You're just another part of me.

Michael Jackson sung that. Its about right too, because he'd been getting rid of parts of himself, especially around his nose, chin and cheeks, for the last 3 decades. Have you ever had plastic surgery? I now have, this past Wednesday. I removed the last reminants of my conjoined twin.

And for this Halloween, I might as well be Frankenstein, because the lumpy stitch job on my 'Plastic Surgery' scar is no eye candy, let me tell you. So heres the story, although most people would of known this, or seen it on my hand, and been grossed out by but not mentioned it out of politeness. Ive had a bump on the back of my left hand since before I can remember. It was excellent as a kid because I had an easy time distinguishing from left and right: The left had the bump. The right, had no bump. If only I had some other cheat for learning how to tie my shoe laces, and remember my phone number and address when I was 4-5, Id probably had been moved into the more advanced class of Kindergarten, instead of the ESL class because I was too shy to talk. Also, as a kid, it was what distinguished me, along with the aggressive eczema on my fingers. It was a conversation piece, classmates and teachers and relatives talked about it, so in a way it made me feel kinda special. As a kid anyways, despite the fact that it made me look slightly mutated.

Although Ive never known exactly what it was, there has been more than a few opinions. Dr. MacDonald, my GP growing up, said it was an infantile hemangioma, a tumorous collection of blood vessels, kind of like a birthmark, and that it was harmless and would eventually go away. The specialist my mom took me to when I was 9 or so said pretty much the same thing; they could of removed it, but its benign and would most likely disappear as I grew older. My Aunt had opined it was a Ganglion Cyst, a growth full of fluid normally found near joints. Adam thought that was the case too. No matter what it was, it was always there, and in a way, even though i jest, it did feel like a conjoined twin, like its brain or heart that was stuck on my hand, and had been growing with me as I grew. It never went away though, as some people predicted. It grew smaller during high school and university, but became big again in the last 5-7 years. So when I finally decided to remove it, there was a shade of remorse. Just a shade, but remorse nonetheless.

The funny thing is, I fully expected that the process would be like Nip/Tuck, the TV Show: elaborate, colorful and high end. This experience, however, kinda felt like going to the dentist instead. The Plastic Surgeon, Mr. Lawlor, did the surgery in his quaint clinic, and didn't even dawn O.R. scrubs or full surgery apron. Instead he kept his shirt and tie on, rolled up his sleeves, and put on a plastic apron, as if he was about to eat Ribs or Lobster at a restaurant. Like really? Just a plastic apron that are like the same stuff garbage bags are made of? It became serious though when he grabbed my hand, lied me down and drew with a sharpie, a dotted outline on my skin of what he was going to cut; kinda like on tv, when the plastic surgeon draws on the fat folds of the breast as a visual outline before doing the boob job. Then of course, he proceeded to repeated jab a needle of local anesthetic into my conjoined twin. 5 or 6 times, all the way around! Like really really Deep! I couldnt look, but of course I did, and it hurt every single time, except maybe by the 6th, when I was mostly numb by then. Now this is where I had to decide, should I watch him work away on my hand during Surgery? Or just look away the whole entire time? I wasnt too sure if I could handle watching surgery on myself. Now watching surgery on someone else was never a problem, but surgery on me? I didnt want to end up puking on Mr. Lawlors plastic bib too.

I seemed to be fine though, if I just took quick glances in moderation and looked away quickly afterwards. When I did glance, it looked like it was a shot gun wound, with blood everywhere, and he had to constantly use a bipolar to cauterize, which looked funny and smelled funny, because smoke would billow up then from the burning of my innards. (I hope Im not making you sick by describing this. If I am, dont even bother look at the pictures below then.. lol) There was alot of scalpel work going on too, although I could not feel any pain, I could feel the cutting, as if someone where cutting into a fish, and trying to seperate the bones, that kind of way.

Then he finally showed me, after 20 minutes of delicately cutting it out. It was the size of a nut, and looked like the heart of a mouse ( not that Ive ever seen a mouse heart, but if I ever did, I figured itd look exactly like what came out of my hand). So there it was, my conjoined twin, finally removed. And it was after all a Hemangioma of some sort, so Adam and his first year med. school diagnosis was a little off. If it was a cyst, it would be a sac of fluid and puss. So glad its not that.

I dont know what to feel now though. Maybe my life will change for the better, maybe Ill have good luck now, maybe I will be a different person, maybe I wont recognize my hand anymore and itll never be the same. A part of me is gone, a part of me that has been there since birth, so my relationship with it has even been longer than anyone I know, including my brothers and sisters, and really only matched by my parents. Or maybe Im looking too much into it, and after all it was just a benign growth that made my hand look gross, so..... good riddance, right? That would sound good, except it still looks gross now, with the stitches. I really hope the surgeon knows what he was doing and that he didnt lie when he said there would barely be any scarring. Cuz right now, it kinda looks worse than it ever did with a bump, it looks, well, Frankenstein.

And since i have a new expensive Camera, I have to use it. Before and Current Pictures below.


BEFORE AVEC LA BUMP



AND AFTER

Midnight Stroll

I just got a new Camera, the Canon 7D. It is an absolutely deadly weapon. 18 Megapixel, 3 inch LCD Liveview Screen, Full 1080P HD Video, Dual CMOS Processors, Weather resistant and Kung Fu grip (for real, it has kung fu grip). Granted, I spent too much money on it, but that was somewhat masked by the fact that it played 'hard to get'. Normally I dislike when people play 'hard to get', girls that play games like 'hard to get' are the worst and dont get 'got' in the end, but when it comes to consumer goods, its a completely different story. Its a personal weakness, one of the many cases where I fall hook line and sinker for the basic economic principles of supply and demand. Im a sucker. So when the Canon 7D was not in stock anywhere, I was keenly determined to get one. As Zack has often screamed, accompanied by an ape-shit response, "Foock you, I wont do what you tell me"

To make a long story short, I researched everywhere and called multiple places to find this camera in New York. Somehow, in hedging all my bets, I temporarily ended up with two! Owning two would be stupid though... I had to get my money back for one of them, which I did. But in the end, this was all a distraction, a successful way to deflect: the process was hiding the fact that it was fairly damn expensive. These are the tricks I need to employ to justify buying expensive things I can barely afford. Also it combo-ed well with my standby trick of justifying by using Euro-USD exchange rates. If I bought that same camera here in Ireland, it would of cost 700Euro more! Im saving money! Everytime you find yourself in a situation where the more you spend the more you save, you've got to do it.

So I now have to use it. Below for some samples. The video, Ive also posted on Facebook. I hate double posting, I try not to, but this was my first EOS 7D video, so I had to. Ill compromise my loose principles for this special case. Pardon the shakiness, thats because I dont have a clue what Im doing.


I was actually listening to Passion Pit on my iPod during this same sequence. So actually, what you see now is exactly what I saw and heard during that time. Youre me. For 2 and a half minutes, that is, if I was a bobble head. Oh, and Grays Papaya. 2 Hotdogs and Papaya juice for $3.50. Great Value...


NYC Cab Boot



Autumn in Central Park



Baby Noah, 8 weeks old.



Red Velvet from Magnolia Bakery, so good, it makes you poo Red.

Hi Method Man

Im so behind its not funny. Im digging myself a deeper and deeper hole. I think Im slowly finding something about myself, though. The new thing I found out about myself is this: Im not very good on following up after big excursions. I dont know how to describe it, but ever since I started this thing, the hardest time that Ive have had, on consistent basis that is, has been following up after a big long trip. Normally youd think this would be easy time time to write... lots of stories, lots to talk about, it should be effortless, almost write itself. That would be the logical progression. However, I guess, it doesnt quite work for me that way, and it may just come down to this: I have a natural instinctual resistance to anything that may be seen as showing off, even in the slightest. For example, in typical conversation, I dont talk about anything Ive done unless someone asks. I never offer myself up, and I dont bring attention to myself. Im that wallflower in the corner. Come talk to me, and Ill talk no problem... but when it comes to imposing myself, Ill always have a hard time. Always.

Enuff excuses though, Sydney / Whitsundays / NZ was a blast. Who can really complain about having a full month away? Apart from my emptied wallet, that is. Sydney, being now the 3rd time visiting, is still one of my favorite cities in the whole world. It goes like this -> Sydney, Vancouver, New York, Madrid, Kolkatta. Thats my top five. Except Kolkatta. Im joking, I hate that shithole. Replace Kolkatta with Calgary. Again Joking. Paris. Not joking. And I would probably like Paris and Madrid more if I could actually understand people. So, Im probably under rating. Lets talk again when Ive mastered Spanish and French, whenever that is. Bonjour, que tal?

Heres the thing with Australia and NZ though, the housing dwellings are only designed for 9 months of the year. No central heating. And I was there during the southern hemisphere Winter, so its a big deal. Im sure Ive talked about this before, but its such an important topic of discussion that I just have to bring it up again, houses down there NEED FREAKIN HEATERS. Just because its super duper hot most of the year doesnt mean you can forget about the 1 or 2 months of the year you freeze your ass off in your own home. Its ridiculous. Like there should be some kind of 'cop on' eventually, when your blankets are crispy from ice in the morning, and it feels like your camping, and youre walking up in a tent. Its too cold.

Second thing about down there: They make the best burgers. I missed this dearly from the last time. The Aussie burger and Kiwi burgers are masterpieces not found anywhere else, obvious ying for yang retaliation for the disgusting fermented bread spread mistake better known as Vegemite. Heres the details: Burgers as big as dinner plates, with the typical lettuce tomato fillins, plus a few key additions - fried egg, aussie relish (which is like a sweet worchestershire sauce), beetroot, and sometimes pineapple. Its a wierd mix, but it just simply works. Its for these choice moments that Warrant had it exactly right, and Heaven isnt too far away. And as Linda has always described it, a good Aussie burger is measured by the amount of juice that dribble down your forearms as you eat.

Third Impression: Although Id been to NZ before, Id never been to South Island. And now that I have, I can declare South Island is freakin dope awesome to the power of gnarly. Didz and I did a week with a Jucy camper van, which is the best and only way to explore NZ. Like where else can you drive from Rohan to Gondor within a few hours without having to need a horse? It is an unbeliavable gorgeous place. And this is coming from someone who comes from one of the most scenic places in the world, Western Canada (Canada I can show off about fairly effortlessly, Annex I, to my declaration in the first paragraph). But whereas Western Canada is so spread out (and by Western Canada, Im defining it as all of BC plus the bit of Alberta which is occupied by the Rocky Mountains, and does not by any means include any neighboring areas, such as the foothills or the plains), NZ South Island does it all within an area just slightly bigger than Vancouver Island. And by slightly bigger, I mean 5 times bigger. But still.

Fourth Impression: NZ is just WAY too fit for a nation. Its stupid. Like really. I saw a grandma running hard up a mountain, while I drove up that same mountain, and it looked like she could of beat me if I stayed in 2nd gear. Like practically sprinting! And that was with some 10-12 year old grand kids running beside her! When I was 10-12, I didnt run for fun, no the hell way. I only ran away from girls trying to headbutt me with their cabbage patch dolls, and the noises made in the forest behind my backyard which I thought was Bigfoot. I played NES Super Mario Brothers, thats what I did when I was 10-12 for fun. Running was not fun. And it shouldnt be fun for Grandmas. It just seems like everyone runs in NZ. Like everyone. And you may get that impression about some of the more cosmo cities in the world, witnessing people running in spades. However the difference about NZ is that when Kiwis run, they definitely know what they are doing by majority. Its like watching the 10,000 meter qualifications at the olympics. Perfect athletic form, crazy fast pace, and 4 to 5 out of 5 have that. That runners form, that graceful effortless stride. Anywhere else in the world, people do run, but most would look like Phoebe running in Central Park, or my mom running after a bus... not graceful. Most other places, at least half of the people running actually dont look like they know what they are doing, look stiff, have awkward gaits and look to be struggling. Its true. NZ though, its as if even grandma is channeling Paula Radcliffe and is shooting for a personal best. She would definitely kick my ass. I have no doubt, even though she was probably born in the 1930s. Kiwis are just too fit, and if they werent running they would be playing Rugby or kayaking or biking or doing push ups. Its not fair.

Anyways I find myself in NYC right now, almost two months after getting back from Aussie / NZ, there was no way I could continue on and move on with this blog without catching a bit up. Because since then Ive already been to Austria and London and now NYC, but with no mention yet whatsoever.

Now as for pictures. Theyll come soon too. Once I get back to Irlande, Im still working on them. Soon. Hopefully. Maybe. ( I always say that though )

And earlier today I saw Method Man walk by us. 18th and 6th. Jill had her back turned, and was doubtful and didnt believe me, just like how I only 95% believe her that Matt Damon ran past her in Central Park a few weeks ago. And how did I know it was him? Because its Method Man! And because I got caught looking too long, and he gave me the 'oh shit nigga, Im busted, homie knows who I am' look. You know the look.