Be Ready to Throw that Hooey

     My wife and I both work an evening shift at our jobs and with her end time being a little later than mine, I get the opportunity to write and do other fun stuff like dishes and cleaning the cat box. I get home a few hours before she does and by the time of her arrival I am beginning to wind down with my feet up till I melt into the couch; upon which she shoos me off to the sleep sack. During the week we typically DVR the shows we like and watch them together when she gets home. Sometimes I have to watch them again because that melting thing happens and I miss some things. Last week started that time of the year when the networks, both national and cable, put their regular shows on hiatus during the holiday season. Our DVR didn't have much to do, and when we sat down to watch the boob tube at the end of the day, pickings were kind of slim. Anyone who works a 2^nd shift job knows that infomercials and multitudes of “why is this on” type of shows rule the airwaves as the night goes on. No thanks; I don’t need a dump cake cookbook, a sticky buddy, or a knife that can cut up a beer can, then slice a tomato.

     Last week we came across the National Finals Rodeo from Vegas and basically fell into it headfirst. We occasionally watch Professional Bull Riding, so it wasn't a big stretch to stop and check it out. After watching Bull Riding, which is basically the same group of guys trying to avoid getting tossed into to the air by a different angry bull every round; the rodeo was a nice change. I've never watched the rodeo on TV before; the last rodeo I went to was at the Big E in Springfield , Mass and  I was probably about 10 years old, so it’s been a while.

    We had a lot of fun watching this and started to DVR it after the 2nd night.  It was a kaleidoscope of bedazzled cowboy gear and colorful names; there were cowboys named Tuf, Turtle, and Timber; bulls with the monikers of Bushwacker and Train Wreck, plus a 22 year old horse called Sweetness in the roping event. The rounds went fairly quick, each cowboy only had one shot each day to make a score, so missing out on getting a score or putting up a bad one made it tough to make up for. The national finals last for 10 days and by the end of it almost all the cowboys walked with a limp, or were holding some body part that had been banged up along the way.   

     The riders in the bucking competitions, whether its broncs or bulls, proved over and over again that they are hard as nails and a bit nuts. The cowboys really don’t wear any padding, other than a Kevlar vest and what looks like a lacrosse helmet, and they take a hell of a beating. Even though they only have to ride for 8 seconds to get a score, it seems like forever watching that clock tick, while you’re rooting for them to get in a full ride.  Watching their heads snap back and forth, one arm waving in the air, using it to maintain their balance, while trying to keep their legs from flailing in 6 different directions makes for an intense 8 seconds, or less. While I was watching some of the guys get tossed into the air like a Saturday Morning cartoon character, I was hoping they didn't break something when they landed. A few of them did.

     One of the bronc riders was thrown in the air and landed smack on his head; he wasn't allowed to continue when they found he cracked a couple vertebrae. Another of the bronc riders broke the forearm on his free hand and kept riding. It was almost painful watching him limp back to the waiting area holding his injured arm after his each ride, I wondered at the degree of toughness or insanity it took to get back on a horse. To say these guys are single-minded is a serious understatement.  During another round of the bronc competition a rider got his hand caught in his saddle wrap as he was thrown off, so his shoulder did a “Right turn Clyde”, which made me cringe watching, as it obviously dislocated. He’s done right? Wrong, the next round he’s back on the horse, the arm he used for his saddle hand strapped to his side with a shoulder brace and out in to the arena he went for the full 8 seconds. Ouch.

     The horses in the roping competitions were not only gorgeous animals; they were really cool to watch. The expressions on their faces before each round were classic examples of, “I got my game face on.” They each stood at the start, ears up, eyes focused on the calf in the chute, a quiet confidence burning in their demeanor showed they knew what the job was and that they were ready to do it.  The cowboys had to be quick on their horses when the chute opened and the calf took off running. During the roping we had our first taste of rodeo commentary that had us looking at each other and wondering what the hell he just said.  “You have to be quick when you throw that hooey”. Umm...okay what’s a hooey?  Well, turns out that’s the short rope that calf ropers have to hold in their teeth because their lariat is in one hand and the reins are in the other. Where the name came from I have no idea, though I‘ll tell you those cowboys sure have speedy hands; they make that rope fly around the calf’s feet.

     The barrel racing was the ladies time in the spotlight. Fallon Taylor won the barrel racing, after coming back from a broken neck a few years back, on a horse she raised from a foal. The barrel races at around 14 seconds were the longest of any event and were a nice change of pace from the others.

     Each night the bull riding was saved as the last event in the show. The only familiar face we saw from the PBR was JW Harris, who is one of the top riders. We watched him get thrown, then stomped on and kicked; that was tough to watch. He went and rode the next day with stitches in his head and a notable creakiness to his every move; it didn't go well. 

    Don Hay, an 8 time PBR champ, did the color commentary for the bull riding and he had us in stitches every night.  We had to rewind to hear these classics again. “You know it’s kind of like when your car is coming out of the garage and you have to be invisible and it’s hard to do.” I think this was in reference to one of the bull fighters, formerly known as rodeo clowns, though I can’t say that with any certainty. The other I still can’t make any sense out of.  “It’s like trying to ride around a square box and come out smooth.”  Um, WHAT?  The comments rivaled Cosell, Gifford and Meredith at their goofiest on Monday Night Football years ago. One thing that was very apparent was Don’s love for and knowledge of bull riding, though he often left us wondering what the hell he was talking about.

     Even though I live in the West I don’t see a lot of cowboys. You really have to get out of town; way out where the cactus outnumber the cars and you won’t see someone buzzing by you on a rice rocket wearing a tank top and flip flops, to see some real cowboys. You may see a few here or there in town, and since this city is like Southern California East without the implants, they are easily recognizable.  I was glad I took the time to indulge in something a little out of the norm for me; it was well worth the time invested. I think I could see the two of us heading to a rodeo in the future.  

   One final note I thought I would add. A rodeo is essentially a gathering of cowboys.  The street in L.A. pronounced Roh-DAY-Oh was the name given to the area by some of the first Europeans to settle there. They called it ”El Rodeo de los Aguas”, the Gathering of the Waters, because the area at that time had water aplenty.  No matter how you pronounce it, they are both a gathering of good things. 

     

The Race Begins at Old Churned Butter

                                                 The Starting Line

     My wife and I decided after our first Christmas together that we would do the same thing again each year when it came to shopping.  Our first year together we only had one car between us and that old bird didn't make it to the next one. We had a lot of fun trying to hide packages from each other that day. We agreed after such a romantic day filled with laughter we had to make it our holiday tradition. We started the day of with lunch at “Old Churned Butter” , which I was the name I gave  Cracker Barrel in one of those , “ I know what that is but I can’t think of the name but it’s something like this” moments. There are enough of those kinds of moments around our house on weekly basis that I could collect them into another blog post, which may or may not include translations.  The next year we followed the plan of the inaugural event, all the way to the driveway. Since I drove I had to wait while she took stuff inside, then it was my turn.

     By Christmas 2012 Dani had her own car, though we still started the day off at Old Churned Butter; yes, the name stuck. For the first time, we were running off in separate directions to get our shopping done. That day’s shopping was the prelude to our now annual race home, hoping to get presents in the house before the other one arrived.

     This year, is year 5 of our annual shopping together/apart tradition. As before, we kicked off the day by having lunch at Old Churned Butter together. After lunch, we decided to do something a little different, and started off our shopping in the same store. My wife insisted she take me to Bass Pro Shops Outdoor World, since I had never been there. Yes, I am the stereotypical guy when it comes to shopping; go to the store, know what I ‘m looking for, grab it, pay for it, and get the hell out. I have never been one to just rattle around in a store just to look at stuff, unless it’s a book store, and those are rapidly disappearing.  This, though, was quite a place, definitely a toy store for outdoorsman.

This sign, no doubt elicits many a giggle 

Another in a myriad of stuffed critters that stare at you from all over the store. He got that plaque for having a record sized head. Really.

     There is plenty of stuff to keep the kids occupied while Mom and Dad shop. There is a fish tank that is probably 12 to 15 feet deep filled with some good size fish. Next to the tank a waterfall cascades into a little pond, then spills into the tank; the sound assaults you when you walk in the door.

                                                                   

                             

                                                                   

A lot of catfish nuggets in that one.

     There are also games for kids on the main level and a shooting gallery for them in the gun section upstairs, which was the busiest section in the store other than the cash registers. We wandered around for a while, looking at stuff, and in an homage to the Walking Dead’s Daryl Dixon, stopped to check out the crossbows.  After the second, “what else do you want to look at honey?’ I realized it was my queue to leave, so I headed for the door. 

                                                                  

Not everyone may need one of these, but....

This is a must for everyone's reading room; there is a dog or a bear if you're not partial to  ducks.

     Our individual plans crossed paths again as we finished the day at the same store; my wife won the race home to hide stuff in the house, again. After we both got settled we realized that braving the stores had worn us out; I proceeded to fall asleep not long after I put my feet up.

     As Christmas traditions go, ours is not typical, though we've both been working crazy call center schedules since we met and we've had Christmas day off together only once. That is life in the salt mines of the city; you have to decide on a tradition that works for you. We have made our own tradition for Thanksgiving also; another holiday we've only shared once on its actual day. Holiday traditions are those little warm fuzzies we cherish; they are as much a part of any holiday as the reason for the holiday itself.  The world moves on, as the calendar reminds us it is always about addition, not subtraction, as the years melt away. Time and circumstances may change some of those traditions, as well as the players involved, but the essence remains the same. Those moments shared become frozen in the great eternal Now. They are called up each year as we remember those from days past, while we fully expect them to be there again next year when the day rolls around. That’s kind of what the season is about anyway isn't it; family, friends and fun. Cheers to Christmas traditions no matter what form they come in. 

The Kyphosis Inheritance

Dusty demons found hiding in my office

I often have to stifle a giggle  when I witness what is essentially an impromptu group photo of the obsession with cellphones. It is not like I suddenly noticed; the rock I live under does have windows after all.  I am talking about that moment when I just stop to observe; I marvel at the scope of this current cultural phenomenon. Age isn't a factor, nor is social strata. It manifests right in front of you, whether you’re cruising the aisles at Walmart looking for cheap crap you don’t need or strolling into a fancy office fronted by a receptionist with a $100 manicure. I’m talking about that obsession with our “cellulose” phones, those magical devices that convince a goodly portion of any group to stand around with their faces buried in the screen. I’m guilty too at times, though I force myself to stop walking when I ‘m writing a text, which occasionally does help the person on the receiving end. Anyone that receives texts from me on a regular basis can attest to the 3^rd degree eye slaughter that results from the “some language other than English” those texts frequently contain. And no, I don’t use auto-correct thank you; I can make perfectly nonsensical messages all by myself.

     I get that I can do lots of stuff on a phone. My question is why? I just don’t get the attraction of fiddling with Facebook, getting lost in a game or watching a movie on that little bitty screen. Nope, lost me there and no I don't want the app for that. I guess I should go out and come back in again.

     I'll catch myself standing there gawking when I‘m somewhere like a store or anywhere people tend to congregate, and I'll notice how so many folks have their heads bent over their phones. Sometimes I wonder what the teens and twenty something's of today will look like when they are my age or older. Will we have a whole segment of society populated by those afflicted with kyphosis? Scores of folks walking around with their head bent forward since they can’t lift it up because their back and neck is all whacked. I’m sure you've seen those little old folks in the grocery store, head bent over their grocery cart, shuffling along pretty much staring at their feet?  In addition, I envision a myriad of arthritic thumbs and index fingers bent in 6 different directions from sliding, tapping and texting. It doesn't sound pretty, then again I’m paying for my misspent youth too in some ways, so the invincible mindset managed to get passed down the line. Not that wasn't much of a surprise now was it?

 I’ll catch myself walking and texting and I make myself stop, finish my message and put the damn thing away. I see so many people out and about that walk with their face glued to the screen of their phone it makes me shake my head. I guess there is no great concern out there of walking in to a wall or the person in front of you, possibly trip over a curb, or just wander out in to the street. My question is, why the obsession with our cell phones and why do I see so many people doing it? Even If it’s in my pocket it's still sending me updates and such from text or email messages. It is somewhat like having a bunch of kids around when the ice cream man comes down the street; its just going to bug you until you take it out and respond to what it wants.

The changes in phones and how we use them has been quite amazing really, though I doubt the old land-line phone will disappear entirely. There are still a lot of areas where cell reception is bad, whether due to terrain or in cities where cell towers are not allowed for aesthetic reasons. I haven’t had a land-line phone in about 7 years and doubt I’ll go back to one unless the geography of my domicile deems it necessary. 

I have a love/ hate relationship with my phone even if it serves 3 functions fairly well.  First and foremost it's my alarm clock. No more pumpkin face luminous numbers staring back at me in the middle of the night; I don't own any electric clocks now. Second, it’s my watch since I don’t like wearing one. Lastly, it’s a phone, where it’s used sparingly as a talking device. Since I talk on the phone all day at work I sure as hell don't want to talk on it when my day is done. I probably use it the most for texting, and it only makes noise when the alarm goes off.  Oh and there is another thing I use it for occasionally and mainly outdoors. I used my current phone to take the picture at the top and was surprised it actually came out all right. It really sucks for taking inside picture, I almost need Klieg lights to get a decent picture. I leaned them against the lamp that sits on my desk, which is made out of an old coffee pot and voila! Wonders never cease.  

Now my dastardly companion will go to one side of my desk, where it resides most weekends until I need the alarm on Sunday night. Now if my thumbs would stop aching and I could just get rid of this stiff neck…

Watching Train Wrecks

    

     I am happy to report that despite being exposed to 24 hour cable news on a daily for basis the past several weeks, I do not have Ebola.  I am not a news watcher, whether it’s the local,” If it bleeds it leads” variety or the 24 tag team loop of the same 3 stories repeated over and over. Since I choose not to eat at my desk and rarely go out for lunch, most days it’s just me and this enormous TV in the break room; the 72” flat screen on the wall is rather difficult to avoid. Granted the Ebola story needed to be told, though some of the lead lines just made me shake my head. I just munched on my brown bag fare of the day, read my book and waited for the dire warning to grab a few rolls of duct tape and cover my windows with plastic. News in any variety is basically the use of certain volatile words like, “deadly”, “tragic”, or “ devastating” to create an emotional response to get you to stop and watch, then sell you a few pills, the latest electronic gadget , or a car you can look great in while you drive around collecting cans to help pay for it. Then again, maybe I’m a bit cynical when it comes to some things.  Believe it or not I hold out some hope for the human race, though that has been tested by the other ongoing sagas filling our various news outlets recently.

     The other stories of course have to do with police involved shooting in Ferguson and the killing of an unarmed man on the streets of New York. The subsequent protests are just another example of how everybody loses when incidents like this occur.  A crisis like this hits friends and families on both sides and we are given a ring side seat to watch. Well maybe not everyone lost; I’m sure the networks probably made out pretty well, advertisers’ stuff got eyeballed and no doubt several lawyers picked up a few new clients. There is always money to be made from other folk’s misfortune; somehow a train wreck has its own special magnetism and we become powerless to tear ourselves away from the devastation.

     I watched chunks of coverage after 9-11 and Hurricane Katrina and the latter drove me away from watching news altogether; I felt like a voyeur after seeing people at their most vulnerable and being firmly convinced that it all didn't need to go down that way. I feel the same way about the police involved incidents that have been filling the newswires of late. Ferguson, from what my half ear has heard and the little I've read, seems to have been wrong right from jump street; inconsistent statements came from both sides, though it appears to have exposed an attitude that has no place anymore, which the New York incident showed is not restricted to St Louis.  Based on the response to a few football players making a show of support, the Police Chief’s office in St. Louis must have had a stray can of gas lying around and figured he’d thrown it in.

     As a kid growing up I watched the Civil Rights marches on TV and I thought over time they gave this country a good start in making some progress in race relations.  By saying that I must add a caveat; I’m not black and I never have been so I can’t speak to what it’s like being rousted for being black in public. The only thing I can speak to is being stopped for being long haired in public. It really doesn't have the same social impact; one is a choice the other is not.

     I don’t have any answers, though I wish I did. No doubt the answers are within our grasp, I just wonder if anyone is listening.

   

    

 Photo source - www.me.umn.edu

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I Can't Believe it's Coach Speak...Spray

     Did anyone else see the Richard Sherman and Doug Baldwin press conference on Tuesday making fun of NFL policies? If the video above doesn't play, here is a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLbv4_TpsL8

     I’m sure it will get taken down pretty quickly and not because it isn't high comedy, which it’s not, or because it’s not safe for work, which it is: it will get the hook  because of the content.

    Living in Arizona Cardinals country I am definitely not a Seahawks fan, never have been and never will be. It is not necessary to be a Seahawks fan to appreciate some of the points these guys made in the video, though I think it will pretty much fall on deaf ears and probably cost each of them more than a few dollars.  Marshawn Lynch getting fined for not talking to the media started it and I don’t think this little drama is over yet. No doubt in a few days they both will be having a press conference to regale us with fake contrition and bow to King Roger the Double Face.

     As I've seen players and coaches get fined for not talking to the media more and more I’m reminded of Hall of Fame pitcher Steve Carlton, he refused to talk to the media for years and I don’t ever remember him getting fined for it.  And yes I know that was more than a few years ago, though pro sports is still pro sports and the media is still the same media since the first newspaper hit the stands. I don’t blame athletes’ for their reticence to talk to the media; half a sentence turned in to a sound bite can start an avalanche that would level a ski-resort in nothing flat. Some players just give lousy interviews; others can talk circles around the person handling the microphone and love to give interviews. Interview those guys and leave the players that can’t put two intelligent sounding sentences together back to back alone. 

     Say what you will about the masters of coach speak, Bob Knight and the two Bills, Belichik and Parcells, none of those guys really ever gave up anything and have no problem shutting down silly questions.  Granted, the answers any athlete or coach has to give during a press conference or an on the field interview pretty much sound like they came from a can. I think the NFL should give every player and coach a spray can of “Coach Speak”, each clearly labeled with instructions on the side to “Use when near media members”.  

     My thinking is the players’ associations in the major pro sports had to include availability to the media as part of any bargaining package they signed with the various leagues; no doubt it is a much bigger part than one would think and most likely a possible deal breaker if not included.

   Here’s a thought to those that think these guys get paid a lot of money to play a game, which they do, so they should always make themselves available to the media.  I have a game for you and you don’t have to make an NFL team to play. This is how it works. You agree to sign up to have anywhere from 70-80 car accidents ranging in speeds from 15 to 30 mph once a week for 3 to 3.5 hours, with a couple short breaks thrown in and then tell me how much you’ll really feel like talking to anyone after that. Just sayin’.

     These two guys, well one and a cardboard cut-out bring up some other salient points in their little skit, which when posed to league officials are usually answered in corporate rhetoric, even when someone points out the obvious. The rules have been changed; they are constantly being tinkered with, tightened in some areas, only to be loosened in others all under the pretense of player safety. “Yes, we are concerned about player safety, but the fans really enjoy the Thursday night games.” Translation: Everything before but is bullshit, and we care about more about the brand and the piles of money rolling in, player safety is nice but it's a secondary consideration.   

   The games in London are another example of the lie that is player safety.  Flying in a tin can of compressed air is tough enough going from coast-to-coast; the idea of essentially doing it twice back to back to get to a game in London is beyond ridiculous. Seriously, isn't the definition of insanity failing at the same thing over and over while expecting different results? I mean NFL Europe was such a rousing success, why not try something similar it will be huge success. False. Now they punish teams for winning the bid for the Super Bowl by having them give up a home game to play it in London once a year. I’m sure the stands will be filled to capacity to see the Jags play there 4 years in a row;better get your tickets now before they are all gone.

   I’m not surprised the response from the league office has been a no comment. It will be interesting to see how it plays out, though in the mean time I’ll go back to sipping a coffee and screaming at the TV on Sunday, and Monday, and Thursday.

A Day of Giving Thanks

    

     As Thanksgiving drew near I caught little snippets here and there from various outlets reminding us this is the time of year to be thankful. I appreciate the sentiment, though I do wonder: what about the rest of the year?

     I was musing the other day while driving to work about how glad I am to have been born during the time I was. I've been in the room for the birth of my daughter, seen a man walk on the moon, experienced the birth and explosion of the internet, seen every Super Bowl every played, plus pictures from the surface of Mars and the bowels of space. I've been witness to a few wars, great societal advances like the Civil Rights movement, the election of the 1st black president, to the adoption of gay marriage in some states, and the resilience of people in the face of major disasters like the World Trading Center going down, Hurricane Katrina, and the Gulf oil spill. 

     I could sit down and write a gratitude list and if I’m really honest about it the list wouldn't end.  I could include things that are around me and part of my day right now, from the family I married into that treats me like one of their own, to the awesome people that pass through my experience daily. Realistically though I could not leave out all those people, places and things I've known and been a part of over the course of my Life. I carry a little piece with me daily of all that has passed before me up to today, I do my best each day to honor the memory of those who loved me when I needed it, taught me tough lessons when required, kicked my ass when I was being hard-headed and took the time to share themselves with me to help nurture my growth along the way. Some days I can’t do it for shit, others I’m spot on; that is part of the struggle of the human condition.  I’m glad in a way I haven’t worked it all out yet, I like it here and since I’m still here I have another chance each time the sun comes up.

     Living through some of the things I've experienced and surviving some of the circles I ran in I am grateful for the Life I have today. I can get out of my own bed without assistance, in my own house, turn on the coffee pot in my own kitchen, then take a shower with indoor plumbing, drive my car to work to make a few bucks as part of the night crew, AKA The Breakfast Club at Night, only to return home to my hair tie stealing cats and a pretty wife who's eyes light up when she sees me.  As far as I can see it doesn't get much better than that.

     On this Day of Giving Thanks I want to thank everyone that is been a companion in the wild ride that has been this Life. And though I can’t thank those who are no longer on this plane, I hope they left here knowing how important they were to me during our time together and through the years since. To those of you in the reach of my existence, thank you for sharing you with me.  Life is great, pass it on.   

A Mini Quest

    

     I experienced a pleasant surprise while gazing into the wonders that exist within the vending machine at work. The kid that rattles around inside me on a daily basis spotted Zoo Animal Crackers, and since I was lucky enough to have a single in my pocket I had to indulge.  I hot stepped it back to my desk, awash in the feeling I’d almost found a misplaced treasure from my youth. It was similar to catching a big frog in the creek near my house when I was 9; it just kind of made my day.

     I went back to my desk and announced to my aisle mates they had animal crackers in the vending machine, well not ACTUAL animal crackers, just the knock off replacement of the original.  My announcement was met with a hearty exchange of our memories of the originals in their little circus wagon box. We all agreed the frosted ones in the big bags from the grocery didn't really cut it as true animal crackers, though they sufficed in a pinch. I set the bag aside to nibble at while I was finishing my usual end of day task list.  My crest fell a bit when I realized these were a bit crunchier than I remembered the texture of the originals. I made an executive decision I kept to myself; I was going on a hunt to find a box of the originals.  

     Fast forward to the weekend and it’s grocery shopping day. As the Mrs. and I wound our way through the aisles grabbing everything on our list along with a few , “Hey we need this too” items  thrown in for good measure, we passed the cookie aisle. I took off running, searching high and low for my prize; there it was in all its old time splendor, right down to the silly little string to carry them with. along with an added bonus right on the front - A good source of Calcium. I snatched a box from the shelf and hustled back to my wife waiting patiently, a puzzled look on her pretty face. All smiles I dropped my treasure in the cart.

     She looked at me with a half-smile; her eyes posed the question before she asked,

“What is it with you and animal crackers lately? You brought a bag home (yep, I bought another one), and now you ‘re getting more?”

 “After getting the first bag of the fake ones I had to get a box of the old originals.”

“Honey, I love you, but sometimes you’re just odd.”

“You say that like it’s a newsflash.”

     I received a head shake paired a giggle, topped off with a peck on the cheek, after which we paid for our groceries and headed home.  

     A little later that day while we were watching something on the DVR I decided to enjoy the culmination of my mini quest. I was a bit disappointed. I probably expected too much, the texture of this new version of my old favorite seemed to be a little crunchier than the old standby. I seemed to remember the crackers having more of a graham cracker like texture; soft with a little bit of a crunch, the kind that melted in your mouth and stuck to your teeth. I figured they may have been stale since they probably only sell about 10 boxes a year at $3.29 a pop.

     I looked for an expiration date to no avail. Not a good sign there. The newer ones didn't have one either, though I imagine that is probably only on the big box the little ones come in. The ingredients listed on the packages were essentially the same: mostly enriched flour that is enriched by vitamin tablets the size of shuffleboard disks to fill back in all the stuff that came out of the wheat during processing. The rest is pretty much sugar, salt, soy and whey, which I‘m sure would make Miss Muffett happy. One ingredient really caught my eye: calcium carbonate, which is used in everything from baby diapers to blackboard chalk, also as an additive to oil drilling fluid and to help purify iron in a blast furnace and finally antacids. Now that’s a hell of a resume, the Swiss Army knife of chemical additives. 

     

    Granted, I don’t for a minute expect animal crackers to be part of a balanced diet, though it sure was fun to revisit an old favorite. I make it point,sometimes to the world's chagrin, to take time to listen to reminders from the kid in me there is always wonder in this world, sometimes in the strangest of places. 

     

A Test You Can't Study For

     

     There is nothing quite like a cancer scare to make your ass pucker and push your thought in all sorts of directions. One of the aspects of something like that coming down the pike is the knowledge you’ll may end up running the gauntlet we all know as the health care industry if the test results force you to start down that path. I had a procedure done the other day that still gives me little reminders of Gregg’s Not Excellent Adventure in a paper gown. I came through all right, though the two weeks leading up to that result is really what this post is about. I've waited a couple  of days with the idea in mind that it would help cut down on the profanity that may erupt from the end of my fingers during what will follow here: I make no promises nor apologies.

     My regular GP sent me to a specialist to get something checked out that gave him pause.  After some research online using the list of names I was given I made an appointment. When I arrived they asked me to pee in a cup and I dutifully complied.  After the usual vitals stuff the doc arrived about 20 minutes later. His entrance set my teeth on edge for the days ahead:

“Hi I’m Dr. ___, we found blood in your urine we are going to check you for cancer.” 

“Um, what?”

     At this juncture I’m still a big groggy after getting up 3 hours earlier than usual to get this appointment in before I get to work, though he has definitely got my attention, so  I listen to what the has to say. Essentially the hook was set for me to come back. He rattled off a short description of what happens next, tells me I need another test first before I came back, and explains the procedure. He then proceeds to tell me he does over 750 of these a year and I start doing math in my head. He shoos me off to see the receptionist and collect my cares and ways so I can head home.

     I scheduled the other test, which was taking a ride on the Stargate machine, AKA a CT scan; since they can’t do anything but take the test then hand you a CD I had to wait another week to get back to the doc again after that the test. Needless to say more than once that week I woke in the middle of the night and had to talk myself down off the ceiling before the appointment day rolled around.  After all is said and done, I’m right as rain, though maybe a tad grumpy, which is pretty much my normal state if you ask some folks. Am I glad all worked out okay?  You bet your ass I am, though I am definitely torqued at what I experienced.

    

     I felt like I was run through a procedure mill, right from my initial conversation with the doctor to the fact I got the EoB from my insurance less than 2 days after I had the procedure done. I never get those EoBs that fast. Never. The doctor himself and his staff were very pleasant, professional, and efficient though almost too much so; I felt like I reached warp speed as I was hustled through every little detail of my visit. When I was on my way out from the first visit I was told that my CT scan had been scheduled with an imaging place right down the road from this doctor’s office. I told the scheduler I’d rather not drive a half hour for the CT scan and preferred to use a place closer to my house, she wasn't too happy. That unhappiness was reinforced on procedure day when the doc asked me why I used the place his look of disdain just didn't sit right with me. I get the whole referrals thing and the back and forth, though seriously don’t be so fucking obvious. I told the gal who took my vitals that I felt like I was being hustled through a procedure mill. Her response was, “You know what this test is for right?” “No, I’m a goddamn idiot that hears the word cancer in the first 15 seconds of talking to the doctor and decides instead that it’s a good time for tennis lessons.”  Meow. When the doc came in he asked me the same question and I told him to just get this shit done. When we finished he asked me again and I told him, “You pretty much hooked me to come back when you the word cancer popped out of your mouth in the first words you spoke to me.” His response to that statement was the same question; obviously he didn't get my fucking point and I doubt he never will or cares too. 

     The whole procedure mill phenomenon is just way out of hand. From doctors performing a half dozen Lasik surgeries before lunch, to being knocked out so someone can stick a camera up your ass to check your tonsils, and though I don’t have them I’m sure most women don’t enjoy putting their tits in a vice. In essence it’s about billing; a hard sell under the guise of healthcare.  What we have is one continuous call to grab our plastic sheeting and duct tape to cover our windows so we can feel proactive as we wait for disaster to strike.

     The whole setup is based on fear; making us afraid and using that as an advantage to justify the process, which really fries my onions. So much of our health costs and our time spent are about responding to fear. My issue here is really how we have been conditioned to be afraid of various and sundry diseases that we willingly submit ourselves to all these tests over and over. Once we get our results we are usually handed a pill or two and the cycle repeats itself.  

     For me, doctors are essentially body mechanics and I go to them when I need a diagnosis if I think something is wrong.  Being stubborn as hell some times that noticing needs more than a little prodding from my other half. She is extremely adept at using my own advice against me; she simply asks me if she was experiencing whatever the symptom may be, what would I say to her. At that point I call her a brat, she giggles and I go make an appointment.  I guess I don’t see the value in looking for trouble, though I know a lot of you beg to differ when it comes to this kind of stuff. 

     My issue is not with the tests themselves, it is the fearful mindset we've allowed to be foisted upon us. Fear is a great motivator and an excellent marketing ploy that is used by basically anything that we buy whether it’s cars, zit cream, or the stuff on the “As Seen on TV” rack at your local grocery store and healthcare. You ask, have I fallen prey to the marketing of fear? Of course, if I had conquered the human condition I wouldn't be here. My biggest fear now is running out of things to write about and having the time to do it, and as boogy men go that’s not a big one. 

One Year Ago Today

                                                                   

     One year ago today I married the love of my Life, which for me says a lot mainly because I have some miles on this chassis.  I've heard that phrase used by other folks and though I don’t know what that means to them I do know what it means to me.

   After a bit of trial and error, some false starts and a couple of missteps the universe finally got my order right. I remind my wife on occasion that I ordered her from the universe a long time ago, it just took a while for us both to end up in the same place. Her reaction? She giggles.

                                                                 

     I've learned along the way that finding the love of your life isn't about not having to endure rainy days together; that just makes for a dry dusty landscape where Life struggles to scratch out a meager existence and grabs what is available. No rain or stormy weather turns everything a shade of brown, which lends credence to the idea that beige isn't a color it’s an attitude. Learning to walk hand in hand through a quick downpour or a thunderstorm punctuated by hail enables us to truly appreciate the sunny days when warm breezes caress our cheeks and romantic nights when the kiss of the light from a full moon casts a halo around all creation. There is comfort in believing “This too shall pass “ in concert with another and trusting each other enough to keep on walking the walk.

     Finding the love of my life means feeling the fire inside me when I finally see my honey after a long day; Its seeing the way her eyes light up when she looks at me, whether across the dinner table or as she drops her cares and ways after a day at the salt mines. It also means sitting at opposite ends of the couch, each with a book in our hand, occasionally reaching out just to touch hands, no words needing to be exchanged. 

     Love I've learned is about finding someone that gets you, that understands who you are and despite all that can entail loves you anyway.  Love I've learned is about allowing you to find your own way with no judgments; and returning that idea in kind, offering support, encouragement or just an ear when needed. Love is about allowing my partner enough space to have her Life while understanding I can’t be all things for her at all times, nor expecting her to be that for me.

    This is an example of the woman I married; this surprise was waiting for me when I got home from work on Friday night. The book, “Our Life Together - So Far”, is a collection of pictures of our years together -so far. Yes, that is Crème Brule sitting there too. How cool is that? All this was accompanied by a reminder to set my alarm for an early start for another surprise the next day.

                                                                     

     My morning surprise was breakfast at the little café that sat next to the Chapel at the Farm,( http://www.chapelatthefarm.com/ ) where we were married. We had lunch there after we took our vows that day. Saturday morning we sat outside on the patio, and though the weather was fabulous and the food was excellent, the company was the best part of the whole meal.

                                                                        

Happy Anniversary My Love and since I can’t sing worth a damn I’ll let Phil Phillips do it for me:

Gone,Gone,Gone 

Not My Idea of Body Art

    

     I managed to pick myself up a case recently, and it wasn't the kind you bring home for a backyard barbecue. I surmised I pretty much had bronchitis so I carted myself off to urgent care. Forget about trying to get in to see my regular doc at the beginning of ick season, he was booked solid. I went to the same urgent care I have used before since they are usually pretty efficient.

     When I arrived I was the only one in the waiting room, which only proves my point; if you are going to get sick do it early in the morning, the lines are shorter. I sat and filled out the normal paperwork crapola and sat down to wait.  I began to wonder if everyone there was updating their Facebook page and why I was still waiting to go in; there was no one there but me.  After about 15 or 20 minutes the triage technician lady came out and called my name. We ran through all the usual vitals stuff and she told me to wait for the doc. I kicked back with my Kindle to wait for the docs appearance, which didn't take very long.

     The doc did the usual poking and prodding, peering in orifices and listening to my chest, then told me she wanted a chest x-ray.  A few minutes later back in comes the same technician and says, ‘I’m the x-ray tech too, follow me.”  Off I thus troggled to the x-ray room. I elicited a giggle when I explained she needed to turn the slide on end because I have long lungs. She remarked she wished more people would remember that. I didn't realize it was that common and I thought it was kind of weird when an x-ray tech pointed that out to me many years ago, so I've made a point to remember.

    After that it was back to wait for results and see the doc again. She gave me a few  scripts and told she wanted to give a shot of some kind of antibiotic to get my healing kick-started.  Guess who was handed the job of antibiotic archer? Yep, it was the same triage, x-ray tech. I told her she needed to get paid more; she agreed.  She put a band-aid on my hip over the injection spot, handed me some papers and sent me on my way.

      The fun began later, depending on your point of view. I‘m not a big fan of band-aids; they either keep trying to fall off or collect every stray bit of fuzz I  get near when I am wearing one. I decided this one needed to go; it wasn't covering anything that big. Bad idea I had there. I had a bit of trouble trying to get it started to pull it off since it was in a rather odd spot, though I finally managed to pull it loose – along with a few pieces of skin.  

     A gander at the mirror confirmed my suspicions; I had a nice connect the dots in the shape of a band-aid on my ass.  In between giggles and ouchs I received an assist from my better half in finding a bigger one to cover my new body art.

     This one is staying on till it falls off or it snows here- whichever comes first.