John and Nicole Three Year Anniversary / Northwoods Inn

"Now we are here in Xanadu..."

...in the words of Olivia Newton John. I have a tendency to quote that to my cousin Jennie every few years, including last night.

But yes, we are done movin'. This photo was taken a couple of days after we moved in. Unfortunately the place looks pretty much the same now, about six weeks later. But what can I say - it's such a relief to be out of the old place that we obviously don't mind our cluttered condition in the new place.

Has it come to this? I'm blog posting about clutter? There must be something more interesting going on.

Moving to Pasadena

Oh, what can I tell you? We had great hopes for the Villa Montanic apartment complex. It used to be an attractive, quiet place.

I'll go ahead and say it - I didn't like the landlord. Life at Villa Montanic was like the old Soviet Union, both the just and the unjust suffered but there was centralized control. Last spring, after we endured a particularly annoying battle with the landlord over a small fee that he had no right to demand, he promptly died.

Suddenly the hitherto quiet and cowering neighbors became barnyard animals. The next door neighbors would bellow at each other morning, noon and night (this was particularly evident during my struggle with hyperthyroid and stomach flu when I would be blundering around the apartment at all hours listening to the ignorant, bestial peasants shouting at each other). I would pound on the wall with my hickory stick and they would have the effrontery to curse back in their own coarse foreign language. The new landlord turned a deaf ear, decent folk began moving out and anyone was invited to move in as long as they were loud, filthy, and enjoyed entertaining on their patios.

What put Nicole over the edge was when I gave up trying to clean my bathroom and started using hers. I couldn't help it, the fan in my bathroom would pull in all manner of filth and sprinkle it over every surface. The shower was tiled so unskillfully that the drain was at a summit, the water would pool in the corners. I was constantly fighting the slime. After years of previous abuse, the drain itself was chock full of human detritus. Even after repeated flushings with Drano I still had to cut circles of window screening to put over the opening to prevent several of my hairs from going down there and clogging the pipes. I quietly moved into Nicole's bathroom and she quietly began looking for another place to live.

In record time she found this lovely condo in Pasadena. At first I balked at the stairs ("When we have babies they're going to take a swan dive off of the top step and then I'm going to have to write a book about Fulfilling Your Destiny Despite Life-Shattering Challenges Because of Bent Children") but I can honestly say that this condo is the highest quality of life I've enjoyed since my last apartment in La Jolla (and I loved that place!).

That old landlord at Villa Montanic could inspire a whole series of uncharitable blog posts. I'm never going to rent from a human being again, only rental agencies from now on.

Branford Marsalis at Catalina Jazz Club

I've been back in Los Angeles for almost three years now, but I haven't taken nearly enough advantage of the entertainment available. Visiting Catalina jazz club with Nicole and Dad was a step in the right direction.

Most of the time I don't recognize upcoming people on the Catalina calender, I had't been there since it used to be located on Cahuenga. The new place seems bigger. We got a table in a perfect spot close to the stage. Dinner was perfectly adequate, the equivalent of paying $8 for a beer at a stadium. Dessert was more than adequate.

The show was perfectly entertaining, Branford Marsalis and his group are at the top of their game. Many transcendent moments. The piano player wrote some terrific songs, I'll have to find out what his name is. They played a Thelonious Monk song that I recognized called "Monk's Dream".

Watching Branford Marsalis on TV never gave me an accurate sense of his physical presence. I was amazed. This guy is tall, handsome, charming, witty, talented, charismatic, well dressed, confident, and he doesn't perspire. I can't get any taller, but I could work on my charisma.

I'm sure I'll have more thoughts on the show, but Nicole and I are in the middle of packing to move to Pasadena and it'll have to wait.

Feeling Better

After about a week and a half of Methimazole medication my condition has improved remarkably. I no longer feel poisoned and exhausted all the time. I’m not so itchy but my voice will still disappear now and then. I’ve gained some weight back and my heart has calmed down.

The top picture is what I look like tonight. Nicole looked at the bottom picture (from a week and a half ago) and she said “That looks like Patrick Swayze.” Flash photography does little for anyone’s features, but I felt as bad as I look.

More good news - Nicole and I are moving, we’re going to rent a condo in Pasadena. Pictures and details to follow.

Saturday was fun. Nicole and Mom went to hear a writer speak at a women’s club and I took myself out to breakfast. I still can’t have coffee but I went to Starbucks afterwards and ate pastries. All the while I was reading the book Sideways, ha!, so entertaining! I can’t recommend it because it’s appalling, but I was ever slapping my knee. We borrowed the Ciaran Hinds version of “The Mayor of Casterbridge” DVD from the library and we went to Moffetts chicken pie shoppe for dinner. The horror of Hyperthyroid is abating.

Hyperthyroid (I’m a Wreck)

Compare for yourself from the pictures above: less that three months ago, at Christmastime, I was full-jowled and jolly. I would even wear funny hats. Now look at me. I’ve lost twenty pounds, I’m weak as a kitten, I'm exhausted all the time, my heart is always going like bongos, my voice is hoarse, I’m itchy and I’m restricted from coffee. It’s almost impossible to e-mail, can’t write, after work the most I can do is read. Watching lots of TV, “Intervention”, “Ghost Hunters”.

The doctor recommended a drug called Methimazole. It has potential side-effects: it can cause a rash on your chest, nausea, itching, muscle pain, headache, drowsiness, or change in taste (?). That sounds about as bad as, if not worse than, what I got now. I went to see the doctor yesterday to hear about the alternates.

“Well,” says he, “If you can’t tolerate Methimazole, you can swallow a radioactive capsule that will neutralize your thyroid permanently. You’ll have to take hormones for the rest of your life. Or we could remove your thyroid surgically and you would also have to take hormones for the rest of your life.” I chuckled in disbelief.

“That’s a very narrow alley of treatments,” says I. He did not chuckle with me.

I picked up the Methimazole at the pharmacy on the way home. Took my first dose last night, gonna take my second dose in a few minutes. The doctor says it’ll take three weeks to feel the good of it. I still feel terrible, but so far no chest rash, etc.

And what’s worse, when Nicole and I met Mom for St. Patrick’s Day dinner at Coco’s they had already run out of corned beef and cabbage. They said they ran out at about 3 p.m.

From Bad To Worse: John Adds Stomach Flu to Hyper-Thyroid

Horrible, this week has been horrible. This past Monday evening I started feeling ill. I was up *all night* taking every position on and around the toilet. Nicole took me to the doctor the next day, got some Cipro antibiotics and anti-nausea meds. Horrible.

Night before last, in the midst of sickness, I dreamed that I was a Roman slave boy (yes, wearing a loincloth). I was part of a small group of misfits that was attempting to organize a Christian circus and gymnasium. We were immediately dispersed by the authorities and I ran for my life.

What is going on?

Thank God for Nicole, she's been bringing home all the sorts of food that you're supposed to eat when you can't eat anything. Popsicles ahoy. And I'm supposed to go back to work on Monday.