I broke my little toe and keep on getting kicked off the internet, and a Lucia in pain story

This is so classic me even I find it hard to read. It’s many different stories thrown into one, and while I cut and copied half for other posts, it still rambles.. This is a warning to only proceed if you like my all over the place stories, and even then proceed with caution. It’s been a difficult month and I feel as if I’m just beginning to renter the world of non-political writing. And tomorrow night is the return of Boston Legal which is a national holiday in my eyes or to my eyes.
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I’m not blaming my broken toe for my being constantly kicked off the internet; nor am I blaming the internet for my broken toe, but if I was really into the blame game I could. I only place blame when it’s needed.

I don’t writhe in pain when I feel it; it’s one of my few truly admirable qualities as my dentists take off money because I’m so good at sublimating pain.

When Lucia and I were walking to mediation class yesterday I couldn’t keep up with her, and usually I’m a fast walker. Fortunately she finally realized and slowed down.

Lucia has always felt pain more acutely than most people. Back in the ’80’s I gave her the drama queen for life medal. Then this happened:

It was a hot December night, in 1985. Not as hot as the prior December but unusual for December in New York.

Lucia, Elana and I had gone to a club called Shescapes. We should have understood from the name of the club…but it took us ten minutes of looking around and having women hit on us to realize that it was a lesbian bar, and we’re not. Well, we knew that last part before walking in….

The club was on East 58th Street off Madison; my old neighborhood. We decided to go to Alo Alo, my fave neighborhood bar/restaurant. It was in a Trump building, and I hate(d) Trump, but Alo Alo was a great mix of Euro Trash, neighborhood people, and 80’s excess, who were usually b&t (bridge and tunnel).

Alo Alo had great martinis–regular; if a guy ordered a gin martini or house brand vodka, he was struck off the list. I had been drinking Stoli since my mid-20’s. Absolut was acceptable. Yes I was a vodka snob. I also liked Sambucca, Midori, one cream based but lethal drink, frozen strawberry dacquris, and anything tequila. We never called drinks, cocktails. I was always the designated enabler so I didn’t usually drink to excess. But when I did…

I’m an ocassional red wine or Malibu drinker now. If I drank in bar/restaurants now, I’m afraid that I would rate the cocktails by expense of ingredients divided by amount of liquor mulitplied by taste..

I did everything to excess in the ’80’s and don’t regret a second of it except for big hair. I only regret that because it gave my face a harder look as if I were wearing too much makeup. Actually I did wear too much makeup. I shouldn’t be saying this as I wasn’t b&t, really Manhattan girls were just a bit classier

We were walking east down East 58th Street in size order; Lucia’s 5’9” and was closest to the gutter. I’m 5’6” and was in the middle; Elena’s 5’3” and was closest to the stores. That particular street has a parking garage in the middle. We were walking fast and talking about nothing when we noticed a man walking west. He looked as if he were holding a baseball bat. Hey this was New York; we really didn’t think anything of it.

Suddenly I heard Lucia scream and fall to the floor. My mind couldn’t register what I had just witnessed, and I began screaming at Lucia to get up, she was being a drama queen.

We were only a half block or so from Alexander’s which was still open then. Two policemen had decided to go Christmas shopping for their wives rather than be at their beat. Bless them for that.

Before we knew what was happening they were at our sides; they ignored my screaming. I began coming out of shock when I told the policeman that they should ignore Lucia’s screaming. I looked at her and wanted to die; I had called my best friend who was obviously badly hurt a drama queen. But then I wasn’t sure; it was so Lucia to dramatize a situation.

Elana, at 32, a Senior VP at a major film company was in another world. She almost looked worse than Lucia.

The police and I realized that it was up to me to tell the story. But what story? While we were standing there other police were cordoning Lexington and Park Avenue’s off. People were congregating to watch us. It didn’t even seem strange. There were more police than I had seen since Viet Nam protest days.
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Only this time the police were there to help us. I had my one and only affair with a policeman, the senate candidate’s bodyguard. At 25, I was tired of being the stronger one in a relationship. Oh hell I liked the feeling of being protected for awhile.

Later another friend had been mistaken for a Brinks robber after her ID had been stolen, and I had strangely pleasant encounters with detectives from the Bronx, who truly were perplexed at how a Brinks robbery suspect could have such refined friends. I understood: Kathy Boudin and the other girls came from similiar backgrounds to mine. I just never condoned violence and would have never been able to fall in love with a boy who condoned violence.

I was a girl who was attracted to danger in boys; but the danger was usually their tendency to self destruct or their inablity to express their feelings. Or I brought out the danger. I had no sense of who I was.

I was overly independent and dependent at the same time. People thought I was deep; I was confused.
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On that hot December night in 1985, all these memories came shooting back in one fast second as I struggled to explain to the police what had happened before Lucia began screaming in pain, and Elana fainted.

While I tried to find the words, an ambulance came; people came rushing out to take care of Lucia, Elana, and me. Me? I was fine. Elana fainted when she had blood drawn, at mammograms; she was the fainting type. Lucia screamed when a fly landed on her. I couldn’t understand why they were giving us so much attention.

Some police had run down the Avenues. They came back with a very dishevelled bag-man. What we had thought was a baseball bat; was a 25 pound led pipe. When the man had hit Lucia, he had just missed her knee. Had Elana or I been walking in her place we would have been hit in the knee.

When we got into the amublance they asked me if Lucia wanted to go to Bellevue or New York Hospital. I assumed this was the “does she have insurance?” question. She did and we went to New York Hospital where the doctors were waiting for us. They too were angry. I was amazed that with all the rapes and murders in the city, they took this so seriously. Lucia is Caucasian Hispanic; she was young, very beautiful and worked for a Fortune 100 company, though they didn’t know that until I gave the insurance information before going to the hospital.

Lucia had been randomly hit by a man with a steel pipe on a hot December night in a neigborhood with two big department stores; also Bloomingdales, many other businesses and restaurants, and many residents. He could have easily hit somebody in the head. If Lucia had been older, and not in great shape she could have been gravely hurt.

It took a long time for this to sink in. Our best friend Billy had died two months before. We didn’t know then that while the 80’s would continue its action fun filled second half, the beginnings our very delayed maturity could be traced to Billy’s death and to that hot December night.

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At mediation class yesterday many people were there for the same reason I was; Katrina compounded by the anniversary of 9/11 and personal tragedy is almost too much to bear sometimes.

Therapy? Can help with separating the rational from the irrational, but when you already know what is rational and what is irrational, it’s you who has to take it to the next level. I chose Buddhism for this is I think, for me, unburdening my mind and releasing the toxins is the most rational solution for now.

If my Buddhist aunt reads this, no, I’m not going the whole way, thank you. Have zilch desire to sleep at the Dali Lama’s feet.

Yes my aunt has, the year before she went to the former Soviet Union as a clown with Patch Adams. Sometimes I think I must have a more normal family than I think, then I think some more.
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The whole Lucia story was a prelude to why I found my Grand Jury experience to be disapointing. But now I want to write about other things that have happened. Oh confusion, it’s good sometimes.

I might post three to five days a week as I’m working on many other things, and must put aside my self-indulgent need to blog daily. Then again, I really do love it most of the time….
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I realize that by posting the nigger post many people thought that I was giving it too much credence. When Barbara Bush can say what she did in the Superdome, I don’t think you can point out racism too often. For some reason, while all the ism’s bother me, I can to a point understand the fear behind most of them. We see ourselves becoming old or handicapped and rather than deal with the fear….

But I find racism beyond comprehension, and I’m not a super great person or a bleeding heart or as liberal as some people think, I just think it’s stupid. Do people fear becoming Black? Only Thomas Jefferson’s descendents might have that problem–sorry–stupid but I couldn’t resist;
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