Tuesday, April 8, 2003.

I was supposed to be back home tomorrow night.

The last time I went to a convention, I met the wonderful Dreama.
I'm not sure which journal to link so I'll link all of them, including her Journaler Jobs List.

 

THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST

Two hours on the floor and still no up-skirt shots.

Monday, March 31st.

I'm 32, and I've never actually gone on a plane trip by myself before.

I stood in front of the e-tickets machine for five whole minutes, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. I even looked at it sideways. Tried running my ticket schedule through the thing that looked curiously like a credit card reader. Amy always took care of this part; I never paid attention. The terminal girl (*flashback*) managed to ignore me as I stood three feet from her in utter confusion.

It wasn't until I decided to try elsewhere when she finally assisted, pressed the screen, ran my credit card through, and handed me the ticket that came out.

While I was waiting at the Detroit terminal, Amy called my cell phone,

"I just called to tell you I miss you."

"But I've only been gone an hour," I said.

"I took a nap and just realized we've never been apart for nine days before," she sniffled.

"I know baby. That's what I've been telling you," I said as Sun Su cried in the background.

 

In a tiny plane, on a layover from Detroit to Pittsburgh.

I am not afraid of dying … I mean flying, but when the turbulence started bish-slapping the little propeller can I was in, my thoughts began to wander….

My life insurance could last at least three years, if expenses were cut down, like selling the Tiburon and finding a smaller house.

I would hope that Amy would remarry. Sun Su would need a father. It would be better if he forgot about me completely I thought. Memories hurt.

For a moment, I wasn't so annoyed with the thought that some of the older (i.e., too old) doctors at the hospital flirt with Amy.

I felt at ease with the fact that all would not be lost, if something were to happen to me. Just I would be.

I wasn't afraid anymore. But I did get a sudden urge to put one particular surgeon's head into an engine turbine.

Some people prefer the 3 or 4 fingered setup, but I trained with the "6-finger" position you see. Quicker.
(How I play MORTAL KOMBAT 4)

The Pittsburgh airport was great. They had a perfectly smooth running arcade game of Mortal Kombat 4 there. Loud and in stereo. I'd forgotten all the fatalities though, so I just beat on my already beaten opponents until time ran out. Or until they beat on me.

Wasn't there a room like this in The Amityville Horror?

 

I arrived at the Westgate Hotel in San Diego around 10 p.m. It was nicer than I expected. But all the European accented concierges and golden fixtures in the world won't sway me from my own criteria.

Super Nintendo? Dial-up with one free AOL month? Forty-pound dumbbells? Four-stars, my derriere.

DOWNTOWN SAN DIEGO TIP: Even though you are no longer in Detroit, you should not assume that exploring downtown at 11 p.m. is ever a good idea. This tip brought to you by those five guys eyeing me predatorily in the shadows behind my hotel.

I dedicate this one to all of my gay readers. Hi Chris. Hi Danny.

Tuesday, April 1st.

I slept four hours and woke up at 6 a.m. Bypassed the fancy hotel restaurant and settled for an Egg McMuffin just like mom used to carry-out. I apparently interrupted a homeless Breakfast Club convention at McDonald's that morning.

One of them even wrote his name on his backpack in big letters:
"Steve Romanzo.
Steve Romanzo.
SCR." (For his buddies, I guess.)

I am assuming he wrote it in case someone steals his backpack.

Or maybe the guy who owned the backpack before him wrote that.

Maybe they were just Ph.D. students working on their theses. Or really hip bloggers.

 

Get it? Hall of Justice? Superfriends? It's a cartoon.


I wandered up and down Broadway Street today. Sunny skies. Dirty streets. Hall of Justice. Déjà vu girls revue. Desperate beggars. Pristine businessmen. NBC offices. Museum of Contemporary Art, closed. All before 10 a.m.

I also went to my hospitalist conference at the convention center…. [Edited for length and dullness].

This is evidence that I was at the convention for at least 10 seconds.

La Jolla beach was some distance away but I made it there as well. Blinding sunlight. Cooling zephyrs. Fearless squirrels. Farting seals. P(e)ac(e)ific horizons. Emotional undercurrents. Unfathomable reality. Comfortable dream.

This is not La Jolla beach, I know. I always thought palm trees were a figment of Hollywood convention.



Amy emailed me that day, first time this year:

To: scott_to_trot@msn.com
From: amy***@email.com
Subject: amy

I don't think you should go on any more trips this long again.

amy



I called her that night. Sun Su was so happy to see cousin Kevin who kept them company. Amy said she and Sun Su felt like they were in prison by themselves because the house was so empty without me. I guess life insurance wouldn't cover that.

…The LIGER! missed me too. He slept at the top of the stairs, instead of under my desk as usual.

Amy put the aluminum baseball bat by her pillow.

I had to edit out the inflatable doll.

Tuesday night in my hotel room in San Diego.

I don't want to go out and enjoy the town by myself tonight. Even going to the medical conferences is a little intimidating for some reason. Instead I will stay in and waste another good opportunity to experience life. I think some people really can't change.

I've got a mini-bar, my pens, and an unfinished sketch of an imaginary smiling girl in case I really get lonely. Hey baby, I may not be the most charming guy around, but I'm the only one drawing you.

I accidentally selected a porn movie with Sylvia Saint on my hotel television. I meant to select the one with Jenna Jameson. Everything came out okay in the end.

I ended up using the mini-bar after all. Most expensive tiny bottle of Coca-Cola I ever had.

More evidence that I was at the convention. Or at least took a nice shot from a moving bus with a zoom lens.

Wednesday, April 2nd.

I spent some time at the medical conference center today. I missed the Continental Breakfast, Awards of Excellence, The Executive Vice President's Address, and Gavel Handoff. Even the names of the meetings are intimidating.

I liked the Ethical Dilemmas and Radiology session. Even X-rays aren't always black and white.

Afterwards, went to see a movie at Horton Plaza. Had the great misfortune of seeing Dreamcatcher.

At least I saw the latest Animatrix short film. The music was from the second Mortal Kombat movie (Congo Fury by Juno Reactor), just so you know.

I called Amy before and after the movie. No answer either time.

The lobby before I reenacted the lobby scene from The Matrix. I was that offended by the Super Nintendo.

THE PROFESSIONAL

Thursday morning, April 3rd.

Phone ringing. At 6:00 a.m.?

"I don't feel good, baby … worst headache of my life … and nausea," Amy told me in a tiny voice over the phone. My mom told me she was too weak to get out of bed or even drink water.

Gears ratcheted into hospitalist mode. Very bad things (even if unlikely) flipped through my mind. Cerebral aneurysm? Viral meningitis? Bacterial meningitis? Encephalitis? Cryptococcus? Stroke? TB? A variant of SARS? These were just the life-threatening diagnoses that would have to be ruled out.

She needed to go to the E.R. and get I.V. fluids for rehydration, anti-emetics for nausea, a head C.T., and possibly an L.P. (lumbar puncture, a.k.a. spinal tap). Everything in medicine is abbreviated, except for the waiting times.

"Go to the emergency room. Now," I told her, "Tell them everything you told me and don't leave anything out. You might need an L.P…." Click. It might hurt, baby. I could do it if I were there.

Amy couldn't drive. My mom had to watch Sun Su. They called Amy's sister at work. I called Amy's sister at work.

I didn't like the sound of this. I had to get back home. I called the airline to get an emergency flight back. I was put on hold.

I checked in at home again to see how Amy was doing. The hotel phone on one ear. My cell phone on the other. I do this all the time in the hospital. It's okay, I'm a professional.

Amy was already on her way to the ER. I got my flight changed. No charge thanks to the War in Iraq, he said. Packed my bags. Extracted my reserve cash and cards from the secret place under the hotel dresser I found. Called a taxi and marched down to the lobby like a secret agent who had just completed his last objective, minus the coolness.

I didn't want a mugger to get all of my money. The maid should get some too.

"I need to check out early, like now, it's an emergency. And I, uh, can't find my key."

"No problem," the desk clerk answered. First good news all day.

I got orange carded at the San Diego airport. The young girl checking the bags paused curiously at my BikiniKarateBabes game disk. My Rites of War and Uplink "elite hacking" game didn't arouse as much suspicion.

That was the end of my vacation.

When I finally got home to a snowy midnight (my brother-in-law graciously picked me up) Amy was sleeping in bed. She had been to the ER for a few hours, got bolused with intravenous fluids, and got her head C.T., which merely showed sinus inflammation. The nurse there wouldn't tell her what they put in the I.V. despite Amy asking her twice. (E.R. nurses don't like it when doctors talk to them either.) She didn't have any other signs of meningitis and they treated her for sinusitis. She got better within hours.

I kissed Sun Su's little sleeping head until he unconsciously shooed me away. My courage returned.

I snuggled with my resting Amy. Strength renewed.

My California vacation turned out to be 3 ½ days instead of nine. Things happened so quickly it still seems like a dream. I didn't see the people I was hoping to see. I didn't go to Koreatown, or Los Angeles. But I am glad to be home.

Things have been good. Amy is fine. It's snowing horrendously in Michigan now.

Amy and Sun Su keep me warmer than the California sun anyhow. Everything is back to normal.

"Amy, I think you need a better life insurance policy on me."

Whatever normal is.

Her hair may look crazy, but it smells really good. Like Sun Su's.

 

______________________________

MEDEA SIN HOT MODEL

No models today. The entry is long enough as it is.

(Click here to become a MEDEA SIN HOT MODEL for next time.
It's free, just send me a picture, hot stuff.)

 

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