Perhaps my favorite yearly event in San Francisco is the Fillmore Jazz Festival. Fillmore street is roped off, temporarily transformed into open jazz stages where you can promenade the sidewalks, eating, drinking, looking at the vendor wares, people watching and, of course, listening to FREE live jazz. When you tire of ambulating, you simply take a seat in the middle of the street and let your ears be rhapsodized by the vibrant sounds emanating from the stage before you. This year I went with a bunch of kids from law school. I had a pretty good spam sandwich, a sample of tequila ice cream, and browsed some ridiculously priced art, slowly strolling up and down the festival. The music wasn't as great as in years past, but the ambiance and company were worthy compensations. And that was pretty much the end of the disciplined and graceful part...
*******GRAPHIC PICTURES, NOT FOR FAINT OF HEART******
I have been indulging too much in the joie de vivre part of things this summer, not having bothered finding a job, pretty much spending the days hiking or hanging out with my mom. As all good things must come to an end, after the music was over, we stopped at a park and a giant tree became my kryptonite. Being headstrong and determined to triumph in competitions were there really are no winners, I climbed up the tree with reckless abandon. The other two participants, in tune with their substance intake, preceded much more cautiously. I made it about 20 feet when I made the mistake of looking up while stepping down onto a branch that had no intention of aiding my ascent. Consequently, I went from first place to last in record time, crashing to the ground. The pressure from "landing" on my foot caused it to split open and I punished my back like it stole something. Leave it to me to break my first bones at 26. Falling out of a tree. At a JAZZ festival.
I landed myself in the hospital at SF General for a week. (NEVER make the mistake of getting involved in a trauma on a holiday weekend! You must contend with gun shot wounds and crackheads who try to smoke rock in their trachea airway-holes, all of whom take precedent over your tree fall. All the real doctors are gone, likely swimming with the dolphins in Greece and drinking mimosas, while you are left to the questionable ability and mercy of their fill-ins. The fill-ins often act PARALYZED and are loathe to make any decisions without someone more senor's approval.) I was roomed with a 21 year old who'd been to jail, has a 6 year old, and lost most of her fingers being pushed through a window by a jealous ex-boyfriend on account of something he saw on her Facebook. From 6am to 3am, she watched all kinds of quality tv programs such as Murray, all manner of court tv shows, Jesus sermons, Cops, Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader, etc., stayed on the phone at least 10 hours a day, and her pain level was always at a 9 or 10. She was also missing a front tooth.
One day the nurse "accidentally" dressed me in a gown for the morbidly obese. As I lay there on my back, uncleared to do anything else save eat from a tub of Red Vines my friends had brought and listen to the cacophony of my neighbor screaming at her son on the phone while awaiting the paternity results for the misguided souls on the Murray show, I felt I had a better understanding of rock bottom. Luckily, the ball got rolling the next day and I was fitted for the snazzy little plastic and velcro back harness that will accessorize my boot for the next 6-8 weeks.
SEXY. (Adding insult the injury, the specs the guy took when measuring the contraption included designating my breast size as an A-.) And here's what my foot looks like now:
SUPER SEXY!! My lovely mother now calls me Scar Baby. Not sure what the moral of this story is, other than who falls out of trees at 26??? I mean really.
