Do Not Make Me Wait!

I hate waiting for anyone, especially physicians or people who check your eyes and calls themselves doctor. 

Make me wait and you'll be sorry.  I learned to hate waiting while I was in the military.  Heard the old saying, Hurry up and wait?  That's the military way.  I vowed once out of the military never to wait for anyone.  Ever!  And I don't. 

Take yesterday and my appointment with the doctor who calls herself a doctor but who really isn't.  An optometrist.  Not an eye doctor.  Not.  Can an optometrist operate?  Can they prescribe good feeling drugs?  Nope.  Not a doctor.

So I go through all these bullshits tests that are required each year just to renew my contact lenses prescription (yeah, one of two things this kind of "doctor" can order for you).  Look up.  Look down.  How does this look?  Etc.

Then comes time to dialate the eyes.  Oh yeah, my favorite part of the whole visit.  Go ahead, make me blind.  So the so called doctor squirts a liquids that burns my eyes like hell (if I didn't need glasses this is sure to fry my eyes so that I'll need them anyway!).  Damn, that hurts!

She says, "I'll be back shortly."  I know what that means.  Shortly in this business is not shortly, people.  So I sit.  And I sit.  20 minutes go by.  I can't stand waiting.

So I do what I do when I want attention.  I act like I'm nuts.  It's an easy thing.  Start clucking like a chicken.  It's cool.  The sounds of the clucking chicken echoes off of the walls.   Harmonic.  Almost like doing the meditation Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm! sound.  

So I cluck songs.  Christmas songs.  Sleigh Bells Ringing is a favorite.  Silent Night comes next.

It gets quiet in the office outside my examination room.  I know they're listening.  I cluck louder.  So what are they going to do to me for clucking?  Call the rooster police? 

Soon an assistant comes in and asks, "Mr. Watson?  Are you okay?"

Hell yes, I answer back.  I don't give a cluck about anything except when I wait 20 minutes for someone to check my dialated eyes.  CLUCK! CLUCK!  BEEE-GAWK!

That got results.  The "doctor" was there, checked me out and I was gone.

In case you're wondering, I sound like this.....and if you ever want to get someone on the stick, . . . like your physician who's making you wait and wait. . . .just cluck it up a bit.  You'll be surprised what that brings you.

Ain't They Cute?

Dollars to donuts these two will either be stand up comics, game show hosts or late night talk show personalities.

How Do You Rate?

Or do you care? 

This looks like something out of the mid 20th century.  Something similar penned today would be hella lot different.  For the men . . . . Like:

**Spends too much time at computer.  Has blog. . . writes way too many personal family stories.

**Brings home STD's & complaining he got them off a toilet seat.

**Watches porno in the backseat of mini-van with kids and wife up front.

**Fantasizes about sleeping with Oprah.

**Inserts medicinal marijuana into spaghetti sauce prepared for Sunday family dinners.

**Could care less about leaving toilet seat in the up position.

**Farts in his sleep and during visits with his in-laws.

**Wears shorts, a baseball cap and a tank top for date night meal at a high brow eatery.


You get the picture.  Add some of your own.  It's a new day.  Be part of it.

These Are The Feet

The Educational Foundation at Gracie's school sponsors an adult dinner, dance and auction.  All of the proceeds fund classroom projects that are beyond the means of the school district.

In addition to the gift baskets that are auctioned off each classroom creates something that can be offered up for bid, too.  It's not unusual for classroom projects to bring anywhere from a thousand bucks to over four thousand.  Yes, many of the parents at Gracie's school are movers, shakers and high rollers. 

Grace's third grade class created a collage of pictures drawn by each student.  The theme of the project centered around "where are you going in life". . . .captioned with, These Are The Feet (that are going to get you there).

Here's Grace showing off the finished product.  I should ask her teacher how much it was auctioned for.  Bet is was way over a thousand bucks and I bet I know who took it home (a high rolling contractor dude with money to burn and who will never let anyone "one up" him.

Grace's picture is located on the far right and close to the top.  It's the one with the color orange at the heel of her foot.

It was interesting to see that Grace visions her feet taking her to New York City (NYC) and on the stage.

Maybe she'll be the next ga-ga sensation.  Gracie Ga-Ga!

Ain't That A Kick In The Head?!

Speaking of noise in the head......

The Sound In My Head

There's a sound in my ears or in my head.  It's been there so long that I cannot ever remember being without it.  Tinnitus.  Caused by one too many loud noises.  I'm thinking I got my noisy head while serving in the military.  Gun shots.  Jet aircraft engines.  That's what did it.

There's never any peace and quiet in my head.  Never.  The sound never goes away.  Sometimes it nearly drives me nuts.  Most of the time I ignore it.  There isn't a cure for tinnitus other than to mask the sounds with white noise or music. 

I found the YouTube video that's posted here with the sound that's close to what's always ringing in my head.  Mine makes quite a bit more noise than what you'll hear.

It is what it is.  I can live with it.

 

I Was There

At age 15 there was no doubt in anyones mind that I loved music.  Any kind.  I had my favorite genres. 

#1  Jazz

#2  Rock and roll

#3  The blues

At ages 14 through 16 I dated a young thing (like me).  Her mom was a college professor, single (and Bi) who loved to hit the San Francisco nightlife every weekend.  We'd tag along.  Her mom would go one way and we would go ours. 

At 16 I became a licensed driver exactly on my birthday (the professor signed the DMV slip as being my mother).  From that moment on I did most of the driving as at the end of the evening the dear professor was usually into her cups and definitely a liability behind the wheel.

On one of those weekends the three of us were lucky to catch Miles Davis at the Blackhawk nightclub.  I think we paid 5 bucks a piece.   It was a Sunday afternoon.  Chicken coop wire separated the under-aged from the drinkers.  Those of us still wet behind the ears were escorted in through a separate door and into a corner surrounded by the chicken coop wire.... just room enough for 3 or 4 tables.

It did feel a bit uncomfortable being one of the few white folks in the club.  When we first sat down there were the over the shoulder looks that made me "gulp" and think "yikes!".  But this was short lived.

I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  Not yet a full fledged cool cat, this junior cat thought "ahhh, this is the life."  
  
Miles never smiled and didn't say more than a dozen words.  He just grooved. 

His Friday and Saturday sessions had been recorded which was apparent from the equipment still setup around the stage.  Little did I know that those recordings would be hailed one day as some of Miles Davis' finest moments in music.  "Miles Davis---Friday and Saturday Night at the Blackhawk".

Unforgettable.

During the three years that we dated I learned a lot from the girl friend's mom.  I learned that grownups can still have sleepovers in the same beds with friends of the same sex.  I learned how to appreciate fine wine.  The three of us spent each fourth of July with a tribe who were celebrating a holiday of their own which in itself had lessons of its own.  I learned that it was okay to play three or four members of the opposite sex at a time which would bring gifts, dinners at fine places and trips to far away destinations.

There were other lessons, too.  Like Miles Davis, the experience with the girl friend and her mother was to this day Unforgettable.

Oh, I should add that the girl friend went through three marriages before she decided that she was really gay and didn't want any part of any man.  The girl friend is now living happily ever after with a much younger female.

And now you know the rest of the story.

Peter Paul and Mary, Early in the Morning

Chicks Fighting

Here's a video of two "ladies" arguing and getting physical over a bowl of spaghetti.  The real world application would be this:  Picture yourself on an aircraft seated next to someone eating spaghetti or anything else.  It stinks.  What do you do?  And don't think that this couldn't happen to you.  Airlines have stopped serving food and now everyone brings something of their own liking onboard to eat however terrible that might be.

Yet one more reason not to fly commercial:

Not The Real Deal

First blush you'll think you've already seen this "commercial".

Think again.

Who Saves What?

Spring those clocks forward tomorrow for time will march on whether you like it or not.  I love daylight savings time.  The only thing I don't like about springing forward or falling back is setting all the damn clocks to the correct time. 

I own two digital watches.    One watch is set for standard time the other runs on daylight savings time.  Tomorrow one will go in the desk drawer and the other will come out of it.  No need to figure out how to change any of the wrist watches.  What a genius I am.

Life used to run by the clock.  Today I could care less what time it is.  Turning the clocks forward or backwards means nothing.  I get up when I want to get up.  I eat when I'm hungry.  It's cocktail time when it feels like it is that time of the day.  The dogs have their own clocks, too.  They are very good at letting us know when it's time for them to eat.

Daylight savings time means saving daylight.  Not a bad idea.

She Goes Where We Go

Our "Goddess" goes where we go.  Weighing well over 200 pounds our Goddess has been lugged here, there and everywhere. 

We found her long ago in the garden of a home that we had purchased on the California coast.  She's been with us ever since.  There was no leaving the godess behind.

No clue as to who, what, when, why or when. . . .The previous owners of the home said that the goddess was in the garden when they bought the home. 

I like to think that the goddess brings good luck to the family and to those who rub her tummy. 

The carved rock will most likely always be around.  Where will she be in 100, 200 or more years?  Now there's a story for someone to put into words and maybe even a motion picture.

Expensive Fix

My regular trip to my dermotologist was last week.  As usual he used an applicator of liquid nitrogen to freeze small skin growths brought on by too much sun.

It's not a fun process.  It hurts.  Tears usually run freely which I suppose is in response to pain.  I'm not crying mind you.  It hurts and I always hurt in silence.

As was expected my dermo found a basil cell carcinoma.  After numbing the area he went about his business quietly carving and scraping away the carcinoma.  When he finished it was time to cotterize the area.  That not only stops the bleeding (and there was a lot) but helps to wart off infections.

Me:  There has to be a better way.  Sitting through liquid nitrogen treatments and being sliced/diced on every visit is getting old.

Dr:  Well, there's a method of chemically peeling away facial skin that will practically eliminate the need to do what we normally do on each visit.

Me:  I'm in. 

Dr:  It's expensive.  Insurance usually doesn't cover the cost of the treatment.

Me:  How much?

Dr:  Hundreds.

Me:  Gotta do it.  Write the prescription.

As it turned out insurance covered 200 bucks with yours truly forking over a cool 450 for the rest.  Painful.  But not as painful as getting sliced, diced and burned.

28 packets.  23 bucks and some change per .25 gram application.  2 weeks of once a day application.  2 weeks off.  2 weeks of once a day application.  Stay out of the sun (damn!).  End of packets.  End of treatment.

In a nutshell, areas with "barnacles" turn beet red, dry up and peel.  After 3 days of application yes in deedy . . . the face is beginning to light up like a Christmas tree in December. 

The proof, as they say, will be in the pudding.

Grace Wins A Ribbon

Last week was the student art show at Gracie's school.  Her two photos are seen here . . . one of Wifey's shadow on the fence, the other of a blue crystal.  Gracie's friend Natalie submitted the multiple photos of her dog.

I thought the shadow photo of Wifey would have gotten Grace a blue ribbon.  Instead the art show judges thought that the blue crystal photo was the winner/winner/steak for dinner blue ribbon winner.

As the saying goes, beauty (and art) is in the eye of the beholder.

Never Turn Your Back On The Ocean

Here's a video worth watching.  It's funny.  Cute.  Romantic.  And contains a lesson for everyone.

The location is at a beach that Wifey and I have spent a lot of time walking, picnicing, camping and just plain old relaxing.  But it's also a beach that's dangerous.  Rogue waves can sneak up and catch you by surprise. . ..and drag you out to sea. 

As youngsters the Cardinal Rule of the Ocean was drummed into our heads.  Never turn your back on the ocean . . . watch for big waves.  Run like hell when you see them coming.

The video here shows the "why" of the Cardinal Rule.  You'll see what even a small wave can do to a couple whose backs are to the surf.

A Fine Kettle Of Fish

They said it was going to happen.  Here it is yesterday in big letters on the billboard at the least expensive station in Cowtown. . . .Diesel at just under 4 bucks a gallon.  The prediction is that gas will hit 4 bucks, too.  That means diesel, if this ratio between that and gasoline remains the same, will be going for $4.40 a gallon.

I'd hate to be in the trucking business.  They run on diesel.  The railroads run on diesel.  Higher costs for fuel mean higher food prices and for durable goods. . .. and everything else transported into your town and mine.  Increased fuel costs will soon be affecting what's in your wallet.

What's the answer to an energy issue that is not going to go away?  Grin and bare it?  Purchase an electric car?  Sell the car, walk or ride a bike? 

Local, state and Federal government can't even figure out how to make ends meet.  Actually, they can't make a decision on most anything for fear of a political backlash.  How can we expect our legislators to figure out how to resolve energy issues?  Frankly, we've lost the ability to govern ourselves.  We need a king or a queen to tell us how it is.

What a fine kettle of fish we're in.

Not Funny

Charlie Sheen was funny.  Used to be funny.  Pulled all kinds of stuff.  Crazy shit.  Irreverent.  My kind of guy.  At least back then.

Charlie started to do drugs and get stupid.  The drugs Charlie was/is taking don't make you smart or funny. . . they make you nuts. 

Charlie's getting older.  He's like in his mid forties now.  No longer a kid but still doing stuff a kid half his age would do.  Like rip up hotel rooms.  Spend big bucks on just not one hooker at a time but two or three.  Then Charlie started beating on his wife.  Put a knife to her throat. 

Then I read this week that Charlie bought three, maybe four big time luxury cars for his porno star girl friends.  $860,000 worth of cars. 

About the only thing Charlie Sheen has done in the past few years is have twin boys who he named Bob and Jack.  Damn.  Does it get any more American than that when it comes to naming off-spring males?

Need I rant more about Charlie's latest antics?  I don't want to waste my time here.  Read the paper. Watch the news or talk shows.  Pick up a tabloid at the supermarket.  Too much information and more than you want to go.

Bottom line is that too many drugs will fry your brain and make you act/look/think/be stupid.  Any doubts in your mind about the accuracy of that statement can be resolved by watching Charlie most recent rants on network TV.  The guy is not working with a full deck.

Charlie will blow all his dough, be broke and cry the blues.  Mark my words.

And then where will he be?