When I talk to my friend Terrance Collins, we often talk about what I did for a living, and he still does. I'm gone. I bolted from The Unit. The Genius from Jacksonville still puts in about twenty hours a week working with the kind of folks you read about when you visit the Statue of Liberty. The folks we said we'd accept to this country club called America. Despite the fact that their handicaps were, to put it mildly, a tad high.
Mr. Collins comments on this blog on a regular basis. Those of you who read these comments might get the wrong impression. Terrance is direct and he is honest, and that might be interpreted in various ways.
Keep this in mind. The man has worked as a psych nurse. On Thanksgiving Day, we spends several hours serving meals to the homeless.
Terrance is a man with whom I disagree often. But the things about which we disagree are trivial things. I try to think not of the things that divide Terrance and me ( Like the " a " in his name and the " e ' in mine ) I choose to consider the news about which we are on the same page.
Terrance isn't perfect ( Even on Jeopardy, he didn't get ALL the answers right )
Getting back to Ariel. He and I talked about a lot of things. We had ample time to talk. Working on a locked psych unit is like the writing life in some ways. Lots of down time. Lots of Pinter-like pauses. At 9 a.m. we could be wrestling with an out of control patient, dragging him into the holding room. The marks of his rubber soled boots leaving a trial on the cheap linoleum floor.
By 10 am we could be talking about movies. Ariel's favorite was Blade Runner. That one starred Harrison Ford. It was base on a Philip Dick novel.
Philip Dick. He's one of my heros actually. He's the guy who warned us:
Technology. Ya start depending on it, it's gonna make ya less human than your parents were. Less human. Less human. Less human.
Press six if this bothers you.
Philip K. Dick - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia