The 2013 Stones Tour Continues

When we last left our hero, he had been rushed to the ER, comfortably sedated, and diagnosed with a 7-mm kidney stone.  We pick up the story as he is admitted to the hospital for the night and wheeled up to a private room.

An orderly wheeled me up to a bed in the hospital about 11 pm.  I noticed how eerily calm the place seemed, after hours.  It was like the beginning of a horror movie.

The room was small, naturally, but nice enough.  There was one chair, a kind of non-reclining easy chair, but it wouldn't have been very comfortable for Pinky.  We made the right call by having her return home.  Not that she slept much that night anyway.  Within minutes, she had emailed me a link to a medical website about kidney stones.  

The first thing I wanted to do was see what this thing might look like.  Like I said in the Part 1 of this story, when they said “7-mm,” I was hoping that was length and not diameter.  Later, they told me that it was, in fact, diameter, so I figure my stone looked like the one at the top of this diagram.

That thing reminds me of the Star Wars “Death Star.”

I was happy that the hospital had wi-fi service available for guests; that helped me keep in touch with various friends and family, as well as allow me to Live-Tweet my hospital stay.

By the way, I highly recommend Dilaudid as a pain killer. Now I can stop clawing at the bed railings. #KidneyStone
— bluzdude (@DarwinfishBluz) April 4, 2013

Looks like I'm going to be called upon to pass a 7mm kidney stone. Just call me a Pee Shooter.
— bluzdude (@DarwinfishBluz) April 4, 2013

Best part of a hospital stay? New slipper socks! #KidneyStone twitter.com/DarwinfishBluz…
— bluzdude (@DarwinfishBluz) April 4, 2013

I love hospital slippers.  They almost make the trip worthwhile.  This pair has the tread on 2 sides, so if I’m careful to rotate which side is “down,” I can get double the life out of them!

So as the Tonight Show gave way to The Show After the Tonight Show… (that’s Fallon, right?), which then gave way to The Show That’s Later Still  (the one with Craig Ferguson), I continued catching up on what was going on and corresponding with those that knew what was happening with me.  That was fun.  I really appreciated all the support, from across the land.

I might have tried to sleep a bit sooner, but I knew they had me scheduled for my next shot of Dilaudid at around 1:15 or 1:30, so I figured I might just as well stay up, since they’d have to wake me up anyway.  (They couldn't just shoot it into my IV because they have to scan my bracelet like I’m on a grocery checkout counter, and then have me repeat my name and date of birth, so they can be sure to bring me a cake if it’s my birthday.)

No sense getting woken up for that, so I played on my iPad.  So after they dosed me again, I decided it was time to try and sleep.  And you’d think that would be easy, what with all the heavy drugs coursing through my body.  But there were two problems.

The first problem was the bed.  It wasn't that it was uncomfortable; it was one of those auto-beds, that self-adjusts to however you position yourself.  It was actually very comfy.  The problem was that it continues to self-adjust every 5-6 minutes, whether you move or not.  I’d be lying there and then it would spring to life; the mattress would undulate for about two seconds, vibrating all the while.  It was like being strapped to a soft, body-sized cell phone.

This went on ALL NIGHT LONG!  They said everyone complains about it but there was no way to turn it off.  Of course, the Customer Service Manager inside of me was just going ballistic.  I mean, I understand that it’s good to have the bed shift so that you don’t get bed sores and stuff, but is that really relevant for a single overnight stay?  Somehow, I manage to survive a night in my non-movable bed without damaging myself.  It’s not like I was in a freakin’ coma.  So there it was… every time I’d start to drift off, the bed would shock me back awake again.  And once I was awake, I could pay attention to the other problem…

I don’t know who else was in the hospital that night, but it sounded like a Crazy Old Man Convention.  There was one poor old guy across the hall, who probably had dementia and was clearly terrified.  Any time they went in to see him, he’d yell, “Help! Help! Help! Oh God, help me!  Stop! Stop! Get it out, get it out! Help!”

I could hear the nurses trying various means to calm him down, but neither reason, nor force, nor threats could quiet this guy.  Now, I’m a reasonable human being and I had as much empathy as anyone for this poor soul.  But after a couple hours of this shit I was ready to go in there, dragging my IV, and knock him out with my shoe.  (And it was a tennis shoe, so it would have taken a while.)  But I was like, “Oh please, just take whatever is in him, out, or put something else in, like some of the drugs you’re giving ME…”

There was also another guy on the floor who did quite a bit of yelling too, but I couldn't make out very much.  So between the yelling and begging and my possessed hospital bed, I didn't sleep worth a damn. When the nurse came in at 5:15 to give me my next dose of Dilaudid, she apologized for all the commotion.  I said, “Please tell me those guys aren't passing kidney stones!”

Lucky for me, they weren't.  I was hoping this wasn't a peek at a little slice of my immediate future.

I managed to half-doze a bit until about 7.  When the nurse came in for my 8:15 medicine, I told her to hold off.  I wasn't in any pain, so I figured why rush the meds?  As it turned out, the pains didn't return.

The rest of the morning was mostly waiting for the urologist to show up and decide what they wanted to do with me.  I was trying not to get impatient, but I was starting to get pretty hungry (after having lost my dinner) and had been pretty thirsty for some time.  It’s weird when they want you to pee, but won’t give you anything to drink.  The saline drip just wasn't cutting it.

Finally, Pinky, (who had returned) went out to “raise awareness” of our plight.  She’s pretty good at that kind of thing… the doctor appeared about 15 minutes later.  That’s when he answered my “diameter” question.  He said that when they did the CAT scan, the stone was 2 cm from the bladder, and because my pain had suddenly gone away, they were confident that it was now in the bladder.  (And I was confident it hadn't gone any further, because I’m sure I’d have noticed.  I imagined it would pass with one of those cartoon gunshot “ricochet” sound effects.  PTTOWWW!

The good news is that they wanted me to pass it without surgery, which I was all for.  I figured, if it gets bad, they’ll give me more Dilaudid.  They were going to keep me another night, but in the meantime, I’d be allowed to eat and drink.  Halleluiah! 

I was concerned about not getting any sleep again… the old dementia guy was still carrying on… so I did a little recon and decided that right before I’d try to sleep for the night, I’d unplug the bed.  Pinky warned me against it, but I always say, “I’d rather beg forgiveness than ask permission.”  I didn't see anything else plugged into the bed… the IV drip was completely separate, and they weren't using the blood pressure cuff on me, so it appeared to me the only thing I was risking was a scolding… once I got a few hours of sleep, I hoped.

They also wanted me to start filtering and capturing my pee.  I've always been a bashful pee-er, so because I didn't want anyone walking in and startling me (which would probably make me twitch and start peeing on the fancy medical equipment), so I had to take precautions.  I had to unplug my drip machine, trundle everything into the bathroom, get my sweatpants lowered, get my hospital gown raised, and then manage to produce some pee AND hit the target.  That’s a lot of coordination for a guy that’s been on drugs all night.

I was concerned about the rest of the passage, but the doctor said the urethra the stone needed to go through is larger than the ureter it passed through earlier.  The “tubing” would adapt.  I was just worried about the “end game.”  I looked at “Bluz Jr,” and wondered what would happen if the stone got stuck at the end.  Seemed to me I would turn into some kind of lawn sprinkler, like when you cover the end of a garden hose with your finger.  I probably should have asked for a bigger pee jug. 

I never know what to do with the pee jug, either, after I've used it.  Do I display it on the bedside table, like the golden idol that Indiana Jones goes after at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Arc?  Or do I leave it stashed in the bathroom, where it’s liable to get knocked over?  What’s the etiquette there, Cassie?

Anyway, my pee must have been golden, because around 4:00 pm, someone came in and told me they decided to discharge me and I could go home immediately.  This was a mixed blessing.  I’d finally get some sleep, but I’d lose my access to the Dilaudid.  They gave me a prescription for Percocet instead, so I felt a little better about it.  I've heard good things.

I asked what they wanted me to do, like, can I just get up and walk out?  They said unless I felt I needed a wheelchair, yes.  I was like, “Hot damn, I’m outta here.” 

But I don’t think they communicate amongst themselves very well.  When I got dressed and went out, the nurses outside seemed shocked to see me up and intending to leave.  They had to call and verify that I was allowed to mosey.  I was all, “Hah!  In your face!  You don’t get ANY more of my pee!”

I went home Thursday evening and began pounding water, hoping to get this thing done.  It didn't happen though, and by Monday, I was back in the hospital… but not for the reason you’d think.

To be continued… again.

(Note: Don’t panic… I’m OK.  I mean, I’m here posting about it, right?)

The Great Kidney Stone Adventure - Intermission

I apologize for not having the true continuation of my story tonight, as I intended.  I’m having a significant degree of kidney stone pain tonight, and am hoping the issue finally “passes.”  I suppose I could carry on, but I’m sure the story would turn out desperately unfunny and jarring to read.  Something like…

“When they finally got me up to my room I immediately YAAAAAAAAAAH…  um, settled in.  I couldn't believe my bed kept MMMMMMMPH… shifting under me…”

As soon as I’m able, I will carry on with my medical misadventures.  Suffice to say, I thought I was out of the woods for the near future, but it hasn’t quite turned out that way. 

So, keep checking back… as soon as I’m able, I’ll get on with the story.  Just call me, Bluzherazade…  Now pass the Percocets... 

Everybody Must Get (Kidney) Stoned

Wednesday night, I was home alone; Pinky was working and would be staying at her place afterward.  I’d just finished the lovely barbecued ground turkey dinner she’d left me, and was scanning through the day’s blogs when the pain hit me.

At first, I thought I tweaked my back, because my whole lower left side just “exploded.”  I quickly realized, though, that it didn't have the hallmark of my usual back pains.  It was off to the side, and no matter what I did or how I moved, it wouldn't abate.  It was about navel-high, and radiated downward into the left side of my groin.  It felt like I was in an “Alien” movie and something nasty was trying to get out.

As I sat there, literally gasping, I began going through my options.  I am not one to go running to the doctor with the slightest malady, so I wanted information before I decided to do anything.  In my experience 95% of my aches and pains go away on their own.

I Googled “sudden pain left side” and started running through the options.  None of them looked particularly pleasant or temporary.  The leading contenders were diverticulitis, pancreatitis, appendicitis and kidney stones.  The first three had notes to seek medical attention NOW.

To me, that just meant I needed more input.  While I considered my options, I got up and tried to find a comfortable position, but nothing worked.  I felt nauseous, so I went into the bathroom, but nothing came of it.  Lying in bed didn't help, nor did sitting on the couch.

I was especially worried about appendicitis because I knew how bad it is if your appendix bursts.  My dad had appendicitis back during his youth, so I decided to give my parents a call.

Dad was able to dispel appendicitis as a cause, because the appendix is on the right side.  My pain was completely on the left.  But now that I scared the crap out of both of them, they urged me to call 911.  I thought I could drive myself to the hospital, because it’s only about 5 minutes away, but Dad made an excellent point.  If I drive myself, I’m likely to end up sitting in the waiting area all night, depending on the caseload.  If the ambulance takes me, I get right in.

While I wasn't comfortable with putting the EMTs out to come and get me, I also didn't want to sit and stew in the waiting room either.  I was still deliberating when I had to cut off the call.  Something was coming up.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I began hurling, with great intensity.  OK, NOW I was scared.  I almost never hurl.  Usually when I feel nauseous, I can deep-breathe my way back out of it, but not this time.  Last time I threw up, it was when I had the bronchitis and I was coughing so hard, all the crap I was coughing up hit my uvula and set me off.  Before that, I’d have to go back to a food poisoning case in the early 2000s.

Because I’d just eaten, the hurling did not go smoothly.  Not to gross you out, but it was pretty thick.  I only mention it because I thought I was going to run out of air while my windpipe blocked.  While I was in there, I remembered that I had the door locked and dead-bolted.  No one would be able to come in and get me without breaking down the door.  Why didn't I just have soup for dinner?

Eventually, it passed, and I immediately walked out to unlock the door.  My parents called back and I told them what happened.  Post-hurling, the pain began to abate a bit, so I thought I might be OK.  They still wanted me to call 911, but I wanted to wait it out.  Maybe it would get all the way better.  I wanted to make sure before I stepped onto the carousel.  That’s what it’s like for me… making that call is like stepping onto a moving, spinning merry-go-round.  Once I’m on, I’m carried away by forces I can’t control any more.  I’m at the mercy of the spinning horses.

I did decide to call Pinky though.  I didn't like the idea of being alone and choking to death on my own hurl.  I may revere Bon Scott, but that doesn't include dying the way he did.  I caught Pinky on her way home from work, so I diverted her to come here.

"Bluz, listen to your womans and go to the hospital, or you'll end up visiting me!"

While I was waiting, I tried watching the Pens game from my easy chair with a heating pad on my side.  That always helped my backaches.  I quickly realized, though, that it was only making it worse.  The only thing close to relief I got was by pacing around and rubbing my side.  Before long, I felt nauseous again, and had to return to the bathroom.  I tried to remember to breathe in deeply before I unloaded some more dinner, so I’d have more time before I could black out.

Next thing I knew, Pinky was there, and I told her about the whole situation.  I think that was the point when I “stepped onto the carousel,” because once I told her, there was no way I wasn't going to the hospital.  I just wanted to wait long enough so that I could prepare a bit… get some things together, get some clothes on, set up the DVR to record what I’d be missing… Dad had told me that they’d probably want me to stay on the phone until the ambulance got there, so I wanted to get ready first.

I was going to call them myself, but I let Pinky do it.  I know “me,” and one of my phobias is calling people (or places) I don’t know well.  I’d dilly-dally back and forth, trying to get what I wanted to say straight, before finally dialing.  Pinky has no such qualms, so I let her plunge straight ahead.  They didn't keep us on the phone though, so I was able to continue getting things together.

Well, after I hurled again.  This time, I think I used up the last of the dinner.  Maybe I DO eat too much.

So, I got my cell phone and iPad out and made sure they were charged up.  I also had to figure out what to wear.  I decided to keep my sweat pants on, but I put on some undies.  I knew I’d have to wear the evil hospital gown, but I figured there was a chance I could keep my drawers on, so I wouldn't have to bare my ass all over the floor.

It took about 20 minutes for the EMTs to get there.  They came right as Pinky was checking back with 911, to see where they were.  They took my vitals and I answered their questions, and then went with them to the hospital.  Yay for my first ambulance ride!  They sure could use some new shocks on that wagon though.  Didn't feel too good getting bounced around like I did.

As expected, they got me out of the truck and into an ER room, but not before I had to hurl again.  I’m glad it was just the dry-heaves though, for the sake of everyone else in the lobby.  I had a little plastic tub to use, so they didn't have to call in the haz-mat team on my account. 

Now began a steady parade of nurses, technicians and doctors who came in to see me.  They got me hooked up to an IV for fluids.  But still the pain was coming strong.  All night it had seemed to come in waves; about every 20 minutes it would build up and I’d hurl.  They asked me to rate it on a 1-10 Pain Scale, and I gave it a 7.5 to 8.  (Initial onset was definitely a 9.)

Waiting for the doctor, I heaved again.  Now, I was starting to access lunch.  This was wearing me out.  I never knew throwing up was this exhausting.  All I could do was sit on the edge of the bed and rock.  (Which luckily, I was born to do.)  Eventually they got me to lie back, but continued to squirm and twitch.

Finally a doctor came in and told me that my symptoms represented a classic case of kidney stones.  They’d set me up for a CT scan and a drip with morphine and anti-nausea medicine.  Now we’re talking!  I've always wanted to try morphine.  

Once I was hooked up and things began to calm down, I used my cell to call the folks.  (Pinky had also called them after I went in the ambulance.)  I was able to tell them what was going on and what I had.  I also asked them if they can get Morphine at Walgreens, because they should really try it out.

I have to do things like that.  When I’m under pressure, I try to make jokes.  I joked with the EMTs, the technicians and nurses.  I was trying to figure out where to put my wallet, and I said, "I think I better keep it on me.  Is it proper to tip your nurse?"  I asked Pinky, at the time, if it was weird that I was already making notes for my next blog post?

The Morphine took the edge off.  It made me feel a little fuzzy in the head, but took the pain down to about a 4.  But I was also getting really cold.  I don’t know if it was the drug, or that the outside doors had to keep opening, but I was freezing.  Pinky used anything at hand to get me covered up… my shirts, my coat, and the sheets from the room.  She also went out and had someone bring in blankets.  I had to tell her though, be sure not to cover up my head with the sheet.  I didn't want the hospital to get the wrong idea.

When they asked again about the pain, they decided to change my drip to something called Dilaudid.  They said that 1 mg of Dilaudid was like 10 mg of Morphine.  And let me tell you, they were right!  Once they injected the Dilaudid into my drip, it was like the pain just started folding in on itself, by half each time, until it just winked away.  I knew I was going to have to remember this shit for the future.  Unable to refrain from punning the night way, I told my parents (and eventually the nurses) that I was Dilauded with my treatment.  One of my parents, (I don’t remember which because I was becoming increasingly “relaxed”) said they applauded the Dilaudid.

I got my CT scan done without any trouble and round about 10 pm the doctor came back to tell me that A) they’d be admitting me tonight, and B) I had a 7-mm kidney stone.  They scheduled me to see a urologist in the morning to decide how to treat it.

Seven millimeters.  Holy crap.  I got out my iPad and looked up how big 7-mm was.  You can see for yourself right here.  (Apparently, the size of your viewing screen impacts the proportions of a picture, so it would be misleading for me to post one.)  But suffice to say, I desperately hoped that they were talking 7-mm in length, not diameter.

Pinky and I decided that she should go home, because there wasn't really anything more she could do, and there was no sense in the both of us being uncomfortable.  They wheeled me up to my room, for what would prove to be a difficult night’s sleep. 

Which you will find out all about when I get to Part 2 in the next post.

I Thought I Was Hurt, But I Was Just Stoned

I apologize for not having a post up last night.  I really meant to, but I was JUST GETTING HOME FROM THE FREAKIN HOSPITAL!

If you follow my Twitter feed, or have seen my recent tweets on the right-hand sidebar, you know why I was there.  They released me late yesterday afternoon, but I wasn’t quite up for posting yet.  But still, I was thinking of you.  How many other bloggers would live-tweet their hospital stay?  Gotta love a hospital with free wi-fi.

I’ll have something up about my "adventure" over the weekend, probably tomorrow.  But bottom line, I’m OK, and that should continue into the foreseeable future.

But boy, it’s been a rough couple of nights…

Dogs and Fences

When I was in 6^th through 9^th grades, we lived in a tidy little subdivision in Columbus, Ohio.  It was one of those developments where every other house was the same.  You know; ranch, split-level, ranch, split-level, etc.  The cool thing was that my best friend in the neighborhood lived 2-doors down, so whenever I was at his house, I felt pretty comfortable.  I just had to be careful of which bedroom I went into, because ours rooms didn't correspond.

The back yards were all divided up with 4-foot chain link fences, which made for a very specific division of property.  And you would think that they would put a crimp in our fun and games, but that wasn't really so.  We just incorporated them into whatever we were doing.

Our next-door neighbor had a baseball diamond worn into their backyard.  And it wasn’t from us… it was like that when we moved in.  We thought it was really cool, and spent many a summer day playing wiffleball over there.  It didn't even matter how many kids were there; if there was more than one, we could figure out how to play. 

We’d use “ghost runners” to run the bases, and they would advance depending on what the batter did.  Obviously any ball caught out of the air was an out, and if you fielded a grounder, you threw it at the runner and if you could hit him, they were out.  I so wish the major leagues would adopt that rule.

We played football over there a lot too, but it came with a price.  See, these neighbors had this horrible old bulldog, named Babe.  She was ancient, with nothing but stubble for fur.  In fact, her hind end was all hairless and leathery, like an old volleyball.  Anyway, because of Babe, we had to be careful where we were tackled, or else we might end up face down in a Babe bomb.  Worse still, sometimes the dog would eat crayons she’d find on the floor, which made her shit in Technicolor.  Now that was a real treat to find…

A bunch of us in a football pileup, thankful we missed landing in all the dog turds.

We used to spend our summer evenings playing giant games of Hide-n-Seek, Kick-the-Can, or Ghost in the Graveyard.  We’d use three houses in a row on one side of the street, including backyards, and maybe a front yard or two on the other side of the street.  As my friend and I got older, we got better and better at getting over the backyard fences.  Usually, we’d just plant our hands on the top rail and vault ourselves over.  Once my buddy started running track, he began hurtling the fence without hands at all.  I was never quite so bold (or fast).

Needless to say, when running around at dusk or after dark, the fences could be formidable.  I remember being out front, with everyone hiding, and hearing a commotion kick up in the back yards, meaning a chase was on.  Then suddenly, a loud KA-WANNNG!  That was the unmistakable sound of my buddy misjudging where the fence was during a hurdle.

I had two favorite hiding spots… one was right out on a hill in the neighbor’s front yard, out in plain sight, but in a deep shadow due to the floodlight nearby.  You could see everything out in the street, but no one could see you until they were right on top of you. 

My other spot was up the tree in our front yard.  I had climbed up to “my spot” so many times, I could do it in about 10 seconds, plus, I could literally do it with my eyes closed.  I could spend a half hour up there, laying back against a fork in a branch about 15 feet in the air, and there was zero chance of the seeker finding me.  Then as soon as he’d go around a corner, or into the back, I’d drop down and come in home free.  Oh, to be that bendy and agile again… I swear; teenage boys are part monkey.

There was one fence in the neighborhood that everyone agreed really needed to be there.  In fact, we might have wished it were about 15 feet taller.  It ran behind our house and the neighbor’s.  This was the fence that contained “Rip.”

Rip was a dog that belonged to the neighbor behind us.  I don’t know if he was named Rip because that’s what he’d do to any trespassers in his yard, or because of how said trespasser would Rest in Peace after Rip got done with him.

He was a sturdy dog; part husky and part German shepherd.  He had coloring like a shepherd, but was stockier, with thicker fur.  Shortly after we moved in, my dad began taking him out our ham and beef bones.  He’d go over to the fence, let Rip smell his hand, and then toss the bones over.  Dad always said, “If he ever gets over that fence, I want him to remember that I was the guy that gave him the bones.”

Rip would catch them in the air and just KER-RUNCH them to bits.  There was no gnawing.  He’d eat those things like they were Scooby Snacks.

I don’t know if that was just how he rolled, or if he was putting on a show for us.  He probably told his dog friends; “You should see the looks on these guys’ faces when I smash those ham bones…  The dudes get whiter than Milk Bones.”

On second thought, I don’t think Rip had any dog friends, judging from how he and Babe went after each other.  Whenever they were both outside and would see each other, they’d race back and forth along the barrier fence, noses about 2 inches from each others, and bark their heads off.  Rip would be like “WOE WOE WOE WOE….”  And Babe would be like, “RABA RABA RABA RABA…”  Then one of them would just trot off like, “OK, that’s enough for now.  I guess I told THAT asshole…”

It was funny to watch, because Babe only came up about halfway up Rip’s leg.  The old girl didn’t take any crap from him though…

Eventually, Ed and I took over the job of bringing the bones out to Rip.  Hell, if Rip got loose, the odds were higher that one of US would be out there, rather than Dad.  By feeding him, I learned that Rip was a pretty good dog.  He’d trot up to us and walk back and forth, pushing on the fence, like a bear scratches his back on a tree.  I’d reach over and pet him, making sure to let him smell my hand, before giving him his treats.  I used to pet him all the time.

I always wondered if he’d really bite me if we came face to face.  I didn't think so, but didn't care to sacrifice the skin on my ass in case I was wrong.  I think he liked us just fine, as long as we were on OUR side of the fence and not his.

This became a problem when we played wiffleball.  Sometimes we’d foul one off and the ball would go into Rip’s yard.  Oh, man, my stomach would just sink.  But a lot depended on where in the yard it went.  See, there was a garage just on the other side of the ball diamond yard, with about 4 feet between it and the fence.  Rip had a trail worn, along the yard side of the garage, and then back along the fence.  If he was outside and heard any noise on the fence, he’d come tearing along that trail, looking to come git some. 

 Here's the layout I'm talking about.

So if the ball landed behind the garage, we were nimble enough to get over the fence and back before Rip could come around the garage.  It was more problematic when the ball went past the garage and further into the yard.  Then we’d have to do a little recon, and decide, A) if Rip was outside, and B) in the grand scheme of things, was that ball really worth it?

Director’s DVD Commentary: Yes, I know, this is totally like the movie “Sandlot.”

One time we sent our chubby friend over to retrieve a ball.  (The rule was whoever hit it over had to go get it.)  He got the ball fine, but panicked when he heard Rip coming, and caught his sneaker on a barb at the bottom of the fence.  Do you remember the scene in “Jaws” when the shark attacks the diver cage?  That’s what it looked like as our friend tried to scramble over the fence, with Rip thrashing about at his feet.  Rip never actually bit him, but he was barking and snapping like crazy, and plum scared the living shit out of the kid.  He swore the dog bit his foot, but I’m pretty sure the hole in the canvas over his toes came from the fence barb.  Rip could have bitten his toes clean off, if he wanted.

Another time, we saw a couple of teenage boys cutting through our back yard.  We were like, “Oh, this is gonna be good…” They got about halfway into Rip’s yard when he came running.  He scattered those kids like bowling pins, as they practically swan-dived back over the fence.  Rip was like, “Punks… this is MY house.”

We grew to especially appreciate that fence, once we moved out to the country.  Beside our house was an empty field, and beside that, a family with a giant Great Dane mix.  Fucker was massive, with a huge bark... “BOAF!”  My brother grew fond of imitating the dog’s bark, until one day he decided to try it out on the actual dog.

Ed stood at the edge of our property and hollered, “BOAF!!”

Dog turned towards Ed, took a few steps forward and went, “BOOAF!!”

Ed didn't stick around for the rest… Gone… He was back to the back door in a flash.

Out there, there wasn't anything to stop a giant dog from running over and taking a chunk out of his skinny shanks.

The Ghosts of Easters Past

Happy Easter to you and everyone that celebrates this occasion as a religious holiday, or just another opportunity to eat eggs and candy.

As you may guess, I'm in the latter category, only without the eggs.  And the candy part really begins on Monday when jellybeans and Easter candy goes on sale.

We always celebrated a big Easter when I was a kid though, so I figured I'd dig up some old relics of Easters gone by.  And this has nothing to do with my not being able to come up with something I wanted to write about this morning.  Ahem...

1966- Pittsburgh

My brother Ed and I, in our new Batman shirts, about to embark on  the Easter egg hunt.  Looks like we had to start in the basement.

 Tiring of the hunt, we played on our trikes instead.

1967-Pittsburgh

 Now  sister Ann is in play, who refuses to play nice for the camera.

Mom and Dad, before church.  Judging from Mom's caption, Holy Thursday and Good Friday was followed by Besotted Saturday. 

 Mom's parents came to visit after church (judging by my untucked shirt) as we commenced an Easter Pose-a-thon.  Sister still not looking at the camera. Brother seems alarmed at having to hold her hand.  I just want to play on the swings already.

 Grandma: happy. Mom: eyes closed. Me: choking Ed. Ed: Grabbing Ann.  Ann: Squawking.

Finally! The grownups leave us alone so we can play!  Ann still not looking at the camera.

1970-Glen Ellyn IL

Annie and I, in the back yard before church. This time SHE's looking and smiling and I have my eyes closed.

1971-Bexley OH

Not that you can see it, but we're decorating our eggs, under the watchful eye of Simon, our Siamese.

1973/4-Columbus OH

 Annie, finding an egg and perfecting her anti-paparazzi, "Get that Camera Out of My Face" look.

2008-Catonsville MD

I know... big leap in time.  Shouldn't be a surprise that as we got older, there was a lot less to take pictures of on Easter morning.  So now it's up to those of us that have reproduced, to carry on the tradition.  That means it's up to Ed to carry on the tradition, with my nephews Daniel and Sammy.

Sammy, on The Hunt

 Daniel and Sammy, all dressed up!

2009-Catonsville MD

Hard at work, dying and decorating the eggs.

2011-Gulf Breeze FL

 Easter with my parents... Trust me, the Easter egg hunt is a lot more fun when it's 70 degrees out.  Meanwhile, Sammy is All Business... One egg down and dashing for more!

Nice haul for Daniel and Sam.

You know, McDonalds is missing out on a great Easter promotion.  I'd totally go out for multi-colored Egg McMuffins.

Institutionalized Discrimination

If you've been on Facebook lately, you've probably been seeing a lot of “=” signs in people’s statuses.  No, it’s not a countrywide celebration of mathematics.  People are showing support for marriage equality, meaning the right to same-sex marriage.

My blog sister, Cassie, has already weighed in on the matter, as did the Carpetbagger on Facebook.  I’ve been on the fence (regarding blogging the topic) because I’ve trod this path quite a few times before.

I’m sure you know where I stand on this.  While the issue doesn’t affect me directly, it affects several friends and acquaintances, and thousands of good people that I don’t know.

I’ve obviously been following reports on the dual same-sex marriage cases before the Supreme Court, to overturn California’s Proposition 8 (banning same-sex marriage in the state) and the Defense of Marriage Act, or DOMA (banning federal recognition of same-sex marriages, regardless of legality in any particular state).

It’s funny to me, the lengths the opponents of same-sex marriage will go to make their case while avoiding the obvious reasons for their opposition: Religion and the Ick Factor.  In the California case, they made it about childbearing, saying that since same-sex couples can’t “accidentally have children,” there is no compelling reason they need to be married.

Seriously.  That’s what they’re hanging their hat on.  And it’s no wonder, because they cannot win this fight with any rational argument.  Religion?  Gone… this country isn’t governed by the Bible (or any other holy book), and if it were, there are a ton of other Biblical assertions that no one would ever conceive of adopting (like pretty much all of Leviticus).  That leaves the “gay sex is gross” argument, to which the obvious solution is “Then don’t have any.”

To me, there would need to be a compelling, nation-threatening reason to deprive a percentage of our population of the right to marry (or any other right the rest of us have).  Being uncomfortable is not one of them.  I’m uncomfortable with calling strangers on the phone, but you don’t see me protesting outside Verizon. 

Again in the Prop 8 case, Chief Justice Roberts mentioned something truly appalling to me.  He was quoted as saying that marriage has been limited to a man and a woman “since time immemorial.”  What this means is that he is hesitant to remove this institutionalized discrimination because it’s been around for a long time.

I would ask the Chief Justice how long corporations weren’t people before he granted them full 1^st Amendment rights in the Citizens United case.  He didn’t seem too concerned with precedent then, did he?  No, just like most Republicans in charge, they’re only for full freedoms when it suits Republicans.

Same with “States’ Rights.”  The GOP is all for states’ rights in restricting abortion, installing voter ID laws, or teaching Creationism.  Why are they not in support of States’ Rights in permitting same-sex marriage?  What’s different?

So what if we’re entering “uncharted waters?”  Everything we take for granted right now was in uncharted waters at one time or another… slavery, segregation, women’s rights, the world being round and revolving around the sun… all of it was unheard of at one time or another.

And it’s not like we’re just talking about semantics with this issue.  There are over 100 federal effects and benefits that hinge on the definition of marriage.  It’s a big deal with tangible and often very expensive ramifications.

It always kills me when I see the opponents arguing that no one group (meaning the gays) should be singled out for “special rights.”  That makes my head explode.  Since when is ensuring that one group has the same rights as everyone else considered “special?”  One right, applied to all, period.  I guess if one group is going to receive “special” persecution, then they need “special” protection.  When the former goes away, so does the need for the latter.  But as we know, the Civil Rights turmoil took place in the 50s and 60s, and we’re still waiting for the prejudice to die out.

Unfortunately, those who read the Supreme tea leaves seem to think they will rule narrowly, overturning Prop 8 in a way that the fallout is limited to California, and possibly ducking DOMA on a technicality.

The key to the whole thing is Justice Kennedy.  He stands between the 4 hard-core conservatives and the 4 raging liberals.  Kennedy has ruled in favor of gay rights twice before, and the State Supreme Court Judge who overturned Prop 8 wrote his opinion in a way designed to appeal directly to Kennedy. 

This country is based on the principle of equality for all.  And that has to extend to everyone, not just to people that think and act like the majority.  There is no valid reason to deprive citizens of common rights based solely on the characteristics with which they were born.  Now would be a good time for our highest court to remind everyone of that fact.

I would really like to see the Supremes drive a stake in the ground here for marriage equality, but I’m not optimistic.  Even if 58% of the country is ready for it, at least 4 people on the bench are not.  I don’t think they want to history to look at them as social revolutionaries, but I’m afraid, instead, that they’ll be viewed like those who ruled on Plessy vs Ferguson (creating “separate but equal”).

In other words, in 50 years, people will be wondering what the hell was wrong with us, back in the early 20-teens. 

Doin' the iPod Shuffle Part 2

A couple years ago, I did a post where I put my MP3 player on “shuffle,” and wrote about the first 25 songs that came up.  At the time, I thought I’d do that again intermittently, but never did.  (I never got hard-up enough for ideas, I guess.)

Anyway, for the last couple of weeks, the radio morning show I listen to (as my alarm clock) has been doing this with the iPods of various staff members.

Most of it is completely depressing, because I don’t think I heard a single song that I recognized, nor any that I liked.  Lots of artsy-fartsy plinky-plunking, or just a backwash of guitar noise, accompanied by atonal yowling.

Even at 51, I like my music loud.  But folks, it’s gotta have a hook or some kind of recognizable melody.  It’s got to have some musicianship behind it.  So to show everyone how it should be done, I now present, “Doin' the iPod Shuffle, Part 2.”

1.  “I Got the Six,” by ZZ Top, from “Eliminator.”  Deep album cut from one of the best albums of the 80s.  With a refrain that goes, “I got the 6, give me your 9,” ZZ Top has never been subtle.

2.  “Take me in Your Arms (Rock Me),” by the Doobie Bros, from “The Best of the Doobie Brothers.”  Not my favorite from them… sounds kind of AM Radio-ish to me now.  (AM Radio-ish for the 70s, anyway.)

3.  “Alone,” by Heart, from “Bad Animals.”  Huge vocals from Ann Wilson on this 80s ballad.  I don’t think I even have this album… I ripped the cut from a promo CD-single.  It would be the perfect single for my line of work, with just a small tweak to the lyrics… “How do I get you a loan?”  I should write this up into a full song parody.  I used to love doing those, as a kid.  I totally should have been Weird Al Yankovic.

4.  “Cold Shot” (live), by Stevie Ray Vaughan, from “Live Alive.”  Love this song, although I probably like the studio version better, because SRV bungles the verses on this live cut.  He makes up for it later, though, when accompanied by his brother Jimmy, he rips through “Love Struck Baby” like the Free World depended on it. 

5.  “The Only Good Thing You Ever Said was Goodbye,” by Joan Jett, from “Notorious.”  Kind of sounds like “I Hate Myself for Lovin’ You,” turned inside out.  It’s a great Eff-You song.  “Notorious” was probably her best album that nobody heard… Hard guitar crunch, big fat hooks, sparkling production and meaningful lyrics.  Should have been a huge hit, but there’s no accounting for taste.

6.  “Blue and Evil,” by Joe Bonamassa, from “Black Rock.”  My buddy John recommended Bonamassa to me, because he knows I like hotshot guitarists.  And hey, it only took me 6 songs to find a cut that wasn’t from the 80s!

7.  “Johnny B Goode” (live), by George Thorogood, from “Let’s Work Together.”  OK, NOW we’re talking.  In the introduction, George calls this the “Rock and Roll National Anthem,” and he’s right.  Accompanied by Chuck Berry’s peerless piano player, Johnny Johnson, George tears through this rock classic with amazing passion.  I get chills just imagining George up there wailing away on his big white Gibson, while a stately old black man in a captain’s hat bangs out the accompaniment on piano, as well as a solo or two.

8.  “Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through” (live), by Meat Loaf, from “Hang Cool Teddy Bear” (bonus disc).  This is another of those Meat Loaf CDs I have that most people have never heard of.  It came with a bonus disc of live cuts and this is one.  It’s a song that first appeared on Jim Steinman’s “Bad for Good,” back in the 80s.  (That album was meant for the Loaf, but Steinman recorded it himself while Meat was having voice problems.

9.  “Petal to the Metal,” by Roy Buchanan, from “Dancing on the Edge.”  Guitar slayer Roy Buchanan gets down with the slide guitar in this instrumental.  I’m always amazed whenever I hear a particularly wicked Buchanan cut, because I know that he was in his 60s when he recorded it.  That’s the kind of senior citizen I plan on becoming.  (Only I’m more likely to play the song on the stereo, as opposed to the guitar.)

10. “Monolithic Oil,” by the National Lampoon, from “That’s not Funny, That’s Sick.”  It’s funny how this “mock” oil company commercial from the 70s holds up just as well today.  Their conclusion:  “Because the blame for today’s energy situation is on your shoulders, and your conscience, and not ours.  Monolithic Oil Corporation… we want you to… pay.”

11. “The Rising,” by Bruce Springsteen, from “The Rising.”  Title track from one of the best albums, ever.  “The Rising” was Bruce’s 9/11 album.  I remember avoiding it because I didn’t need another reminder of that day.  But then I saw a Springsteen concert on TV where they were playing songs from it.  A couple of them, namely “Into the Fire” and “You’re Missing,” brought me to tears.  I bought the CD online that night.  It’s still hard to hear sometimes, but I never tire of “Further on Up the Road,” which was Bruce’s “revenge” song.  The theme of that one is like, “Watch out, motherfuckers, ‘cause we’re coming.”

12. “Sodomy,” from the “Hair, the Original Broadway Cast.”  Yes, this is the one that my mom swears she heard her little children loudly singing on the front steps.  I still claim that we didn’t really know the words, (and certainly didn’t know what they meant,) but I’m sure it was alarming, none the less.  I mean, this is the first line (of a 2-line song)… “Sodomy, fellatio  cunnilingus, pederasty… Father why do these words sound so nasty?”  Can you imagine YOUR little angels harmonizing to that one?

13. Sound byte from Ghostbusters about “crossing the streams.  Classic definition of “bad.” 

Bill Murray: I’m not clear on that whole good/bad thing… what do you mean, “bad.”

Harold Ramis: Try to imagine all life as we know it, stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light.”

I love mixing movie dialog, comedy bits and other random nonsense in among my music.

14. “Wild Thing,” by Sam Kinison, from “Have You Seen Me Lately?”  This was a song stuck on the end of Sam’s 2^nd comedy album, and was backed by an all star team of rock guitarists of the 80s.  Sam took a few liberties with the lyrics though:

“Wild thing, I think you move me / But I wanna know for sure

Every time I kiss you I taste what other men had for lunch

The only thing that can get you off it to see me in pain, but I think I love youuuuuuu…”

15. “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” by Bonnie Tyler, from “Faster Than the Speed of Night.”  I also have a version by a group called The Dan Band, where they do the version from “Old School,” with all the F-bombs included.  I only have the Bonnie Tyler version on my player to compensate for songs like Sam Kinison’s “Wild Thing.”

16. “The Elements,” by Tom Lehrer, from “An Evening Wasted with Tom Lehrer.”  This is simple, but brilliant.  Lehrer plays a song that he calls, “completely pointless,” but is deceptively tricky.  In it, he sings the names of all the elements on the Periodic Table, set to “The Major General’s Song,” from "Pirates of Penzance."  It’s a real tongue-twister.  My favorite line is at the end: 

“These are the only ones of which the news has come to Harvard,

And there may be many others but they haven’t been discaaaahvered.”

17. “Piece of my Heart,” by Melissa Etheridge, from “Greatest Hits.”  Etheridge is the only one I know of that can reasonably cover this Janis Joplin classic.  Like in most of her songs, she totally sings her ass off.

18. “Go Home,” by Joan Jett, from “Pure and Simple.”  Another Eff-You song from one of her later albums.

19. “Money for Nothing,” by Dire Straits, from “Brothers in Arms.”  Remember how huge this song was when it came out, with its new-fangled computer-animated music video?  That was all fine and all, but just I loved that rough guitar sound (and that wild-ass drum intro).  In an interview, guitarist Mark Knofler said he was trying to get the sound that ZZ Top had on “Eliminator.”  He even contacted ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons for some advice, but Billy wouldn’t tell him anything.  Trade secret...

20. “No Man’s Land,” by Billy Joel, from “River of Dreams.”  Billy Joel’s best song that no one knows.  It’s uncharacteristically hard-rocking for Billy Joel, but he made it Track 1 on “River of Dreams,” and opened his show with it during that tour.  And I should know, because I was there.  It was really something…

Lights are out, the band comes on the stage and starts up this pounding, rocking song, and you’re thinking, “Am I at the right show?”

Then there was the Piano Man, wearing dark 50s sunglasses out at the end of the stage, in a single spotlight, in front of a mic stand, stomping his foot with the music and just bringing it.  He had this black female percussionist whose backing vocals on the chorus cut through the hall like a knife. 

The song is about the suburbanization of his Long Island home, with all the local color getting washed out by malls and parking lots.  He practically spits out the words as he laments the loss.  Here, see for yourself…

Odd Bits - The Little Biscuit Edition

Time to clean out the litter box that is my mind.

Cafeteria Comedy Hour

Friday is Pizza Day at my company’s cafeteria, where you can order a personal pizza with anything on it, for one (very good) price.  It’s the lunchtime highlight of my week.

When I went for lunch last Friday, I found my boss’s boss down there waiting for her pizza.  It was a good chance for me to get a little informal face time with someone who’s pretty high up on our food chain.  As we were chatting, it became my turn to order, and I stepped up to the counter.  There was a new ingredient among the selections, so I asked the chef what it was. 

Immediately, I foresaw the possibilities here, and engineered the following exchange:

Bluz: What’s that?

Chef: Fish.

Bluz: Hmm.  And I assume that’s chicken right there?

Chef: Yes.

Bluz.  Those sound very good for me.  [pause]  I’ll have pepperoni, bacon, ham…

Chef and Boss: [Loud laughter]

Bluz, for the win.  I totally set the whole thing up and it worked perfectly.  Although there may be a downside to the Boss thinking I’m about one prime rib away from a massive heart attack.

Corporate Health

Our company is always pushing all these “health initiatives” at us and it drives me nuts.  If I wanted to be nagged about my health, I’d stay home all day and listen to Pinky.  (Someone has to look out for me.) 

This week, they sent out this chart that shows the calorie counts of some common food items, and how long you would have to walk or jog to burn it off.  Suffice to say, I’m in serious trouble.

For example, a backed potato with a half-teaspoon of butter is 245 calories, requiring an hour and two minutes of walking to burn it off.  A plain bagel is 270 calories, which requires an hour and 8 minutes of walking.  A 2.5” by 4” slice of lasagna is 336 calories, requiring an hour and twenty-five minutes of walking.

I tell you, after one of my lunches, by the time I get done walking, I’ll be 7 miles away.

I don’t have the time or patience for that much walking, especially when the weather is only habitable outside for a couple months a year.  Why don’t they provide some realistic exercise alternatives?  Like, what I want to know is, how long will it take to burn off my lunch via bobbling my leg up and down at my desk?  I can do that all day long.  Sure my cube-mates think it’s a prolonged earth tremor, but I have my health to think about…

How many calories does tossing my Koosh Ball up to the ceiling burn off?  I like to try to see how close to the ceiling tiles I can get it without hitting.  I used to try to get it inside the grill of the light covers, without touching the bulb, but decided it would be too hard to explain how I smashed the fluorescent light bulb all over me and my desk.  Still, it really works the triceps.

Bahrain is Play’in Again

I got word from a reader from Bahrain (which was confirmed by my StatCounter, if not the country listing at the bottom of the blog), that he has been able to access my site.  So maybe I’m no longer banned!  Or, maybe I was just banned by Bahrainian Facebook, which was how my prior reader knew I was banned.

Anyway, that meant I had to make some changes to my header picture, which you might have noticed.  It’s kind of sad… I liked thinking I was subversive enough to require banishment from an entire country.  However I’m comforted that any twisted malcontents that find themselves living there now have an outlet to a twisted malcontent of the outside world.  I do what I can.

Spamalittle

As you may recall, I blogged earlier this month about my problems with Spam Comments, and how it’s taking more and more of my time to keep them off this site.

You’ll be happy to learn that the figurative coconut of an obvious solution finally fell out of the tree and conked me in the melon.  Now whenever I receive the email notifying me of a possible bullshit comment promoting some bullshit link, not only do I track back to the post to delete the comment, but I also turn off comment capability for that post.

Since they’re almost always posts that are a more than a year old, the net effect to you should be zero.  I get practically no legitimate comments on old posts, save for my “Hives” post.  You can see the effects of this action by noting the Top 5 Posts section, and how that they now mostly consist of newer posts, instead of ones that are years old.

And by only turning off the comments on a case-by-case basis, I don’t have to wade through an enormous backlog of over 650 posts.  I can just do the ones the spammers are hitting on.

So, it only took me a couple of months of suffering to hit upon the painfully obvious solution that had been staring me in the face the entire time.

Maybe I should have had fish on my pizza.  I can obviously use more brain food.

It’s Wahoo Time Again

Pinky and I are heading to Florida in early May, to go visit my folks.  As I wrote during my last trip there, their local AA baseball team is called the Pensacola Blue Wahoos.  We had a chance, back then, to wander around their brand new ballbark.  Unfortunately, tickets for the season were already sold out.

This year, I planned ahead and bought tickets online to see the Blue Wahoos play the Montgomery Biscuits.

I’ll let that sink in.  Montgomery, Alabama has a team called the Biscuits.  It makes me wonder if the team is bankrolled by Pillsbury.  Maybe they play in Pop’n Fresh Park.

The best part is the logo.  Get a load of this:

This is “Monty,” the Biscuit.

Apparently, this is the logo for their alternate “away” cap.

Is that not the wildest ball cap ever?  I must have one.  If I didn't already have a Blue Wahoos cap, I’d probably buy this one and wear it to the game.

The Biscuits also have a cool “home” cap, with the same character.

This one’s a little too “bright” for me, plus it’s too close to University of Michigan colors.  I think I prefer the Full Monty.

But you have to love the inventiveness of minor league teams.  I wonder if any other teams will bite on the food theme… The Chicago Pizza?  The Panama City Pepperoni?  The Macon Bacon?  The Parma Pierogi?  The Sausalito Sausages?  I can just see the come-on for that one…

“Come to Sausalito, where every game is a Sausage Party!”