Picture of the Day

Watching Brazil and reading White Noise prepared me for today's trip to North Philly to get a shot in the arm: soldiers in camouflage fatigues, provisional structures, an inoculation center with cables descending from the ceiling like Norman Garwood's ductwork. All the military people so much younger than me, far outnumbering civilians, perhaps enjoying this easy duty, most just standing around not even trying to look busy. Well, I guess it's better than most uses of the bloated pentagon budget. The only blood spilled came out of my left shoulder, a rivulet that made it down to my elbow by the time the hapless soldier scrambled for some gauze. His buddy gave him shit for making me bleed like a stuck pig. I looked away because I have this thing where the sight of my own blood in a clinical setting makes me faint. I have no problem with my own gory injuries or other people's blood in general, but in this type of setting, antiseptic in the air, everything just tends to go grey when I see my own blood--a minor childhood trauma circuit tripped in my brain, perhaps. I made it to the observation area without having lost consciousness, set my timer for 15 minutes and hoped the poke wouldn't trigger my alleged penicillin allergy. I hadn't even read the info they gave me. Who cares? You don't expect to live forever, do you?

I watched for signs of reaction as I drove back south to pick up more 16-foot 4x4s for tomorrow's build at Gateway Park. Was I hallucinating? Everything seemed warped and twisted, but that's normal for Home Depot. But I did feel lightheaded, decided to rebuild my strength with some greasy parking lot cheesesteak. It was like I died and went somewhere delicious.