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Wednesday, July 27, 2011


I had an MRI today because my doctor wanted to find out the extent of any kind of damage to my left ankle, following an injury earlier this season.
Fortunately, I've had few health issues along the path of life so this MRI was a first for me, and there were the usual trepidations. I was not liking the idea of getting into a narrow, confined tube, for obvious reasons.
I am not officially claustrophobic -- though I should add here that every time I watch a TV show with Zahi Hawass (the hat wearing Egyptian official who spends a great deal of his life squeezing into tight spaces) I end up covering my eyes because I can't deal with the close quarters.
So when I walked into the MRI space I had some serious trepidations.
Fortunately since it's my foot that is injured they didn't shoot me in head first, which could have resulted in a crazy scene. 
That said, as I lay there staring at the ceiling wearing a headseat to muffle the tac-tac-tac-tac sound of the MRI, I started laughing uncontrollably whilst attempting to keep my foot as still as possible. 
I suddenly craved donuts and bagels, mountains of them, foodstuffs that are not really part of my basic diet in the overall scheme of things, but man, I envisioned piles of them higher than Kilimanjaro and Everest all around me.
The technician stopped the proceedings at one point to ask me if I was okay, presumably because there really were tears running down my cheeks. 
But I wasn't freaked, I just finally realized the true meaning of the phrase, "Tubular, totally."
Amen, and pass the mustard.

Monday, July 18, 2011


First, I don't golf, frankly think it's a dumb game. Had to get that out.
So the only times I am apt to ride in a golf cart are whenever I am visiting friends who own a home on a lovely private island. On island, golf carts or walking are the sole modes of transportation.
This past weekend I was still in the recovery mode from the broken ankle, and my friends decided it would be best if they literally carted me all around, so I got to ride shotgun. The cart was piled up three feet high with coolers, umbrellas, beach chairs and other assorted paraphanelia, by the way. 
This particular chariot was having some issues that day, and my friend (whose name I'll leave out to protect the not so innocent) had never driven it before. Everyone else hoofed it down to the beach, while she and I got into the vehicle and started it up.

The tricky part of driving the beast involved a choke issue and a gas pedal that either fed it boatloads of fuel or nothing at all, or so I understood.
Seconds later my friend and I are heading downhill towards the water at an alarming rate, and visions of both of us flying out completely filled my head. I started screaming like a pterodactyl. I've never heard a pterodactyl screaming, but I'm willing to bet the farm that I sounded just like one. 
We managed to round the curve, narrowly missing the shoreline (okay, I exaggerate) when a couple of feet later, the thing just died in front of someone's house, completely flooded.
Several minutes ensued during which we were the hub of suggestions from well meaning neighbors, including one soul who asked us to move the thing so we wouldn't be in anyone else's way. 
Yeah, right.
I'm not exactly sure why we decided that trying to go backward might be a good idea -- and as  soon as my friend turned the key the cart shot out faster than the last shuttle launch in reverse.
Energized, she shouted "I'm gunning this thing until we get to the beach!" Her eyes were wide and crazed.
In seconds we careened past holes, rocks, narrowing paths and bushes while I kept up an alternate running commentary of upcoming obstacles.
"Another hole! Mud!"
"BIGGGG rock, BIGGG rock!"
Somehow we made it to shore in one piece. 
Several hours later when it was time to go back to the house for lunch, we both took one look at each other and just walked back.
It seemed the prudent thing to do.
Amen, and pass the mustard.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


I broke my own axiom against purchasing Chinese products -- I'm not going into the reasons why here, you can just speculate.

And all this for a lousy lava lamp.

I have had several along the way -- odd looking things that arose first during the psychedelic era -- when stoners had nothing else to do except stare at odd looking things as opposed to their navels, clearly an odd looking thing but that's for another day. 

I don't do well with sitting still and I need all the variety around me I can stand, so of course I need to have a boatload of odd looking things to stare at during the day to keep myself from going totally out of my mind.

Thus the lava lamp -- which at first I didn't think of as the Cheesy Chinese Lava Lamp. I set it up quickly after purchasing it at lunchtime, expectantly hoping it would send up something soon, very soon. I needed to be entertained.

Imagine my surprise when the lava lamp -- now baptized the Cheesy Chinese Lava Lamp-- took almost three hours before the thing even shot up one small blob. And then it sat there doing more nothing.

But then that's what you get when you buy a Cheesy Chinese Lava Lamp.

Amen, and pass the mustard.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011


I was considering my dinner choices at a fabulous restaurant the other night when what should have been a delicious prospect was immediately spoiled when I looked over the top of the menu and caught a nearby diner chewing with his mouth wide open.

The guy was having potatoes, carrots and some type of meat. Yes, I know, too much information, which is exactly what I thought myself and of course, must share.

All of that food was churning around and around and around and around, much like what my friend Jack would have described as resembling "a blender with the top off." How the food stayed in there was anybody's guess.

Opting not to upset my dinner companion, I mentioned nothing and focused entirely on what was in front of me for the duration of the next few minutes. Fortunately, this guy was a combo Open Mouth Chewer/Fast Eater and devoured his rations quickly.

What amazed me most, though, was Mr.Open Mouth Chewer/Fast Eater was sitting right across from Mrs. Open Mouth Chewer/Fast Eater, an elegant lady who appeared very much engrossed in conversation with him, while the rest of us who were also able to catch the revolting and revolving view were just grossed out.

Mrs. Open Mouth Chewer/Fast Eater is living proof that love really is blind, or Mr. Open Mouth Chewer/Fast Eater must have a boatload of money.

I could launch into my rant about people who chew gum and snap it, but I'll leave it for next time.

Amen, and pass the mustard, with the top closed, please.