Mr. Les goes to the Dermatologist...

As I was walking into the Physical Therapy building, I got a telephone call from the new dermatologist's office. They wanted to know if I wouldn't mind coming in earlier in the day. My original appointment was at 3:00pm and they wanted to move it up to 11:00am. Fine with me, I told the very pleasant sounding voice on the other end of the line. The dermatologist's office was only four blocks away. After a particularly sorry effort on my part at PT I headed to the dermatologist.

I had a bit of a problem finding the place though. For the first time ever my MapQuest print out confused me. To make a long story short, I had trouble because the back side of the building faces the street and not the front side/entrance. Leave it to this town to build a fairly new huge building and neglect to consider that it might be easier to find if the front of it faced the street. Once inside a security desk post adolescent directed me to the second floor.

I introduced myself to the desk person at the doctor's office and for a couple moments thought that he was hard of hearing or something. He glanced up for only a split second after I announced myself and began to type. I awkwardly stood their wondering if I should put my rusty basic sign language skills to work. I checked out his ears for devices and saw none. Just as I was about to speak he said, "you're all set." "All set," for what? I asked should I take a seat in the waiting area and he said, "I'll let them know you are here," as if it were a great chore.

I turned about and glanced the large area for a seat. The room was pretty full. How about... next to grandma in the back? Her expression and glance suggested I should think better. How about next to the 20 something Italian, Hip Hop lad with the crooked baseball cap and sleeve tattoos? Nope, both he and his mom gave me that kids at the cool table tenth grade stare. It's never been easy being a geek. Moving right along, how about next to granny with dementia in the wheelchair? Her caregiver had turned three chairs into a bed and was napping. "Good help," I thought. Next to sleeping beauty caregiver in scrubs was a good looking guy and his two daughters of about 7 and 9 I imagine. Next to the youngest daughter was an end seat so I took that. The young family all smiled broadly and I did the same. I was facing the barely verbal check-in dude who glared disapprovingly so, I looked away. I then noticed the unfortunate man pacing. He was huge! I'd say roughly 6'4" with a great gut that must have extended a full two feet from his body. His facial expression and the pacing back and forth (about a foot from me) all said that every one in the room should probably thank their lucky stars that this guy was heavily medicated. He would continue to pace for the next 45 minutes until his name was called. Boy did he make me uncomfortable. I tried my best to ignore him for fear that I might do that thing where words in my head come out of my mouth unfiltered. I've learned the hard way that when you say something like, "sit the f**K down you crazy bastard," their are no takezeebackzees. After they called his name I looked behind me curious as to who had brought him. The room was almost empty except for mean grandma and the young family so, I guess he must have come alone. Unsettling.

Just to back track a bit, I was distracted from the man's pacing by poor granny in the wheelchair who asked little Ia and Sarah's their names a dozen times or more. Her caregiver was still resting, resting even when the old gal lifted her tee shirt to her nose to blow into it exposing her bra. Sorry granny you did earn your beads but, instead I will look quickly away. -A pillar of salt and all that. I unfortunately made eye contact with the dad of the little girls who was bright pink and grinning. He had also seen what caused my temporary blindness. He took this as his cue to switch seats with little Ia and introduce himself. I don't remember his name at this writing. He did tell me that he had just come from Iraq, his homeland. He was very friendly and had what appeared to be introductory questions. Did I love George Bush; Did I love New York; Did I know of Detroit and Did I love Iraq? -Like I love all this country's presidents; most definitely!, yes, and huh? He went on to tell me in his very limited English that war torn Iraq looked just like the city of Detroit. I was only there a couple times in the eighties and never to Iraq, so I smiled as if I got the joke. He said it again and seemed even more entertained. He wants to move to London he told me. He asked if I had daughters and I told him, no. He pointed at one of his and said, "you can have this one but, I warn you... she is crazy." Ia who was resting her head on his lap looked up as if her name had been called and then slowly put it down again. I joking told him that in that case I would prefer the other daughter. He said, "no, I like that one." I guess you had to be there...

Speaking of name calling, mine was... I made a point of looking over at the sign that somehow guaranteed less than a twenty minute wait and then back at the nurse. I had been an hour wait. She apologized. BTW: I know this all sounds a bit free-clinicesque but, it's actually some levels above that. I have to run so, I will fast forward here. The new dermatologist was brilliant, absolutely brilliant! Apparently, the old dermatologist horribly misdiagnosed me two years ago which is why her prescription only made the rash look better and did not actually make it go away. I was all but called a whiner for pointing this out on occasion. Anywho, in two weeks it will be all gone forever, I am told. The insurance covered the cost of the prescription's cost which would have been $276.00 for a 30g tube of healing. Can you say health care reform? Well, you will have to say it another time because I am out of here.

Public Market

I went to the public market downtown yesterday for the first time. If you like blueberries the size of peas and over ripe strawberries from California you're in luck. A couple stands offered one mind you, one red pepper for a dollar. White potatoes the size of salt potatoes, who knew? If they said they were all organic then it might all make sense. I walked around three times which took only a couple minutes. I ended up getting four peaches, a zuchinni, and scallions. I am still a little perplexed. Most of the stands offered the same produce choices and I imagine they were from the same source. The vendors looked nothing like farmers. I don't get it? I am used to farmers markets being a great alternative to grocery store produce. It should be fresher, larger and not miniatures of what you are accustomed to. Some one told me that this was because I went around noon and not early in the morning. I don't buy it (I think that's a pun). They were selling all day weren't they? Why would they only bring stuff worth buying before noon. I'm still confused. I guess my conclusion is that it just sucked but, the kinder side of me wants to come up with another rationale. I can't. I know... maybe it was a bad day because not a lot is really in season at this time. Yeah, that's it.

In other news...

The nearest neighbors (I have no idea who lives there. NO one has actually seen them before) have allowed their two Pekingese dogs to wander about. The house I live in is on a triple lot and when I pass by they follow me to the door. The neighbor's property isn't fenced. The poor creatures seem so much in need of care and friendship/companionship. I imagine if they were properly cared for they wouldn't be following me, meanie that I am home. Yesterday I notice only one dog as I passed by. He started towards me and stood still looking very afraid and sad. Where was the other dog I wondered? Just then out of the front door (they leave their front door open when the dogs are let out) came a very mean Pit Bull. It charged at me. I swung my bag at him and he backed away and tried it again and again. He did this until I got into the house. He stood outside the door and barked for a while. Where's the other Pekingese? I really don't want to think about it.

Stress and Last Rights

What did we do before stress was invented? How did we relax and regroup? When did life get so insurmountable? I regard myself as a pretty resourceful fellow but... The past several days I have been annoyed at everything and stressed way the f*** out!. Things great and small have bothered me. I think that in many ways I have allowed myself to get away from those things that calmed me. I am a hobbie person. I refinish furniture, cook, antique hunt, paint a little, blah, blah, blah, even make those seed bead necklaces and sew if necessary. After my accident I believe I let myself slide into the abyss. No matter, that was then and this is now. I must make immediate changes, I know that and will.

Moving right along... Sunday, I found a sizable four-way metal cross pendant in a thrift store. It is a finely detailed 4 Way religious medal pendant featuring Miraculous Medal, Scapular Medal, St. Christopher medal and St. Joseph Medal bearing the child Jesus. The reverse side features the wording "I am a Catholic, Please call a Priest". Now, why did I think that this was funny? How can emergency last rights be funny? Anywho, it was sterling silver and 99 cents, how could I resist. No, it's not an omen, silly but, you never know.

BTW: I just found a few online for $35.00. I guess that was a find.

Off to PT

The Guiding Light

I just read a great story about how the soap opera, The Guiding Light is being cancelled after 72 years of broadcast. The story appeared in online news source, Philanthropy today (a service of The Chronicle of Philanthropy). From the article it appears that TGL is donating it’s wardrobe to a New York City charity devoted to offering low income women free interview clothing. What a thoughtful and useful idea! Good on TGL.

Also, I must admit that I was once an avid Guiding Light fan. Under the heading, where were you when? On the day that President Kennedy was shot my mother was multi-tasking (ironing and watching TGL as I sat nearby) when the show was interrupted to announce the horrible news. I guess that TGL had a good run but, it’s always sad to see an old friend go.

Lolita

I love old movies. They seem to have a lot more to do with stimulating my imagination than many of present day. Last evening I turned the boob-tube on for the weather and happened instead at the very beginning of the movie "Lolita." (1962) "Lolita," was directed by Stanley Kubrick. It was of course adapted from the novel of the same name by Vladimir Nabokov. Nabokov also wrote the screen play. This is also a sign of the times in that not a lot of novel writers are even allowed to write their own screen plays theses days.

Moving along, what a fantastic movie! Somehow I have never seen it although I read the book many years ago. James Mason is terrific. He has such a unique style that he almost seems as if he is over-acting. His voice is a bit loud and pointed. He is however incredibly enjoyable. I don't want to spoil it for you in case you want to see it (try the library) but, it was hard to tell who was more unbalanced here, Mason's character or Lolita herself. IMDb describes the movie as, "A middle-aged college professor becomes infatuated with a 14-year-old nymphet." This is an understatement. See for yourself.

Thumbs up

A friend called me last night and whined that he cut his thumb at work. I asked, "how did you do that? Was there a razor blade up your bum?"

An utter hush fell over the jungle...

It was at that point that I realized that all too often I make myself laugh and no one else. It's still worth it! :D

Read On!

Simpson vs Gore

Yesterday, instead of purchasing my usual Chunky Blue Cheese dressing brand produced by that old actor fellow, I opted for one on special at half the price. At home I removed the cap and noticed for only a second that the hole atop the bottle was very small for what was inside.

The Al Gore part of my brain that can read, write and do complex math was thinking, "how the hell is chunky blue cheese supposed to make it's way out of a quarter inch hole? Stop, no good can come of it!" The Homer Simpson part of my brain won by thinking, "must get blue cheese goodness out!" I nevertheless pounded the end of the bottle. And then it happened in a split second. The plastic cover on the bottle top shot forward. There was now blue cheese dressing; up my nose, across my forehead, on the top of my head, all over every thing on the table, on the chair, on the floor and on the sink mat across the room...

The Simpson part of my brain stood in wonder and disbelief. The Gore part of my brain self-righteously stared. They eventually joined forces and over the next hour cleaned it all up.

The moral to the story might be that Al Gore is much brighter but a bit more smug than Homer Simpson?

What are they teaching in schools?

This just in under the heading of: Sad But True.

On the bus just now, in the seat in front of me sat a girl of about 12 or 14 and I imagine her little sister of maybe eight years. I should point out that the bus company here has affixed a gold oval sticker to the window opposite the first seat on each bus. The sticker reads some thing like; ... In memory of Rosa Parks, and gives her earthly beginning and end dates. Anywho, the younger girl points to the sticker and asks her sister, what's that for? The older sister explains while the younger and the mother who was seated nearest to them listens. "That's for Rosa Parks... back in the day she sat in this seat and they wanted her to move to the back and she wouldn't, she proudly offered." The mother smiled as if she was very proud of the girl.

I first wondered if the mother thought it best to explain later. I then thought that maybe she thought that her daughter was correct. Did I mention that we are roughly 1,100 miles from where Rosa Parks sat in defiance so long ago.

For the actually story click here.

More Random Happenings

One: Good help is hard to find...

As almost never happens I found myself with one pair of clean socks in the drawer. As well, three loads of laundry had accumulated in the past week. How, I wondered? Probably because it has been very hot and rainy and I ended up changing at least a couple times a day. I took a load down and put it in the machine. I can usually hear when the machine stops from my room so, I flipped through a couple catalogues while I waited. I waited and waited and waited. A few times I went to the basement door to listen and heard the machine filling with water. I assumed that this was during the rinse cycle. Because nothing gets past me, the fourth time I realized that it had been over an hour and a half since I loaded the thing. I went downstairs to investigate and found that for some reason the machine was stuck on the initial water-fill stage. It had of course over-filled and made it's way to the floor and the near by sump pump hole thingy which was making the most monstrous sounds. I flipped with the dial some and found that the machine would drain at the end of the cycle marking. It drained, and I was pissed. Pissed mostly because the washer repairman had come just a few days earlier and said that their was nothing wrong with the machine. As I recalled, he was summoned because the machine would not drain properly. After the machine drained I added soap and let it fill but, manually stopped the water level. I scrubbed and rubbed the socks in my new role as human agitator much like the washer women of old. I drained the machine and filled and rinsed the clothing again manually. The whole miserable while I was thinking about how overly-dependent we have become on technology and convenience. Rightly so! Now, if I could just find some one who can actually diagnose when and how the convenience is broken and repair it accordingly.

Two: Your Grandma wears combat boots...

The title here was used as a mocking insult by children a generation or two ago. Yesterday, on the bus I saw an elderly woman of about 80 years wearing a bright floral summer dress. She was also wearing big black jump boots. Yes, military issue jump boots, tall ones. I stared and wondered. She smiled at me and then tapped her right foot to a song that only she could hear.

Three: Minnie Pearl Revisited

Yesterday, there was a man on the bus all clad in new clothing. He wore a nice new pair of chinos and a short sleeved buttoned up sport shirt. I could tell that it was a new outfit because the shirt had store merchandise tags hanging from the sleeves. As well, when he got up to leave his back pocket also had store tags. Was he starting a new trend or just where I'm headed? :D

April Fresh

There are times when I am an apparent danger to myself. Especially when I dress in the dark... All day I had a persistent itch on my chest. When it annoyed me I casually scratched. The itch was mildly annoying. I never stopped to wonder why or to go to the men's room and check things out. When I got home I discovered what the problem was. I took off my shirt and tee shirt in the bathroom. As my tee shirt finally made it's way over my head and my eyes were free, there it was. There was a dryer sheet stuck to my chest. It was evenly spread as if I had actually placed it there. I of course removed the sheet only to discover a nice pink fine rash. I stared at myself in the mirror. Yes, a nice rectangular rash. I then stared blankly into my own eyes in the mirror. Neither of us had anything to say. I finished undressing and redressed. I gathered up my clothing from the day. This is when I discovered I had worn the same patterned socks although one was black and the other was navy. And this was only Tuesday.

This Just In...

I must first acknowledge that I am a news junkie. I love reading the news from several sources online as well as CNN on television. What I don't particularly care for is the "creation" of news. What I mean here is that if a story isn't meaty enough the media beats it until blood appears and then proceeds as if they didn't create the story. For instance, yesterday I saw the headlines, "Jackson death a mystery," and "Jacksons waste no time assuming control." In Michael Jackson's death foul play was immediately ruled out and the original coroner's reports are seldom altered it was reported. As for his grieving parents, MJ was single, who exactly should assume control of his affairs and children (at least initially)? I could babble here but instead I will be a bit more direct by saying that; 1. this stuff is not really news-worthy and 2. it is voyeuristic and uninteresting. Now, if the post mortem chemical tests return indicating a change in the original death findings, that's news! If a secret spouse surfaces with a current will a la Madam X. that's news. But, a days old play by play of grief, speculation and jocking for a book deals is not news. Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Billy Mays et all were public figures who have earned that great peaceful rest and I deserve better news.

P.S.: -enough of that horny cheating Senator story too.