Scrambled.
Read/Post Comments (29)
Editor's note: It's been a few days, and a lot's happened. Dickie doesn’t even know where to begin, so he decided to get all experimental on our asses. Beautiful.
June 21, 4:21PM: I'm sitting at Lillis' desk. They say it’s my desk now but it still feels like Lillis'...especially since I've already taken two calls for him today. I'm meeting with Ellen and my Seattle compatriot for the next three months and to be a honest I'm a little bewildered. My foot throbs.
June 20, 2AM: We stumble out of Adams Mills. It's the last night of vacation. It's the first day of unemployment. Either one fits, depending who you ask. Under the circumstances, we decide to keep going...
June 17, 2:20PM: Scotty rings. "Where you landin'?" I ask. "Well I was thinking your place..."
June 21, 9:47PM: Scotty changes my ice.
June 22, 6:30PM: Scotty picks up my book at Barnes & Noble
June 20, 4PM: Scotty sits four hours in the emergency waiting room.
June 22, 3:24PM: Frosty steals my crutches. He's effing hilarious.
June 21, 9:05AM: Several ladies express sympathy when I hobble to Lillis' desk. "Awwww!" Eggselent.
June 22, 8:58AM: In the security line, Frosty accuses me of faking my injuries.
June 21, 9:12AM: Scotty retrieves me a bagel and coffee from Au Bon Pain.
June 20, 6:00PM: The X-ray hallway, G-town, about 40 paces from the emergency room. Wheelchair bound. The X-ray technician emerges, and he's black with long, straight hair and a high-octave airy voice. "What happened to you?" he asks, and I tell him. "You need to take care of your body," he says. "So many people come in here, banging up their bodies because they think they’ll be famous athletes one day but they won't. The body is God’s temple, do you know what I'm saying? Do you?" He stares hard at me, and I nod. I am very afraid. I want another X ray technician.
They wheel a small child up behind me. I can't see him, but I know he must be about six by the way the two women are telling him bedtime stories during the day. Clearly, they’re trying to take his mind off things or comfort him or both, and I remember there are people here with more serious problems than I've ever had to comprehend.
June 22, 7:23PM: Scotty and I roll up to the parking lot. There are no spaces close to the Subway and I notice all the handicapped spaces are taken. "This sucks," I tell Scotty. "I'm basically handicapped but I can't use the spaces." It is the dumbest thing I have ever said.
June 21, 5:35PM: I throw down my bag, my crutches, and collapse on the NPC leather couch, exhausted. For at least the second time today, I feel like I've fought a war. My pits are already chafed. The post war-exercise sweat starts trickling all over again, just like when I crutched up the Hill for my stupid press pass. I'd have to be crazy to order a beer right now, so I order an iced tea and Scotty gets me some fruit. This is definitely not how I pictured the beginning of summer quarter at NPC.
"Iced tea and fruit?" Hugh dangles it out there, but I don't let him off the hook. "What’s your point?" I ask. "...It's just sort of...'effeminate' is all," he tries. This from the guy who just said how delighted he was that none of the NPC TV monitors ever show any sports. The world is a funny place, sometimes.
SM asks, "So, 'you gonna sweat like this all quarter?" Excellent.
June 20, 12:20AM: An unguarded Robert Horry sinks a killer three and I know God does not exist.
June 20, 4:50AM: I feel the snap as soon as I come down on it and I lose Gizibel's hand and tumble several yards further down the slope. I lie there on my back, and take in how it feels when you should feel tremendous pain but instead you feel nothing. I get up. "Let's go swimming."
June 22, 4:50PM: On the phone with B&G. "Is it pronounced Snaw-haw-mish or Snoe-hoe-mish?" "Sno-hoe-mish." "Oh. ...That's what I thought."
Every time I introduce myself on the phone I should just say, "Hi, I'm Dickie Cronkite, correspondent for the Seattle Times. I've spent a grand total of 48 hours in Seattle, by the way."
June 20, 7:40PM: I'm driving home, my good foot on the gas. "In hindsight, that wasn't a very good idea," Gizibel says.
June 22, 12:07AM: Final score, Detroit 95, San Antonio 86.
Jesus has risen.
June 21, 4:21PM: I'm sitting at Lillis' desk. They say it’s my desk now but it still feels like Lillis'...especially since I've already taken two calls for him today. I'm meeting with Ellen and my Seattle compatriot for the next three months and to be a honest I'm a little bewildered. My foot throbs.
June 20, 2AM: We stumble out of Adams Mills. It's the last night of vacation. It's the first day of unemployment. Either one fits, depending who you ask. Under the circumstances, we decide to keep going...
June 17, 2:20PM: Scotty rings. "Where you landin'?" I ask. "Well I was thinking your place..."
June 21, 9:47PM: Scotty changes my ice.
June 22, 6:30PM: Scotty picks up my book at Barnes & Noble
June 20, 4PM: Scotty sits four hours in the emergency waiting room.
June 22, 3:24PM: Frosty steals my crutches. He's effing hilarious.
June 21, 9:05AM: Several ladies express sympathy when I hobble to Lillis' desk. "Awwww!" Eggselent.
June 22, 8:58AM: In the security line, Frosty accuses me of faking my injuries.
June 21, 9:12AM: Scotty retrieves me a bagel and coffee from Au Bon Pain.
June 20, 6:00PM: The X-ray hallway, G-town, about 40 paces from the emergency room. Wheelchair bound. The X-ray technician emerges, and he's black with long, straight hair and a high-octave airy voice. "What happened to you?" he asks, and I tell him. "You need to take care of your body," he says. "So many people come in here, banging up their bodies because they think they’ll be famous athletes one day but they won't. The body is God’s temple, do you know what I'm saying? Do you?" He stares hard at me, and I nod. I am very afraid. I want another X ray technician.
They wheel a small child up behind me. I can't see him, but I know he must be about six by the way the two women are telling him bedtime stories during the day. Clearly, they’re trying to take his mind off things or comfort him or both, and I remember there are people here with more serious problems than I've ever had to comprehend.
June 22, 7:23PM: Scotty and I roll up to the parking lot. There are no spaces close to the Subway and I notice all the handicapped spaces are taken. "This sucks," I tell Scotty. "I'm basically handicapped but I can't use the spaces." It is the dumbest thing I have ever said.
June 21, 5:35PM: I throw down my bag, my crutches, and collapse on the NPC leather couch, exhausted. For at least the second time today, I feel like I've fought a war. My pits are already chafed. The post war-exercise sweat starts trickling all over again, just like when I crutched up the Hill for my stupid press pass. I'd have to be crazy to order a beer right now, so I order an iced tea and Scotty gets me some fruit. This is definitely not how I pictured the beginning of summer quarter at NPC.
"Iced tea and fruit?" Hugh dangles it out there, but I don't let him off the hook. "What’s your point?" I ask. "...It's just sort of...'effeminate' is all," he tries. This from the guy who just said how delighted he was that none of the NPC TV monitors ever show any sports. The world is a funny place, sometimes.
SM asks, "So, 'you gonna sweat like this all quarter?" Excellent.
June 20, 12:20AM: An unguarded Robert Horry sinks a killer three and I know God does not exist.
June 20, 4:50AM: I feel the snap as soon as I come down on it and I lose Gizibel's hand and tumble several yards further down the slope. I lie there on my back, and take in how it feels when you should feel tremendous pain but instead you feel nothing. I get up. "Let's go swimming."
June 22, 4:50PM: On the phone with B&G. "Is it pronounced Snaw-haw-mish or Snoe-hoe-mish?" "Sno-hoe-mish." "Oh. ...That's what I thought."
Every time I introduce myself on the phone I should just say, "Hi, I'm Dickie Cronkite, correspondent for the Seattle Times. I've spent a grand total of 48 hours in Seattle, by the way."
June 20, 7:40PM: I'm driving home, my good foot on the gas. "In hindsight, that wasn't a very good idea," Gizibel says.
June 22, 12:07AM: Final score, Detroit 95, San Antonio 86.
Jesus has risen.
Read/Post Comments (29)
Previous Entry :: Next Entry
Back to Top
