I had a moving experience last night. And early this morning. And shortly after arriving at work. The gas pains are mostly gone. If I was a good friend like ERIC, who shall henceforth be referred to as just "a friend" since he got his knickers in a twist over my telling the world (or the handful of people I can count on one hand who actually read this blog) that he rolled his Dad's Cadillac one night after allegedly leaving a bar where he may or may not have imbibed several drinks, and then allegedly having to swerve to avoid another driver who allegedly came over into "a friend's" lane (can't use "he" again, as it is an ambiguous reference), but who am I to say since I wasn't there, and as such, this is all heresay anyway, then I would EMAIL YOU ALL A PHOTOGRAPH of the results of my many excursions to the toilet this past day. But I'm not that kind of friend. For which you may be very glad unless you secretly ... suffer? practice? (I can't think of how to term this.) coprophilia. Here's a link to the Wikipedia page on the topic, if you're interested:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coprophilia
This led to learning a fascinating fact: "The German colloquial term for scat fetishism is Kaviar." I'll bet that makes for some careful ordering when one wishes for caviar.
So. That's all I'm gonna say about that. ("Thank God," I can just hear you saying.)
In other news, Logan's staples and stitches were removed from his knee yesterday, and he was walking without his cane today. It's amazing how quickly he's recovered. His surgery was just two weeks and four days ago, and he seems almost back to... no better than normal. Next up, the left shoulder impingement which may be caused by a bone spur. For a really good diagram, point your browser to:
http://orthoinfo.aaos.org/fact/thr_report.cfm?Thread_ID=133&topcategory=Shoulder
Anyway, that's enough about medical stuff. And lunch is over, so back to the salt mine!
Now, for your edifaction, ten artists (in no particular order) I've ripped to my computer at work so I can listen to something decent while I slog away here. All these artists move me in one way or another (sometimes, more than one):
Dean Martin
Bauhaus
John Prine
The Smithereens
Bob Dylan
Ian & Sylvia
Robert Earl Keen, Jr.
Sisters of Mercy
The B-52s
Cake
So, what are YOU listening to, right now? Drop me a line at: jsitton@hsc.unt.edu.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
The Slop Jar Blues
If I was more computer savvy, I'd create a sound clip to sing you this song:
I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
Yes, I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
And if they don't move by Tuesday, I'm gonna have the blues.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
There are many more lines to this gem, and many more which can be made up as one sings along, as would oft occur when I first heard it, riding the band bus (one time, in band camp...) with the mostly black band during my high school days, but I will spare you, gentle reader, with further assaults.
What brings this song to mind is the state of my bowels. I've felt ill the past four days, being very windy, having severe gas pains, bouts of astoundingly loud and long, almost trumpet like flatulence, and the inability to pass much of anything despite a couple of bowls of raisin bran, a couple of cups of prunes, two stool softeners, six laxative pills, and enough water to fill a toilet bowl several times over. I haven't a clue as to what brought on this bout of dyspepsia, but if it does not abate forthwith, then I feel I have no other recourse than to consult my physician in order to rule out any type of blockage which might result in surgery.
My father used to say that as we age, we become more childlike, particularly absorbed with matters of our elimination. I hope to God this is not true, for it is incredibly annoying, having this topic so much on my mind of late. I'd rather spend my time thinking about more pleasant things like, say, the nagging dull pain in my back which causes me to wonder if I'm developing a kidney stone, or the sharp pain I sometimes get in my knee, which causes me to wonder if I will need knee surgery soon. Logan went to the VA hospital today to have the staples removed from his knee, which he says, feels better in some ways and worse in others, so I look upon possible surgery with some trepidation.
Mostly, though, I would just like to be back to normal, where the course of my digestion ran like the tide, constant, predictable, and without any thought to trying to hold it back or force it to flow. Gad, it's awful to feel so old. Though I guess it beats the alternative. Hey, another day above ground! At least with a grumbling gut, I have no doubts that I'm still alive! (How's that for a silver lining??)
I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
Yes, I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
And if they don't move by Tuesday, I'm gonna have the blues.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
There are many more lines to this gem, and many more which can be made up as one sings along, as would oft occur when I first heard it, riding the band bus (one time, in band camp...) with the mostly black band during my high school days, but I will spare you, gentle reader, with further assaults.
What brings this song to mind is the state of my bowels. I've felt ill the past four days, being very windy, having severe gas pains, bouts of astoundingly loud and long, almost trumpet like flatulence, and the inability to pass much of anything despite a couple of bowls of raisin bran, a couple of cups of prunes, two stool softeners, six laxative pills, and enough water to fill a toilet bowl several times over. I haven't a clue as to what brought on this bout of dyspepsia, but if it does not abate forthwith, then I feel I have no other recourse than to consult my physician in order to rule out any type of blockage which might result in surgery.
My father used to say that as we age, we become more childlike, particularly absorbed with matters of our elimination. I hope to God this is not true, for it is incredibly annoying, having this topic so much on my mind of late. I'd rather spend my time thinking about more pleasant things like, say, the nagging dull pain in my back which causes me to wonder if I'm developing a kidney stone, or the sharp pain I sometimes get in my knee, which causes me to wonder if I will need knee surgery soon. Logan went to the VA hospital today to have the staples removed from his knee, which he says, feels better in some ways and worse in others, so I look upon possible surgery with some trepidation.
Mostly, though, I would just like to be back to normal, where the course of my digestion ran like the tide, constant, predictable, and without any thought to trying to hold it back or force it to flow. Gad, it's awful to feel so old. Though I guess it beats the alternative. Hey, another day above ground! At least with a grumbling gut, I have no doubts that I'm still alive! (How's that for a silver lining??)
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Happy Birthday, youngest daughter
Brighid turned 14 yesterday, and I'm am thankful that she's alive (having been hit by a car and hospitalized for a week about two years ago) and not pregnant. (I had my first daughter when I was 14, and I just learned my brother's daughter is 7 months pregnant at 17.)
I'm taking her and her best friend to lunch at Benihana's in Los Colinas (or Lost Colitis, as Logan calls it), then we might take in a flick, say, The Devil Wears Prada or some such.
Brighid is becoming more fun as she gets older. I thoroughly enjoy her bizarre sense of humor. We laugh at the ridiculous and poke fun at the arrogant. One of her chief amusements is turning the radio up loud on classical music when we're at a red light next to a car which is blaring rap at hearing-loss inducing decibels. She appreciates the humor of David Letterman, Eddie Izzard, and Pee Wee Herman. We laugh a lot together, which is good, since it will help when the bad times happen, which I know they will. She's 14 now, and just starting the journey up "fools' hill", as my mother called it, that passage of one's life during which one's parents become eat up with the dumb ass.
A child climbing fools' hill will become amazed that his parents are able to function, given the level of their stupidity. A child climbing fools' hill will become deathly embarrassed of one's entire family, and require being dropped off at least a block away from whatever function he is attending. And a child climbing fools' hill would far rather be seen in outdated clothing than with one's family in public. Luckily, one reaches the summit of fools' hill around the age of 18, and is usually back in the foothills of fools' hill by the age of 22.
So I try having fun with Brighid now, while she still likes me and thinks I have useful things to say. Happy Birthday, youngest daughter. Your mommy loves you and is glad you were born 14 years ago.
I'm taking her and her best friend to lunch at Benihana's in Los Colinas (or Lost Colitis, as Logan calls it), then we might take in a flick, say, The Devil Wears Prada or some such.
Brighid is becoming more fun as she gets older. I thoroughly enjoy her bizarre sense of humor. We laugh at the ridiculous and poke fun at the arrogant. One of her chief amusements is turning the radio up loud on classical music when we're at a red light next to a car which is blaring rap at hearing-loss inducing decibels. She appreciates the humor of David Letterman, Eddie Izzard, and Pee Wee Herman. We laugh a lot together, which is good, since it will help when the bad times happen, which I know they will. She's 14 now, and just starting the journey up "fools' hill", as my mother called it, that passage of one's life during which one's parents become eat up with the dumb ass.
A child climbing fools' hill will become amazed that his parents are able to function, given the level of their stupidity. A child climbing fools' hill will become deathly embarrassed of one's entire family, and require being dropped off at least a block away from whatever function he is attending. And a child climbing fools' hill would far rather be seen in outdated clothing than with one's family in public. Luckily, one reaches the summit of fools' hill around the age of 18, and is usually back in the foothills of fools' hill by the age of 22.
So I try having fun with Brighid now, while she still likes me and thinks I have useful things to say. Happy Birthday, youngest daughter. Your mommy loves you and is glad you were born 14 years ago.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Your Tax Dollars At Work
Yesterday, I cooled my heels damn near all day, waiting while Logan had his leg taken apart and rebuilt. He's currently cooped up at the VA hospital, but at least he has a morphine pump, so every 6 minutes he can knock himself back out. From what I understand, knee surgery is exquisitely painful. 24 hours after the surgery, they made him get up and walk on it (with crutches, of course). He's not a happy camper.
The VA hospital is gargantuan, taking up approximately 4 - 5 city blocks square. The meandering of buildings is a rabbit warren inside. One employee I spoke to on an elevator said he lost 35 pounds his first 4 months working there. I was worn out when I got home.
I was dumbfounded by the size of the complex and the number of people awaiting (in various states of patience) services. Many of them seemed just a disability check away from being homeless, several seemed slightly schizophrenic, and most seemed forlorn and depressed. In spite of the soothing atmosphere, nice furnishings, and friendly volunteers, I went away with a vague feeling of hopelessness for the whole situation. We're currently creating a bumper crop of new veterans, and Logan tells me Congress still hasn't funded the VA in the budget. I can't think of anything witty to say about this. In my mind, it's outrageous. Even a Republican Senator, John McCain, thinks there is too much pork barrel spending in the budget:
http://mccain.senate.gov/index.cfm?fuseaction=Newscenter.ViewPressRelease&Content_id=1722
and lists several pro-veteran issues on his website:
http://mccain.senate.gov/index.cfm?fuseaction=Issues.ViewIssue&Issue_id=35
Odd, that I find myself agreeing with a Republican. But I guess as one grows older, one becomes more fiscally conservative. In any case, I don't hold out much hope for things getting better for Vets anytime soon.
The only amusing portion of the day was the ride home. I could not, for love nor money, get the driver's side door to shut. The latch is stuck in the closed position, and won't disengage in order to catch on the pall. So I drove home, 37 miles, with my arm out the window, holding the door shut. Today, I have an aching Flexor carpi radialis, and needless to say, I'm taking the car in to be repaired in the morning. Today, I rode to work with a Bungee cord holding the door shut. I am so saving up for a new car.
The VA hospital is gargantuan, taking up approximately 4 - 5 city blocks square. The meandering of buildings is a rabbit warren inside. One employee I spoke to on an elevator said he lost 35 pounds his first 4 months working there. I was worn out when I got home.
I was dumbfounded by the size of the complex and the number of people awaiting (in various states of patience) services. Many of them seemed just a disability check away from being homeless, several seemed slightly schizophrenic, and most seemed forlorn and depressed. In spite of the soothing atmosphere, nice furnishings, and friendly volunteers, I went away with a vague feeling of hopelessness for the whole situation. We're currently creating a bumper crop of new veterans, and Logan tells me Congress still hasn't funded the VA in the budget. I can't think of anything witty to say about this. In my mind, it's outrageous. Even a Republican Senator, John McCain, thinks there is too much pork barrel spending in the budget:
http://mccain.senate.gov/index.cfm?fuseaction=Newscenter.ViewPressRelease&Content_id=1722
and lists several pro-veteran issues on his website:
http://mccain.senate.gov/index.cfm?fuseaction=Issues.ViewIssue&Issue_id=35
Odd, that I find myself agreeing with a Republican. But I guess as one grows older, one becomes more fiscally conservative. In any case, I don't hold out much hope for things getting better for Vets anytime soon.
The only amusing portion of the day was the ride home. I could not, for love nor money, get the driver's side door to shut. The latch is stuck in the closed position, and won't disengage in order to catch on the pall. So I drove home, 37 miles, with my arm out the window, holding the door shut. Today, I have an aching Flexor carpi radialis, and needless to say, I'm taking the car in to be repaired in the morning. Today, I rode to work with a Bungee cord holding the door shut. I am so saving up for a new car.
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