Haunted house


Halloween at the Haunted House

I was with my sons yesterday and my oldest son suggested we go to a haunted house for Halloween. So we went. Because I’ve become my father and I almost always do things that my sons suggest we do. My sons can pretty much talk me into doing just about anything–provided that it’s not too expensive or too dangerous.

After last night, I realize that about the safest place you can be in America is a haunted house, despite its eerie appearance and all the blood and gore. I must admit that I wasn’t too thrilled about going to a haunted house since I recalled my traumatic first and only trip to a haunted house in the third grade that was sponsored by the eighth graders. We were guided through it blindfolded. I was fine until someone grabbed my hand and forced it–yes, I instinctively resisted–into a bowl of something slimy. I could feel whatever was in the bowl slithering between my fingers. A voice informed me that I was touching Frankenstein’s brain. I wasn’t really afraid. Okay, I was afraid to laugh and hurt anyone’s feelings because I wasn’t afraid after touching dead brain matter. My best friend Patrick later told me that the brains were really just spaghetti. I never went to a haunted house ever again.

Anyway, I had fun at the haunted house last night because I got to see exactly how brave my sons were. Not! They were fraidy cats! When it was our turn to go in, they insisted that I go first. I didn’t even get scared! Okay, I did get startled whenever someone slammed open a door as he or she in all his or her glorious blood gore jumped out at us. But I wasn’t really scared. Not really. I mean it was just the loud noise that made me jump. Kind of like when I saw Halloween at the show when it first came out. The movie didn’t scare me at all. Except when the entire audience of the sold-out show screamed in unison and my date dug her fingernails into my thigh. But except for those five or six times, I have never gotten scared!

DDR

Coffee


Dr. D.’s favorite household appliance.

I never used to drink coffee until I discovered its magical powers of keeping me awake after sleep-depriving nights and its ability to make me look pensive and meditative while reading in the coffee shop. While I do enjoy the coffee that baristas offer, I always prefer to drink my own home-brewed concoction. I don’t know why, but my coffee tastes better to me than even the most expensive gourmet coffee at any coffee shop.

I love to lounge around the house in the morning sipping at my coffee while I read my e-mail before I go out for my morning run. I used to have a Mr. Coffee with a timer that my mother-in-law gave me for my birthday, but then she died, I got divorced, and my Mr. Coffee stopped working.

So, I decided to splurge on a new coffee maker. I bought a Cuisinart Grind and Brew coffee maker in 2003 and enjoyed its coffee until about three months ago. It had a timer, so I was able to set it up the night before and literally wake up and smell the coffee. About two years ago, my beloved Cuisinart stopped functioning like new and I tried to fix it–following in my father’s footsteps–but I was lucky to put it back together again without improving its performance. The only thing I got out of the experience was a headache, minor cuts on my fingertips, and a very lame blog entry. But I continued using the coffee maker until about two months ago when I could no longer disassemble the grinder to wash it. I tried everything to pry it out, but it was more stubborn than me.

Finally, I decided to buy another coffee maker. This was my chance to try a new brand, but I loved my Cuisinart so much that I decided to buy the exact same model again. I bought it in 2003 for $125 plus sales tax. So, I expected to pay much more in 2008. Surprisingly, that model was still about the same price at most stores, but I like shopping online and I noticed that amazon.com sold it for $119, with no sales tax and no shipping charges.

Then, I noticed that they also sold a refurbished version of the same model. I was incredibly surprised to discover that a refurbished coffee maker cost more than a new one: $144! Obviously, I bought a new one. I received it at my door within three business days! I happened to be home at the time and the UPS guy put the package directly in my own hands! I was glad I bought the new model because Cuisinart had improved its performance ever so slightly, but enough to make a notable difference that was apparent from the first cup of coffee. In fact, I burned myself with the very first sip. I didn’t realized the my old coffee maker was no longer making very hot coffee. Wow! Hopefully, I’ll get at least five years out of this one.

DDR

Chess memories


I bought this chess set in high school.

Now that I’m playing at the UIC Chess Club, I’m starting to recall how I used to play chess. The last time I played chess seriously was in high school about thirty-two years ago. Somehow, my chess skills have gotten rusty! The chess atmosphere has changed a lot since then. I kind of miss the cigar smoke while playing chess.

These players in the UIC Chess Club are really into chess, but their attitude is completely different from mine. When I got into chess, I felt impelled to learn everything possible about the game. I learned the history of chess, the important chess players, the terminology, and the classic chess openings. As I played the last two Tuesdays, I tried to remember some of the terminology, but no one knew any of it–or even seemed remotely interested in learning terms like rank, row, file, or column.

One player touched a piece and said, “I adjust.” I said, “You mean, ‘J’adoube.'” My remark was met with a blank stare. Hmm.

One player asked advice of another, and I never heard anyone talk about “control the center” or “castle early.” This was like culture shock to me. Later, a few players discussed the merits of learning book openings, and the consensus was that learning openings wasn’t necessary to become a talented player. I was so rusty that I lost most of my games. I was surprised that I won any games at all. I would inadvertently give away pieces or set myself up for a knight fork. When I was playing chess, I used to open P-K4; now it’s E4. This will take some getting used to. My biggest surprise came when I had to take back a move because I was in check. No one says, “Check!” when they check your king. I’m so rusty that I didn’t realize that I was in check.

Well, I improved when I returned the next Tuesday. I try to be realistic and try to evaluate just how well I played when I was in high school. Even back then I made bad moves or gave up pieces. But I’m sure I will improve with a little more practice.

DDR

Health


Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com

My brother Danny called me so I could give him a ride to the hospital in order to get a medical procedure. He gave me a three-week notice, but he didn’t specify what medical procedure he would undergo. But he did ask me a few questions about my health and health care. Well, I’m 52 and he’s 50, so he mentioned that we were both at the age were a prostate cancer exam is recommended. My brother has been going to the doctor a lot the last few years. He asked when I last went to the doctor. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I went to see a doctor. I have had a lot of bad experiences with doctors, so I try to avoid them. For as long as I can remember, I would get acute pains in various parts of my body.

Once in high school, I felt pains between my ribs around my heart. It felt as if someone put a broomstick between my ribs and was prying them apart. I was about seventeen. My mother thought I was exaggerating and told me the pains were all in my head. But they weren’t. I kept complaining about the pain to my mother until she finally took me to the doctor. When I described my pains to the doctor, he stared at me blankly and said that they were just growing pains. That was the end of my doctor’s visit. The pains persisted for about a week, but eventually went away just as mysteriously as they came. And, thankfully, I didn’t die–obviously!

About twenty years ago, I felt a sharp pain in one of my testicles. I continued my daily run despite the pain. I have this uncanny ability to block out pain. The pain increased so much that I eventually made an appointment with a doctor. He told me that I should wear an athletic supporter when I went running. That was all the advice the doctor gave me! I said, “But I feel a lot of pain!” “What are you worried about?” he asked. “Cancer,” I said. He then told me that I was too old to get testicular cancer. I felt much better after that information.

Another time, the white part of my eye had turned completely blood red. When I woke up and saw my eye–oddly, I didn’t feel any pain while I slept–I panicked. I called my optometrist and he told me to come in immediately, probably due the urgency in my voice. When he examined me, he said, “It’s nothing to worry about.” “What do you mean? My entire eye is red!” But there was nothing he or anyone else could do for me. Eventually, my eye cleared up.

So when my brother called me, I tried very hard to remember the last time I saw a doctor. He asked me who my doctor was. Well, I don’t have a doctor. Do you want to know why? Because he died! My doctor and I were both about the same age; I could tell because we both had the same chronological reference points. He used to tell me how I should watch my diet and exercise and all the usual doctorly advice. One day, I had the flu really bad and I tried to make an appointment with my doctor. He wasn’t available. The next time I saw him, my doctor told me that he had had a heart attack. I thought, “Doctor, heal thyself!” This was the doctor who was advising me on how to live a healthy life! About a year later, I had one of those mysterious, sharp pains in my side by my kidney. I immediately called my doctor to make an appointment. He wasn’t available. And he would never be available for appointments ever again. He had died of a heart attack the week before. That was the last time I saw a doctor.

DDR

Trust


McDonald’s, Chicago, Illinois

When I was in Mexico, I learned that I could trust all the Mexicans with whom I dealt. My first trip I was extremely cautious on the road since I traveled alone. When I met up with my family in Celaya, I realized that I didn’t really know anyone since I had not seen some of my relatives in more than twenty years and some had not even been born yet the last time I was in Celaya. However, I always felt I could trust all my family members without any reservations.

The only Mexicans that I felt that I could never trust were in Nuevo Laredo when I crossed the border. They just looked like shady characters to me as they tried to hustle me into hiring them as a tour guide to get a visa and auto permit. Perhaps, I was merely prejudging, but I didn’t feel safe around them. I just sped past them with my windows rolled up. There were some people who were outright begging there.

I had flown and taken the train on my previous trips, but I had never driven to Mexico before. I asked advice for my driving vacation from everyone who had ever driven to Mexico. The consensus was to stay on the main toll roads even though I would have to pay tolls because these were the safest roads in Mexico. My cousin advised me not to drive after midnight. I wanted to ask her why not, but then I realized that I would feel any safer not knowing why not. I didn’t drive after 10 pm because I had no idea what to expect.

For example, I didn’t know about la propina, the tip. When I needed gas for the first time in Mexico, I stopped at a Pemex gas station. I didn’t realize that was my only choice since the petroleum industry is a government monopoly. First, I was surprised to be greeted by an attendant who asked me what kind of gas and how much I wanted. I can’t even remember when I last saw a full-service gas station. I tried to pay with my credit card, but they only accepted cash. I didn’t realize I was supposed to tip him, so I didn’t. However, he never gave me any kind of signal that I was supposed to tip him, and he never complained to me as I drove away. Later, my cousins explained that everyone in Mexico lives off tips. From then on, I tipped everyone. And generously, whenever possible.

One of the things I liked about Mexico was that car washes were available at many parking lots. When I’m in Chicago, my car is always dirty because I don’t like to go out of the way to go to the carwash. In Mexico, the carwash comes to you. I went with my sons and cousins to the mall in Celaya to see Kung Fu Panda. An elderly man approached me after I parked my car and asked me if I wanted my car washed. I asked him how much and he was reluctant to tell me. Finally, he told me thirty pesos. He was going to wash my car and then I would pay him when I returned. He trusted me. But I knew we would be in mall for a few hours, and it was already 6:00 pm, so, he might not be there when we came out–unless he stayed just to wait for me. I asked my cousin if it was okay to pay him before we went in. I trusted the man at his word and knew my car would be washed when I returned. My cousin was noncommittal. So, I paid and my car was washed when we returned about midnight. The man had been long gone by then.

I trusted everyone and I felt comfortable in Mexico. I had no reason to be distrustful of Mexicans in general. Once, when I stopped at a tire shop for air, the attendant inflated my tires. He stood there for a moment without saying a word. I asked him how much I owed him. He said whatever I wanted to give him. I gave him twenty pesos and he seemed happy with that. Anyone who did anything for you accepted whatever amount you gave them and was always grateful for it. I was always afraid that they would overcharge me. In fact, I was so happy that they didn’t, so I would end up over-tipping them.

DDR