Orleans from the trolley car before going to the airport to fly home.

“I barked my shin on the stair getting in,” he said, “and I’m bleeding.”

“Are you going to be OK?” I had no real idea of the gravity of this and other than his discomforted face he was not giving off any sense of urgency.

“Yeah, it is what it is,” he said.

“Do we need to get off and take care of it?”

“No, I’ll be alright” he grumbled.

The streetcar rollled on for a bit and more people got on and I, feeling self-conscious of the space I was taking up that was meant for older and disabled folks, moved back to one of the forward facing benches. I asked dad to move back toward me and he made a pained face, but eventually got up and slowly, against the movement of the car, made his way back the five or six feet to sit next to me.

People around me were looking at dad. More people got on the train. And eventually someone said, “Are you going to be alright, hun? You’ve lost a lot of blood.” That phrase snapped me out of my complacency. I looked at dad, and then looked past him to where he had been sitting, and I will never ever forget the sight of a pool of crimson blood about 8 to 10 inches across on the floor of that fucking New Orleans streetcar.

“Holy shit dad! That’s bad.” I pulled out the black rag I keep in my messenger bag for general cleanup and handed it to him to staunch the blood. I started googling for nearby drugstores. And time slowed to a crawl as my dad was rapidly bleeding out in New Orleans.

Another older white guy gave my dad a camo-colored handkerchief when my black rag didn’t really do the job. “You can tie that around your leg, maybe stop the bleeding.” He offered. Walgreens was behind us. e could have gotten bandages and materials for a field dressing. Dad was in “I don’t want to be a burden” mode and kept saying it would be OK. It was not OK. Even with the tactical kerchief dad had an injury that was not going to stop bleeding in the next ten minutes.

People would ask him if he was alright, and dad kept saying the same phrase. “Oh, I barked my shin getting up those stairs.” like that was a normal thing, in a way that did not explain at all the bloody socks and shoes and circle of blood around his left foot.

Eventually the driver noticed all the blood. “Can’t have that,” he muttered, and then pulled out his walkie and called in a cleaning crew. I found another nearby CVS store and pursuaded dad to get off so we can try to bandage him up. It was a two block walk and dad was insistent that he could not make it. He had been walking so much on this trip and he was tired and apparently his wound was tender. “I’ll just wait here,” he insisted, and I could not budge him.

I bought what I thought was the right stuff, some non-stick sterile pads, some tape that I thought was self-sticking, some sanitary wipes, a pair of small scisors, some water for dad and a Gatorade for me. I had not eaten anything since breakfast, a sausage and egg sandwich and some coffee, but the sight of dad’s blood had frightened any sense of hunger out of me.

Dad insisted (he did that a lot during this whole incident) that he was not dizzy or light-headed. But I knew that it was wild that there was this much blood for a small scrape. I knew we needed a trained eye to look at this, not some doofus who has to look away when a nurse draws his blood.

I made a somewhat OK field dressing, the whole time thinking “I am not a cleric!” I was in full adhd emergency mode, just doing what needs to be done and not taking any shit from the universe. But dad’s socks were blood-soaked, his pants brown, blood still oozed from under the gauze. What the Hell would this look like at TSA? What if he kept bleeding and needed another bandage on the plane? This was insanity.

There had been an urgent care next to the CVS. I argued with dad that he needed to see a professional, have this wound cleaned, and professionally bandaged to make sure there were no complications. Dad thought we should go straight to the airport and hope he could get urgent care there. I begged him to walk with me the two blocks to the urgent care and he insisted he could not. We called an Uber for him.

The Uber driver, a middle aged black man named Gary, asked us if the driver had taken or given any information about it. “No, he called it in, but he did not say anything to us.” Gary chastised us, even though I told him we were not locals. “Don’t do that, man. They have a responsiblity. You got injured on the streetcar. They owe you.” Gary was right but it was too late to do anything about that.

The urgent care staff were a bit surprised but overall professional and helpful. Luckily dad has the best health insurance our country offers to non-Congresscritters and high Federal officials and it was all covered, though at one point, when I was putting pressure on dad’s shin to help it stop bleeding so much so the PA could bandage it for real, I did joke about it costing an arm and a leg.

We left that room looking like a knife-fight had taken place. Of course! Dad bled so freely from what would normally be a small wound (he had torn a flap of skin about the size of half a quarter or less) because he is on blood thinners. Blood thinners! He seriously could have lost so much blood.

We spent a good hour and half at that urgent care, under the calm hands of Sterling, the PA. Dad was bandaged twice, because getting his bloody pants off pulled down the first bandage. But the wound was sealed using some strips of medical tape, so it was just a matter of re-wrapping the gauze and self-sticking tape. Dad was able to change out his socks and pants and looked somewhat normal again, and not a wounded soldier, or a victim on the verge of zombification. “OK, I admit it, you were right,” he said, “this was a good idea.”

And we made it to the airport a little late, but got through security, boarding, deboarding in Denver and re-boarding, landing in Portland and the Uber drive home, all in one piece. Dad walked a little slower than normal but now he was shrugging the whole thing off.

Dad apologized out of shame for being not as strong as he used to be and I tried to set his mind at ease. “It’s fine, dad; you fall down, I’ll patch you back up.” I love my dad but his stoicism is a barrier. Shrugging off a wound is not strength; asking for help is strength. I wish he would be stronger that way, especially as his days on this side of the dirt are coming to a close.

And now it’s a story for the ages. This morning, after doing some laundry, dad said “I got all the blood out of these pants,” which, you have to admit, is a badass thing to say to close out a vaction.

The sudden sads

General

“On my way home! Need anything?” I texted dad.

“I have a script ready at Albertsons but I need to go up there after you get home” he texted back.

“Can do!” I sent and pulled out of the parking lot. I listened to the Accidental Tech boys argue about storage media as I drove through the traffic of southeast Portland. Surface streets only. No freeways or highways for me. The days were getting cooler, sunset is coming sooner and sooner in the day. Fall had definitely fallen. I was tired but not sleepy, just wanted to go home and chill but still felt a duty to help dad out.

The ATP boys were particularly argumentative and it was very entertaining, if a bit stressful. Listening to them was sort of like cringe comedy sometimes except they’re mock-angry with each other. And anger is often hilarious. I used to say that all the time in the past.

I normally back in to my reserved parking spot but because I knew I was going to be leaving again soon, and because parking in front-first put the passenger door closer to the sidewalk, making it easier for dad, I parked normally.

“You’re home!” he said from the couch when I walked in. The couch faced at a right angle to the front door, and with the pin in his neck, he could not turn his head to see me. He was wearing his coat and hat, and it was kind of chilly in the apartment, so I turned up the heat a little. I chatted with him about work as he stood up and walked toward the door with me.

Night was definitely on the way as I drove him to the Albertsons. We were in the Magic Hour, just before sunset, and the colors were muted but beautiful. The sky had some clouds but mostly shone with a dark pale blue color.

“Any word on the house?” I asked him. He’s staying with me while his apartment is being remediated for asbestos and water damage.

“Lisa (my sister) said that they had the sheetrock up and were painting it. Probably be done by…” he paused. “Probably be done by, uh, her birthday. Middle of November.”

A car cut me off to cross two lanes. “The squirrels are out tonight, dad.” My turn to pause. “I’m going to miss having you around.”

Dad was quiet.

As I drove in to the parking lot, I asked dad if we needed anything from the store and he said I could shop around while he was waiting at the pharmacy counter.

An Alberston's store front from the parking lot, with the darkening evening sky hanging above it.

I snapped a picture of the Albertsons sign, the beige stucco facade and the lit-up blue and white sign against the fading blue sky, with amber parking lot lights… it was pretty. I was glad I’d captured the scene.

Dad looked thin and tired, hunched over as we walked through the parking lot to the store. He went off to the back corner and I took a spin through the aisle. The bread I like was on sale, buy one get one free, so I had two loaves in hand when I caught up with him. “We can put one in the freezer,” I explained, and he grunted assent.

Meds obtained, we went though the checkout counter. No bad needed, miss. Dad wanted to get some cigarettes but the counter where they kept them had a line of people waiting and no checker behind. A lady asked a security guard if anyone was working the counter and the security guard didn’t know, politely. Dad decided he had enough smokes for tonight and he’d take the bus to the 7-11 tomorrow. We headed back out into the twilight.

I got to the car ahead of dad, unlocked the doors, and sat behind the wheel. The light outside was dying but beautifully. I sent the picture I took to Tracy, just to share. Dad got in, buckled up.

“This is the kind of light Spielberg likes to film in,” I said. Dad smiled, nodded.

I’m glad I have been here to help him out. I am going to miss him when he is not around.

Do you ever, suddenly, without warning, get the sads? Yeah. Me, too. Strange how swiftly it happens.

6 Months of Writing

General

Six months ago yesterday, I started writing daily. Although in the beginning I sometimes fell short, I mostly kept my committment to writing at least 500 words a day. For the longest time, I posted what I wrote. Recently, because I wanted to focus on writing and not necessarily posting, I stopped sharing my daily writings but I have kept up the streak.

Last night, curious about how much I’ve done, I sat down and added it all up. I wanted to mark the milestone. Because I do my writing in Writer, a distraction-free online text editor, I didn’t have an easy way to add up the word count. I had to do it manually, which was a bit of a pain. Luckily I only have to do that part once because now it’s all in a tidy spreadsheet.

I have written, in 6 months of intentional, habitual practice, just over one hundred thousand words. In fact, yesterday I passed that mark; the total as of last night is 100,323 words.

I was proud, and it made me cry a bit. That’s a lot of words. 100,323 divided by 182 days means an average of about 551 words a day. That daily number is easy enough to reach; clearly I can do it because I have done it. But 100K? That feels like a stretch. But I have demonstrated that I can do that, too.

Not every daily piece of writing is good writing. And they are not all on the same topic. Each one is whatever I wanted to write at the moment I sat down. Some of it is garbage (by my personal standards) and some of it is good (also by my own internal measure) but all of it is mine.

Is it time to ask a new question? Build on my success? Perhaps, perhaps. The obvious next step would be, can I do my daily writing towards a goal other than word count? Could I tell one continuous narrative?

I don’t know. Can I?

On This Day

General

Tomorrow will mark 22 years since I purchased the domain bamoon.com and began using it for my main space on the internets. Trying to think of a good way to celebrate.

Not to spoil things too much but the celebration will likely involve writing some words. Just sayin’.

Streak update

General

My 500 words a day streak continues. In private, as mentioned previously. I haven’t been writing anything coherent, just tapping out words until I reach my goal, so haven’t posted anything here. I’m glad you are still out there watching and reading my posts. I promise to have more substantial or at least entertaining things to say, soon. I know that habit forms the foundation for inspiration, after all.

Even a Marvel movie

General

I came downstairs on Friday with some dishes and to get a refill of water and saw Jeff Goldblum on the TV. “Whatcha watching, dad?”

“Oh I was scrolling around and saw this new show.” He used the remote to bring up the title. Kaos. “It’s a little weird but I kinda like it.”

I paused, behind him, watching for a moment. “Is that Netflix?” Dad grunted a yes. “Oh that’s that new show where he’s playing Zeus?” Dad grunted again. “Not really your normal kind of thing.”

“Jeff Goldblum is amazing. I’ll watch anything with him in it. Even if it’s a little weird.”

I laughed and walked in to the kitchen to put my dishes in the dishwasher. As I was filling up my water bottle, I shouted out to the living room. “Even a Marvel movie?” Dad did not like Marvel movies. They were too weird.

But dad sounded interested. “Oh, was he in a Marvel movie?”

“Yes, he was in Thor: Ragnarok. It’s very funny for a superhero flick.” I walked out, paused again behind him. I put my hand on his shoulder, briefly. “He plays a bad guy.”

“Well, I might just have to watch that one. Like I said, I’ll watch anything with Jeff Goldblum in it.”

Stay tuned. I will post an update after he watches one of the better Marvel movies.

Famous for kindness

General

Wrote tonight about minor celebrities, people whose work I admire but are unknown to most of the population. I was inspired by a video about Tony Hawk, pro skateboarder, who tells many stories about people telling him he looks like that famous pro skateboarder, but don’t believe him when he tells them that he is in fact that pro skateboarder.

What a surreal experience it would be to have that happen. I’ve never been famous in that way. Well, briefly. I’ll write more about that later. But this idea of minor celebrity ties back to XOXO Festival for me. Most of the speakers and guests through the years have been people whose work I was somewhat familiar with, but the one thing they all have in common is that they create work on the internet, and they were known to Andy Baio or Andy McMillan, both minor celebrities in this same way.

I don’t want to mythologize the Andys; I do want to say that they are seekers of and magnets for the coolest things you’ll ever find on the internet. Indie games, digital artists, writers with deep knowledge of esoteric and lost topics, the Andy’s seek them out and promote them. They lead a small community of like-minded, inclusive, and kind people.

This is the viewpoint I’m writing my final post about the final XOXO. A very specific kind of community for the people involved, focused on a specific kind of fame for people. A fame of empathy and imagination. That’s the best kind. Stay tuned.

555 Words about a shitty day

General

I won’t be posting it, but I did sit down and write today. I had a shitty day. Long story made short, I was on-call for work, and had to deal with not one, not two, but three different clients having network and server downtime on a long weekend. And that caused me to have to cancel my D&D game.

Boo. But that’s behind me now. Tomorrow will be better.

My first year with XOXO

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Still processing XOXO and the profound effect it has had on me since I first learned about it. Which was way back in 2013, the second year for it. I’d missed the first incarnation entirely despite being, even back then, chronically online. I knew who Andy Baio was: chief technology officer (CTO) for Kickstarter, an amazing crowdfunding platform, and also the blogger behind Waxy.org. To me, he was the guy who creates and finds cool things on the internet. Finding out that he lived in my hometown, and that he was behind an art-tech festival, I knew I needed to see it and maybe be a small part of it.

In August of 2013 I had quit my job out of depression and grief and had no plans to go back to work. I emailed the info email account for this festival, XOXO, and asked if it was too late to volunteer and help. I got no answer, but I resolved to watch for it again next year.

For the year after that, I tried scraping nickels off the internet using Mechanical Turk, a far more exploitative crowd-sourcing app, only falling farther and farther behind on rent and other expenses. But in the summer of 2014, I saw on Twitter that they were again asking for volunteers for this festival, and I immediately emailed. I got a response from Andy McMillan almost immediately, and I was in. I could be with the cool kids. I wasn’t a cool kid, but at least I could help them run their show.

It’s funny to me now that I have almost no blog posts about that. I have one, and it focuses on one single lesson I learned: do the things you love often, make it a habit. That lesson is one I have learned from many different sources, and clearly, as I blog here for the 149th day in a row, a lesson I am still putting to good use. If for nothing else, Jonathan Mann, the Song-A-Day guy, thank you for reinforcing that drive in me.

But holy cats the other speakers that year! Dan Harmon, who I only knew as the creator of Community, inventor of the Story Circle, and Harmontown host, was there, doing a version of his podcast live from the stage at XOXO. Before the show, wandering around, I saw him talking to a woman, and screwed up my courage to go tell him that I loved his work. I politely waited while they exchanged some kind of tense argument, and the woman pointed at me and said something about me being his typical fan.

I mean, sure, I was (and am) a chubby, bald, cis, white dude. Fair, I suppose. I considered myself a feminist and socialist at the time, although many miles of travel down those roads still stretched before me (and still do) so it stung a little. But then Dan Harmon defended me. “What is that supposed to mean?” he challenged her. “This guy is just some random guy, he’s here at this festival the same as you. What is it you’re trying to say?”

I didn’t stick around and I don’t remember how the conversation went. It is entirely possible my memory is incomplete or a fuzzy confabulation. But I remember Dan being argumentative, I recall the woman being dismissive, and I remember feeling awkward. I was glad I got to tell Dan I loved his work though. I still do. He taught me to acknowledge my failings, because that’s the only way to overcome them.

That year I told many creators and writers and artists that I loved their work. What’s funny is, I never saw myself as a creator, writer, or artist. Not then, even with 10 years of blog posts and two first drafts of novels under my belt. I didn’t think what I was doing was on the same level as the folk at XOXO 2013, because my blog traffic was tiny, and I never published those drafts, and the only drawing I did was for myself.

But I am a writer, creator, and artist. I do it because I can’t not do it. I blog here. I make amazing maps for my D&D game and craft stories and lore that my players tell me is deep, rich, and engaging. I do it because I love doing it, and have fun doing it. I’ve been living the XOXO dream, whether I allowed myself to admit it or not. Thank you, Andy B. and Andy M. Your inspriation and energy are a positive force in the world.

This post isn’t about that

General

I am very sleepy tonight. Not sure why I’m so tired today except of course for the disordered sleeping from the past couple of nights. I go to bed early, wake up in the middle of the night, can’t get right back to sleep, and by the time I do there’s only a few hours left until the alarm goes off. A couple of nights of that would be enough to tire out anyone, I think.

Still need to write something, so I’m relying on habit, as is my usual tactic. It’s warm in this room even though the weather has cooled a bit. The room is warm because this is where my computer sits, and my computer, being a gaming PC, produces a lot of excess heat. I am not using the extra graphics capability right now. Right now I’m typing out green words on a black background, my writing style of choice. This green-on-black reminds me of terminals, and command lines, and old old writing programs. I don’t stop to examine why I like it, I just do.

Spent most of the day wishing I could be thinking and writing D&D stuff but instead, I had to do work stuff. Boring, stressful, work stuff. Not going to talk about that now, though. I’d rather not think about it. There must be something else for me to write about?

Would it be D&D? I have to set up a WordPress site for Biscuit Con at some point. That’s D&D related. I have some really fun ideas for the next few sessions of my campaign. I can’t really post about them here because my players might see it, but let me just say that this next phase of the campaign is set in and around a druid grove. I think my players think of the druids as bad guys. I’m not going to say one way or the other. They, like all my other factions, have their goals, and what they would do to achieve those goals, and not everyone in the faction agrees on either of those points 100%. This should be a nice break, though, from fighting undead and kobolds for them. I get to use other enemies. Fun stuff.

XOXO is coming. My first volunteer shift is this coming Thursday after work. I can’t remember what I’m doing but it’ll be good to be among the techno-artists again. I have severe imposter syndrome for my own sake but I really like the hopeful, progressive, creative, and techno-focused vibe from the founders, staff, volunteers, guests, and attendees for this conference. I wrote about what it is a few days ago; go check out that post.

If you’re reading this and you’re an XOXO-ian, say hi! I think somehow I got a burst of traffic from there. This isn’t an XOXO focused post, though. I’m just fumbling my way to 500 words so I can go rest. I’m pretty close now, so perhaps you’ll forgive me if I don’t try to find a nice “button” ending. But thanks for reading. I love you all.