Friday, November 21, 2003
Dr. Romano R.I.P., Russians on S.S.I., & a Dream
ER killed off Dr. Robert Romano tonight (Thursday), fittingly crushed to death by a burning helicopter. He was the only credible candidate for dying: after his hand was chopped off it became a Hotlips Houlihan or Frank Burns situation - grow or go. He fired Dr. Pratt & obviously that couldn't stand. Romano's only virtue was that he was a great surgeon - he was a total prick otherwise. The only two women he cared about were Lucy, murdered a long time ago, & Dr. Korday - who he lusted after & couldn't have. Kovick is about to begin a serious love affair with a single mom. Carter's playing Dr. Livingstone while the writers retool his character. There's a stupid, lazy pothead intern on the ER staff - they never had to deal with a total incompetent in their midst before. Last week, Bob Newhart's lonely old man guest character committed suicide, a bummer since I'd rather see him than Sally Field drop by from time to time. Abby has a young female Indian intern pal now - maybe they'll have an affair. Of course, the #1 ER rule since the beginning is that no major character is permitted more than 24 hours of continuous happiness.
I'm telling Dr. K how it takes most of my energy just to will myself out of bed, to bathe, shave, eat, put on clean clothes, & often one or more of these isn't even accomplished. & she goes off on a thing about how elderly Russians emigrate to America, use social services, get their subsidized apartments & food stamps & SSI & "don't need to take money from their families anymore." I don't say anything, but I'm thinking, thinking & feeling pissed off, that these people worked their entire lives for a communist regime that made all sorts of problems for my country, killed thousands of Americans with the bombs & guns they manufactured, fed the military-industrial monster we were forced to create to defend ourselves & now cannot dismantle, then their system collapses - & along with it their socialist guarantees - so they come here, tap into our comparatively spare & over-stressed welfare state - having never put a dime into it - & "don't need to take money from their families anymore." So I'm supposed to be inspired by this? It made me even more depressed.
DREAM: Put out for trash, the contents of some guy's room when he was commuting to college in the Seventies, as if untouched for nearly thirty years, including large wooden record shelf unit still loaded with records, plus a smaller bookshelf. Many dull engineering type texts, impression he'd gone to NJIT or Kean. I was on bike, so taking the solid shelves was impossible. Nor could take many records. But they were mostly common Seventies stuff, tho in excellent condition, Steve Miller, Billy Joel & such, of no interest to me. & some Sinatra, all worthless Capitol LP re-packaging, not even curios. I think I found a Music from Big Pink that put aside, maybe frame it. Felt bad I couldn't take the hundred or so paperbacks & trade 'em in at the used bookstore. Poked around inside the desk drawers, maybe some cool pens & drafting tools. Nothing good. As I slammed shut a drawer I heard a clunk & smelled something like turp or a chemical cleaning solvent, & thought, "Crap, whatever that is - is gonna kill the grass," & I quickly got on bike & rode away before anyone noticed it.
Jungian interpretation: It's me if I'd been who my father wanted me to be.
Actual meaning: Many cultural aspects of the Seventies are irredeemable. It really was a load of crap.
"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be." Thomas Jefferson
I'm telling Dr. K how it takes most of my energy just to will myself out of bed, to bathe, shave, eat, put on clean clothes, & often one or more of these isn't even accomplished. & she goes off on a thing about how elderly Russians emigrate to America, use social services, get their subsidized apartments & food stamps & SSI & "don't need to take money from their families anymore." I don't say anything, but I'm thinking, thinking & feeling pissed off, that these people worked their entire lives for a communist regime that made all sorts of problems for my country, killed thousands of Americans with the bombs & guns they manufactured, fed the military-industrial monster we were forced to create to defend ourselves & now cannot dismantle, then their system collapses - & along with it their socialist guarantees - so they come here, tap into our comparatively spare & over-stressed welfare state - having never put a dime into it - & "don't need to take money from their families anymore." So I'm supposed to be inspired by this? It made me even more depressed.
DREAM: Put out for trash, the contents of some guy's room when he was commuting to college in the Seventies, as if untouched for nearly thirty years, including large wooden record shelf unit still loaded with records, plus a smaller bookshelf. Many dull engineering type texts, impression he'd gone to NJIT or Kean. I was on bike, so taking the solid shelves was impossible. Nor could take many records. But they were mostly common Seventies stuff, tho in excellent condition, Steve Miller, Billy Joel & such, of no interest to me. & some Sinatra, all worthless Capitol LP re-packaging, not even curios. I think I found a Music from Big Pink that put aside, maybe frame it. Felt bad I couldn't take the hundred or so paperbacks & trade 'em in at the used bookstore. Poked around inside the desk drawers, maybe some cool pens & drafting tools. Nothing good. As I slammed shut a drawer I heard a clunk & smelled something like turp or a chemical cleaning solvent, & thought, "Crap, whatever that is - is gonna kill the grass," & I quickly got on bike & rode away before anyone noticed it.
Jungian interpretation: It's me if I'd been who my father wanted me to be.
Actual meaning: Many cultural aspects of the Seventies are irredeemable. It really was a load of crap.
