Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

March Madness

Thirty-one soldiers died as the result of the decision made at the beginning of Bill Clinton’s second term by a bunch of guys, including Dick Cheney and Paul Wolfowitz, war-mongers extraordinaire, to free up Iraq’s oil (or squelch the supply so that each oil company's profits might reach $20 billion for the year):

Spc. Lizbeth Robles, 31, of Vega Baja, Puerto Rico : Spc. Azhar Ali, 27 of Flushing, N.Y. : Spc. Wai P. Lwin, 27, of Queens, N.Y. : Spc. Robert S. Pugh, 25, of Meridian, Miss. : Sgt. 1st Class Michael D. Jones, 43, of Unity, Maine : Capt. Sean Grimes, 31, of Southfield, Mich. : Sgt. 1st Class Donald W. Eacho, 38, of Black Creek, Wis. : Cpl. Stephen M. McGowan, 26, of Newark, Del. : Spc. Wade Michael Twyman, 27, of Vista, Calif. : Spc. Adriana N. Salem, 21, of Elk Grove Village, Ill. : Staff Sgt. Juan M. Solorio, 32, of Dallas, Texas : Sgt. Seth K. Garceau, 27, of Oelwein, Iowa : Sgt. Andrew L. Bossert, 24, of Fountain City, Wis. : Pfc. Michael W. Franklin, 22, of Coudersport, Pa. : Spc. Matthew A. Koch, 23, of West Henrietta, N.Y. : Spc. Nicholas E. Wilson, 21, of Glendale, Ariz. : Staff Sgt. Donald D. Griffith, Jr., 29, of Mechanicsville, Iowa : Lance Cpl. Joshua L. Torrence, 20, of Lexington, S.C. : Spc. Paul M. Heltzel, 39, of Baton Rouge, La. : Staff Sgt. Ricky A. Kieffer, 36, of Ovid, Mich. : Spc. Rocky D. Payne, 26, of Howell, Utah : Pfc. Lee A. Lewis, Jr 28, of Norfolk, Va. : Spc. Jonathan A. Hughes, 21, of Lebanon, Ky. : Sgt. Paul W. Thomason, III, 37, of Talbot, Tenn. : Spc. Francisco G. Martinez, 20, of Fort Worth, Texas : Lance Cpl. Kevin S. Smith, 20, of Springfield, Ohio : Spc. Travis R. Bruce, 22, of Byron, Minn. : Cpl. Bryan J. Richardson, 23, of Summersville, W.Va. : Sgt. Lee M. Godbolt, 23, of New Orleans, La. : Sgt. Isiah J. Sinclair, 31, of Natchitoches, La. : Pfc. Samuel S. Lee, 19, of Anaheim, Calif.

And meanwhile, back in Afghanistan, where the chief architect of terrorism against all things American, Osama bin Laden, hangs out, these soldiers, whose deaths might remind some in the present administration of the original goal that was set after the World Trade Center destruction, but which has never been achieved, as they now contemplate sacrificing more American lives in Iran, were killed this past month:

Capt. Michael T. Fiscus, 36, of Milford, IN, Master Sgt. Michael T. Hiester, 33, of Bluffton, IN, Spc. Brett M. Hershey, 23, of State College, PA, and Spc. Norman K. Snyder, 21, of Carlisle, IN, assigned to the Army National Guard’s 76th Infantry Brigade (Separate), Indianapolis, IN, who died March 26 in Kabul, Afghanistan, when a mine detonated near their vehicle; and Staff Sgt. Shane M. Koele, 25, of Wayne, Neb., who died Mar. 16 at Shindand Airfield, Afghanistan, from injuries sustained Mar. 15, when a land mine exploded near his HMMWV.

And lest we forget that the War in Iraq has turned into a debacle, like the Viet Nam War, the remains of Navy Lieutenant Commander J. Forrest G. Trembley of Spokane, WA, missing since he was shot down August 21, 1967, near the China-Vietnam border have been identified, and he will be buried April 1 at Arlington National Cemetery with full honors. And the remains of Navy Commander Thomas E. Dunlop of Neptune Beach, Fla., missing since April 6, 1972, when his plane was shot down in Quang Binh Province, North Vietnam, were identified. He was buried in Arlington National Cemetery on March 21 with full honors.

I wonder if President Bush will don his uniform and attend the funeral of fellow airman, Lt. Cdr. Trembley, on April 1, or remain on the ranch in Crawford.

I hate doing these posts.

The amount of time and energy spent by people, from her parents to King George II, trying to save a 41-year-old woman who has been in a persistent vegetative state for 15 years since suffering a heart attack because she was bulemic is an example of pure insanity. Would Terri Schiavo be alive today if she (actually, her husband, the guardian) had not been able to file a suit or was limited in the amount she could have recovered, as Bush the Lesser wants for victims of medical mistakes?

Would Terri have made it this far if she had been on Medicaid? Maybe. Boy George wants to cut federal Medicaid funding, which disproportionately affects the poor and people like Terri Schiavo, who have run out of resources because of lengthy and debilitating illnesses or injuries. The states will be required to ante up an amount equal to the decrease in federal funding to maintain the same level of services; in fact, the states will have to contribute even more than that due to inflation and ever-escalating medical costs, which will result in benefit cuts or state tax increases. If compassion and our sense of caring for those of us who are less fortunate prevails and taxes increase, you can be sure that Junior will continue to claim that he didn't increase taxes.

Compassionate conservatism, my ass!

It's Time for News

I'm trying to figure out how this happened. I think the boy had second thoughts and decided to turn in the other two clowns because his parents would have killed him otherwise.

And somebody let some burning shit get away from them, burning down 14 power poles valued at over $14,000 and a wooden fence. Whatever black-out that may have been caused in this locale wasn't my fault. I dabble only with electric appliances and wiring; and although people have said that I am full of shit, I don't set fires with it.

The Twinkie defense didn't work. How could anyone expect the chocolate defense to work? How much liquor is in those chocolates? I saw somewhere that there might be as much as 3 ml. in each one, which means that the guy had to eat 80 of them in an hour to get to twice the legal limit in Newfoundland, if he weighed 175 pounds (80 kg.). That's about 3 1/2 pounds of chocolate he ate in an hour.

Death by chocolate ... been tried before.

Sometimes, There's Only One Way

Driving in southeast Utah desert country was interesting, given the hordes of deer that bounded across the roads, but more so because almost every driver we passed waved. I don't think it was a Mormon derogatory gesture because there were a lot of smiles thrown in.

We don't have that kind of friendly driver interaction where we live. Of course, when Stacey first got the white VW Beetle with the black "The Who" sticker on the back bumper, there was camaraderie with other VW drivers. We would wave to each other. But that has not lasted. People who had no history with the VW bought Beetles for their kids or because they had more money than they knew what to do with and wanted to add a car to their collection.

Not many VW drivers wave anymore. It is very discouraging.

Imagine my surprise this afternoon as I turned off Prospect onto Bolivar toward Ninth Street, right near Jacobs Field when the drivers of two cars were waving at me. I waved back, smiling. Then a big-ass, maroon Hummer came toward me, and both the driver and the passenger were waving. How refreshing. Spring was in the air; after all, the temperature was in the mid-40’s. The lights at Jacobs Field were being tested.

I stopped at the intersection of East Ninth Street, eight lanes wide. The lights were green for traffic on Ninth. Across the intersection, there were two green arrows and a red “x” over lanes that led to one of the Jacobs Field parking garages. I checked the traffic light. There was no traffic light on the other side of the intersection, just those green arrows, showing me the way to the parking garage.

I looked up through the sunroof. Maybe I pulled up too far toward the intersection. No light.

What the fuck. No fucking light. One-way street.

Happy Easter

Honda. Nissan. Toyota. The view from behind the three men in white coats identifies them as engineers for the each of the three car companies. It's a Mazda commercial. What's wrong with this picture? The commercial preys on our basest feelings about American cars ... that they are inferior in engineering quality to Japanese cars. Mazda features Americans as the engineers for the Japanese car companies.

One guy pushes the button or the Mountain Dew machine and gets a "bonus." His best friend bought his drink inside the convenience store. The two guys head over to the car, and Guy #1 pushes the remote to unlock the doors. The car does one of those Transformer changes. Pushes button. Transformer change. Again. And again. Points the remote at his male friend. Pushes button. Again. And again. And he's now a shapely she. With a Mountain Dew. And Guy #1 is obviously interested. Think about that one. But not very long.

Remember the client who saluted the judge? In the mail yesterday, I got a copy of the judge's order referring my client for a psychiatric evaluation.

I picked up Stacey this morning and brought her home until her next surgery. The J-Dogg announced this morning that he posted a new entry on his website.

Methane Blows!

I read every newspaper in the surgery center waiting area. There was an article in one of the papers about a new shopping center starring, SURPRISE, Wal-Mart.

Back in the day when I was in high school and there was no EPA, there was a group of guys, star athletes all, who extended an open invitation to me to join them out on "the moon" for drinking and merriment on spring and fall weekends. I've never been into drinking and what kind of merriment could go on with eight, 10, 12 guys getting hammered, unless that was the puking part, I really don’t want to think about.

"The moon" was a euphemism for the landfill, which was itself a euphemism coined by the owners of the landfill to convince an unbelieving public that dumping millions and millions of cubic yards of rotting, sticking garbage just west of their backyards was a beneficial thing. It was creating new land for posterity, or so the owners reclaimed.

We've moved away from there, both physically and temporally. But progress … as defined by whoever wants to define it … never stops.

Now, there's an EPA; and the EPA has given a developer permission to re-break ground for Wal-Mart and some other stores. Apparently, some time last year, digging started at the site. A large "garbage dome" collapsed, releasing all kinds of liquefied putrefaction into ground water and streams nearby and a lot of combustible methane into the air. The EPA stepped in.

With pilings sunk deep into the unstable ground to support building foundations and an untested ventilation system fresh off the drawing board to suck away explosive methane gas, the EPA says the buildings won't collapse on shoppers and won't explode either, unless there is a massive power failure causing the ventilation system to fail, which is highly fucking unlikely, given the safeguards in place by power companies.

That black-out we had … yeah, that big one, the biggest in the history of the universe … was caused by the power company servicing this new shopping center. And there’s a nuclear power plant this same company owns … acidic water leaked out of a pipe and corroded the containment vessel … millimeters from a big melt-down. Highly fucking unlikely? I’ve already got a solution. “In case of power failure, do NOT use your cell phone. You may cause an explosion.”

And what about the ever-present stench?

More interesting than this story was the one I read in an abandoned Weekly World News. No, it's not the article about Bigfoot running into the burning camper and saving little 6-month-old, Katelyn Miller, daughter of Jarod and Mary Ellen Miller, of Greeley, Colorado, that I'm talkin' about.

It's the story about some weird experiments that were taking place on Arizona's death row that really piqued my curiosity. Wacky scientist, Jordan Ellison, whose grant to find a cancer cure was revoked, turned convicted murderer, Bobby "Killer" Caine, into a "large, green, living tree-man," whose new prison cell "has a southern exposure so he gets daylight most of the time." Unfortunately, Caine's "head is now a gnarled leafy bush" with no mouth. Prison guard Munsey Wagner thinks that it's pretty sad that the "only kisses [the tree man will] ever get are from woodpeckers."

Sad. Very distressing story. Stem cell research ... this must be the reason George W. Bush is against it!

GORTEX AND GUTS

Stacey asked me to post something. She dictated this, but I added some stuff so it is more coherent. -- B.

here's the story. i had abdominal surgery about 5 years ago; then gall bladder surgery about a year after. bill thought i had an incisional hernia after the gall bladder surgery. went to the doctor. told me it was my fault since i didn't do enough sit-ups or leg lifts ... whatever. so, bill convinced me to call and talk to the surgeon's partner a couple months ago because the hernia was much larger and causing some pain. the guy said he would open me up and put mesh over the site and sew me back up and then there would be a better than 50 percent chance of failure. he said i could die on the table. he obviously didn't want to be bothered with me.

i went to another doctor, this time at the cleveland clinic, who said he would repair it laparoscopically. mesh, he said, was nasty stuff; gortex is better, he said, because it won't stick ... thick gortex ... he also said it wasn't one hernia but at least four ...

anyway, surgery was yesterday. 4 1/2 hours of surgery. time flies when you're unconscious on a ventilator and someone poking around in your abdominal cavity, blowing up your abdomen with carbon dioxide, pulling your guts back in through the SEVEN gaping holes ... swiss cheese, Steve the Surgeon said. i love the guy. honest, unpretentious, called me at home before the surgery to let me know some things ... didn't say he was DOC-TOR blah-blah-blah, but Steve blah-blah-blah.

anyway, from what he told bill because i was totally out of it, the swiss-cheesed area was 22 cm by 13 cm, which is 8 1/2 inches by 5 inches, which he covered, after doing what he had to do to get my intestines back into my abdomen, with a 30 cm by 20 cm patch of thick gortex, which he then stapled all the way around on the inside and then stitched twice around all the way through the gortex, the abdominal wall, and out the abdomen ...

fentanyl, which is 50 to 100 times more potent as a pain killer than morphine, is not doing a heck of a lot for the pain. i apologized to the nursing staff this morning for being a bad patient ... not at my best. not my usual nice and delightful.

that's the story. be home when i feel like it.

*dbnr*

Asparagus

I drove past this... thing... today in front of an H&R Block office. I can't describe what I saw, except to tell you that it looked like a giant green asparagus spear; so, I did what I do best ... I drew it!!

It moved up (1) and down (2). There was a fan or something blowing from the bottom up through the thing.

If this thing was supposed to draw people into H & R Block, it wasn't working. The office was empty. There was no crowd gathered around the pumping asparagus; there was nobody, not even a vegan.

I might drive by tomorrow. See if there's a steak or a ham out there.

Traffic and Sharks

On the way back from Columbus, I saw two flashing signs along the median of the northbound lanes of Interstate 71 which announced "Traffic Switch - March 21." Did I miss something? Are we changing to driving on the left instead of the right side? I couldn't find anything anywhere about it. I'm not changing. After all, we were supposed to switch to the metric system 30 years ago; and most United States of Americans don't know the difference between a centipede and a centimeter.

I got home in time to watch the terrible movie, Spring Break Shark Attack, which proved my point about not going in any water in which you cannot see the bottom, cannot touch the bottom, or in which live things reside. You notice that those three things are in the disjunctive. I trace this back to nearly drowning when I was about seven years old at a deep, dark, fish-infested, natural lake, where the families living on our street used to go a few times a summer. Going down the sliding board was fun, but going under the dark, slimy coldness was no fun. The sun disappeared. Some kind of living thing whipped past my leg, leaving a bleeding gash. I couldn't see it because it was black. I couldn't breathe water the same as I could breathe air.

This may be the reason that fish give me the creeps, too.

My grandmother took me to Edgewater Park later in the summer ... to learn to swim ... in Lake Erie. I knew about lamprey eels.

Some old guys were playing baseball on the huge baseball field with the lighted scoreboard and sky-high grandstands. I told grandma I wanted to watch the baseball game. She obliged. She was very cool.

Can the other person who was watching the movie tell me if the slick guy who spiked the chick's drink and then tried to get in her pants was a just dessert for the sharks? I hope so.

Make It So

My client saluted the judge at a hearing this morning.

Vote Scandal Mars Peep Awards

The public is clamoring to know the results of the voting in the 29th Annual International Peeps Haiku Competition. Unfortunately, I mailed the 2,654 sealed ballots to Arthur Andersen, figuring the firm would be looking for a new business opportunity, especially from a world-recognized competition as prestigious as this one. When I called the phone number listed on the webpage to get the tabulation, I was very surprised to talk to Abner. It seems Abner is the janitor custodian at the vacant office trustee and that Arthur Andersen isn't taking in new clients.

I don't understand why Princeton still sends students to intern there.

Anyway, I had to then call each of the 2,654 judges, the vast majority of whom are from countries other than the U. S., since the contest is international in scope and character, and tally their votes by hand. And that turned into a real mess because none of these foreign languages sounds much like English; so, being the dumb shit that I am, I couldn't understand much about what anyone was talking about. So, I was kind of left to my own devices in judging.

If Peeps are not mentioned, that's like totally the kiss of death. But then I thought that I'm not getting paid by the Peeps company. You'd think that after holding this competition for 28 years, the fuckers would send a couple boxes of Peeps for prizes. No.

So, I say, fuck 'em.

This is always a difficult decision, not made any easier by the arrival in the mail today of a headless Peeps chick postmarked Chicago; but, nevertheless, the following entrants of this year's contest have been awarded prize packages in no particular order because of the confusion engendered by the vote-counting debacle:

At No Cost

Judge: Whoa! You don't want to plead guilty because I'll throw you in jail right now. This is very serious. What you meant to say is that you want time to get a lawyer.

Young woman: I can't afford one. I'm not working.

Judge: I'll appoint a lawyer to represent you then at no cost to you.

Young woman: I can't afford a court-appointed lawyer.

Judge: "At no cost" means you don't have to pay.

Young woman: Oh. That'll be okay then.

The Lady in the Taupe Suit

I sat in the waiting area of the Women's Health Center of the medical monolith, Cleveland Clinic, in the middle of the afternoon trying to operate my business while waiting for Stacey, a case study in modern medicine, as practiced upon someone with great medical insurance coverage. And so I had to talk on the phone, my cell phone. I turned the ringer off so that I did not bother anyone.

I know I'm going to catch a lot of crap about using my cell phone in a hospital; and don't worry, a sturdy woman in a taupe suit became extraordinarily upset with me when I didn't follow her instructions and end my call immediately. I did apologize and moved about 25 feet to where she told me to sit if I was going to continue using the phone. She moved me to a place where there was a sign, a small sign on the desk nearby, telling me all cell phone use was prohibited because it interferes with sensitive medical devices. In response to my question seeking the reason I was being required to move, she said that I would mess up the mammography equipment. And she didn't tell me in a polite tone, but with a nasty cold-heartedness that meant one of my gender could never understand such important matters.

I moved. I made a bunch of phone calls from my position facing the desk with the sign telling me cell phone use was prohibited. But before I moved at the request of the sturdy, cold-hearted, taupe-suited woman, I did not notice any mammograms being done in the waiting room. I did not see any EKG's, EEG's, or MRI's being performed in the large room. Nobody was on a ventilator. Nobody was ever examined with so much as a stethoscope. There was a guy wearing sunglasses and a Patriots jacket watching the television that broadcast women's health news and the services that the Cleveland Clinic provides to women. That was out of the ordinary.

I don't know about anyone else, but I want to know what is the big deal about using a cell phone in a hospital? Is it going to fuck up somebody's mammogram or screw up someone's EKG? Or cause a nuclear explosion somewhere in the hospital?

Or is using the cell phone in a hospital as dangerous as it is to use a cell phone while pumping gas at the BP station?

The Mayo Clinic found that after using 17 different kinds of cell phones in 526 tests, the most serious interference occurred when a phone was held one or two inches from unshielded external cardiopulmonary monitoring devices. In 7% of the tests, the interpretation of the data might have been affected adversely.

In one reported instance, a mechanical ventilator stopped momentarily and then restarted when a cell phone was held inside of two inches from a com port on the ventilator.

Cell phones used within three feet of EKG tests, at times, caused some disturbance in the tracings; but beyond that distance, no problem was detected at all. This EKG interference accounted for most of the 4% interference rate within 36 inches that was caused by cell phones. Handsets, like the walkie-talkies or two-way radios used in ambulances on the way to the hospital, caused interference in 41% of medical devices, like the EKG devices and ventilators used in ambulances.

Interference with pacemakers has been documented, but that interference may occur if the phone is used within four inches of the pacemaker. The phone's signal might create a situation in which the pacemaker increases the pace of the heart's ventricles. When the phone signal ends, so does the misinterpretation by the pacemaker. The same type of interference occurs much more often with emergency personnel's radios.

There have been no reports of life-threatening interference with medical equipment by cell phones. The FCC does not ban cell phones from hospitals.

What does all this mean? It means that the lady in the taupe suit should be more polite. Moreover, she should get rid of that butt-ugly suit.

Surinam Dream

I had a dream. Sometimes people wonder where reality ends and dreams begin. This is not one of those times; or maybe it is, and I just don't know it yet.

I was, for some reason, captured by government agents. Only after a long fight in which I used my white-belt Tae-kwon-do skills I learned from Master Kang (the government agents knew that I had learned under Master Kang and were very fearful of my "advanced" skills) did I succumb, at which time I was miniaturized, the physics of which the government agents would not reveal, in spite of my repeated requests to do so. I then found myself on a miniature train in Surinam. Because the train was miniaturized, the trip was very long through the jungles of Surinam. It was very hot on the train. The only place that was cool on the train was the Starbucks car. I did not have any money with me, but I did know the two baristas who were working in the Starbucks car; and they told me I didn't have to pay since we were all miniaturized. I sat in the Starbucks car drinking coffee and reading the newspaper for a long time. I asked each of the baristas in private how they had gotten on the train and whether secret shoppers graded their performance. They didn't know how they had gotten on the train, but each of them warned me that government agents were still looking for me. The alarm then went off, and I woke up. I never did get an answer about the secret shoppers.

Amateur dream interpreters!! Go for it!!

Sports in Review

The Irish Masters final is today. Number 1-ranked Ronnie O'Sullivan goes up against Matt Stevens after beating number 2-ranked Mark Williams on Saturday.

The great golfing-bigot Bobby Jones once said of greater golfer Jack Nicklaus that "Nicklaus played a game with which I am not familiar." The assessment of Nicklaus is similar to the assessment of O'Sullivan, of whom it is said that he has played as "not seen in the game before."

O'Sullivan has earned over $8,160,239 in his career. If he beats Matt Stevens today, he will cement his No. 1 ranking with his fourth major championship of the World Championship Snooker season.

And personally disappointing to me is the fact that not one American has cracked the top 100 in the International Table Tennis Federation's world rankings.

Patent Infringement

Dear Mr. Prewshnicky,

It has come to my attention that you are partially bald; however, you have attempted to conceal your partial baldness by styling your hair using only the remaining hair on your head. Photographic evidence has revealed that you divide your hair into three sections and carefully fold one section over another, thereby concealing your partially bald pate.

Please be advised that unless you immediately cease and desist the styling of your hair in this manner, I, on behalf of my clients, will be forced to file suit in the United States District Court to seek injunctive relief and monetary damages for infringement upon United States Patent No. 4,022,227, issued by the United States Patent Office to my clients.

It would be appreciated if you or your attorney would contact me immediately to verify that you have complied with this request to cease and desist. Failure to do so will force me to take further action to enforce my clients' rights under federal law.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Bill

What You Don't See

The prosecutor sat at the table in the jury room finishing up his 8:30 docket of cases, seeing the people representing themselves. They were the toughest with which to deal because their quests were personal. It was about 10 after 11. My trial was scheduled to start at 10:30, but in this court, that was a dream.

I sat at the other end of the table, listening to the excuses, intuitively knowing which were close to reality, let alone the truth; but that mattered not to the prosecutor, who was trying to reduce his case load and that of the court, making room for the onslaught of new cases that would be generated over the upcoming weekend.

There were a couple of men standing against the wall to his right along with a woman, all waiting to talk to him, and there were others out in the large gallery area outside the four courtrooms on the floor. The prosecutor's assistant would walk out and escort someone to the table where he or she would be told "the deal."

He finished up with a woman and said to his assistant, handing her a file, "Get this knucklehead; I'll see what kind of cockamamie story he's got."

"Sir," she said to the guy standing directly to the prosecutor's right. "You're next."

Not missing a beat, the guy said, smiling, "I see I've graduated to knucklehead. Your police officer said I was an idiot."

The prosecutor didn't laugh. Joyless bastard.

My trial? The joyless bastard prevailed. Or maybe not. He urged the judge to give my client 30 days in jail, but she imposed a fine of only $150. I guess she figured that getting thrown through a plate glass window and nearly bleeding to death ... "a horrific, bloody scene," one officer said ... was enough punishment.

C'est la guerre.

I MUST BE FEELING A LITTLE BETTER

i just ripped a julia fordham cd and a couple of my favorite barry white songs to my phone's (i have a treo 600 -- don't hate me) digital card and started playing around with the windows media center on my new computer (i've had it since i got home from knee surgery but haven't spent much time on it) and find that I CAN WATCH TV ON IT! AND RECORD TV ON IT! IT EVEN HAS A REMOTE CONTROL!

HOW COOL IS THAT!

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE OLD -- or "don't fucking start with me."

monday:
noon: physical therapy
1 p.m.: dr. appointment

tuesday:
2 p.m.: bone scan
all day: recovery from physical therapy

wednesday:
8 a.m.: upper gi exam
noon: physical therapy

thursday:
OHMYGOD! I HAVE NO MEDICAL "THING" ON THURSDAY!
all day: recovery from physical therapy

friday:
1 p.m. physical therapy **btw, i fucking HATE physical therapy.

monday:
noon: physical therapy
1 p.m.: dr. appointment
2 p.m.: a little "procedure" in another doctor's office is scheduled

tuesday:
all day: recovery from physical therapy
A DAY OFF!

wednesday:
noon: physical therapy

thursday:
OHMYGOD! I HAVE ANOTHER DAY OFF!
all day: recovery from physical therapy

friday:
1 p.m. physical therapy

... blah, blah, fucking blah-blah. i'm stopping here cuz that next week i'll be in the hospital afreakinggain for ANOTHER surgery.

RECUPERATION

stacey won't post about what's going on; so i will let you know in this **blog post by proxy.** physical therapy is a fucking bitch. people who say that pain is just a word are assholes. martha stewart would probably say, "vicodin is a good thing!"

speaking of vicodin, two of them causes some pretty weird dreams. someone with a lesser constitution would have succumbed under the rain of body blows inflicted by this drug-crazed woman. in her dream state, the offender (that would be me) compared her to someone else, which made her very angry ... and rather than reacting vociferously, she reacted pugilistically. but not in her dream. in her real life.

she is recovering. in fact, she went into office max without assistance the other day. she has not been cleared to drive a car yet, but that will come at the end of the week.

she goes under the knife again on march 23rd.

Annual Peeps Haiku Competition

The boys are men. We don't attend church. The Easter Bunny doesn't stop here anymore. As a result, I can only gauge when Easter might be by trying to remember when Ash Wednesday was, when Easter candy is in the store, and when the Kiwanis Club advertises its Palm Sunday Pancake Breakfast (the sign says "Palm Sunday" on it, but no date).

Ash Wednesday was like close to Groundhog Day, which was about a month or so ago, and Easter candy is on display at Target, and the Kiwanis Club sign is up. Easter is close. It is time for the 29th Annual International Peeps Haiku Competition. Submit your original, previously-unsubmitted Peep-related haiku in the classic form in the comment section of this post. Dire consequences befell the individual who breached the rule by submitting a plagiarized haiku, which was originally submitted to The New Yorker by J.D. Salinger in 1971.

The winner will be chosen by a panel of judges, the identities of which whom will not be disclosed because of the recent deadly violence perpetrated against judges in Iraq and Illinois; and all decisions of the judges will be final.

Prizes will be awarded. If you have a problem with that, then do not enter the competition. The prize committee has not decided on the actual prizes yet, but there will be some pretty neat things (I think there were things from Levenger last year, but this does not mean this will happen this year.); you take your chances.

Disclaimer: This competition is not sanctioned or supported by Just Born, the company which makes Peeps and owns trademarks related to Peeps and makes all kinds of marshmallow ... things ... besides the Peeps chicks. The idiot who conducts the competition makes no money from this endeavor; so, if the Just Born Company has a problem with this competition, that's just too damn bad.**

Let the fun begin!

The deadline for submissions is 11:59 p.m., Eastern Standard Time, March 13, 2005.

**I wanted this disclaimer to be more legal-like, but I couldn't afford to pay a lawyer for more than the first eight words of the disclaimer and one punctuation mark (A colon was cost-effective.).

Band Review

One of the guys in the neighborhood is in a band. He had a gig in a local watering hole tonight. Bob is the drummer. He's good.

There was a guitar player and a bass player and a singer. While I was there, they covered a couple Kiss tunes. I'm not into Kiss. There's a cousin of mine who has every Kiss recording ever made. He's got imports and bootlegs, everything. He'd be a better critic that I could be; so, I will skip those numbers. The bass player was wearing huge platform shoes with zebra stripes; I'm guessing he was the Kiss fan.

They moved on to two tunes by Van Morrison, "Moondance" and "Brown-Eyed Girl," then tried "Fly Away" by Lenny Kravitz, after which I wanted to fly away; but, the friends with whom I sat convinced me to stay for the final song of the set, which was Blues Traveler's "Run-Around." I'm not a musician or a singer. I know one tune on the harmonica and I forgot the other one. I faked playing the flute-o-phone in school. And I was lip-synching in grades 1 through 12, long before Milli Vanilli thought they could get away with it.

But I know that the melodies of these songs have more than one note. Singing one word louder than the others does not change the fact that it was the same note as the one before it. Singing is more than knowing the words and hoping all of the patrons are sloshed enough to hear what they want to hear.

Bob asked me to see his last gig with this particular band. I did. I'm glad he's moving on. And I'm home before midnight.

Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

President Bush wants to cut funding for basic scientific research, yet he continues to pursue the missile defense shield, practical testing of which has failed miserably. Canada politely told him to go fuck himself and won’t be a part of it, which tends to prove that those running the sovereign nation up north have a modicum of intelligence. I’m sure that Bush will require Canadian participation in the Star Wars program as a condition of opening the U.S. border for Canadian beef imports, which was supposed to begin on March 7, but which has been delayed by the U.S.

I apologize that this post has degenerated into criticism of our the President. It wasn't supposed to be. The reason I brought up basic scientific research was because we really don’t realize how such a concept as the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle applies in everyday life. As everyone well knows, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle basically says that if a position of a subatomic particle is determined, then it is not possible to measure its exact speed; and if the speed of a particle is measured, one cannot determine its exact location. We can also throw in the idea that the very act of observing or measuring the location or speed of the particle has an effect upon the particle, contributing to the uncertainty.

Generally, this principle is applicable to teeny tiny subatomic particles traveling at high speeds; but, on occasion, we can see examples in every day life, if we approach life with an open mind (Oh, I could go off on a tangent, again; but I need to stick with my outline.). So, the story begins.

The Big Red Penis is in the shop, and it was just not possible to attend to my business and get Stacey to her doctor appointments and physical therapy sessions with just one car. As amazing as the white, VW Beetle with the black “The Who” sticker on the back bumper might be, it cannot be in two places at once; so, I rented a car for a few days to drive out to Port Clinton and other exotic locales until we get the other car back. I have spent the last two days with a different car, a maroon Mercury Sable.

I can’t explain this anomaly except by hypothesizing that the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle does, indeed, apply to every day life. I have parked the car a number of times in the past two days in parking lots of various sizes. Invariably, if I remember that the car is a maroon Mercury Sable, I cannot remember exactly where I parked the damn thing. And when I parked in the third aisle over that way next to the Cadillac Humungous SUX, I don’t recognize the car as mine when I get there. It takes a few seconds to sink in.

Before sending a man or woman or both to Mars, we need to fund research in this area. Perhaps this is where scientists should be looking for the Grand Unified Theory … or maybe not.

Carry Back

My new courier bag came by UPS yesterday from Timbuk2. I used the design-your-own feature on the website, and the price wasn't any more than ordering an in-stock bag. I realized, ripping apart the UPS box with great fervor, the dogs staring at me, terror in their eyes, that this might be an obsession ... and one which real men don't like to disclose. Maybe. But it's not like all the bags are the same brand or size or configuration or color. If the courier bags I have were all the same brand or the same kind, tnen maybe you could say that I was really sick.

I carried around a Hartmann British Tan leather briefcase for about 20 years. I still have it. It is all beat to hell; it has character; other lawyers have been telling me for years that I needed something new. And it's never a good thing to dump Diet Coke on a briefcase, even one which might need more character. One lawyer said I was giving lawyers a bad name, although I can't imagine a briefcase giving any worse name to lawyers than they already have. He should wake up and smell the coffee.

Matt and Mark had courier bags from their days when they worked at the Wilderness Shop while they were in high school. They were vigilant about keeping an eye on their bags, and I never got the opportunity to exercise my powers of eminent domain and take one of them. So, I went down to the Wilderness Shop before it closed (it is now some kind of bedding store) and found a Patagonia courier bag in bright yellow with black straps and trim.

It's big enough to carry my laptop, but it is not padded like the one I found about nine months ago ... on sale, at Cleveland Trunk. Navy blue and slightly larger than the Patagonia bag, it was not a brand name, but it would protect my laptop when travelling; at least that was my official reason for the purchase.

A few months back, I was looking for a birthday present for Jackal. I saw a bright green and black Timbuk2 courier bag with a Cuban print in a wide stripe on the bag. I know that sounds weird, but I liked it. Different. Intriguing. Smaller than the navy blue and Patagonia bags, it has a structured bottom. Being smaller, it is ideal for days I go to court with only one or two files. I bought it. Last one in the store. Or so she said. I bought it. I was using it most days and got favorable feedback from bailiffs and judges. One of the deputies manning the security checkpoint at the Justice Center asked if I got it in Cuba. See? Interesting. Conversation-starting.

While wandering through Wilson's Leather looking for Christmas presents, I spied a leather courier bag, larger than the other three bags and smelling like my old Wilson 2000 baseball glove. How could I resist, as memories flooded over me, memories associated with the smell? I couldn't resist. It was almost like feeling the chills up my spine I would get when warming up in the outfield before a game. The green expanse of outfield grass, the advertising signs on the fence beyond, DT throwing the ball over my head out of my reach. Really. Anyone would have done it.

Now, this bag that came UPS yesterday is not a new bag, but a replacement. The Jackal needed a bag for school. I told him he could take one of my bags. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he would exercise dominion over the lime-green Cuba-motif Timbuk2 bag. I had to get a replacement, you see. Had to. Everybody would. A bag of my own design. Had to. I'm using it for the first time tomorrow.

The Beagle and Me

If you've been here before, you might know that we have a beagle named Scout, who is playful, fun-loving, and keeps the house clean. She behaves herself for the most part and is a good watchdog, howling at the sight or sound of anything unusual. She sleeps on her back on many occasions, which is
pretty funny. She plays well with our boxer, Sheba, and doesn't bite little kids. And she cozies up to me when I'm sitting on the couch or laying in bed. She is very loving ... until it's three in the morning and I let her out. She will not come in the house when I call her. It's a big joke to her. She will stay outside for an hour or so, if she feels like it; and no amount of bribery will bring her back.

My friend, DT, told me that beagles are like that. Once they get something into their heads, they don't let go of the thought.

But Scout the Beagle is not like other dogs with which I have been acquainted. Whereas all of the dogs we have owned have done the catching thing, Scout doesn't. And I'm not talking about catching Frisbees or stuff like that. I'm talking about easy things, like a piece of meat. Every other dog that I have had could catch a piece of steak tossed in the dog's direction. Most of the dogs would even catch it when it is thrown across the room. And if they missed, they would make a valiant effort trying to catch it, you know, like knocking over stuff, like lamps, on tables. And I would throw other stuff, like popcorn and grapes, and they would catch the stuff. It's fun, but then again, it doesn't take way much to entertain me.

But not Scout. I could make it easy for her, be like maybe not even a foot away, and she won't catch what I'm tossing her way. She is like Napoleon Dynamite, getting hit in the face with the steak by his uncle.

If I throw her a spiral-sliced piece of Honeybaked Ham, the piece of ham will smack her right in the face. She doesn't move. She doesn't blink. Smack! Right in the face. No movement. Nothing. She doesn't even open her mouth. Or move away. Whap in the face, then the meat falls to the floor. If I miss her face, she won't move. She doesn't even flinch. The meat flies past her and smacks on the floor. Only then will she excitedly make a move to get the piece of meat. Then I get yelled at about messing up the clean floor with a piece of meat.

No ... it's not Scout who yells at me. She just bends down and snorts up the piece of meat. Scout, that is, not the one who yells at me. Then Scout has the nerve to look longingly at me for another piece of meat ... to try to get me into even more trouble.

There is another of the species on Earth which behaves in a similar fashion. The domestic cat.

Bush's Ultimate Iraq Exit Strategy Brings Home 58

I was once involved in a case in which there was a dispute over the Serviceman's Life Insurance pay-out. Back in the day before the turn of the century, the amount paid out was $30,000. I don't know what amount is paid now. Whatever it is, it's not enough for the spouses, children, and other dependents who are left wondering why.

1. Spc. Robert T. Hendrickson, 24, from Broken Bow, Okla., died Feb. 1 in Baghdad, Iraq.
2. Capt. Sean L. Brock, 29, of Redondo Beach, Calif., died Feb. 2 from wounds received as a result of hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq.
3. Lance Cpl. Sean P. Maher, 19, of Grays Lake, Ill., died Feb. 2 as a result of hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq.
4. Sgt. 1st Class Sean M. Cooley, 35, from Ocean Springs, Miss., died February 3 in Northern Babil Province, Iraq, when his vehicle was struck by an improvised explosive device.
5. Sgt. Stephen R. Sherman, 27, from Neptune, N.J., died Feb. 3 in Mosul, Iraq, from wounds sustained when an improvised explosive device detonated near his vehicle.
6. Lance Cpl. Richard C. Clifton, 19, of Milford, Del., died Feb. 3 as a result of hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq.
7. Staff Sgt. Steven G. Bayow, 42, from Colonia Yap, Federated States of Micronesia, died February 4 in Bayji, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device hit his vehicle.
8. Sgt. Daniel Torres, 23, from Fort Worth, Texas, died February 4 in Bayjii, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device hit his vehicle.
9. Lance Cpl. Travis M. Wichlacz, 22, of West Bend, Wis., died Feb. 5 as a result of hostile action in Babil Province, Iraq.
10. Spc. Jeremy O. Allmon, 22, of Cleburne, Texas, died Feb. 6 in Taji, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated near his military vehicle.
11. Staff Sgt. Zachary R. Wobler, 24, of Ottawa, Ohio, died Feb. 6 in Mosul, Iraq, when his dismounted patrol encountered enemy forces using small arms fire.
12. Spc. Jeffrey S. Henthorn, 25, of Choctaw, Okla., died Feb. 8 in Balad, Iraq.
13. Sgt. Jessica M. Housby, 23, of Rock Island, Ill., died Feb. 9 in Route Golden, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated near her convoy.
14. Staff Sgt. William T. Robbins, 31, of North Little Rock, Ark., died Feb. 10 in Taji, Iraq, of non-combat related injuries.
15. Lance Cpl. Richard A. Perez Jr., 19, of Las Vegas, Nev., died Feb. 10, in Al Anbar Province, Iraq.
16. Staff Sgt. Kristopher L. Shepherd, 26, of Lynchburg, Va., died Feb. 11 in Baghdad, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated during clearing operations.
17. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.
18. Spc. Robert A. McNail, 30, of Meridian, Miss., died Feb. 11 in Iskandariyah, Iraq, when his HMMVW struck another military vehicle.
19. Sgt. Chad W. Lake, 26, of Ocala, Fla., died Feb. 13 in Balad, Iraq, when the vehicle they were riding in overturned.
20. Sgt. Rene Knox, Jr., 22, of New Orleans, La., died Feb. 13 in Balad, Iraq, when the vehicle they were riding in overturned.
21. Spc. Dakotah L. Gooding, 21, of Des Moines, Iowa, died Feb. 13 in Balad, Iraq, when the vehicle they were riding in overturned.
22. Staff Sgt. Ray Rangel, 29, of San Antonio, Texas, died Feb. 13 while performing a canal rescue mission in Balad, Iraq.
23. Pfc. David J. Brangman, 20, of Lake Worth, Fla., died February 13 in Uvanni, Iraq, when a mortar round struck his vehicle.
24. Sgt. 1st Class David J.Salie, 34, of Columbus, Ga., died February 14 in Ba'qubah, Iraq, when his vehicle was hit by an improvised explosive device.
25. Pfc. Michael A. Arciola, 20, of Elmsford, N.Y., died Feb. 15 in Al Ramadi, Iraq, from injuries sustained from enemy small arms fire.
26. Spc. Justin B. Carter, 21, of Mansfield, Mo., died Feb. 16 in Forward Operating Base McKenzie, Iraq.
27. Spc. Katrina L. Bell-Johnson, 32, of Orangeburg, S.C., died Feb. 16 in Ba'qubah, Iraq.
28. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.
29. Sgt. Timothy R. Osbey, 34, of Magnolia, Miss., died Feb.16 in Forward Operating Base Iskandariyah, Iraq, when a roadway collapsed, causing the vehicle to roll over.
30. Spc. Joseph A.Rahaim, 22, of Magnolia, Miss., died Feb.16 in Forward Operating Base Iskandariyah, Iraq, when a roadway collapsed, causing their vehicle to roll over.
31. Sgt. Adam J. Plumondore, 22, of Gresham, Ore., died February 16 in Mosul, Iraq, when a vehicle-borne improvised explosive device detonated near his vehicle.
32. Staff Sgt. Jason R. Hendrix, 28, of Claremore, Okla., died Feb.16 in Ar Ramadi, Iraq, when an explosion occurred while he was conducting combat operations.
33. Sgt. Christopher M. Pusateri, 21, of Corning, N.Y., died Feb.16 in Mosul, Iraq, of injuries sustained from enemy forces using small arms fire.
34. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.
35. Sgt. Frank B. Hernandez, 21, of Phoenix, Ariz., died Feb. 17 in Tal Afar, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated near his vehicle.
36. Sgt. Carlos J. Gil, 30, of Orlando, Fla., died Feb. 18, in Humaniyuh, Iraq from injuries sustained from an improvised explosive device detonation.
37. 1st Lt. Adam Malson, 23, of Rochester Hills, Mich., died Feb. 19 in Baghdad, Iraq, from injuries sustained while on patrol when an improvised explosive device detonated.
38. Cpl. Kevin M. Clarke, 21, of Tinley Park, Ill., died Feb. 19 as a result of hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq.
39. Spc. Clinton R. Gertson, 26, of Houston, Texas, died 19 Feb. in Mosul, Iraq, from injuries sustained from enemy forces small arms fire.
40. Spc. Seth R. Trahan, 20, of Crowley, La. died Feb. 19, in Baghdad, Iraq, from injuries sustained while on patrol when an improvised explosive device detonated.
41. 1st Lt. Jason G. Timmerman, 24, of Tracy, Minn., died Feb. 21 in Baghdad, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated as they were exiting a military vehicle after it had rolled over.
42. Staff Sgt. David F. Day, 25, of Saint Louis Park, Minn., died Feb. 21 in Baghdad, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated as they were exiting a military vehicle after it had rolled over.
43. Sgt. Jesse M. Lhotka, 24, of Alexandria, Minn., died Feb. 21 in Baghdad, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated as they were exiting a military vehicle after it had rolled over.
44. Cpl. John T. Olson, 21, of Elk Grove Village, Ill., died Feb. 21 as a result of hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq.
45. Lance Cpl. Trevor D. Aston, 32, of Austin, Texas, died Feb. 22 as a result of non-hostile vehicle incident in Al Anbar Province, Iraq.
46. Staff Sgt. Eric M. Steffeney, 28, of Waterloo, Iowa, died February 23 in Tuz, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated.
47. Sgt. Nicholas J. Olivier, 26, of Ruston, La., died Feb. 23 in Baghdad, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated while he was on foot patrol.
48. Spc. Jacob C. Palmatier, 29, of Springfield, Ill., died Feb. 24 in Muqdadiyah, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated near his military vehicle.
49. Staff Sgt. Daniel G. Gresham, 23, of Lincoln, Ill., died Feb. 24 in Camp Wilson, Iraq, when a second improvised explosive device detonated while he was responding to a first device.
50. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.
51. Spc. Adam N. Brewer, 22, of Dewey, Okla., died Feb. 25 in Taji, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated while he was on dismounted patrol.
52. Spc. Jason L. Moski, 24, of Blackville, S.C., died Feb. 25 in Taji, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated while he was on dismounted patrol.
53. Pfc. Colby M. Farnan, 22, of Weston, Mo., died Feb. 25 in Taji, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated while he was on dismounted patrol.
54. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.
55. Lance Cpl. Andrew W. Nowacki, 24, of South Euclid, Ohio, died Feb. 26 from wounds received as a result of hostile action in Babil Province, Iraq.
56. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.
57. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.
58. Unidentified pending notification of next of kin.

I listed 100 dead at the end of January, but I was just way too hopeful that nobody else would be cut down. I figured that since "hostilities" ended way back in May, 2003, nobody else would be killed. I was wrong. Add these eight United States personnel, who served the cause of their President, who will never admit that he was wrong, to the list in January: