conducting the racist-hospital chronicles: The Musical

LET ME CONTROL THIS MACHINE, YOU TYRANTS!

Fuck me and this loud music in my head. I went into the bathroom earlier and came out with Whitney Houston singing about the greatest love of all—in my noggin. There wasn’t music playing in the bathroom, so evidently the song freely generated itself in the dungeon in my head.

During the weekend, I noticed that football on the tv seems to put the needle on the Christmas records in my head. "Winter Wonderland" was a regular, with "Jingle Bells" following close behind.

The Fiery Furnaces is the only reprieve. Recently I bought Rehearsing My Choir and since then have been listening much to Blueberry Boat and Gallowsbird’s Bark too. (Now that I’ve got them sorted out--I was a victim of superenthusiasm after having bought a laptop and importing CDs from friends before I had internet access, thus leaving me with many unidentified sounds. I was a kid rolling naked in a chocolatier’s display window. What a mess.) Pieces of all three albums interrupt and spot my thoughts.

TAKE IT EASY, KEMOSABE!

The guy who delivers mail within the hospital, who says, There she is (w/optional Miss America!)!, to nearly every woman he sees said to me, Is it cold enough for you? I told him, "No. It isn’t cold enough. I’d like it ten degrees cooler." Was the laughter real or fear-driven? This is the same guy who claims he used to be a college-level English teacher but for some reason now, as I said, delivers mail within the hospital and also claims to have done outlandish things like invent staples and host beauty pageants.

I HAVE LOCATED THE PEANUT BUTTER!

Once again my fashion sense gets kicked:
a) Last Friday one of my favorite doctors (He asked me if I thought The Good Doctor was a madman. Most definitely, I told him. How so?, he asked. It is so rare that anyone here asks me a thought-provoking question and, to top it off, wants to hear the answer, that he became one of my favorite people here. Plus, his odd fashion sense is second next to that of The Good Doctor who can often be seen wearing a mix of plaid, paisley, stripes and solids in a variety of sometimes intersecting shades) was wearing a purple and white small-checkered shirt—with a bright yellow bow-tie. I told him, You’re wearing my favorite shirt. He thanked me and said that earlier his wife had called him color-blind and one of his patients had told him he looked like the Easter Bunny.

b) About an hour later, a woman from the front desk came over wearing a badass cardigan. It was bright fuschia and cobalt and looked like a shag rug with arms. I told her I liked it. She thanked me and said, 12 dollars at Marshalls. The Comedian said, You paid 12 dollars for that? The woman walked around the corner and asked her friend if she liked her new cardigan. The voice rang out, laughless, an affirmative No.

HOORAY FOR DARK CHOCOLATE!

An Italian sexologists studies TV in the bedroom--bad news.

Medicine in South Korea these days--iffy at best: wrong surgery, wrong body; the researcher who "fixed" data for personal gain...alack and alas.

Parrot helps capture a burglar. What does this mean? It means Twin Peaks is the new bible; what happened in the series will happen to us. That gum you like is going to come back into style and midgets will whisper disturbing things in your ears. There is always music in the air.