Wednesday, April 28, 2021

The Family, The Doctor, and The Mentor Are All Not In -Or- Life Non-Prophylaxis Interspersed w/ Late March - Mid April Leftover Miami Beach Pics

Palm fronds and other tropical vegetation cloak a small corner house along 8th Street, Miami Beach, Fla., 2:44 p.m., April 27, 2021

Except for the first two, which were taken this week, almost all the images in this entry from the set I took between late March (about two weeks after my arrival) and the day (April 16th) I headed to Flagler Beach to visit my father. Except for the lead one, I'm not captioning most of them but the file name contains place/time information. With a few exceptions, they are posted chronologically.


Sigh ...

Tuesday evening settling upon my little apartment in my still-new Miami Beach life.


I'm composing this entry while listening to JazzRadio.com -- the $60 for which I spent for a year-long commercial-free subscription was the best sixty bucks I've spent in a long time -- in particular, to the Coffee Jazz channel. The song at the precise moment as I type this line is "We'll Be Together Again" as peformed by Hank Jones, Christian McBride, and Jimmy Cobb on their 2006 release West of 5th.


So, I'm not really sure how to start this entry.

There is a lot I want to relate to include both personal stuff and political commentary on the general malevolent lunacy of our time. But I also have a lot of work-related things to complete in the next 10 days to two months, and these damn blog entries take so long to compose.

But I feel an obligation to this blog and its upkeep even with so few readers.


My 7+3 = 10 days with my father ended yesterday morning, and unfortunately, not soon enough.

I hate saying that, but having him come here to Miami Beach was as big a mistake as I knew it would be, although it was less because of the general spring break-season weekend depravity that engulfs the place, especially the Art Deco / Entertainment District. Rather, it is a big mistake to have him ever come into my life / my world. It is vastly preferable for me simply to go into his Flagler Beach world and stay there on his terms for a week or so.


To clarify, the first seven days were up in Flagler Beach with him in his world. The last three were down here in Miami Beach in my world. The later included an all-around shitty weekend with extreme stresses. I already mentionned the harrowing 300-mile ride back here almost entirely on I-95, as well as the missing car key-fob episode (and its episode-within-an-episode).


The attempt to have a nice Sunday afternoon at [PLACE NAME INTENTIONALLY OMITTED] here in Miami Beach was a big, costly bust -- even given that we were able to get two bar stools at the corner of the outdoor bar.


Remember that there are still Covid-related capacity limits here in Miami-Dade even though Florida is functionally a Free State from the smothering Covid lunacy and the interrelated WOKE Reign of Terror resulting in massive violent crime spikes throughout every fucking major Big, Blue City in the United States.


We argued upon / just after leaving -- and while I'm fairly sure it didn't involve anything bad at that place, I'm not entirely sure, as I had quite too many drinks. That something such as that would happen when I'm with him is no surprise -- nor would it be the first time.


The bigger issue is being around him is extremely difficult when I'm not in his space. Even with the speed and frailty of an 80-year old, he's still bowlin' the world over and trying to control everything and gets screamy when he feels he isn't in charge. And together, we are just explosion combined.


Of course, I inherit not just the Italian side with all of that but my maternal horrendous Polish family component in all its angry, neurotic, unforgiving, self-victimizing darkness. It's little wonder that once again -- for the 500th time or so in my life -- I have no functional relationship with my mother. Nor will I until I apologize for, well, nothing except having ruined her life ipso facto by my very existence.

And, well, I have no intention of doing that this time. I'm fed up with it.


Anyway, my dad left yesterday, and I had to ride in the car with him to the corner of Lennox Ave and 5th Street to hold his hand, so to speak, until he was on the causeway into Miami to pick up I-95.

That sinusy head cold (or whatever it was ...) I had has mostly gone away. I made it to the urgent care facility on Alton Road here in Miami Beach yesterday. To clarify, this was after grocery shopping and walking back home following my father's departure and my getting out of the car at the above-mentioned intersection.


The reason for my urgent care visit was for that back-of-the-neck skin infection / abscess I have that represents a reflaring of what I had back in October. Somehow, despite getting a confirmation email and doing all this stuff online, I wasn't in the system, but they saw me anyway.


The facilty is called Baptist Health Medical Group, and it accepts my insurance (which is one of the biggies). The doctor -- who was nothing like that MedStar one back in D.C. (Chevy Chase) in October -- prescribed Sulfamethoxazole trimethoprim (Jesus Christ, even spelling it out) rather than (as in October) Cephalexin and also a topical antibactical called Mupirocin. The problem with the Mupirocin is that it kind of burns.


I was able to fill all of this at the Walgreens at 10th and Alton, which is about a 15-minute walk from here.

However, matters were a bit more complicated in that I expressed a desire to have a primary care physician down here in Miami Beach -- and Baptist Health seems ready-made for that given teh system takes my insurance and it has both urgent and primary care facilities colocated in the same building, indeed, on the same floor.


When I asked about having such a PCP through Baptist, the very nice lady at the intake desk even almost proudly said, "There is one doctor here, and I think you'll like him ..." Not sure exactly what that meant, though I think I do. I seem to be at a point where everyone seems to just immediately guess.


As a final point, this doctor had an opening today, and so I went today. However, it ended up being basically an awkward consultation. He didn't want to do anything -- it certainly was a physical or checkup. He asked questions though about my life and family. And I made an appointment for six months from now.

About this visit, my vital statistics were fucking absurd: My weight was 190 pounds (to include being fully dressed with shoes on) and blood pressure that was borderline stratospheric, 160/101. For comparison, yesterday's reading was 144/86.


I HATE getting these readings taken right upon arrival in a doctor's office. They are always cartoonishly high and, on paper, I appear to be a fucking sedentary blob watching TV all day along, never mind all the walking I do, or that I go into the ocean almost daily, and don't have a particularly big appetite. Indeed, it's been very low the past few days.


But those goddamn numbers are also all balled up and designed to make you miserable and hopeless. For me, they create the sense that I should be living with My Betrothed in some dump on the east or northeast side of the D.C. inner suburbs, immobile, miserable, and in poverty-stricken. Our apartment would be broken into every other day but the 9-1-1 operators just yell at you before hanging up. As for always-increasing weight number now into borderline obesity, fuck it, I don't care. It's biophysiologically impossible for me to be 140 pounds.


It's no surprise the doctor didn't want to do anything. That kind of stuff always happens to me. People just don't like me and don't want to deal with me. Well, some do, but it's always hit or miss. I've never in my fucking life ever had anyone want to help me including in my academic and professional life when it came to all that mentoring, nurturing, or partnering shit. Never happened.


All it's ever been is just a bunch of fucking overpaid Baby Boomers above who refuse to go away and goddamn whiny, insufferable, historically illiterate but FULLY WOKE Millennials below -- at least in Washington, D.C., where I wasted fucking twenty years plus another eight years in that grotesque place called College Park. And, yes, I admit, this indifference of the world toward me also runs the reverse way, so I can't say I've ever done diddly for anybody.

About College Park, UMCP by now must be like some New Zealand-style Covid concentration camp and filled with little temples everywhere to the governing WOKE IngSoc ideology of Critical Race Theory and 15 different made-up gender pronouns on all forms.)


He also wasn't at all interested in the skin infection issue. He had all that info from yesterday in front of him. , when I asked him what if the lump / infection doesn't go away with the antibiotics -- and I'm concerned it won't -- I may need surgery to remove it, cyst-like.


I guess I should clarify that the doctor, in fact, performed a sort of "biomechanical" examination and took my blood pressure again when I was more relaxed, and it was much more normal. He said I should buy one of those at-home blood pressure readers of the sort I once had but tossed after all I did was do multiple tests a day and ALWAYS the fucking readings seemed to go up.

In that way, it's just like when I look at the Worldometer Covid numbers.


On the matter of Covid, I made online an appointment for both of my Covid vaccination shots right here in Miami Beach -- also at Walgreens, but the on Collins Ave between 16th adn 17th Streets. I think I requested Pfizer, but it doesn't show up on the confirmation notice. I didn't want the J&J one. I'm scheduled to get the first one this Thursday early afternoon.


One last item: I did multiple loads of laundries last night including bedding. That sort of helped me segue back into my solo life down here in Miami Beach. About that, things have simmered down considerably from the Spring Break lunacy of mid-March to mid-April, although there are still bits of that. Oh, and I also went in the ocean both yesterday and today.


OK, I need to wrap up this entry. It's going to take me forever to get enough pictures to break up all the yammering text, so the entry probably won't be done until about 10 p.m. 12:30 a.m.

Screenshot from the "Yes, Galen, There is a Herman" episode of The Munsters; the man in the image is Harvey Korman

Besides, I'm in for the night and my lineup of shows on Cozi-TV to include The Munsters, Frasier, The Nanny, and Will & Grace, as well as one or two of the Samsung Plus channels including Film Rise with its Unsolved Mysteries reruns. (I've really gotten to like Magellan TV.) I also get TV Land via Samsung Plus and it shows Hot in Cleveland, which can be very funny, too.


Again, I have a lot of job-related work to do in the coming days and weeks. I'll post entries intermittently / episodically on the order of every two to four days.

--Regulus

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