Einstein and Petit

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."
-Albert Einstein

My boyfriend shared this quote with me last night after we watched Man On Wire, a film we both have been wanting to see for quite some time. We agreed that while the scientific part of the quote was represented by the Great Albert Einstein, the artistic element fit well with the life outlook of Philippe Petit. Both men shared the seemingly effortless ability to challenge ideology; I'm sure they would be great friends if they had ever crossed paths.


What struck me most about the film was the reaction of those who were close to Petit at the time he crossed the twin towers. They were frightened for him, but much more than that they desperately wanted to see him succeed. His girlfriend at the time, Annie Allix, was interviewed for the film. Years after they parted ways (shortly after Petit walked across the towers), she still had this look of awe on her face as she described the beauty she felt when she was watching Phillipe on a wire.


Like Einstein, those who didn't know Petit thought he was crazy for taking such a risk. But the documentary reveals the world inside Phillipe's mind; it shows the viewer the inspiration and the mystery behind the man.

"To me, it's really so simple, that life should be lived on the edge. You have to exercise rebellion. To refuse to tape yourself to the rules, to refuse your own success, to refuse to repeat yourself, to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge. Then you will live your life on the tightrope."
-Phillipe Petit

My Own Personal Hell

DMV, Department of Motor Vehicles - the worst form of torture that exists.

I arrived at the San Francisco DMV yesterday at 8:50am. There was a line of people out and around the building, waiting to receive paperwork to begin the process of obtaining identification. Behind me was a guy who was kinda wacked out, missing some teeth; he wanted to "get his life back together", which meant getting a photo i.d. In front of me was an inpatient teenager and her annoying mother who chatted on the phone nonstop. Other line attendees included a short, angry Spanish man who had an affinity for the word "fuck", a woman who thought she was a stand-up comedian, and a young thug with ice in his ears who was trying to pass his permit test for the third time.

The majority of the people who arrived after me were just as baffled as the line, and thought it somehow didn't apply to them. I found myself thinking, why is everyone so surprised? It's the DMV - of course there is going to be a long wait. But I had no idea the hell that was brewing around me...

After an hour of waiting outside, I finally reached the desk and received paperwork to apply for a California Driver's License. Once I filled it out, I was given a number: G123. I looked at the current number in the G sections (there were also numbers beginning with E, H, I and J in the mix) - G034. Fuck. Bookless and ipodless, I wanted to go to my nearby apartment and wait it out for a while and come back with my number in an hour or so. But I stuck it out in fear I would miss my number being called. It was kind of nice to sit down for a while and raise my braced leg up on one of the chairs. But then my back and my ass started to hurt because I sat there for about two and a half hours.

When G123 was finally called, I gathered my belongings and locked my leg brace and marched up to the teller at counter #7. This is it, I thought! Done, finally! Wrong. After spending about five minutes with the teller filling out necessary paperwork, she pointed me in line to wait to get my photo taken. Another 15 minutes, not so bad. 1, 2, 3, smile, flash! Then I was pointed to wait in line to receive my written test. With only two people working the front desk and another at lunch. A mean woman was checking people's tests and giving them their temporary license, and an awkward man was providing paperwork and numbers to people arriving. There wasn't anyone to pass out tests to the people waiting, so our line was at a stand-still for the first 20 minutes I was standing in it. There was a lag in people checking in, so our line started to move about, then came to a halt again when the awkward man had to attend to the other line. In all, I waited 45 minutes in a line of 12 people to receive the written exam.

I got the exam, hobbled to a test taking counter and knocked it out in under four minutes. By then, the line inside the test-taking area to hand in your exam was about 25 people crammed into a 20x10 space with other people taking their tests. It was pretty cozy. I had been standing for over an hour at this point, and my leg was starting to stiff up. I told the person I was behind to save my place in line so I could rest at the handicap seat for a little bit. Just when I was starting to get the feeling back in my knee, I'm tapped on the shoulder by a woman with a Polish accent who looked about 7 1/2 months pregnant. "Ma'am, can you please stand up so I can sit down and finish taking my test?" (Earlier I had seen this woman cheat the system by demanding a lower number so that she could be seen quickly.) I was speechless. Did she see my leg brace? Did she understand I was more "handicap" than her? It's not my fault she got herself knocked up. You didn't see me cheating the system because I had a bum leg, I waited it out with all of the other able-bodied people. But of course, I got up and gave her a mean glare as if to say "I hope your baby looks like a monkey." No more than ten minutes later, the preggo woman gets up and marches to the counter, skipping everyone in line, and hands in her test. If I was running the DMV, I wouldn't have tolerated that bullshit. Even if the woman looked like this:

My total wait time: 5+ hours. Did I get my license? Yeah, and I got a 34/36 on the exam. I'm now the proud owner of a California state temporary driver's license. We'll see if they actually send the real one.

Makeover!

I was inspired to give my blog a makeover today when I came across the blog of my friend, Emily. I was getting kind of bored with the old orange layout, and I needed something that was more "Kelsey" - I think this is a pretty good fit.

This was a nice distraction from reading the California DMV handbook all day long. With the week off to recover from my knee surgery, I decided I would finally get my CA license tomorrow - after nearly three years of living here. Apparently it's illegal to drive in California with an out-of-state license if you've lived here longer than six months and are registered to vote. I'm hoping I can somehow keep my New York license for nostalgic reasons, but I have a feeling the DMV won't let me. I wonder what top I'm going to wear for my license photo....

Redecorating my blog was also a nice distraction from the mouse in my house that has been taunting me all day. Not only did it enter the corner of my room - TWICE - but it somehow managed to escape from a crevice in the bathroom that has not been plugged up with expanding foam. Tricky little bastards, aren't they? And what the hell is it doing in the bathroom? Shouldn't it be looking for food in the kitchen? Am I dealing with an anorexic mouse? My roommates are not fans of deadly mouse traps or extermination, so I've decided to take matters into my own hands. I placed a sticky trap on the floor of the spot that the mouse keeps returning to. I figure I can do what I want since it's my bedroom. The only downside is that I will have to dispose of the paper/mouse if I actually manage to catch it. Gross.

In any case, I hope you like the makeover!

Rehab

Yesterday was the date of my long-awaited ACL reconstruction surgery. It's hard to believe that it was a whole six months ago that the tear occurred while skiing in Lake Tahoe - and I've been walking around in boots and heels since then (no doubt, with a drunken fall here and there) with little to no pain. And now I am laying in a cozy bed in my mom's room at the Hotel Monaco with a huge brace over my leg, and Vicodin, Toradol, water and crackers by my bedside.

Those two nubs sticking out of the top of my brace are for the cold therapy unit that I use 6 hours a day, provided by Liberty Health Services. (The unit costs $200 and is not covered by insurance, so essentially I own it. I'm not sure if I'll find any use for this afterward, but I guess it's pretty cool - no pun intended.) I fill a cooler with ice and water, which is hooked up to a tube that clips into the openings under the nubs. The ice water is then dispensed into the packets surrounding my leg under the brace. It's basically a quick and easy way to provide continuous icing to the surgery location.

I also have to use a CPM machine 4 hours a day, also provided by Liberty Health Services and covered by my insurance plan with a small co-pay. I can use this at the same time as the cold therapy unit, or separately. The CPM helps move my knee, so I can gradually bend it from 40 degrees to 100 degrees. It's actually pretty comfy (though, very heavy), and was delivered directly to my mom's hotel room by a nice man named Chase.

By the way, the actual surgery went pretty smoothly! After checking in at the CPMC Outpatient Center, a young volunteer brought me into the pre-op room and told me, "I've never done this before so I'm not really sure what happens next." I think he was in high school, maybe. I told him he should probably refrain from telling his patients that he was clueless. After that a nice nurse named Mercy came in and taught me how to use my crutches (which I'm a pro at) and hooked me up to my IV. I was worried about my IV because in my wrist surgery two year ago, it took the nurse four tries to find a vein that was big enough to hold the IV. But Mercy got it in with one try in a vein below my left wrist.

At noon (my scheduled surgery time), a murse brought me to the OR area of the hospital. He brought me into a meeting room where I would discuss the procedure with my surgeons, and plugged a tube into my hospital gown that blew in hot air. My surgeon, Dr. Lesley Anderson came in and met with me and signed my left leg with her initials. Then the extremely good-looking anesthesiologist, Vince, came in and told me about the nerve blocking option in my femoral artery to alleviate pain after the surgery (I'm allergic to morphine). He was so good looking that I just agreed to whatever he suggested.

The last person to come meet me was Nurse Olivia. She brought me into the operating room, which was filled with bright lights, TV screens, lots of big machines, and 7 or 8 doctors. They started to hook me up to various machines and cover me up. Vince gave me what he called "an appetizer" through my IV - a small dose of pain meds that calms you down while they're poking and prodding you with needles. He numbed the crease in my upper thigh and shot me with the nerve block. He explained that I was going to have muscle spasms in my leg, and that meant it was working correctly. It definitely felt weird, but I was glad it was working. Meanwhile, Dr. Anderson was looking for a vein in my arm to draw blood for the allograft. Of course, she couldn't find one and so she decided to wait until I was asleep. Then Dr. Vince told me to think of my vacation spot - I obviously chose Bora Bora - and I was out before I knew it.

When I woke up, Nurse Susan was helping me manage my pain. She brought me down from a 7 to a 4 with a little bit of Demeral. We talked about the Yankees and Broadway as I drifted in and out of lucidness. Once my pain was managed, she brought me to the recovery room where my mom was waiting for me. They gave me some saltines, water, graham crackers and apple juice and after about an hour of rest, I was able to get up with my crutches and use the bathroom. Go me!

All in all, it was a very successful surgery and I feel much better than I thought I would. Although I can't move around all that much, I'm not complaining about being stuck in a hotel room with TV, room service and my mom.