I hurt everywhere. Both physically and mentally. Every part of my body is in pain. From my toes all the way up to the few healthy hair follicles I have on my head. I have had an absolutely brutal day and I only added to it by doing something I have never liked to do.
I hate exercising. Yes, hate is such a strong word, but I really do. The idea of doing something to cause myself to get all sweaty and tired has never appealed to me. The other side of that are the obvious health benefits from exercising. I’m not getting any younger and have never really been in any kind of shape. As some of you may remember I was trying the yoga thing to sad but humorous results.
To begin with I had to work an overnight shift. I always get so down when I have to work overnight, I get no sleep the day before and find myself talking to myself the whole night while I’m working. The work is always very physical and I’ve never done well with heavy labor. So this morning when I got off work after 10 ½ hours I came home and tried to get some sleep. I woke after an hour and decided to take a drive. While driving I had this insane idea of trying to get in shape and maybe start taking care of myself. I, like the idiot I am, stopped and bought myself a bicycle. It’s a nice bike, I guess, like I’d know the difference.
Well I got home and watched a baseball game and then decided to use my new bike to go get the mail. Our mail boxes are a little over two miles from the house so I’d be taking a ride that would net me a little over four miles. Please understand, the weather in south Florida this time of year, is hot and humid. I mean really hot and humid. So I took this ride and after fighting off the urge to quit about half way to the mailboxes I got to my destination. Totally out of breath and sweating like crazy I got my mail and headed home.
Arriving home, feeling like death, my shirt looked like I was lactating. I jumped in the shower and thanked my stars for buying that shower message. I used it on my thighs and neck and felt well enough after the shower to actually talk myself into thinking that I felt good.
Well it’s now four hours later and I’m having a hard time getting off the bed. My legs feel like they’ve been hit by hammers and that feeling, as one might guess, makes it really hard to walk. I took Lucky out for a minute and had to make her wait for me in the lanai as I tried to get feeling back into my limbs. How, I ask, is this good for you? Don’t write to me and tell me my body needs to get used to it. The only thing my body needs to get used to is a message therapist. Preferably blond, with a Swedish accent.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Sunday, August 3, 2008
“Wherever You Like Sweetie”
There’s this restaurant chain throughout the south called "The Waffle House". These little closet sized units serve, besides waffles, breakfasts of all types. I don’t even know if they serve sandwiches or any type of lunch but if they do they ought to be ashamed of themselves.
Walking into one of these hallways they call a restaurant I get a feeling of pure claustrophobia. Very tightly squeezed. There seem to be three or four employees working there and I’m told to sit “wherever you like sweetie”. Out of the six tables available, five still have dirty dishes on them and the last needs wiping down. I choose the one with no dishes. A look at the menu tells you they pride themselves on the way they make hash browns. You can get them plain, with cheese, with cheese and onions and with cheese onions and peppers. The waitress comes over and asks if I know what I’d like. Mind you the table is still dirty and it seems as if she has no intention of cleaning it.
I order the steak and eggs, the eggs over medium; I like to dip my toast into the yolk. . As I order I also ask for a cup of coffee and a dishtowel to wipe the table down with. As she leaves I start to read the paper and am surprised when she quickly returns with the coffee and towel. The best part of it is that she sets the coffee down, places my utensils wrapped in a napkin next to it and next to that, I kid you not, is the towel I asked for. As she leaves I can’t help but laugh. I’m just wondering if this is really happening. I commence wiping the table down and get it semi clean and set the towel at the edge of the table and continue to read the paper. I realize that most, if not all, people would get up and leave at this point but this is just too comical for me to leave. It’s like I can’t wait to see the end of this movie.
As she returned with my order I made a fascinating discovery. Did you know that you could make hard boiled eggs by frying them? Neither did I, however, these guys seem to have perfected the art. My eggs looked like little white blankets with a rubber ball inside. The steak? I wear insoles that look tastier. I’m not expecting a rib eye or anything like that but something that contains some sort of meat would be nice.
So I ate what I could and sat reading the paper for a while. Had a few refills of coffee and at one point the waitress asked if I was done with the dishrag that was still sitting on the table? Simply amazing. As she took it I couldn’t help but wonder if she found any of this odd or was this just a normal day at the “Waffle House?” Of course, me being who I am, I’ll have to come back and see. I think next time I’ll try the waffles.
Walking into one of these hallways they call a restaurant I get a feeling of pure claustrophobia. Very tightly squeezed. There seem to be three or four employees working there and I’m told to sit “wherever you like sweetie”. Out of the six tables available, five still have dirty dishes on them and the last needs wiping down. I choose the one with no dishes. A look at the menu tells you they pride themselves on the way they make hash browns. You can get them plain, with cheese, with cheese and onions and with cheese onions and peppers. The waitress comes over and asks if I know what I’d like. Mind you the table is still dirty and it seems as if she has no intention of cleaning it.
I order the steak and eggs, the eggs over medium; I like to dip my toast into the yolk. . As I order I also ask for a cup of coffee and a dishtowel to wipe the table down with. As she leaves I start to read the paper and am surprised when she quickly returns with the coffee and towel. The best part of it is that she sets the coffee down, places my utensils wrapped in a napkin next to it and next to that, I kid you not, is the towel I asked for. As she leaves I can’t help but laugh. I’m just wondering if this is really happening. I commence wiping the table down and get it semi clean and set the towel at the edge of the table and continue to read the paper. I realize that most, if not all, people would get up and leave at this point but this is just too comical for me to leave. It’s like I can’t wait to see the end of this movie.
As she returned with my order I made a fascinating discovery. Did you know that you could make hard boiled eggs by frying them? Neither did I, however, these guys seem to have perfected the art. My eggs looked like little white blankets with a rubber ball inside. The steak? I wear insoles that look tastier. I’m not expecting a rib eye or anything like that but something that contains some sort of meat would be nice.
So I ate what I could and sat reading the paper for a while. Had a few refills of coffee and at one point the waitress asked if I was done with the dishrag that was still sitting on the table? Simply amazing. As she took it I couldn’t help but wonder if she found any of this odd or was this just a normal day at the “Waffle House?” Of course, me being who I am, I’ll have to come back and see. I think next time I’ll try the waffles.
All Bow, The King Is Here!
As I sit out here on my lanai, I survey all that is my life. What have I accomplished, how have I treated not only those around me but strangers as well? I do know one thing that I do have that no one can ever take away. Something that I know I will carry with me to my death and never be ashamed of. I am the master of things that mean nothing. The consummate professional of that which has no real meaning. Yes, I am the King of all that is nothing
My Kingdom exists only in my head. It can only be seen in glimpses when a meaningless question comes my way, but don’t expect a good view, for as soon as the answer comes out the Kingdom goes back to its safe place waiting for its next inquirer or bit of useless info that the guards can come out and snatch before it goes away. I know more about nothing than anyone I’ve ever met. Friends and relatives often call or write me with questions about inane things that no one would care about because they know I’ll have the answer. This is my playing field and nobody can play on it better than I.
I don’t know how I developed this knack for knowing all there is to know about nothing, just a gift I guess. I’ve always been interested in current events and odd stories of all kinds but so are millions of others. There's obviously something that makes nothing stick in my head. I hear something major and I’ll remember just the basic gist of it but tell me something trivial and the date, time and every other detail about it sticks like glue. Why? Am I just that smart? I don’t think so. I think like all Monarchies this must be an inherited title. I’m sure there had to have been someone in past generations that bequeathed this Kingdom to me. I don’t recall any family wars or coups or anything like that so it must have been handed down. I’m a kind, benevolent Monarch, willing to share this gift with the world, nothing to fear here. Just don’t ask anything that may have meaning. Because, like I said, I am the King of all that is nothing.
My Kingdom exists only in my head. It can only be seen in glimpses when a meaningless question comes my way, but don’t expect a good view, for as soon as the answer comes out the Kingdom goes back to its safe place waiting for its next inquirer or bit of useless info that the guards can come out and snatch before it goes away. I know more about nothing than anyone I’ve ever met. Friends and relatives often call or write me with questions about inane things that no one would care about because they know I’ll have the answer. This is my playing field and nobody can play on it better than I.
I don’t know how I developed this knack for knowing all there is to know about nothing, just a gift I guess. I’ve always been interested in current events and odd stories of all kinds but so are millions of others. There's obviously something that makes nothing stick in my head. I hear something major and I’ll remember just the basic gist of it but tell me something trivial and the date, time and every other detail about it sticks like glue. Why? Am I just that smart? I don’t think so. I think like all Monarchies this must be an inherited title. I’m sure there had to have been someone in past generations that bequeathed this Kingdom to me. I don’t recall any family wars or coups or anything like that so it must have been handed down. I’m a kind, benevolent Monarch, willing to share this gift with the world, nothing to fear here. Just don’t ask anything that may have meaning. Because, like I said, I am the King of all that is nothing.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Hey! What Are You Doing Back There?
One of the tougher things that come along with age is sickness. The body starts to break down at a certain point and it gets harder and harder to keep things feeling right. Being completely out of shape obviously doesn’t help the situation but even those who take care of themselves find it a little harder to move than they did when they were young.
I go to the doctors now and the exams that get done are so much more invasive than they used to be. Not that that’s a bad thing. I kind of look forward to certain aspects of it. (Just kidding mom). The number of things they check for now are things that, when I was young, I never dreamed even existed. Of course the things that can go wrong are also greater than while young.
Actually, before I go on, I should put in a little warning. Parts of this might be found to be offensive to some. I may get a little more graphic than you may be used to. If that’s going to bother you then I suggest you get out now while the getting’s good.
I don’t know how to start this next part so I’ll just say it. The Prostate exam is nothing like you ever think it will be. Each one has it’s own special charms. From the moment I turned 40 it’s like a bell goes off in every Dr’s. Office I visit. The gloves come out and I’m told to turn around and put my hands on the table. Now, I’ve never been searched by the police, but I think I’d almost prefer that.
I remember the first time it was done. At the end of the exam, with a Dr. I’d known and been friendly with for 10 years or so, he asked how old I was. When I said I had just turned 40 he smirked and reached into the drawer for a new pair of gloves. He said,” Kevin, you’ve now reached the age where I get to legally violate you and, best of all, you’re gonna pay me for it.” He also told me it was going to bother me a hell of a lot more than him.
He wasn’t kidding. I would think it goes without saying that this is not something one would normally enjoy. Well, normally. So this became an uncomfortable, yet common, occurrence for me whenever I’d visit a Dr. for a normal checkup. I would actually try to avoid going just to not have to deal with it. I mean, think about it. It’s really odd, especially if you don’t have a regular Dr. that you know and have a relationship with. Not that kind of relationship! Get your mind out of the gutter.
There was a time, around 10 years ago or so, that I had an actual scare. I found that when I went to the bathroom there was, as the medical profession would say, blood in my stool. It was pretty scary. I went to urgent care and the Dr. happened to be someone I had never seen before. He was much older than I was used to and of course he had me strip down as he put on his magic gloves. He had me turn around and started doing his thing.
Now, maybe it’s just me, but when someone has something poking him or her in places they’re not used to, it would seem that a normal reaction would be to “tighten” up as it were. Well, that’s what I did. My good Dr. seemed to have a problem with that. He asked, and I will never forget this, he asked if there was something wrong? He said I seemed really uncomfortable. Here was some old man, elbow deep in my ass, and he couldn’t figure out why I was “really uncomfortable”? Give me a break. It turned out that I was fine but it was an experience that, to say the least, was not one of my finer moments.
So now I have some serious questions about how I’m supposed to prepare myself when I go get an exam. I mean this man or woman, whomever it may be, is touching me in places that very few have gone before. I know, you’re all quite thankful for that, and you should be. But should I dress any nicer than I normally would, or might that make both the Dr. and myself a little uncomfortable? Should I wear nice cologne or maybe some fancy underwear? What if I dress down? Might the Dr. take that as a sign of disrespect and make the process much more painful than necessary? Wouldn’t that be a poke in the ass?
Sorry; I couldn’t help myself on that one.
I go to the doctors now and the exams that get done are so much more invasive than they used to be. Not that that’s a bad thing. I kind of look forward to certain aspects of it. (Just kidding mom). The number of things they check for now are things that, when I was young, I never dreamed even existed. Of course the things that can go wrong are also greater than while young.
Actually, before I go on, I should put in a little warning. Parts of this might be found to be offensive to some. I may get a little more graphic than you may be used to. If that’s going to bother you then I suggest you get out now while the getting’s good.
I don’t know how to start this next part so I’ll just say it. The Prostate exam is nothing like you ever think it will be. Each one has it’s own special charms. From the moment I turned 40 it’s like a bell goes off in every Dr’s. Office I visit. The gloves come out and I’m told to turn around and put my hands on the table. Now, I’ve never been searched by the police, but I think I’d almost prefer that.
I remember the first time it was done. At the end of the exam, with a Dr. I’d known and been friendly with for 10 years or so, he asked how old I was. When I said I had just turned 40 he smirked and reached into the drawer for a new pair of gloves. He said,” Kevin, you’ve now reached the age where I get to legally violate you and, best of all, you’re gonna pay me for it.” He also told me it was going to bother me a hell of a lot more than him.
He wasn’t kidding. I would think it goes without saying that this is not something one would normally enjoy. Well, normally. So this became an uncomfortable, yet common, occurrence for me whenever I’d visit a Dr. for a normal checkup. I would actually try to avoid going just to not have to deal with it. I mean, think about it. It’s really odd, especially if you don’t have a regular Dr. that you know and have a relationship with. Not that kind of relationship! Get your mind out of the gutter.
There was a time, around 10 years ago or so, that I had an actual scare. I found that when I went to the bathroom there was, as the medical profession would say, blood in my stool. It was pretty scary. I went to urgent care and the Dr. happened to be someone I had never seen before. He was much older than I was used to and of course he had me strip down as he put on his magic gloves. He had me turn around and started doing his thing.
Now, maybe it’s just me, but when someone has something poking him or her in places they’re not used to, it would seem that a normal reaction would be to “tighten” up as it were. Well, that’s what I did. My good Dr. seemed to have a problem with that. He asked, and I will never forget this, he asked if there was something wrong? He said I seemed really uncomfortable. Here was some old man, elbow deep in my ass, and he couldn’t figure out why I was “really uncomfortable”? Give me a break. It turned out that I was fine but it was an experience that, to say the least, was not one of my finer moments.
So now I have some serious questions about how I’m supposed to prepare myself when I go get an exam. I mean this man or woman, whomever it may be, is touching me in places that very few have gone before. I know, you’re all quite thankful for that, and you should be. But should I dress any nicer than I normally would, or might that make both the Dr. and myself a little uncomfortable? Should I wear nice cologne or maybe some fancy underwear? What if I dress down? Might the Dr. take that as a sign of disrespect and make the process much more painful than necessary? Wouldn’t that be a poke in the ass?
Sorry; I couldn’t help myself on that one.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Case Against Exercise and Health Care or Why I'm Not A Doctor
Remember the scene in the movie “Stripes” when Bill Murray does like five pushups and collapses and says, “I gotta get in shape”? I have been saying that for years and have never done anything about it. Well, I think it may be too late for me.
A typical Friday night at home, 9:30, I’m in bed trying to fall asleep. My niece calls and asks if I want to go bowling with her and her Fiancé. I figure, what the hell, I never get out, and agree to meet them at the local bowlorama. I haven’t bowled in a number of years and I’ve always liked it. Of course the mandatory beer that goes with it doesn’t hurt.
I always have a hard time getting a ball that works for me when I go. I’m a relatively wimpy guy and need a ball on the lighter side. The problem with that is that the lighter balls are for smaller people and the finger holes are always too small. I usually end up with a ball that’s too heavy with finger holes that are too big and I usually get a blister or callus on my thumb or finger. In no sense can I be considered a good bowler, probably around a 120 average or so and, like I said before, I don’t bowl very often. Anyway, I went up and met them and Mike and I started bowling while Jodie was playing some trivia game.
Anyway, we’re drinking beer and having a good time and all is going well. The callus is starting to form on my thumb but I’m ok with it as I was getting pretty drunk and I just figured if it got too bad I’d just put a bandage on it in when I got home. Before our second game a number of Mike’s friends had joined us and we were all laughing and having a good time while we were all making fun of each other’s styles. It was fun.
So it’s around this time that you may be asking yourself why I am telling this little story. Well if you know me at all you know that something more must have happened. It did. Around the eighth frame of the second game I was up and went to throw my first ball of the frame. As the ball left my hand I could hear the cracking of bones and a pain in my finger that, if I hadn’t been drunk, would have literally made me scream. I thought that there was little doubt that I had broken it. Again, thanks to the beer, I continued to bowl, though I couldn’t put my fingers in the holes and just had to roll it down and hope for the best. I put my finger in ice for the rest of the night and taped it up and took some Advil when I got home.
Now, let’s review. I broke my finger while bowling. What the hell is that all about? I broke my finger while bowling? Hell, there’s a debate about whether it’s even a sport or not. I broke my finger while bowling! Who does this kind of crap happen to? Me, of course. To me this just seems like the perfect reason to never get off the couch. It always happens when I do any kind of physical activity, I get hurt. This one seems worse than normal though. I mean c’mon. I was bowling for Pete’s sake.
The above was the original end to the story. I went to a comedy show in Detroit last night and on the way home my finger was just throbbing so I went to urgent care. When I saw the Doctor he said he didn’t think my finger was broken but that there was a good possibility that I had torn the tendons near the knuckle. He said to continue the Advil and was getting ready to put one of those finger splints on when I asked him a question. I asked him how much one of those splints costs? He told me not to worry about it as it was probably covered under my insurance. I said I understood that but I could get the same thing at the local supermarket. He told me the splint probably ran around $45.00. I told him I would get it myself and said thanks.
I ended up getting the splint for under $5.00 and I guess that says something about why we need major reform in the way health insurance is run. Now, here’s the scary part. When I got in the car from buying the splint I opened it up and put it on. I started driving over to my sister’s house to drop off a few things I got for her and couldn’t understand how the pain had not subsided at all. I looked down and noticed that I had put the splint on the wrong finger. Maybe I should have let the insurance pay for it.
A typical Friday night at home, 9:30, I’m in bed trying to fall asleep. My niece calls and asks if I want to go bowling with her and her Fiancé. I figure, what the hell, I never get out, and agree to meet them at the local bowlorama. I haven’t bowled in a number of years and I’ve always liked it. Of course the mandatory beer that goes with it doesn’t hurt.
I always have a hard time getting a ball that works for me when I go. I’m a relatively wimpy guy and need a ball on the lighter side. The problem with that is that the lighter balls are for smaller people and the finger holes are always too small. I usually end up with a ball that’s too heavy with finger holes that are too big and I usually get a blister or callus on my thumb or finger. In no sense can I be considered a good bowler, probably around a 120 average or so and, like I said before, I don’t bowl very often. Anyway, I went up and met them and Mike and I started bowling while Jodie was playing some trivia game.
Anyway, we’re drinking beer and having a good time and all is going well. The callus is starting to form on my thumb but I’m ok with it as I was getting pretty drunk and I just figured if it got too bad I’d just put a bandage on it in when I got home. Before our second game a number of Mike’s friends had joined us and we were all laughing and having a good time while we were all making fun of each other’s styles. It was fun.
So it’s around this time that you may be asking yourself why I am telling this little story. Well if you know me at all you know that something more must have happened. It did. Around the eighth frame of the second game I was up and went to throw my first ball of the frame. As the ball left my hand I could hear the cracking of bones and a pain in my finger that, if I hadn’t been drunk, would have literally made me scream. I thought that there was little doubt that I had broken it. Again, thanks to the beer, I continued to bowl, though I couldn’t put my fingers in the holes and just had to roll it down and hope for the best. I put my finger in ice for the rest of the night and taped it up and took some Advil when I got home.
Now, let’s review. I broke my finger while bowling. What the hell is that all about? I broke my finger while bowling? Hell, there’s a debate about whether it’s even a sport or not. I broke my finger while bowling! Who does this kind of crap happen to? Me, of course. To me this just seems like the perfect reason to never get off the couch. It always happens when I do any kind of physical activity, I get hurt. This one seems worse than normal though. I mean c’mon. I was bowling for Pete’s sake.
The above was the original end to the story. I went to a comedy show in Detroit last night and on the way home my finger was just throbbing so I went to urgent care. When I saw the Doctor he said he didn’t think my finger was broken but that there was a good possibility that I had torn the tendons near the knuckle. He said to continue the Advil and was getting ready to put one of those finger splints on when I asked him a question. I asked him how much one of those splints costs? He told me not to worry about it as it was probably covered under my insurance. I said I understood that but I could get the same thing at the local supermarket. He told me the splint probably ran around $45.00. I told him I would get it myself and said thanks.
I ended up getting the splint for under $5.00 and I guess that says something about why we need major reform in the way health insurance is run. Now, here’s the scary part. When I got in the car from buying the splint I opened it up and put it on. I started driving over to my sister’s house to drop off a few things I got for her and couldn’t understand how the pain had not subsided at all. I looked down and noticed that I had put the splint on the wrong finger. Maybe I should have let the insurance pay for it.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Friends Where You Can Find Em
I drove down to Detroit Metro airport last night and did one of those fly and drive things so I had a cheaper place to keep my car while on this little sabbatical. It’s really strange but I can never sleep well in a hotel yet I insist on staying in them as much as possible. You figure it out. Anyway, I was up all night fighting with the thermostat in the room (why is it so hot?) and never quite getting the pillows to feel right (why are they so hard?). I ended up taking out my current read and dove into that until I figured it was time to shower and get myself going.
The shower did me wonders as all my issues seemed to go down the drain along with whatever else washed off of me. After getting out I felt like I could finally sleep but I had to catch the shuttle in 45 minutes so that was surely out of the question. So I sat.
I always wonder about the chairs at the little table that are in hotels. Yes, the easy answer is for room service but I’ve been in numerous places that don’t offer room service and they still have the table. What’s it for? Maybe it’s for me, right now, as I wait for the time to go to the lobby to meet the shuttle. Maybe not, I don’t know. One of this places features, according to the little flyer in the room, is USA Today delivered to my door. I went to check but then realized it was only 3:30 and I don’t think such a fine, respectable paper could find it’s way to me that early. So I made coffee in the in room coffee maker and sat at my table.
It’s a nice table, a few scratches but a nice table. I guess we could be friends. Not too close cuz I have to leave in a few but friends. Well, maybe acquaintances because we’re only going to know each other for another few minutes and surely you’ll forget about me the moment I leave. Oh I’m sure you’ll be much closer to the next guy that comes along. He won’t put his suitcase on you like I did. Well I had to put it SOMEWHERE! Screw you. I’m leaving.
I should probably go back and apologize. Forget it, I’ll never see that bastard again. I’ll make it up to the next hotel room table I sit at. I think that’s what I’ll do. From now on, when staying in hotels, I’m gonna make time to sit at the table. Make it my little sitting place. Get to know it. Make us both comfortable with each other. What am I nuts? Yeah, probably
The shower did me wonders as all my issues seemed to go down the drain along with whatever else washed off of me. After getting out I felt like I could finally sleep but I had to catch the shuttle in 45 minutes so that was surely out of the question. So I sat.
I always wonder about the chairs at the little table that are in hotels. Yes, the easy answer is for room service but I’ve been in numerous places that don’t offer room service and they still have the table. What’s it for? Maybe it’s for me, right now, as I wait for the time to go to the lobby to meet the shuttle. Maybe not, I don’t know. One of this places features, according to the little flyer in the room, is USA Today delivered to my door. I went to check but then realized it was only 3:30 and I don’t think such a fine, respectable paper could find it’s way to me that early. So I made coffee in the in room coffee maker and sat at my table.
It’s a nice table, a few scratches but a nice table. I guess we could be friends. Not too close cuz I have to leave in a few but friends. Well, maybe acquaintances because we’re only going to know each other for another few minutes and surely you’ll forget about me the moment I leave. Oh I’m sure you’ll be much closer to the next guy that comes along. He won’t put his suitcase on you like I did. Well I had to put it SOMEWHERE! Screw you. I’m leaving.
I should probably go back and apologize. Forget it, I’ll never see that bastard again. I’ll make it up to the next hotel room table I sit at. I think that’s what I’ll do. From now on, when staying in hotels, I’m gonna make time to sit at the table. Make it my little sitting place. Get to know it. Make us both comfortable with each other. What am I nuts? Yeah, probably
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Go Ahead, I dare Ya
I called my Mother up today to see what she and her husband were doing for dinner. She said she had taken some Chicken Livers out of the freezer and she was going to have that. Ewwww.
Michael Myers, when talking about Scottish cuisine, said he thought it was based on a dare, I think we Jews have them beat. You only need to go to your local grocery store and find the kosher section and look at the Gefilte fish in that jelled stuff. I rest my case.
Michael Myers, when talking about Scottish cuisine, said he thought it was based on a dare, I think we Jews have them beat. You only need to go to your local grocery store and find the kosher section and look at the Gefilte fish in that jelled stuff. I rest my case.
Baby It's Cold Outside
I woke up this morning and, as usual, Lucky was needing to go out so I got up and put on the winter coat, hat and gloves and got the leash. It was just after six and before going out I checked the temperature outside. It was three. Did you hear me? THREE. For reasons I will never understand I decided to actually walk her around the neighborhood instead of the normal standing on the deck while she does her business.
As we started out the garage I think she kind of sensed that we might actually be going for a walk instead of the norm. Usually when we go out the garage it’s because there’s too much snow on the deck. She’ll normally make a sharp left to get on the lawn in the backyard. This time she went straight out towards the street and was ready to go. Weird how animals can pick that kind of stuff up.
I had my jacket zipped up so that the collar went up high enough to cover my nose and the only part of me that was visible to the cold were my eyes. Lucky, of course, had her fur to cover up with.
I don’t know how anyone can give proper perspective in words just what three degrees before the wind chill feels like. I was afraid the water in my eyes would freeze. It’s been many years since I’ve been in this kind of weather and I’m glad I’m old so I’m not tempted to go out and mess around in it like I did when I was younger.
Anyway, Lucky starts going down the street towards the lots that don’t have homes on them and I’m just walking along behind her. As we approached the empty lots Lucky went into the field and started her normal sniffing around while I just stood there and shivered. Did I mention that it was three degrees?
I got lost in my thoughts, just staring at my feet while doing what I could to keep the blood in my veins from freezing when I came to my senses and decided we’d had enough and it was time to go home. I called Lucky while looking up and saw her not three feet from me, lying in the snow. Did I mention that it was three degrees?
I yelled for her to get up and, for those of you that know her, you’ll know what comes next. She rolled over onto her back and put her legs in the air like she was home sleeping. She doesn’t take to loud voices very well and, when she perceives that someone is mad at her, she basically curls up and doesn’t move.
So there I am, dressed like an Eskimo, trying to get my dog to get up so I can get back inside. I ended up dragging her a foot or so until she decided to get up and walk with me. I know that sounds cruel but she was fine and with her major intelligence she forgot about it as soon as she got up. I did mention the three degree thing didn’t I?
As we started out the garage I think she kind of sensed that we might actually be going for a walk instead of the norm. Usually when we go out the garage it’s because there’s too much snow on the deck. She’ll normally make a sharp left to get on the lawn in the backyard. This time she went straight out towards the street and was ready to go. Weird how animals can pick that kind of stuff up.
I had my jacket zipped up so that the collar went up high enough to cover my nose and the only part of me that was visible to the cold were my eyes. Lucky, of course, had her fur to cover up with.
I don’t know how anyone can give proper perspective in words just what three degrees before the wind chill feels like. I was afraid the water in my eyes would freeze. It’s been many years since I’ve been in this kind of weather and I’m glad I’m old so I’m not tempted to go out and mess around in it like I did when I was younger.
Anyway, Lucky starts going down the street towards the lots that don’t have homes on them and I’m just walking along behind her. As we approached the empty lots Lucky went into the field and started her normal sniffing around while I just stood there and shivered. Did I mention that it was three degrees?
I got lost in my thoughts, just staring at my feet while doing what I could to keep the blood in my veins from freezing when I came to my senses and decided we’d had enough and it was time to go home. I called Lucky while looking up and saw her not three feet from me, lying in the snow. Did I mention that it was three degrees?
I yelled for her to get up and, for those of you that know her, you’ll know what comes next. She rolled over onto her back and put her legs in the air like she was home sleeping. She doesn’t take to loud voices very well and, when she perceives that someone is mad at her, she basically curls up and doesn’t move.
So there I am, dressed like an Eskimo, trying to get my dog to get up so I can get back inside. I ended up dragging her a foot or so until she decided to get up and walk with me. I know that sounds cruel but she was fine and with her major intelligence she forgot about it as soon as she got up. I did mention the three degree thing didn’t I?
Friday, September 28, 2007
I Think I Need A Shave
I haven’t shaved my head for almost two weeks now. This is the longest it’s been in about three years. I love saying that, the longest it’s been, like I’m back in the 70’s with hair to my shoulders. I think a gerbil has longer hair than I do right now. I think the style is called male pattern baldness. It seems to be pretty popular with guys my age.
I haven’t seen my hair in quite a while. It’s really pretty weird seeing it again. It’s kind of a salt n pepper color and that’s something that will take a while to get used to. To me it feels real thick in back. I know that’s just because I haven’t felt the back of my head with hair on it for quite a while, but still, it feels thicker than it should be.
I’m not sure if I like it. I think it makes me look older but the folks here at work don’t all agree. I look around and see other guys my age with the same crown of hair and I see how they let it grow in the back and have it tied up in a ponytail. I’m really not into that look. I think it just looks like someone trying to fake their age. I used to debate dyeing my beard, which comes in grey, but it just seems so ridiculous. I sort of flip flop on this whole looking younger thing. I don’t like the idea that we have to work so hard to keep our youthful appearance. Hell, the way I act seems to keep people wondering about my age that I sometimes wonder how old I am myself.
What’s really sad is that the only reason my hair has grown at all is because I’m just too lazy to shave it. If I let it go for more than a day or two it just takes so long to shave it that I just don’t want to do it. I think my biggest fear about having it like this is the thought that people would think that I’m one of those guys who are fooling themselves about my hair. Trust me folks, I know I’m bald. I’m the youngest of three brothers and I don’t know of a conversation in our lives that didn’t entail one of them telling me I was bald or in the process of getting there.
My Father is also bald. I think he’s one of those guys that kids himself. He wears a toupee, has since I was very young. It’s always been so obvious to anyone seeing him that he’s wearing a rug that I would wonder if he knew that they knew? He’s always made sure that even when home he would keep it on just in case someone would knock on the door. All four of us kids have some great stories of Dad hiding his baldness when the piece wasn’t around. It would always make me laugh when he wasn’t wearing it, how he would put his hand on top of his head. As if that would make it so people would not know he was bald.
I will say this about my follicly challenged scalp. It really doesn’t look bad completely shaved. I don’t have any marks or bumps on my head that make me look like some kind of alien. When I do shave I use baby oil before the shave cream and it gives my skin a nice glow and boy does it tan well. I think I’ll go home and shave.
I haven’t seen my hair in quite a while. It’s really pretty weird seeing it again. It’s kind of a salt n pepper color and that’s something that will take a while to get used to. To me it feels real thick in back. I know that’s just because I haven’t felt the back of my head with hair on it for quite a while, but still, it feels thicker than it should be.
I’m not sure if I like it. I think it makes me look older but the folks here at work don’t all agree. I look around and see other guys my age with the same crown of hair and I see how they let it grow in the back and have it tied up in a ponytail. I’m really not into that look. I think it just looks like someone trying to fake their age. I used to debate dyeing my beard, which comes in grey, but it just seems so ridiculous. I sort of flip flop on this whole looking younger thing. I don’t like the idea that we have to work so hard to keep our youthful appearance. Hell, the way I act seems to keep people wondering about my age that I sometimes wonder how old I am myself.
What’s really sad is that the only reason my hair has grown at all is because I’m just too lazy to shave it. If I let it go for more than a day or two it just takes so long to shave it that I just don’t want to do it. I think my biggest fear about having it like this is the thought that people would think that I’m one of those guys who are fooling themselves about my hair. Trust me folks, I know I’m bald. I’m the youngest of three brothers and I don’t know of a conversation in our lives that didn’t entail one of them telling me I was bald or in the process of getting there.
My Father is also bald. I think he’s one of those guys that kids himself. He wears a toupee, has since I was very young. It’s always been so obvious to anyone seeing him that he’s wearing a rug that I would wonder if he knew that they knew? He’s always made sure that even when home he would keep it on just in case someone would knock on the door. All four of us kids have some great stories of Dad hiding his baldness when the piece wasn’t around. It would always make me laugh when he wasn’t wearing it, how he would put his hand on top of his head. As if that would make it so people would not know he was bald.
I will say this about my follicly challenged scalp. It really doesn’t look bad completely shaved. I don’t have any marks or bumps on my head that make me look like some kind of alien. When I do shave I use baby oil before the shave cream and it gives my skin a nice glow and boy does it tan well. I think I’ll go home and shave.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
The First Step Is Admitting The Problem
I am a talk radio junkie. I have been for much longer than it’s been popular. I started listening to talk radio around 1984. It started with Larry King. Before he was ever on television he was an overnight talk show host. I know this because I used to hear him while driving across the country during one of my many moves.
Back in the days before satellite radio, the only stations you could get out in the middle of nowhere were A.M. stations. And unless you wanted to listen to country music or religious radio, your only option was Larry King. They didn’t even have sports talk radio then.
Once I started listening I was always looking for more. Here I was in my mid 20’s and when a friend would get in the car with me and the radio would come on, I’d take all kinds of crap because the radio would be on and tuned to an A.M. station.
When I lived in Las Vegas from late ’84 till fall of ’87 I would have Larry talk me to sleep each night. I didn’t even have a bed. There I’d be, laying on the floor of my bedroom listening to “The Larry King Show”. If I happened to still be awake when the show ended there was an F.M. all news station that I could flip to.
I don’t even remember when I would listen to music but it seems I did. I remember getting into bands like REM and The B-52’s during that time but I didn’t have a car while in Vegas so I didn’t listen to music there. I even remember the call letters of the news station there, it was knew fm.
When I moved back to California in ’87 I found the all news station in Los Angeles and would listen to that all the time. I remember at some point they started broadcasting “60 Minutes” every Sunday night. That was pretty cool. I used to love listening to the network news at the top of the hour. The only time I’d find myself leaving the local talk stations was when there was a baseball game on another station.
After I got married in 1990 I still would try to listen to talk radio but it was pretty difficult with Shelly and the kids. Totally understandable how a four and eight year old kid didn’t care about the news or financial info. I would still get to listen when I was alone and after I got a job at the help desk for the company I was working for I could listen to my hearts content. It was 110 miles each way and I’d get in a good four hours round trip each day.
Another thing I started listening to in the 90’s was NPR. I could usually keep myself occupied for hours with the stories I’d hear on it. One of the programs I really like and still listen to is called “This American Life”. It’s kind of like a news magazine and it’s pretty cool.
One thing that’s great about having my IPOD is the Itunes that comes with it. If you go to the Itunes store you can download what they call podcasts for free. One of the free ones available is “This American Life” I’ve joined a gym recently and I love listening to the many talk programs I get from the itunes store. I know, I know, everybody else is listening to music to help pump them up and do their workout but I’m a talk radio freak. I can set myself on the treadmill for upwards of an hour and listen to an entire episode of “This American Life” before I’m done. I then switch to music and hit a few machines.
I find that I get bored with the music and invariably switch back to some talk program I’ve downloaded. I’m such a nerd.
Back in the days before satellite radio, the only stations you could get out in the middle of nowhere were A.M. stations. And unless you wanted to listen to country music or religious radio, your only option was Larry King. They didn’t even have sports talk radio then.
Once I started listening I was always looking for more. Here I was in my mid 20’s and when a friend would get in the car with me and the radio would come on, I’d take all kinds of crap because the radio would be on and tuned to an A.M. station.
When I lived in Las Vegas from late ’84 till fall of ’87 I would have Larry talk me to sleep each night. I didn’t even have a bed. There I’d be, laying on the floor of my bedroom listening to “The Larry King Show”. If I happened to still be awake when the show ended there was an F.M. all news station that I could flip to.
I don’t even remember when I would listen to music but it seems I did. I remember getting into bands like REM and The B-52’s during that time but I didn’t have a car while in Vegas so I didn’t listen to music there. I even remember the call letters of the news station there, it was knew fm.
When I moved back to California in ’87 I found the all news station in Los Angeles and would listen to that all the time. I remember at some point they started broadcasting “60 Minutes” every Sunday night. That was pretty cool. I used to love listening to the network news at the top of the hour. The only time I’d find myself leaving the local talk stations was when there was a baseball game on another station.
After I got married in 1990 I still would try to listen to talk radio but it was pretty difficult with Shelly and the kids. Totally understandable how a four and eight year old kid didn’t care about the news or financial info. I would still get to listen when I was alone and after I got a job at the help desk for the company I was working for I could listen to my hearts content. It was 110 miles each way and I’d get in a good four hours round trip each day.
Another thing I started listening to in the 90’s was NPR. I could usually keep myself occupied for hours with the stories I’d hear on it. One of the programs I really like and still listen to is called “This American Life”. It’s kind of like a news magazine and it’s pretty cool.
One thing that’s great about having my IPOD is the Itunes that comes with it. If you go to the Itunes store you can download what they call podcasts for free. One of the free ones available is “This American Life” I’ve joined a gym recently and I love listening to the many talk programs I get from the itunes store. I know, I know, everybody else is listening to music to help pump them up and do their workout but I’m a talk radio freak. I can set myself on the treadmill for upwards of an hour and listen to an entire episode of “This American Life” before I’m done. I then switch to music and hit a few machines.
I find that I get bored with the music and invariably switch back to some talk program I’ve downloaded. I’m such a nerd.
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