Friday, February 22, 2013

Defensive Disclosure

I don't know which is worse--having my wife tease me about getting a manicure or admitting that I stuck my finger in a fan, which required the manicure repair. Since she is going to broadcast my manicure to the world, I felt I had to defend myself.

But, there's the rub--the manicure is, in my mind, sort of an effete activity, but sticking your finger in a fan is just stupid. Here's the story: this house, like most short sales, was neglected and the refrigerator was one of the many victims. When things leaked, the tenants failed to clean and the tube that was supposed to carry the condensate out the back was plugged so that the condensate ran down the inside of the insulation and onto the floor. As I was attempting to fix this problem, and after running down all the other likely fixes, like repairing all the couplings for the ice maker, I attempted to pull the condensate tube out of the little reservoir located next to the fan and stuck my finger in the fan instead. The blade sliced the nail of my index finger down to the nail bed about halfway to the cuticle.While that was painful enough, the next several days were spent trying to avoid snagging it...and boy, that would hurt. Next time, I might unplug the appliance before working on it. They ought to point that out someplace (lol).

I tried bandaids. Did ok, but they have to be replaced several times a day, and I think this is going to be a long term problem. Then I hit on a solution that I thought would be the ticket, a latex finger guard. Only it looked more like a finger condom. The fine print of the package said it was good for inserting suppositories, too, and that image is difficult to dispel from my brain.

So, I asked if we had any super glue. Well, we do, but just not here. Linda then brought up the idea that we could go to the local nail salon (are those things ever ubiquitous?) and it sounded like a good idea. They said they could take care of the matter, it was discussed briefly in Vietnamese among the nail techs, and voila, I had my first manicure. Albeit, only one finger, but still...

Leaving for Kansas City, bringing back the rest of our belongings. I didn't need a nail torn off to cap that trip.

I think I deserve some liquid painkiller after all that.

As an aside, Tommy gave me his old Nook, Matt gave me a gift card to B&N for Christmas, and Gerry in Brazil gave me a recommendation, Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President about President Garfield. Looking forward to it as one of the things it notes is that this was in the days before germs were recognized as the cause of infections, so there were all kinds of people, like Alexander Graham Bell (of telephone fame) and his physicians who poked and prodded the gunshot wound and eventually caused his death. This was in the 1880's, but treatment was archaic.

The New York Times did not think much of him nor expect that his place in history would be "exalted." This author disputes that opinion and I am eager to find out more.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Extinct Jobs

Just read an on-line article (and, you know you can believe everything you see there!) about the jobs that have either disappeared or are evolving. And, boy, did it make me feel ancient. Jobs that were singled out were librarians, vcr repairmen and film rental clerks.

There were a couple of jobs that hit pretty close to home. Matt was a paperboy, got up really, really early, folded papers and walked through the neighborhood putting one paper behind the mailbox, one inside the screen door, one on top of the flower pot, etc. Not many years ago, we received the Kansas City Star from a van driven by a guy who sort of heaved them out randomly. Now, newspapers are simply disappearing from the landscape, and who is going to be the watchdog attending the city council meeting to keep crooked politicians on the level? Not Yahoo! or that ilk.

Kevin, the family farm is a thing of the past, at least like how you and I knew it. Although the farm is still "in the family," it is not like it used to be at all. Milking cows was the "technology" and adaptation that kept us from "drying out" and moving to California with all the other neighbors. Today, it is different, but adapt they must.

One could hope that some day the jobs of policemen, child protection service professional and soldier become extinct, like the iceman. Human nature being what it is ... not likely.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Crazy guy on the loose

A friend lives in San Diego, and the nut case who was upset about being fired from the LAPD was "in the area." He, Tom, is an avid gun control proponent, and was upset (validly, correctly) that this guy was out there, and apparently ready to commit random mayhem.

I suggested that the government should come to his neighborhood and post "Gun Free Zone" signs so the guy would know that he couldn't come in there. Also, since his wife is a teacher, I wondered if it wasn't quite a comfort to know that the schools were also "Gun Free Zones," so the aremed psychotic perpetrator would stay away.

Haven't yet received a reply. Bet I changed his mind, whaddya think?

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Seff Talk

Really, I have started to notice that I am talking to myself a lot. Outloud! Seff talk. I don't do much in the way of Driver's Tourette, like I wrote about earlier, but it is more along the lines of a higher grade of mumbling. Like, "I wonder where I put..." and "Is that my street?"

Many of these are questions to myself, " where are my keys...?" or " that really what I'm going to wear in public?" but most of them are sentence fragments and partial thoughts, "Let's see, I've got my list, the stuff for Goodwill..." Shouldn't I be able to finish them silently, or not at all? Nobody else is listening for crying out loud.

For the rest of my activities, I keep lists. These are a substitute for seff talk in a way, as I can write the list and forget the subject until it is the time and the place to perform it. Now that is something I have done all my life, a compensation for a limited memory, or as an older friend put it, "My memory is terrific. It is just real short."

Andy Griffith amused me greatly with his story of Hamlet as told by a good ol' boy. He described the soliloquy as "seff talk." None of my stuff rises to that level at all, and in fact, if I were Hamlet, instead of any "To be or not to be" queries, it would be more like "Did I just step in dog poop?" According to Andy, in order to properly perform that sort of seff talk, you have to "set and look away off," and he laments that those people don't speak as "gooda English as we do." If you haven't heard his version ("...and they was a fightin' and he run the fella thew..."), it is "a purty good show." In my opinion, and ironically, if more young people could hear that version of Hamlet before they read it, the more they would appreciate the story and get down to all the wonderful Shakespeare that lies beneath the story.

You don't suppose all this seff talk is a manifestation of years and years of destroying brain cells with the evening toddy, do you? Whatever.

Until they lock me up.

Driver's Tourette

Linda has long maintained that she doesn't have road rage, she has a "disorder." Most everyone to whom she describes her "condition," Driver's Tourette syndrome or DTS, agrees with her. And they claim to have the same thing!

Getting on board with the way things are in this country, we think she should be getting some kind of benefit from the government. And, of course, all those other people should get off my road.

Easier to comment?

I just changed some settings to make it, hopefully, a bit easier to post your comments to the blog.

Gerry alerted me to the fact that some of his comments had been lost or deleted, and we hope we have it working better now.

Monday, February 4, 2013

Garbage Trucks

Matt and Kiel were best, best friends (BBF's, not BFF's) from the time they were able to walk. Kiel lived just down the street, and by the time they were five or six, had hit their comedic peaks.

For example, they were already thinking of career planning. They told me they wanted to be garbage men when they grew up because then they could ride on the back of the trucks. Looked like fun.

Kiel's mom, Holly, still tells the story of vacation Bible school when they were about that age. They came home, she asked them what they learned that day and one of them explained that they learned about "John the Cactus." The other one scoffed, no it was "John the Dentist."

Then there was the time Kiel nearly bit his tongue off...for another day.

I'm still amused. C'mon, guys, now that you are nearly 30, you should be dreaming up some new material.