Naginata

Getting Up

I get up this morning, a little late as usual, and head outside. It's beautiful, brisk, sunny, everything I want from an autumn morning. Then I notice I have a voicemail - my carpool buddy is having car troubles. I start to head for my car, but instead, decide to try the ol bike. It's cool enough that I decide to just head in in my relatively new khaki pants and nice shirt, instead of putting on some bike shorts or something.

There's one part of the road to work where the sidewalk has buckled extremely high. You have to go around. So I hop off to the grass and keep speeding away, feeling good about life. Unfortunately, on the merge back on to the sidewalk, my tire caught the edge and I hit the concrete going between 16 and 20 mph. Next thing I know, I'm in the grass on the steep bank off the side of the road. I look down and I see that my new pants are ripped.

So I gather my helmet, climb back up there and ride back to my apartment. I take off my pants (calm yourselves, ladies... and smik) and notice that I'm bleeding quite a bit. I slap a big bandaid on there and stand up to grab some jeans. RRRRIIIIP!

So now I notice that there's blood in my jeans and in my pants. Yes, I wasn't thinking clearly. Imagine that! Into the washer they go. Also there's no gauze in the house. I throw on some pants with the zip-on legs and head down to CVS for some gauze, alcohol, and coke wearing half shorts. I have to tell you, there's something fun about being able to get away with that.

Long story short, my wounds are dressed. The only things hurt now are my pride and my wallet. I really liked those pants ><

Trans-Fascism

Government is up to its usual tricks.

Some time ago, restaurants in New York City were asked to stop using trans-fats in food preparation. A few complied, but most did not. Now, the same health board is pushing to make the rule mandatory. Restaurants found using trans fats illegally could face substantial penalties.

That's right: If your favorite donut spot uses the wrong brand of oil, they could be fined right out of existence.

The one thing that bothers me the most about this is the claim that it's necessary because of how much trans fat cost the government in health care expenses. If the government is spending too much on healthcare, the problem there is socialism. The solution to problems created by socialism is not fascism, it's less socialism.

Harry Potter Wars

Hmm...

Image by daniyelgarcia of ytmnd.com

Required Reading

Are you a conservative? Read this. Are you still a conservative?

It's been a while...

... since we had a quiz!

As for me:

How curious!

The Solution

Warning: this post may be graphic.

So I got up at 6 AM today and got ready to go down to the, uh, butt doctor. I'm expecting a basic examination, after which he will tell me that the cyst I had down there years ago has returned, and that I'll need surgery sometime in the next few weeks. I'm steeled for this outcome - it's happened before. What I wasn't prepared for was the receptionist taking my schedule details (yesterday) telling me that I was going to have to give myself a 'fleet enema' ahead of time.

Of course my first reaction was "I must have heard her wrong", so I asked her to repeat herself. At that point, I'm a little too proud to ask a third time, so I hang up with the appointment details in hand. Fleet enema? Not only am I not in the Navy, but when I drop the soap, it stays dropped until I have some pants on.

I'll spare you the rest of the details - you've probably heard a lot more than you want to already. Hell, if you're reading this, you're a trooper, and I salute you. Too bad for you I'm almost entirely without shame.

Anyway, remembering what my first visit was like last time I had this problem, I got a friend to drive me to the doctor's office. A little paperwork and a little waiting later, I'm ushered into a really nice consultation room. Big desk, nice chairs - if I have the cancer, this is the sort of room in which I want to be told. It's worth noting that I had cancer on the brain at this point, apparently Doctor Jager is the commander-in-chief in the battle against colon cancer.

So he shakes my hand - which I was ok with BEFORE the exam - after all, as early as it was, mine may have been his first ass of the day.

After explaining my symptoms, he leads me into the exam room. I bend over the table and drop trou, and the table begins rising and tilting, raising me into a position from which I can't easily escape, and hoisting my heinie up to, oh, I honestly have no idea. I'm not sure if he got that thing from a medical supply company or some sort of S&M store.

Dark portents aside, the doc performed more or less the examination that I expected, and then apparently decided that as long as he was down there, he may as well take a look around. Look, I went to the doctor because I wanted someone to look at my tailbone and surrounding area, but before you stick a finger up there, WARN ME. Plus the man had some serious sausage fingers. I'm wondering who, exactly, picks this as a career.

Noting my suprise, he informed me that he was looking to see if the cyst might be opening just inside. Fair enough, even though I would have liked a little "hey, you might feel a little pressure" or "here comes Waldo!" ahead of time. At that point, I was willing to do what needed to be done to get him OUT OF THERE. And I got my wish. For about 5 seconds, until he started brandishing the scope.

Listen, I don't know if I'm wired differently, or if some nerves got crossed or something, but after the initial discomfort, it started to tickle. A lot. It's hard to remember that you're uncomfortable when something is tickling you, even if it is in one of the no-no areas. So as I'm leaning there, I start to giggle. Suddely, the whole concept is hilarious. It's barely 8 AM and I'm in an office, paying someone to shoot air into the rear exit. I stifle the laughter until I start farting in his face. Obviously, he knew it was coming, there's only so much air an ass will hold.

So he tells me to just take deep breaths. I'm thinking "ok doc, I'll take deep breaths if you pull your hand out of my ass".

Anyway, shortly after that, it was over. Not only is the cyst very minor, I don't have colon cancer AND I have a license to fart all I want for the rest of the day. I'm looking for the silver lining here people.

So, in short, if it gets worse, I'm going to go back for an ultrasound or something, but for now, meh.

Plus, he said he'd call. Really, he did.

George Will

You need to read George Will's article today.

The Problem

I went down to see a dermatologist today.

When I got up this morning, I had painful plantar warts on my right big toe and two different parts of my left foot. Yes, I should have gotten them taken care of months or even years ago, but I didn't. I was given a prescription creme, but I let the doctor know that if the creme didn't work in 2 months, I wanted him to start cutting, be it with a knife or a laser. It was a compromise of sorts.

Anyway, to test or prepare my system for the creme, they put a patch on my inner upper arm. What's in the patch? Pain.

Seriously, they said that it would be red, possibly even slightly blistered by tonight, and that I should take it off then. It was burning 20 minutes after they put it on. Now, I can't think about anything else, just the itching and the burning. And my appointment tomorrow morning.

Yes, I have another appointment tomorrow at 8 AM. An appointment with a... different kind of doctor. A... back door doctor. At least whatever he's going to do will probably take my mind off the burning in my arm.

So, in summary:

• Good News:The mole(s) on my back and arms? No cancer. I'm predisposed to skin cancer, but I have an authoritative "no, it's not cancer" from a professional in the field.
  
• Good News:The doc gave me some creme that will either cure my warts or make them much easier to remove surgically.
  
• Bad News:I haven't even started the creme, and already it burns
  
• Bad News:I have to get up at 6 o'clock in the morning tomorrow to have unspeakable things done to me.
  

So, it's 9/11...

Before I get going, my bloghost lost a few comments during some cleanup. Sorry about that ><

Anyway, it's September 11th. Today our nation is going to take a few minutes to remember those few thousand Americans who died at the hands of some religious fanatics 5 years ago. For at least, I don't know, 20 seconds or so, we'll all remember the shock and outrage that we all felt as we watched the World Trade center fall.

Then we're going to go right back to squabbling and infighting. I can't help but be a little depressed by the whole affair.

... somehow I saw myself making a longer post, but that's about all I have to say.

The Bush Economy

I've always known it to be true, but here's some proof that Americans hate our fabulous economy.