nanowrimo 2010

Louderblog

Diary of a Blind Madman

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nanowrimo 2010
louderback
A marginal day.

At the best, today was marginal. Where to begin?

I woke late today and utterly forget my "strategy" meeting with Rehab Services for the Blind (RSB). At about 9:50 I remembered that my ride would be arriving at 10:00. A supersonic shave, a swipe with a vaguely damp cloth and my morning toilette was accomplished in near record speed. I stepped out on the curb in front of RSB ten minutes later.

My "strategy" meeting went well I guess. I don't feel that much got resolved, but things are proceeding. These folks are not big on advice. I get the feeling that they'll help me do things if I can figure out what to do but that they'll let me starve before handing me a ham sandwich unasked. That's not a criticism, but I guess I'm in the wrong place to resolve the issues I need to resolve.

Do I need to get a lawyer for my disability application? I have decided that I must. RSB feels I'll probably only get disability on an appeal, that my initial application will be denied. Lack of a diagnosis is their main reason for thinking so. They don't see a strong need for a lawyer but I just can't see trying to negotiate through the bureaucracy and going through the denial process on my own. If I have a lawyer he may be able to expedite things. If not at least I won't have to worry that I have failed to fill out some form or something which will cause undue delay. He will also be familiar with the process for my appeal.

Having a lawyer may also simplify my Long Term Disability for work. I don't think he will need to do the processing and such but it will likely be useful to have his knowledge of what questions to ask and what issues to resolve.

I did get a call back from someone in New York today about LTD. She said she couldn't help me but she had found someone who could. Hallelujah!

Taco Bell Redux

OK. It wasn't Taco Bell. It was a Chinese restaurant. I concede. I am disastrous in restaurants on my own. I should not be allowed into public without some attendant or a lot of additional training.

The Crossing

Exiting from RSB I found myself on the dreaded and terrible High Street in Jefferson City, Missouri. Windy and cold, my coat flapping in the wind, the predicted snowfall evincing itself as the lightest of misting rain (this is sounding so Dickensian!), I exited on my way to the Chinese restaurant of which I had inquired. I went the wrong direction. My directions landed me about two blocks West of my destination and on the wrong side of the street. Now this is not exactly a living Hell and hardly worth reporting save for my derring-do in crossing streets.

Puzzled by my prospects of crossing with no demand lights nor any audible signals apparently available I stood on my frigid street corner deciding rapidly that my mission to acquire lunch was ill-fated at best and — definitively — "bullshit" Despite this conclusion on my part I stood until it occurred to me that I need only listen for traffic and go when nothing was audible. Then I though, "Right. I'll be in the middle of the intersection with the light brilliantly red and be run down by the only electric car in the Mid-West (or a bicycle or something). Not a good idea. I could just wait until someone joined me on the corner and cross the street with them! Brilliant. Well about ten minutes later someone decided to use my corner to cross the street. It was the fucking lunch rush and nobody was going my way. It should have been a clue I was going the wrong way. I followed this cowboy across the street. I call him so as he was one of those independent Western spirits that don't use traffic lights. As an accomplice jaywalker, I had no legitimate right to complain about the car that made a left turn and missed my rump by millimeters. Nevertheless. Nevertheless, I say, I felt compelled to yell "Shit!" Windows in the Capitol building flew up and dozens of politicians leaned out to see what all the shouting was about.

Well, not really. But, if there were windows in the distant Capitol Building, I'm sure they would have.
Safely, in the end, across the street, I moved onward once again in pursuit of the hot & sour soup du jour. Naturally, I once again turned in the wrong direction.

The Final Frontier: Bizzare Trek

Walking down the street, hugging the sides of buildings I was gratified to discover that I was passing restaurants. Thinking myself well on my way I searched each facade for indications of monosodium glutamate within. Mortimer Kegley's; the Capitol Cafe; Mike's Corner Pocket; Some German Kinda Place Who Had Wilkommen On The Window; all these I passed. In any I might have had a good meal. But no. I had to have Chinese. Learn this lesson O reader — be not guided by thy gut; sit rather on the first stool offered and eat. I traversed a block. Reached the next intersection and decided that crossing the street was out of the question. Backtracking, I passed the Wilkommen place, Morts, Mikes, and all the others. I smelled Chinese food. Use the tools available! I knew I was getting close. At last, an inset doorway and a Chinese character in red on the window. I think it is the symbol for "kitty served to Americans here"

Death of a

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<div> A marginal day. <p>At the best, today was marginal. Where to begin? </p> <p>I woke late today and utterly forget my &quot;strategy&quot; meeting with Rehab Services for the Blind (RSB). At about 9&#58;50 I remembered that my ride would be arriving at 10&#58;00. A supersonic shave, a swipe with a vaguely damp cloth and my morning toilette was accomplished in near record speed. I stepped out on the curb in front of RSB ten minutes later. </p> <p>My &quot;strategy&quot; meeting went well I guess. I don't feel that much got resolved, but things are proceeding. These folks are not big on advice. I get the feeling that they'll help me do things if I can figure out what to do but that they'll let me starve before handing me a ham sandwich unasked. That's not a criticism, but I guess I'm in the wrong place to resolve the issues I need to resolve. </p> <p>Do I need to get a lawyer for my disability application? I have decided that I must. RSB feels I'll probably only get disability on an appeal, that my initial application will be denied. Lack of a diagnosis is their main reason for thinking so. They don't see a strong need for a lawyer but I just can't see trying to negotiate through the bureaucracy and going through the denial process on my own. If I have a lawyer he may be able to expedite things. If not at least I won't have to worry that I have failed to fill out some form or something which will cause undue delay. He will also be familiar with the process for my appeal. </p> <p>Having a lawyer may also simplify my Long Term Disability for work. I don't think he will need to do the processing and such but it will likely be useful to have his knowledge of what questions to ask and what issues to resolve. </p> <p>I did get a call back from someone in New York today about LTD. She said she couldn't help me but she had found someone who could. Hallelujah! </p> <h2>Taco Bell Redux</h2> <p>OK. It wasn't Taco Bell. It was a Chinese restaurant. I concede. I am disastrous in restaurants on my own. I should not be allowed into public without some attendant or a lot of additional training.<blockquote> <h3>The Crossing</h3><p>Exiting from RSB I found myself on the dreaded and terrible High Street in Jefferson City, Missouri. Windy and cold, my coat flapping in the wind, the predicted snowfall evincing itself as the lightest of misting rain (this is sounding <b><i>so</i></b> Dickensian&#33;), I exited on my way to the Chinese restaurant of which I had inquired. I went the wrong direction. My directions landed me about two blocks West of my destination and on the wrong side of the street. Now this is not exactly a living Hell and hardly worth reporting save for my derring-do in crossing streets. </p> <p>Puzzled by my prospects of crossing with no demand lights nor any audible signals apparently available I stood on my frigid street corner deciding rapidly that my mission to acquire lunch was ill-fated at best and &#151; definitively &#151; &quot;bullshit&quot; Despite this conclusion on my part I stood until it occurred to me that I need only listen for traffic and go when nothing was audible. Then I though, &quot;Right. I'll be in the middle of the intersection with the light brilliantly red and be run down by the only electric car in the Mid-West (or a bicycle or something). Not a good idea. I could just wait until someone joined me on the corner and cross the street with them! Brilliant. Well about ten minutes later someone decided to use my corner to cross the street. It was the fucking lunch rush and nobody was going my way. It should have been a clue I was going the <i>wrong</i> way. I followed this cowboy across the street. I call him so as he was one of those independent Western spirits that don't <i>use</i> traffic lights. As an accomplice jaywalker, I had no legitimate right to complain about the car that made a left turn and missed my rump by millimeters. Nevertheless. Nevertheless, I say, I felt compelled to yell &quot;Shit&#33;&quot; Windows in the Capitol building flew up and dozens of politicians leaned out to see what all the shouting was about. <blockquote><blockquote>Well, not really. But, if there <i>were</i> windows in the distant Capitol Building, I'm sure they would have. </blockquote></blockquote> Safely, in the end, across the street, I moved onward once again in pursuit of the hot & sour soup du jour. Naturally, I once again turned in the wrong direction. <h3>The Final Frontier: Bizzare Trek</h3><p>Walking down the street, hugging the sides of buildings I was gratified to discover that I was passing restaurants. Thinking myself well on my way I searched each facade for indications of monosodium glutamate within. Mortimer Kegley's; the Capitol Cafe; Mike's Corner Pocket; Some German Kinda Place Who Had Wilkommen On The Window; all these I passed. In any I might have had a good meal. But no. I had to have Chinese. Learn this lesson O reader &#151; be not guided by thy gut; sit rather on the first stool offered and eat. I traversed a block. Reached the next intersection and decided that crossing the street was out of the question. Backtracking, I passed the Wilkommen place, Morts, Mikes, and all the others. I <i>smelled</i> Chinese food. <i>Use the tools available!</i> I knew I was getting close. At last, an inset doorway and a Chinese character in red on the window. I think it is the symbol for &quot;kitty served to Americans here&quot; </p><h3>Death of a <span style="text-decoration: line-through;";>Salesman</span> Waiter</h3><p>Wending my way (yes, I do wend these days. My routine speed and mode of locomotion has descended from my former stride through meander to shuffle and finally to wend) to my table I encountered masses of State Troopers in conclave and a host of cheap politicians. Not that their politics are cheap, it is just that they are niggards as regards luncheon expenditures. Circumventing these personages unsavory in their varying degrees, I made my order of &quot;hot tea&quot; &#40;discovering all too late that this meant 'Lipton' and not actual tea&#41; and &quot;the buffet.&quot; </p><p>Now you would not, probably, think this a grave error. Allow me to correct your misconception. Because, apparently, nobody in the history of this restaurant has ever ordered from the menu during the hours in which the buffet is in operation, my specification of the buffet as my choice of arena for my dining competition confused mightily my waiter. Once we had exchanged thousands of heavily accented phonemes none of which had more than a few gossamer connections to words it was established that I could help myself at my leisure. This waiter then departed never to return. Perhaps he was Japanese (or is honorable suicide a Chinese tradition, too?) because I believe he committed hara-kiri. I think this is the reason that he was replaced with a waitress who seemed to be just out of her &quot;terrible twos.&quot; I am hinting here that she seemed terribly young and inexperienced. She took my order for &quot;hot tea&quot; and departed gaily, my having made no fatal redundant mention of wanting the buffet. </p> <h3>The Great Waitressini & The Vanishing Meal</h3> <p>Groping and wending (you should see it, it is actually most comical, I'm sure) I discovered the sideboard containing a huge stack of plates. Plate in hand, my sense of direction kicked in again and I found myself moving along the smallest buffet I've ever seen. It was in fact a single station with some cold small items offered. &quot;This sucks&#33;&quot; I thought. Then I discovered the truth. Sushi! In Jefferson City! Sushi! I nearly fainted. I should have. Grabbing vast quantities (well, twelve) with tongs, flinging them to my plate, smearing them with wasabe (wonderful wasabe! though it was presented as I have never seen it before &#151; liquid in a bowl), I managed to load my plate and wend back to the table. It was then that reality set in. These were <i>cold</i>. These were <i>vegetable</i>. These could have been acquired in a Circle-K. <br><br>*sigh*<br> Some sushi is better than no sushi. I tried one. I was not wrong. Barely, I was not wrong. </p> <p>Having nibbled I began wending once again to the buffet, the <i>real</i> buffet in the <i>other</i> direction. Arriving there I found the desired hot & sour soup. I retrieved a cup and returned to my table. Seating myself I crumbled some crispy noodle thingies into my soup, enjoyed several spoonfuls and reached for my sushi. And reached for my sushi. &#133; reached for my sushi. </p> <br>*sigh* <br> <p>Considerable fear arose with my gorge. I was firmly convinced I had sat down at some other table than that where I'd left the sushi. I rose, wending yet again, and examined the nearby tables. In one instance this discomfited somewhat the man seated who wondered why this bozo was wending around his table and groping for his food. <br><br>*blush*<br> <p>I discovered no sushi. I returned to my table, continued my soup, and, somewhat ruefully decided that another foray in search of sushi would be marginally worthwhile. I abandoned my soup half-finished and restored my supply of cold, vegetable, marginally enjoyable, sushi. </p> <p>My soup was gone. </p> <blockquote><blockquote>&lt;Ah ha!&gt;If you leave your table they remove the food with great dispatch!&lt;/Ah ha!&gt;</blockquote></blockquote> Comprehension, late in dawning, told to me that my food was being removed from my table because I was taking a long time retrieving food from the buffet. </p> <p>Returning to the buffet, sushi in hand, I retrieved more hot & sour soup, more crunchy thingies, and an egg roll. Laden heavily I wended (still) my way to my table (discovering my silverware still on the table to my surprise) and &#151; fending off waitresses who sought incessantly to snatch food from off my very fork &#151; I successfully completed my lunch. </p> </p> </p> </blockquote> </p> <p>Gentle reader, I will spare you narration of my adventure in seeking the Men's Room. Go! and enlightened by these words seek your fortune in the world secure in the knowledge that you are a better person for the knowing of this tale. </p> C'est la vie?<br> C'est la guerre?<br> C'est la merde! </div>

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