San Francisky

The good news. I have been taking my five-day course of steroids which is supposed reduce the inflammation in my eustachian tubes, so I don't feel like I'm living like I'm suspended in a liquid while everyone else gets to live on dry land. I was told it might take weeks to show their full effect, but I'm pleased with the partial effect. Now I'm just stuffed, less hard of hearing than before. Bottom line, I feel less like Sid Dithers than I have in months: "San Francisky!? So how did you came, did you drove or did you flew?"

I freely admit, if I have to abandon Sid Dithers (still useful and sharp as a tack in his dotage) for ears that actually work, I'd do it in a heartbeat. (So sorry Sid.) Remember, with hearing, I don't lose all. (Do I ever let you all forget? Oy.) Not by a long shot. With my cornucopia of ailments I can still feel tzcruchen and quevtch to whomever will listen anytime I want. Or I can qvetch to the ether. It doesn't matter.

But I can say I have crawled out of the water like some primordial amphibian, and I have joined a good chunk of humanity on dry land. Unfortunately not in San Francisky. I'd like to go back to San Francisky. (Isn't San Francisky a great city?)

I have an awful story to share and a lesson I must learn. Way back in the days when my big brother were kids, Eric's salamander went missing. The salamander was found weeks later dessicated under a door. A reminder for me, don't get cocky. I'm not yet ready for dry land on a full-time basis. Reluctantly, I will have to leave you all and go back into the murk 'til my next appearance. This is just the way it has to be. Amphibious I am. And amphibious I will be.

Can't ask for everything, now can we? Don't be a glutton. Well, I can ask, I just won't get the answer I'd like to hear. (Psst. If so, then best not to ask. Much less disappointing. Do I take my own advice? Nu?) No I'm still the Buddha on the couch. I know I can only ask for small favors and expect results.

I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Since last week, The Bon Vivant has been closed. I mean, metal awning down, chains and locks. Fin. No signs saying "Back from vacation September 1!" or the dreaded "We thank our customers for the many years of support." There isn't even a work permit pasted on the metal awning indicating there's a new tenant remaking the space.

The world is completely off its axis when it's no longer easy to find a coffee shop in New York City. Not a Starbucks. (Run by alien replicants who will take over the world by 2016.) A real New York coffee shop. Where will I get my gyro platter, extra tzatziki, please or their amazing hamburgers that kept me going when I was getting chemotherapy? This is Bizarro world, and I loathe living in it.

Had PT. Fabulously painful. Scheduling another hour for next week. Will be very disappointed if there is less pain. (Tamar The Amazing wouldn't like it if I described her sessions as such. She is extraordinary. Her skills and her instincts are second to none. And she doesn't try to nail you. She always asks if you're okay. Does this hurt to much? I alone tell her to go for it. I can't wait 'til next time.)