Since yesterday afternoon, I have been debating whether to head towards Beth Israel. Page open in the phone book for their emergency hotline. Thinking maybe, just lack of sleep and too much partying has put a shutdown warning on my metabolism. The dead canary in the coal mine.

Luckily, John Coltrane is on the speakers. This is helping.

Even if I don't fall out by tomorrow morning, my HMO stankwads will, more than likely, give me the standard piss poor level of attention and thoroughness. So, decent chance I will motor on over to the hospital tonight just to get better than average medical glancing.

A recanting of the week's naughtiness will hopefully turn my mind away for a bit. Persistent nagging going on. I know something is amiss, potentially serious. Economic rationality is forcing a hold out. Trying to stave off an expensive emergency room visit, even with my butt ass insurance coverage claiming to cover the costs.

Tuesday night. Luke calls me up to meet him at Des Moines. Renamed The Coffee Pot. Dorkly assignation, making one think of a low denominator sitcom set full of ferns, brass railings and fake exposed brick. Tired uncreative pablum. I will continue to call the place Des Moines.

I always order the hot spiced cider. Luke informs me that the specials are especially nasty when it comes to cider at Des Moines. A tantalising ginger cider special written in flourished colorful chalk. Soured his stomach all up. Ginger cider does sound yummy. I will refrain from taking my usual chance on new culinary experiences with the ginger cider at Des Moines.

Decided beforehand, while mutually scanning Moviefone, to check out Elephant at Village East. Avoided seeing it at Angelika, since they bite hamster scrotum. Course, both cinemas owned by the same group. As par for that course, another dinky screen was offered for viewing. Reckon I usually see films at this establishment that garner honored treatment. The main theater is a gorgeous restored opera house, replete with Islamic icon inspired Art Deco painted ceilings, majestic chandelier and candelabra, ornately gilded box seats. Much happy fun eye time can be had, while waiting for your movie to start. In the basement they have secreted away these dingy Seventies wank halls. Looks exactly like the place Travis Bickle begins to unravel while watching Swedish erotica. This is where we were shuffled in to watch our low ticket item.

Before Elephant, which was decent plus, we needed food. Veselka was a hands down winner. During my NYU days, I ate at Veselka four or five times a week. Resplendent greasy spoon then. Renovation and expansion has fortunately not altered the cooking. Familiar Ukranian matriarch waitress brings me my borscht and pierogis, boiled not fried, step off with deep fat destroying of those delightful dough packages.

While Luke sucked back a coffin nail, chillin outside with tons of time to kill before credits roll, the block had a slight brown out. Street lamps clicked off, flourescents of the marquee sputtered, bits of power all around briefly failed. Seemed to be contained to a small segment of Second Avenue. Quickly, the effected lights simmered back on.

Decided afterwards on drinks at Whiskey Ward. Uneventful draining of vodka and conversation. Did meet a chick fresh from a sojourn in Dallas. Instantly we bonded over a mutual distaste for that horrible jackass of a city. Melanie was her name. After commenting that she probably faired better in Dallas with her blonde hair than I did with my freak looks, she squeaked "not with pink highlight streaks I didn't". Her companion, an effeminate Asian boy, seemed genuinely interested in her loins. He didn't cotton well to her flirting with Luke and I. Or the open acceptance of the attentions she recieved from the bartender. Distinct impression she was bucking for a gang bang. Not that I would add my juice to that, goes directly against my one cock per room sex rule. She did have the kind of lips I enjoy coating. One on one bout wouldn't be refused.

Fuck. I am running out of steam. Wanted to tell of Thursday and Friday nights, as they were more taxing on my constitution, and could provide written evidence of cause after my heart pops later while failing to sleep. My fingers are shaking too much to type effectively. Head like a lead balloon. The backspace key is getting much play. I gotta bounce. These blasted scientists better get on with the whole organ growth farms. Cook me up a new ticker pronto.