Saturday, April 28, 2012

Slippery Shit

Slippery Shit!
This ain’t the most delicate subject to talk about, but I think it’s time to take the surgeons to task for their ineptness in completing their tasks. These carvers can slice you up every which-way from Sunday with their scalpels and now even with laser knives and such. Then they clean up their mess with nice little blanket-stitch embroidery so it looks neat and put the patient up on a shelf to heal himself for the next six weeks.
I’d like to see how they’d howl and complain if their mechanic would fix a flat tire on their fancy cars that way, or the water pipes in their houses, or the sewer system on their street. Oh no, you take them things apart to fix and they’d better be glued back together again before you leave the work.
But surgeons don’t operate that way. They razzle-dazzle you with their skill in cutting and slicing and putting patches here and there, but they haven’t figured out yet how to make everything stay in place. So they wash their hands of it and give that part over to the patient. If something pops open or breaks, it’s the patient’s fault.
They’ve developed a pretty specific set of instructions for the patient too. He/she, the patient, must slow down to very basic movements. No heavy lifting over about two pounds, no excessive exercise, no straining or groaning – basically, nothing other than the heartbeat needed to sustain life – for six weeks after surgery. They’ve thought of everything too. They’re particularly concerned with “going to the bathroom”. Well they don’t mean going to the bathroom to brush your teeth or to shower or shave. They refer to it as the discharge of fecal matter that accumulates in the body as the result of food ingestion as a natural function of bodily activity. In other words, you can’t even go for a good poop! But they’ve got help for that. They tell you to get a good supply of prune juice.
Imagine that. Prune juice. That’s what makes shit slippery. Well that’s layman’s terms for surgeon’s excuses to remove the last vestiges of human dignity from old geysers that have already lost most of it already anyway. It’s all in aid of alleviating any potential bodily strain.
It doesn’t matter what end of you they operate on, as long as they do any surgery, they give you prune juice along with the painkillers. Whether it’s cataracts or prostate surgery or kneecap replacement, prune juice is the first line of defense.
Well, is it any wonder? First they fill you full of Warfarin or some other blood thinner because your ticker isn’t ticking like it used to, or your veins are too clogged up with the residue of the food you ate. So instead of blood, you’ve got some watered down liquid pumping through your body. If there’s any kind of pressure that causes a leak somewhere, it could all flow out and you’ll bleed to death for God’s sake.
When you get up in age, there ain’t much satisfaction in life in the first place. Nothin’ works like it used to. Your legs have got so long you can’t even bend over far enough to do up your own shoe laces. The store that used to be a block away is now about a mile distant. Even the coffee maker has got so heavy it shakes when you try to pour out a cup of coffee. And now this insult over top of injury!
There’s more to having a good poop than just getting rid of fecal waste, you know. The satisfaction of using your own physical power to extrude the crap out of yourself extends far beyond the time you flush the toilet. The sense of accomplishment from this simple and necessary act stays with you most of the day. But if it runs out of you with the aid of prune juice, it’s just not the same somehow. No, the surgeons have made a serious mistake here. They have completely missed the opportunity to finish the job they started. They should be working on a glue that will permanently close their incisions. Jeez! If welders can do it with iron and steel, and carpenters can do it with wood glue, what are the surgeons missing in their arsenal? Somebody is abdicating his responsibility here.
I’ll tell you, getting old ain’t for sissies, and that’s a fact. And the surgeons ain’t helping anything either. They got to take the human condition into account. After all, a person wants to have a good solid poop before he goes along with the grim reaper.
At least, that’s how it seems from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin.  

Saturday, April 21, 2012

If the World Were a Puzzle

If the World Were a Puzzle
If the world were a puzzle, you could take a piece from here and put it over there. If it didn’t fit, you could just put it somewhere else. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? Well, that isn’t so far fetched either because over the last number of million years, that’s what the world has been doing to itself. Only, it didn’t take people into account. They just wandered from here to there and got swallowed up by the effects.
It didn’t strike me until the other day when I was given a world globe. It was something I had always wanted. This one though was a bit different. It was basically a blank, black globe and the world landscape was made up of a great number of puzzle pieces held in place magnetically. Properly constructed, the pieces would all fit together to form a world atlas. The problem was that a number of the pieces were identical shapes, so you might have a piece of ocean in the middle of a continent, or a piece of a country in another country.
How I came by this was quite interesting. The globe had been given to a geography teacher as a retirement gift. He had studiously put it together. When he passed on, his widow had moved and the globe must have fallen and a number of the pieces had come off. Someone had tried to put it together again with very limited success.
 I received it along with an envelope full of pieces, and began to put them in place. Something was not right. I suddenly discovered that Antarctica was up north. Then I noticed that some of the longitudinal and parallel lines didn’t match up. I guess someone was trying to fix the thing and didn’t succeed. Either that or they had an imagination similar to mine and were playing jokes.
Then it occurred to me; a long time ago God must have got a big package of countries and oceans and things in the mail with instructions to ‘make something’. Well, you can imagine the fun he had with that! How he managed to create the whole world in seven days is beyond me. It will take me that long just to figure it all out – never mind put it together!
Looking the whole thing over, I suddenly felt omnipotent. I had a chance to build the whole world as I saw fit. I could hardly contain myself. An urge came over me to put on a blue serge suit so I would look the part. Thus dressed, I tried all the commandments I’d read in the bible. I waited, but nothing happened. It seems there is a little more to this creation business than comes in the kit. So I changed back into my ordinary clothes and went to work at it. The demolition was easy enough and roughly parallels what we humans are doing to the planet, but the reconstruction is a bit trickier. Well, we know that already, don’t we?
There is a good lesson to be learned in this exercise. At least that’s the way it seems from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

The Uglo Society

The Uglo Society
I have to admit I didn’t know what I was going to go on about this week. What? Had I ranted on about everything I found offensive already? That can’t be possible! I looked around at the world surrounding me and realized I had been hiding in my own little bubble. Everything is so nice in there. But outside – it’s just plain ugly.
Just this morning there was a picture on facebook of a young man with his pants hanging halfway down his ass, and the caption was that this was a sign of availability in prison. Well, I guess it better be ‘cause he sure as hell ain’t goin’ to run very far or very fast dressed like that.
Of course then there’s the women with their boobs hangin’ out to the nipples. Reminds you of an upper body plumber’s picture. They aren’t going to run very far very fast either for fear of everything falling out all over the place. Well, it would spoil the picture if it were all left up to the force of gravity, now wouldn’t it.
But let’s stick to the males. We seem to have a new image emerging. We’ve already talked about blue jeans with fancy sports coats and even tuxedo jackets and track shoes. Now we’ve got more and more people shaving their heads to prove I don’t know what – maybe that they’re too lazy to wash or comb their hair. Well, if that isn’t bad enough, now more and more you see men with stubble beards – like they haven’t shaved for five days or so. What kind of fashion statement is that?
A few years ago Rush Limbaugh did a send up on “Uglo-Americans”, citing them as insidiously infiltrating the whole American public, in stores, offices, on the streets and in all the malls. He put on such a good show; people were actually reacting to it.
Well, be careful what you ask for. You might just get it. And get it we did! We can’t blame it all on the Americans either. Increasingly, there are Uglo-Canadians, Uglo-Brits, Uglo-French and so on. Everybody is creating a whole Uglo-Society. The world looks more like it did in the dirty thirties than it did only a few years ago. Only thing was in the dirty thirties, there was no other choice.
They say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but holy Hannah – there must be a better variety of covers to be had. Just who is making these fashion statements anyway? I pass one of these creatures on the street, I automatically smell the air to see just how bad hey stink. I tend to sniff the TV too.
As far as I’m concerned, we’re slithering down the slippery slope to what we will become, and its just plain ugly. We are becoming the Uglos. At least that’s the way I see it from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Keeping Fit

Keeping Fit
I’ve been an advocate of physical fitness pretty well all my life. As a child, I played every sport imaginable – not well mind you, but I played whatever anyone had to offer. Well, that’s what you did in those days if you didn’t have chores to do or often, even if you did. That is, unless you were a bookworm or had some kind of hobby.
I kind of forgot about that for a while when my own kids started to arrive until one day my oldest boy’s soccer coach got sick and I was drafted to take over. Doing warm-up laps around the field with a bunch of ten-year-olds soon made me aware of what kind of shape I was in. It was not pretty.
Since that time I have worked to correct that situation, believing that I only have one body to carry me through to the end – whenever that may be. I’d better keep it tuned up if I want to keep on trucking. So I started running – five miles a day at the YMCA indoor track. Cruel and unusual punishment it was on my knees and shins, but I persevered. Then the track went co-ed and I up and quit. You wouldn’t catch me running around no track with a bunch of women – nosiree! They can have the track and I hope they choke on it!
Naw, I’ll get my own equipment to have at home. That way I’ll get done what I want, when I want, without any outside interference. It seems that you can pretty well simulate anything you want to do with fitness equipment these days. I started out with a stationery bike. That way, I could fit it in the house, pedal my ass off and get nowhere fast. Not for me. The manual treadmill seemed like a good choice. It would even fold up and fit under the bed. It wasn’t long before it stayed under the bed for days and weeks at a time. Also no good. Pumping iron – now that was a manly sport I’d never tried before. I actually quite liked it and was doing well until I went over to my youngest son’s place one day. He and a friend were hard at it and naturally I couldn’t let these young punks outdo me. Well I didn’t either, and the upshot was that it took two years before I could lift my left arm above my shoulder. I guess I showed them!
Until recently I had one of those elliptical trainer contraptions that you pedal while standing up and alternately wave your arms as though you’re boxing. It’s the silliest looking exercise program one can imagine, but it actually did me some good until I broke my leg in a car accident. I could still use the arm part, but the legs would no longer go very far.
Then I discovered it! Eureka! A motorized treadmill – it has all the bells and whistles on it! You wouldn’t believe what this thing will do! You just turn it on and either push one of the exercise preset programs if you’re fit enough to do them or, set the track at a speed you feel comfortable with, jump on and go for a walk. When your leg gives out – get off. The gauges tell you how long you walked and how far. It even tells you how many calories you burned, and if you stick your thumb on a certain spot, it will even register your blood pressure. Now isn’t that a hoot?
Well, that’s only the half of it though. It’s also a stop smoking aid. Every time I feel like having a smoke, I go for a five-minute walk on the treadmill first and by the time I’m done, I don’t want a smoke. How’s that for a bonus?
But that’s not all. I saved the best part for last. See, the treadmill is right next to my night table in the bedroom. After I’d done one of my little walks in the afternoon, I decided an hour’s nap would be nice. Lying on the bed, staring at my new acquisition, I suddenly realized that if I left it running at the speed it was at when I was on it, within an hour it would have traveled three miles and burned off seven hundred-six calories while I was asleep. It was just one of those thoughts that comes to mind.
So you see, this treadmill has something for everyone – even the procrastinators who think you only have to buy the equipment in order to reap the benefits, or those others I can think of who can’t get off their lazy asses and get with the program.
As I said – amazing technology! At least that’s how it looks from here up on the top shelf.
Just sayin’.