OUT OF FOCUS

The Dishwasher Epiphany

A.D.D Moment of The Day:  I flooded the bathroom floor this morning after I walked away from the running faucet.

I have Attention Deficit Disorder and with that being said, it is critical for my eyes to not focus on something shiny because if they do, you have lost me mid-sentence in a conversation about your dying grandmother.  Its not that I don't care about your dying grandmother, in fact, I am the person who would bake your dying grandmother Gingerbread cookies for Christmas (before I  discover she's allergic to nuts and now Ive really accelerated her death), its just that my mind drifts to when your grandmother was twenty years old and what life was like witnessing the invention of Radiovision more commonly known as television. Or what was it like the first time when we went to the moon?  Did she grow up on a farm like Christina in an Andrew Wyeth painting or in an inner city and succumb to racial riots?  I ask you, “And how is your grandmother feeling these days?” and you looks at my with the most utter disdain and you reply, ”I just told you.  Her funeral was last week”.
Its not that I cannot maintain attention for more than 3.5 seconds, its just that my thoughts have the same exuberance as a three year old child.

They won't sit still.

This morning I walked my dog Fozzy, the world's cutest Wheaten Terrier, to my favorite coffee shop, The Sensuous Bean to get a large decaf/strawberry blend.  I tell you its the BEST coffee in the city.  (If I am one of three people in a group talking about sabotaging business at a Starbucks, is that considered a conspiracy theory making me eligible for imprisonment?) I encountered a meeting of the dogs outside and I, as I typically do, engage in conversation with any human who is native to New York just because I LOVE PEOPLE.  Seriously.  All people.  Because even if I don't like you I'll still talk to you knowing its a sure thing that I will find some comedy material in our meeting. I am prejudice that way.
I run into this funny Gary guy that I had run into before and he compliments me on my “regal posture”  and asks me why I look so happy.  I told him, “I think its because I am blogging”. 
“Are those like bong hits?" he asks.
"No", I replied to the fool standing in front of me. "There's this wonderful thing out there called the World Wide Web.  You should check it out sometime". I explain ed in a short wiki version of what blogging is and he says, "Ahh, so what do you blog about?"
"A.D.D."  I say. 
And then the one preppy guy with the black well groomed poodle chimes in,"My fiance just started taking a pill for A.D.D.  Wellbutrin. She says its working for her.  (He hasn't seen all side of his fiance just yet)

I remember the first and only time I took something for A.D.D and that drug was Wellburtin.  I recall two weeks into taking the drug I had what I call "The Dishwasher Epiphany".  I had just finished making one of my many elaborate dinners with wine and I was two glasses slow of cleaning up.  When you have A.D.D, the simplest task may at time feel daunting and for me loading a dishwasher was overwhelming. What I had always once dread so many times, all of a sudden,I was doing with such ease and simplicity. Effortlessly!  And at that very moment I remember thinking, “so this is what driving in the slow lane feels like?" Not to suggest that I always drove in the fast lane Its just that my driving was more of like a drunk driver…Absentmindedly reckless yet, at times, a little overly cautious.

But I'm sure no one told his lovely fiancee about the "Bouts of Agitation".  I remember being at a corner deli ordering a sandwich and all of a sudden I flipped out.  For no apparent reason.  I mean something must have triggered it but I couldn't remember the exact detail after the incident. All I remember was tossing the sandwich over the counter, yelling and sweating profusely while at the same time threatening to conceal a rubber rat in the store and call the Health Department.  I shared my Jekyll & Hyde moment on Wellbutrin with him.  I hope he shares it with his girlfriend.

Thanks To Merlin Mann

Thanks to Merlin Mann, the creator of 43 Folders, he has introduced personal productivity to my life.  One thing he has taught me is to look at how I prioritize my daily TO DO list. Anyone with ADD will tell you that life simply isn't worth living without a TO DO list. So the first two items on my list today are as follows:

1. Scotchguard my new Lilly Pulitzer  spring rain coat.

2. Do something to advance my career what ever that may be.

After googling "health effects of scotch guard" I stumbled upon a website called Chemical Industry Archives and learned that it may causes liver damage and depletes the ozone layer.  Since I am a fan of the environment as well as Jose Cuervo, I 'll skip the Scotchgard and fantasize about #2 on my list.

I thought Buddhists were just fat people who prayed for peace?

I am taking an Intro to Asian Religion class this semester and although I am somehow miraculously passing the tests, I find the memorization of Buddhist terms almost impossible. I thought Buddhists were just fat people who prayed for peace. Here are some of their beliefs:


The greatest achievement is selflessness.
OK, I am all for altruism but what about me?

The greatest quality is seeking to serve others.
Not unless I get something in return (we westerners really disagree on this one).

The greatest patience is humility.
I doubt it.

The greatest meditation is a mind that lets go.
Impossible.  When I'm in a yoga class I know they're all faking it.

The greatest effort is not concerned with results.
That’s a load of horsesh*t.  Why would I go to the gym five days a week? For results.

OK, so maybe I am missing the big picture here but I would like to share with you Buddhists a more life altering list for you that can change your life. 

The top seminars this month at the Learning Annex:'

1. Meet the Rabbi to the Stars!
I guess that would be Madonna

2. Float your way to a Green Card.
I guess that would be in a tire tube.  I see Elian Gonzalez got a job as a public speaker.  (I love the fact that he has his own Wiki entry)

3.  How to Communicate with the Dead.
Maybe we can finally ask Christ if those were his bones that were recently found. If they are you know what that means...Charles Manson really is the messiah.

4. Finding Time For Tantic Sex
Most likely not. Bathrobe Not Included. 

And then my eye must have focused on something shiny because I forgot where I put my top ten list...till next thought.

Going Back To College

I was twelve credits shy of graduating from Temple University in 1993 when all of a sudden my computer crashed.  I was writing a paper entitled, Homosexuality in the Press.  I wasn't gay or a journalist at the time, I was just a last year college student with a really bad case of Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder aka ADHD, or more commonly, ADD.  The computer crashed and I didn't back up my work because if you know anything about someone with ADD, its a daunting task to focus on one thing for an extended period of time.  It always turned out for me that writing was either one of two things for me; a late night rush of words  that I can to get out of my head in a feeding frenzy or nothing and having to  search for  inventive, creative excuses for professors as to why my work was never finished.  So rather than reboot the computer and try to salvage some of my work, I irrationally and impulsively (as most ADD'ers do) rented a 24 foot U-Haul truck, which was way over-sized for my needs but I knew would have a greater impact visually when I would pull up my parent's driveway.  Within two days I was back in my old adolescent bedroom in my parents house.  The posters of Billy Idol still wallpapering my four walls no longer looked appealing as they once were. I never would have thought that years later I would actually meet thee Billy Idol ten years later at a New York City strip club.  But that's a story all unto itself. 

 

So 13 years later, I am making my second attempt to go back to college.  Even with my distraction for shiny things still at an all-time high, I think I can actually finish this time. 

Below is my encounter on my first day back at school...

 

I forgot my iPod. How else could I possibly drown out the voice of the starched business man seated next to me on the Amtrak; a voice so irritatinglyy humdrum that I’d rather listen to the maddening drip of my kitchen sink. In fact, some restless nights when I listened closely, the drip would vary overtime, becoming more melodic and less familiar, a melody that would resonate well with the sound of Handel’s Allegro Deciso. OK, those are really late nights but Gordo, as he liked to call himself, had the same irritating intonation and sales pitch with every phone call he placed.
Why didn't any of his friends tell him that starch went out along with, Rogaine, Pokemon and Susan Powter, the diet and fitness eunuch of the 90’s? Was this guy so oblivious of his surroundings or was Gordo partially deaf or just plain rude? What if I tried reading? Perhaps the grating of his voice would fade into the soft train ambiance and I would no longer notice him. I reached down near Gordo’s feet (sporting size 10 Velcro Hushpuppies) and pulled out of my overstuffed shoulder bag, ah ha, the latest issue of my favorite magazine, Time Out New York. Here we go. As always, I flip first to the film section where I see a picture of what looks like three pretty white girls stuck underground in a coal mine wearing nothing but miner’s helmets and wet suits. Modern theater of the absurd? The UK thriller, The Descent, which I renamed, Three Pretty White Girls in Another Outlandish Situation, could have at least made them look more like Norma Rae or Paula Porifki from An Officer & A Gentleman than the next white girlie band. The cell phone rings.
“Gordo, here…hey Tomlinson…gotta tell you about this new policies dividends.”
Shake it off. Don’t hear him. Keep reading the review. ‘The Descent, directed by Neil Marshall, takes a shallow descent into a world of coal miners where bimbo’s run amock… if you like a crisp finish, spray heavily with starch. Use the spray starch, holding the can at an angle six to eight inches above the shirt. The heavier the starch, the stiffer the shirt will be, and therefore, the better it will hold its shape. Be aware that a heavily starched shirt may wrinkle more when worn and may feel uncomfortable at times’. Stop! I lost my focus again due to Gordo’s loud incessant chatter, this time sounding like a high school football player in the boy’s locker room. Gordo calls over his cell phone tucked tightly under his cheek, “Do you mind if I look at your magazine for a sec?” he asked me as he took the magazine from my hands before I can give him a yes.
“Dude, you did not hit that…she’s hot…what, she move to L.A…yeah dude, if she banged you, you know she banged the producer,” he said between Santa Claus chuckles.
As if perfectly on cue like a well-rehearsed Chekhov play I hear, ‘30th Street Station Philadelphia. 30th Street Station’ and I am saved by the train conductor. Today was my first day of college after a 13-year hiatus, a decade plus three years to be exact. 13 years is three rounds of high school and one year of college. 13 years is roughly the Vietnam War and Gulf War combined. Its been 13 years since Federal agents besieged the Texas Branch Dividian and since the first World Trade Center bombing. Gordo offers me back the magazine and I graciously accept it with a good-Samaritan smile. 13 years ago, I would have grabbed the magazine from Gordo, rolled it up and used is as a weapon of self-defense. My morning commute with this chump proved to me that this time around, things in college would be different.