Well. Hmm. It pretty much sucks. Not that this exactly qualifies as a news flash.
As careful readers will have surmised, things haven’t been going particularly well lately. In addition to the loss of Hobbes, my grandfather is in rapidly declining mental and physical health, and the retirement community I moved him into in January has asked me to uproot the old gentleman instanter and consign him to a skilled nursing facility. So I’ve been scrambling to find him a new home — preferably one that de-emphasizes its physical and professional resemblance to Bedlam and/or Samuel Fuller’s Shock Corridor, while simultaneously hacking away at two scripts that are now overdue on a near Jonah Goldbergian scale.
Meanwhile, in a Secure, Undisclosed Location, S.Z. — never the hardiest lumberjack in the greenwood — has been felled by the flu. When I spoke to her the other day, she was feeling a bit better — nearly well enough to read Renew America — but it seems that Flossie…
…yes, this innocent, yet oddly smug-looking character — ate her glasses. Or at least, chewed them to the consistency of a veteran rawhide toy. I know that sounds like a lame excuse (“I couldn’t finish my blog post, the dog ate my eyes!“), but s.z. offered to provide photographic evidence, once she got new glasses so she could locate the camera. Anyway, the upshot is that her present inability to focus on the computer screen is denying her the spiritual engorgement to be found from the works of Doug Giles, Nathan Tabor, Pastor Swank, and other low-hanging Fruit Loops.
As careful readers will have surmised, things haven’t been going particularly well lately. In addition to the loss of Hobbes, my grandfather is in rapidly declining mental and physical health, and the retirement community I moved him into in January has asked me to uproot the old gentleman instanter and consign him to a skilled nursing facility. So I’ve been scrambling to find him a new home — preferably one that de-emphasizes its physical and professional resemblance to Bedlam and/or Samuel Fuller’s Shock Corridor, while simultaneously hacking away at two scripts that are now overdue on a near Jonah Goldbergian scale.
Meanwhile, in a Secure, Undisclosed Location, S.Z. — never the hardiest lumberjack in the greenwood — has been felled by the flu. When I spoke to her the other day, she was feeling a bit better — nearly well enough to read Renew America — but it seems that Flossie…
…yes, this innocent, yet oddly smug-looking character — ate her glasses. Or at least, chewed them to the consistency of a veteran rawhide toy. I know that sounds like a lame excuse (“I couldn’t finish my blog post, the dog ate my eyes!“), but s.z. offered to provide photographic evidence, once she got new glasses so she could locate the camera. Anyway, the upshot is that her present inability to focus on the computer screen is denying her the spiritual engorgement to be found from the works of Doug Giles, Nathan Tabor, Pastor Swank, and other low-hanging Fruit Loops.
The bottom line is, we’re going through a rough patch, but we’re not about to pull a Bérúbé and defect to another blog (even if Sadly, No! would have us). So in the immortal words of the Country Bear Jamboree attraction at Disneyland:
Please Bear With Us.
*Image courtesy of Yesterland, for all your dead Disney attraction needs.
Well, at least it wasn’t a picture of Andrew Sullivan. I’m dying to see a picture of the Flossie-manducated eyewear, BTW.
Flossie looks like Scamp’s mother, who did hang around with tramps. From there to eating glasses…
Well, some people say that’s the sort of thing you can expect when you go in for open genus mixing.
And I’m pretty certain that if some people had their way there’d be an open season on assisted-living administrators. For the uninitiated, all I can say is don’t get initiated. My Mom’s monthly bill has doubled in seven months, from $2100 to $4200. It’s true, she’s slipping, and it’s true she needs more help now than she did last fall, but if you, ambulatory young person, had your rent raised twice a year because you kept getting your furnace filters dirty you’d have some small insight. Here’s a slice o’ life:
Assisted-living administrator (on phone): Your mother left the shower running this morning and flooded the bathroom.
Me: What’s the problem? You don’t own a mop?
Needless to say they call my sister about everything now.
It is, for example, $35 to fill a pillbox every week (my sister and I do it for Mom, but I bet 80% of the residents have no choice but to pay). It’s $10 to say hello in the morning, another $10 to say goodnight at night. And we’re lucky. We have the money.
And I’m pretty certain that if some people had their way there’d be an open season on assisted-living administrators. For the uninitiated, all I can say is don’t get initiated. My Mom’s monthly bill has doubled in seven months, from $2100 to $4200. It’s true, she’s slipping, and it’s true she needs more help now than she did last fall, but if you, ambulatory young person, had your rent raised twice a year because you kept getting your furnace filters dirty you’d have some small insight. Here’s a slice o’ life:
Assisted-living administrator (on phone): Your mother left the shower running this morning and flooded the bathroom.
Me: What’s the problem? You don’t own a mop?
Needless to say they call my sister about everything now.
It is, for example, $35 to fill a pillbox every week (my sister and I do it for Mom, but I bet 80% of the residents have no choice but to pay). It’s $10 to say hello in the morning, another $10 to say goodnight at night. And we’re lucky. We have the money.
I understand the rough patch. Had a few of ‘em myself. A couple that lasted decades. You just toss anything you don’t need that’s weighing down your ruck, saddle up your shit and put one foot in front of the other. That’s all you can do, short of surrender – and it doesn’t sound like there’s anyone to take you into custody.
I don’t think there’s room for you at Sadly, No! these days – their server thingie has been broken for like a week…
mikey
I don’t think there’s room for you at Sadly, No! these days – their server thingie has been broken for like a week…
mikey
Oh, S.Z., the cuter they are the more dangerous they are. ATE your GLASSES??? It’s a testament to your forbearance that Flossie is still alive. Me, I’d grope around until I found a biscuit to give her as a reward for not having to put on hip boots and slog through Pastor Swank, et al.
Scott, I’m sorry about your grandfather. It’s not an easy time. {bows and accepts prize for understatement of the day}
Hang in there, we’re all rooting for you both.
Scott, I’m sorry about your grandfather. It’s not an easy time. {bows and accepts prize for understatement of the day}
Hang in there, we’re all rooting for you both.
Dog chewed the ends that wrap around the ears on my glasses, leaving the rest intact, so they work fine but just stab me in the head when I put them on. Wife berated me for being so careless with the glasses, then a week later the dog did the same to her glasses too. Har har har har……
“I warned Alberto that trusting a woman named Monica was a bad idea.” — Bill Clinton
“I warned Alberto that trusting a woman named Monica was a bad idea.” — Bill Clinton
Hey, you’re still doing better than Sadly, No! The dog DOS’d their whole site.
OT-
http://www.thecarpetbaggerreport.com/archives/10315.html
http://www.thecarpetbaggerreport.com/archives/10322.html
What explains the failure of the mainstream media to cover the purge scandal for so long, and so many other scandals? Do you think somebody just set up newspaper editors to cheat on their wives, and threatened to tell if the editors wouldn’t play ball when they come back some day and ask for something?
It wouldn’t be that hard to do, when you think about it. People wouldn’t talk about it.
http://www.thecarpetbaggerreport.com/archives/10315.html
http://www.thecarpetbaggerreport.com/archives/10322.html
What explains the failure of the mainstream media to cover the purge scandal for so long, and so many other scandals? Do you think somebody just set up newspaper editors to cheat on their wives, and threatened to tell if the editors wouldn’t play ball when they come back some day and ask for something?
It wouldn’t be that hard to do, when you think about it. People wouldn’t talk about it.
Maybe it’s time for a contest? I really enjoyed the Pam Atlas or Atlas Pam or whatever contest, and the Professor/robot thingy at S,N.
How about “visualize the progeny of this couple” (couple can be same sex, what with cloning and such).
Imagine the child of, say Pastor Swank and that Coach Spaghetti guy?
How about “visualize the progeny of this couple” (couple can be same sex, what with cloning and such).
Imagine the child of, say Pastor Swank and that Coach Spaghetti guy?
Scott & Doghouse, you have my most heartfelt sympathy. And be truly grateful if your loved ones are not at the mercy of Medicare/Medicaid, ’cause they’re the ones who get shafted the most. While I’d give all of my limbs and both of my tattered lungs to have my Nannie back, I am immensely grateful that she never had to go to “the old folks’ home.” And I hope to hell and back, Scott, that you can find a place for your grandfather that’s no only “do-able,” but peaceful and comforting, ’cause anyone who’s survived that long does NOT need to take shit off of ANYBODY. The “people” (and I use that term loosely) who make careers out of profiting off of others’ disabilities (and milking the gubmint dry in the process, even as the republicunts keep slashing benefits down to the bone marrow) and aging generally do NOT tend to be “good people” and rarely are they endowed with anything resembling empathy or kindness. But hopefully, you & Doghouse will be able to find those few rare people who truly do try to CARE for the elderly, instead of just viewing them as profit margins. All of my love goes with y’all.
As to S.Z. and the eternally trying menagerie, please give her my empathy & sympathy, and I hope to hell that she gets new glasses soon! I’d lose what little mind that I have if I couldn’t read, so I know that S.Z. has to be stressed, to say the least. I’m thinking that we ought to be able to find a way to get her a gubmint subsidy for providing such high-quality care to so many critters — do we even still have a Wildlife & Fisheries department?
If there’s anything that I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to holler at a bitch, k?
As to S.Z. and the eternally trying menagerie, please give her my empathy & sympathy, and I hope to hell that she gets new glasses soon! I’d lose what little mind that I have if I couldn’t read, so I know that S.Z. has to be stressed, to say the least. I’m thinking that we ought to be able to find a way to get her a gubmint subsidy for providing such high-quality care to so many critters — do we even still have a Wildlife & Fisheries department?
If there’s anything that I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to holler at a bitch, k?
Flossie looks like a troublemaker.
Did she eat eighteen days worth of emails too?
Did she eat eighteen days worth of emails too?
What Annti said, only with significantly more giggling over the last sentence.
Shouldn’t that be “holla” at a bitch, Annti?
Oh mah goodness, VIVEK’S ALIVE!!!
Long time no see, compadre.
And D., don’t make me thwack you.
If I were attempting to feign ebonics, then I’d have said “holla” — but I really can’t pull that shtick off.
Long time no see, compadre.
And D., don’t make me thwack you.
If I were attempting to feign ebonics, then I’d have said “holla” — but I really can’t pull that shtick off.
Yeah, I’ve been busy. Stupid real life, and in particular, stupid undergrads who expect me to forcefeed them mathematics.
And see, here I think that “holler at a bitch” is a little awkward-sounding, regardless of lack/presence of connotation regarding ebonics.
And see, here I think that “holler at a bitch” is a little awkward-sounding, regardless of lack/presence of connotation regarding ebonics.
Ya have to say it with my drawl, hon, to really make it work.
And why don’t you train your undergrads the way that Karl Rove trains his “interns”? You know, making them peel the corns & calluses off of your feet, dressing them up like Dorothy Dandridge on Mars and making them do can-can kick lines, feeding them to Alberto Gonzales as canapes, y’know, the usual. Definitely helps alleviate YOUR stress, at any rate.
And why don’t you train your undergrads the way that Karl Rove trains his “interns”? You know, making them peel the corns & calluses off of your feet, dressing them up like Dorothy Dandridge on Mars and making them do can-can kick lines, feeding them to Alberto Gonzales as canapes, y’know, the usual. Definitely helps alleviate YOUR stress, at any rate.
Because, unlike Karl Rove, my boss isn’t in thrall to me.
Hell, I’ve gotten one or two phone calls from parents asking me one or the other thing. On my cell phone. Which is a number I don’t come close to giving out to them.
Hell, I’ve gotten one or two phone calls from parents asking me one or the other thing. On my cell phone. Which is a number I don’t come close to giving out to them.
Dammmmmmmmn, dude. Sorry to hear it.
Wanna trade parents?
Wanna trade parents?
This is somehow a trap, isn’t it? 
Pay no attention to the snare rope hidden under those leaves. Just keep watching the carrot, m’boy.
C’mon, they’re not ALL bad, I’ve almost got them potty-trained by now!
(If I could just get them to quit gnawing on the scenery… *sigh*)
C’mon, they’re not ALL bad, I’ve almost got them potty-trained by now!
(If I could just get them to quit gnawing on the scenery… *sigh*)
Well, this is as good a place as any for this, so here goes:
I just had the “lovely” experience of spending 8 days in le hospital with a particularly vicious urinary tract/bladder infection. At the time of my admission, I was literally peeing blood. It was lovely.
So, ages in the hospital, both regular room and ICU. IV antibiotics (cipro). An irrigated catheter shoved up my dong (and, my, wasn’t that a whole new level of pain!), hoping that the fluid emitted would eventually change from bright red (with chunks) to pink to clearish. EKG/respiration monitor. Etc., etc.
At least I was in enough sheer, flaming pain that I got to have a number of shots of some opiate (dilaudid, perhaps?), which actually allowed me to sleep for 4-5 hours at a shot. I can see how people can get addicted to the stuff. Pleasant.
Anyhoo, I’m back. I’m too ragged out to write anything too lengthy–this aside–for a bit, but here I am.
And, oh yeah… I HATE HOSPITALS!!!!11!!!
I just had the “lovely” experience of spending 8 days in le hospital with a particularly vicious urinary tract/bladder infection. At the time of my admission, I was literally peeing blood. It was lovely.
So, ages in the hospital, both regular room and ICU. IV antibiotics (cipro). An irrigated catheter shoved up my dong (and, my, wasn’t that a whole new level of pain!), hoping that the fluid emitted would eventually change from bright red (with chunks) to pink to clearish. EKG/respiration monitor. Etc., etc.
At least I was in enough sheer, flaming pain that I got to have a number of shots of some opiate (dilaudid, perhaps?), which actually allowed me to sleep for 4-5 hours at a shot. I can see how people can get addicted to the stuff. Pleasant.
Anyhoo, I’m back. I’m too ragged out to write anything too lengthy–this aside–for a bit, but here I am.
And, oh yeah… I HATE HOSPITALS!!!!11!!!
Not that I’m claiming some Steve Gilliard-style horror story. What I just went through was bad, but in comparison, not that bad. I’m practically as good as before, which was, admittedly, not that good. But I can walk/talk/type, etc., so on the whole, I’ve been worse.
Gosh, am I glad you’re better, Marq. Hospitals = no fun.
The infection seems to have cleared up, but I still feel extremely weak. As opposed to just plain “weak,” which is how I usually feel. Thanx for the well-wishes, Mrs. TBB!
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