Just wrapped up a 4C healthcare week, with none of the "C's" involving CoVid (or even corona virus).
C#1: Chemo - finished max bonus round six a bit over a week ago. Took me to about the expected level of not feeling well. Nine days later, I'm about back to my "in between" self. All in all, not worse, which is still a good thing.
C#2: Cat. The cat was not the healthcare per se, but caused the need for healthcare. We still sequester one cat a night in our room, because when they are together, Elsie attacks Leo and Leo freaks. Last Tuesday morning, with Elsie in house arrest, I get up at 6 like normal to cat screeching from both sides of the door, and slip out of our bedroom to feed them. Elsie raced past me and went straight after Leo. I gave chase, and they screamed and ran until they were fighting loudly under Abby's bed. This was about seven hours before Abby normally awakens, so I reached under her bed to grab one cat and re-separate. Elsie, who had heretofore shown no taste for human flesh, bit the living hell out of me. I squealed, the cats kept fighting, Leo freaked and pooped, and I started bleeding profusely. Somehow, Abby rolled over and went back to sleep. So no worries there. Jill cleaned me up and bandaged my SEVERAL puncture wounds. A bit later, fearing that I might be at higher risk for Cat Stevens Fever, I called my doctor just to check. The scheduler set me up with a tele-appointment that afternoon. It was a new doctor who was replacing the doctor I never see anyway (who apparently retired, sometime in the last, say five years maybe). New Dr. Replacement (I really have no idea his actual name) tele-met me and went over the situation. Dr. Replacement, to his credit, had read my file, and knew about the chemo. He told me that cats are, in fact, dirty, bacteria-infected monsters. He said there were several things that were risk factors for infection: 1) a deep bite. Check. 2) Close to a bone. Check. 3) on the hands or feet. Check. or 4) on the genitals. Um, not sure who spends a lot of time commando with their cats, but no check there. And to be clear, that would have been the end of Elsie. And Leo, just for good measure. But still, three out of four. So antibiotics it is! I asked Dr. Replacement:
"So, would it be your recommendation that we get rid of one or both of the cats?"
Dr. Replacement: "No, with the antibiotics, you should be fine."
Me: "But, to be safe, wouldn't you say, on the record, that we need to divest ourselves of cats?"
Dr. Replacement: "I wouldn't go that far."
Me: "How far would you go?"
Dr. Replacement: "I'll send over the prescription."
Me: "For something that humanely fixes our problem, especially if one of the little bastards tries to bite me on my genitals?"
Dr. Replacement: "For the antibiotic."
Fine.
C#3: Counseling. I gave up on Sanjeep. I called him about the cat trauma, and he tried to upsell me to psychiatric meds. I'm already taking Leo's cat prozac, which admittedly may be part of the problem. So I went back to the nice LCSW who I talked with months ago who does not take my insurance or anything like it. But I like her. She and I had one tele-therapy session, which was not great, so we decided to meet in the greenspace between the buildings at her office. It was BYO Chair. It worked well enough, but for the next visit I am bringing a blow-up couch.
I told my new outdoor therapist about my cat trauma. [the fact that she is helping me with cat trauma may be one reason Blue Cross Blue Shield did not empanel her, but that's just a guess].
I told her about how the cat problem was this close to being solved. When Alex goes back to Loyola, she is moving into an apartment. And wants to take Leo. Laissez le bon cat roulez! But that apartment fell through, and she got one that does not allow pets. I asked my outdoor therapist if she could write a letter attesting that Leo was Alex's comfort animal, or conversely that it would be a bad idea for me to have any cats. Not sure who I would give that to. Maybe Jill? And yes, this is certainly a bad use of my therapy time, but I am 100% out of pocket, so I can do what I want.
C#4: Crowns. Spent 4 hours on Thursday finishing up some dental work I started, I don't know, back in 2016 maybe? Getting into the dentist office was like accessing a speak-easy during Prohibition. Certainly I was grateful to the attention to safety. but I left really needing a drink. Maybe I'll bring that up with Sanjeep. They scheduled me for my final follow-up, and then tried to schedule a cleaning. Oh hell no. If I am going to live with Christopher Lloyd Back-to-the-Future Doc Hair to avoid needless human contact, certainly my teeth can go a bit longer in their dirty mode.
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
Wednesday, May 27, 2020
Not worse!
Just about to start max bonus round six of chemo. Had an MRI last Friday, and apparently things are not worse. Which is the bar I aspire to. Jill reminded me later that on the last MRI in March, there was some, um, something, they wanted to keep an eye on. Apparently, the something is both not worse and even looks a little smaller. With smaller being good. Honestly, I only vaguely remember that there was a something we (meaning Dr. V mainly) was keeping an eye on. So, this was all good. Whether by conscious choice, aging, or tumor, I forgot to be worried about the something until the doctor told me the something looked better. And more good news - even though I confirmed that bonus chemo will go a full 12 months, I get credit for time served with the ill-fated September round. So, the bonus chemo ends in November. Possibly right around my 55th birthday. Yay. And the underlying part of this is that even though bonus chemo is getting harder, I am still recovering from it. A bit slower and more difficult each round, but still.
And... I have almost finished my new book. Putting the finishing touches on "Cheeto Voldemort's CoVid 19 Bartending Guide". It's being described as* the "definitive Mr. Boston's guide, if Mr. Boston was 'he-who-shall-not-be-re-elected'." It features my famous Lysol Rita and Comet-Tini, as well as lesser known cocktails like the Windex Mojito and the Clorox Mary. Each recipe ends with a shot of syrup de ipecac, and a suggestion to call poison control.
* described by me.
While you wait for the book, I suggest you look at my back catalog. One of these is real.
"The Chemo Diet and Consciousness Raising: One Man's Journey Through his Chevy Astro Cytoma Brain Tumor" by Dr. Rainbow Sparkles**
** my nom de tumor
"Assholery and Douchebaggery: the Comprehensive Guide to the Trump Administration"
"Informed Winging It." This one is my management book. I still need a much better name, but I actually teach this (kinda) to my students and interns. The concept is prepare as much as you can, enough that you can handle any complex or unknown situation that might occur. One reviewer* said "an intriguing, but ultimately convoluted and completely full-of-shit management philosophy."
* Again, me.
And finally, "Corner Pieces: A Life Amused and Vaguely Annoyed." This is the one that is real.***
*** kinda real. It's a collection of my blog posts for a couple of decades. I made it into a pdf with page numbers starting on the cover, and posted it for sale on Amazon for the Kindle, and on Blurb (link below). I also printed exactly one copy, which cost $150. [It's much cheaper on Kindle or Blurb.] Thanks to the three people (that is neither an exaggeration nor a lament, just a fact), who actually bought it. Making me not quite a best-selling author, but an actual "selling author."
https://www.blurb.com/b/9791182-corner-pieces?fbclid=IwAR3ScunWesfDf5T4gkoWpWueXliYz1SoYaOn2jCNQuUPgNvwdhn_c2KjgFg
And... I have almost finished my new book. Putting the finishing touches on "Cheeto Voldemort's CoVid 19 Bartending Guide". It's being described as* the "definitive Mr. Boston's guide, if Mr. Boston was 'he-who-shall-not-be-re-elected'." It features my famous Lysol Rita and Comet-Tini, as well as lesser known cocktails like the Windex Mojito and the Clorox Mary. Each recipe ends with a shot of syrup de ipecac, and a suggestion to call poison control.
* described by me.
While you wait for the book, I suggest you look at my back catalog. One of these is real.
"The Chemo Diet and Consciousness Raising: One Man's Journey Through his Chevy Astro Cytoma Brain Tumor" by Dr. Rainbow Sparkles**
** my nom de tumor
"Assholery and Douchebaggery: the Comprehensive Guide to the Trump Administration"
"Informed Winging It." This one is my management book. I still need a much better name, but I actually teach this (kinda) to my students and interns. The concept is prepare as much as you can, enough that you can handle any complex or unknown situation that might occur. One reviewer* said "an intriguing, but ultimately convoluted and completely full-of-shit management philosophy."
* Again, me.
And finally, "Corner Pieces: A Life Amused and Vaguely Annoyed." This is the one that is real.***
*** kinda real. It's a collection of my blog posts for a couple of decades. I made it into a pdf with page numbers starting on the cover, and posted it for sale on Amazon for the Kindle, and on Blurb (link below). I also printed exactly one copy, which cost $150. [It's much cheaper on Kindle or Blurb.] Thanks to the three people (that is neither an exaggeration nor a lament, just a fact), who actually bought it. Making me not quite a best-selling author, but an actual "selling author."
https://www.blurb.com/b/9791182-corner-pieces?fbclid=IwAR3ScunWesfDf5T4gkoWpWueXliYz1SoYaOn2jCNQuUPgNvwdhn_c2KjgFg
Sunday, May 17, 2020
CoVidiot
There is no way I came up with the term CoVidiot, but happy to claim it if no one else does.
Certainly, there are a plethora of examples of this these days.
"Give me a haircut or give me death!" Or, more accurately, possibly both.
"My administration had done the most amazing, beautiful job in the history of presidential administrations. Just ask anybody who wants to keep their job or needs federal assistance. They will say great things about me."
But the personal example for the Smith family is the CoVidiot who has now come to our door TWICE, rang the bell, knocked, and then waited. Finally, I go up to the door, peer through the peephole and ascertain that yes, CoVidiot is still there.
Me: "What?" At exactly the tone you think.
CoVidiot: "Yes, I am in the neighborhood and have just signed up 14 of your neighbors for our pest control services. I was wondering..."
Me: "No. Just no. Go away."
Three days later. Knock, ring, and hover.
Me: "What?" Now with 83% more dripping sarcasm and not thinly veiled hostility.
CoVidiot: "Yes, sir. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to let you know about our pest control special."
Me: "Can you eliminate pests who knock on our door during a pandemic multiple times and try to sell us random services? It's fine if you are one of those catch-and-release kinda services, but I'm not opposed to DDT."
Co Vidiot: "We are providing services to 14 of your neighbors."
Me: "Name them."
CoVidiot: "Sir?"
Me: "Name all 14 neighbors you have been able to sign up."
CoVidiot: "Um, is there someone else there I could talk to?"
Me: "No. Go away before I spray you with the small amount of Lysol we still have."
My Abby came across the CoVidiot while out running with her sister. Yes, that is how bored the Smith twins are. They are jogging together.
Abby saw the guy and posed this question to him:
"What are you doing?" I can only assume it had as much incredulous, are-you-a-f-ing-moron" tone as one would hope.
CoVidiot: "I'm selling pest control services."
Watching the news and seeing the idiot politicians and fake protests for "liberty", I keep thinking of the movie Idiocracy that my aunt Randy worked on several years ago. It was about a future society who had grown so stupid they were watering their plants with Gatorade. If the people who are carrying AK-47's to state capitals to open up the tattoo parlors are the ones who somehow survive the pandemic, we are all screwed.
Idiocracy was one of the few movie sets I got to visit when my Aunt Randy and Uncle John were working on movies, especially ones filmed in Austin. It was being filmed at the shuttered Seaholm Power Plant. It was way cool to see the magic of movie making. At least for the ten minutes we were there. We actually got bounced because of Grandpa Sid.
"What is that? What did they say? Why are they doing that?" As you can perhaps imagine, the director was less than thrilled about the loud nonagenarian as he is trying to film.
But grandpa was well into his 90's, it was a little confusing, and it actually wasn't the only place he got us booted from. My favorite has to be when he almost got us ejected from Yom Kippur services at Temple Beth Israel.
"Boy we are sure getting the full dose of atonement tonight."
Me: "Grandpa, Shh."
"I said, we sure are getting the full dose of atonement tonight." Much louder.
Miss you, Grandpa.
Certainly, there are a plethora of examples of this these days.
"Give me a haircut or give me death!" Or, more accurately, possibly both.
"My administration had done the most amazing, beautiful job in the history of presidential administrations. Just ask anybody who wants to keep their job or needs federal assistance. They will say great things about me."
But the personal example for the Smith family is the CoVidiot who has now come to our door TWICE, rang the bell, knocked, and then waited. Finally, I go up to the door, peer through the peephole and ascertain that yes, CoVidiot is still there.
Me: "What?" At exactly the tone you think.
CoVidiot: "Yes, I am in the neighborhood and have just signed up 14 of your neighbors for our pest control services. I was wondering..."
Me: "No. Just no. Go away."
Three days later. Knock, ring, and hover.
Me: "What?" Now with 83% more dripping sarcasm and not thinly veiled hostility.
CoVidiot: "Yes, sir. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to let you know about our pest control special."
Me: "Can you eliminate pests who knock on our door during a pandemic multiple times and try to sell us random services? It's fine if you are one of those catch-and-release kinda services, but I'm not opposed to DDT."
Co Vidiot: "We are providing services to 14 of your neighbors."
Me: "Name them."
CoVidiot: "Sir?"
Me: "Name all 14 neighbors you have been able to sign up."
CoVidiot: "Um, is there someone else there I could talk to?"
Me: "No. Go away before I spray you with the small amount of Lysol we still have."
My Abby came across the CoVidiot while out running with her sister. Yes, that is how bored the Smith twins are. They are jogging together.
Abby saw the guy and posed this question to him:
"What are you doing?" I can only assume it had as much incredulous, are-you-a-f-ing-moron" tone as one would hope.
CoVidiot: "I'm selling pest control services."
Watching the news and seeing the idiot politicians and fake protests for "liberty", I keep thinking of the movie Idiocracy that my aunt Randy worked on several years ago. It was about a future society who had grown so stupid they were watering their plants with Gatorade. If the people who are carrying AK-47's to state capitals to open up the tattoo parlors are the ones who somehow survive the pandemic, we are all screwed.
Idiocracy was one of the few movie sets I got to visit when my Aunt Randy and Uncle John were working on movies, especially ones filmed in Austin. It was being filmed at the shuttered Seaholm Power Plant. It was way cool to see the magic of movie making. At least for the ten minutes we were there. We actually got bounced because of Grandpa Sid.
"What is that? What did they say? Why are they doing that?" As you can perhaps imagine, the director was less than thrilled about the loud nonagenarian as he is trying to film.
But grandpa was well into his 90's, it was a little confusing, and it actually wasn't the only place he got us booted from. My favorite has to be when he almost got us ejected from Yom Kippur services at Temple Beth Israel.
"Boy we are sure getting the full dose of atonement tonight."
Me: "Grandpa, Shh."
"I said, we sure are getting the full dose of atonement tonight." Much louder.
Miss you, Grandpa.
Thursday, May 14, 2020
Tumor-versary
I had my one year tumor-versary on May 2nd. Thanks to everyone who participated in the drive-by tumor-versary celebration. The best thing about having a tumor-versary? Having a tumor-versary. It would be much less celebratory if I didn't have one.
And now that I have introduced you to a new word, let me give you a second - CoViDiva. I still occasionally and very briefly go into my office. If I'm being honest, it's a mixture of needing to be out of the house and my irrational need to print things. I have a color copier at work, and printing things in color helps me find my happy place. I know. But keep it to your own damn self.
The corona virus affected/infected my office light. Or it was just its time. It's been flickering for some time, and when I visited last, had gone to its final reward. I pulled up the maintenance request form for the building, and let them know I needed someone to replace the bulb. The form has a very clearly marked question asking the priority level. As I don't go in often, and the entire office is empty and therefore I can set up at a dozen different places, I marked it as "low". Not even remotely approaching medium. This is clearly the lowest of low priorities. I submitted the form, and it e-mailed me a copy. On my copy, the form lied that I listed my request as a "high priority." NO!!! Now the nice, friendly building dudes are thinking, "Sure, Mr. CEO. We will leave our families, expose ourselves to the pandemic, so you can have a fucking light." Though the building is owned by a church, so they likely don't use the f word. And the building maintenance dudes are very lovely people. So yes, I am now a CoViDiva.
As you can see, I still have things to work on. Fortunately, during the pandemic, Magellan has decided to partially pay for tele-therapy. It's only $115, but I still have to choose from a very limited list.
I set up an appointment with my new therapist Sanjeep, and we had a session Tuesday. I kinda think he may be in a career transition from AT&T customer service. It's a tough world out there.
"Yes, Mr. Smith. How can I help you today?"
"Well, I'm having a bit of anxiety about the pandemic, coupled with my pre-existing health conditions."
"That must be very frustrating. Let me see if I can help."
"Thanks Sanjeep. I would like that."
" Have you tried turning your router off and then on again?"
"Um, no, but if you think that might help, I can try. What kind of therapy is this? Re-boot therapy?"
"No, EMDR."
45 minutes later, and I did feel a little better. And our internet is a little faster. I may upgrade to a higher therapy bandwidth next time.
Here at the Smith compound, we are adapting to the new world. We are a combination shared workspace, dorm, distance learning site, and cat sanitarium. As always, ready to switch to cat adoption agency the moment we find an interested party.
We have had virtual happy hours and virtual game nights. I am putting the final touches on my two new creations. The Lysol Margarita is just about there, but the Clorox Mojito still needs some work.
I have finished max bonus round four of chemo. Each time, it is a little harder to bounce back than the time before. But I am still bouncing back. Margaritas, with or without cleaning products, are still part of my self-created treatment plan, as is bike riding.
Just after the end of max bonus round four, I went out and did a 27 mile ride. It was amazing, and exhausting. It was also a fairly hot day. When I came back in the house, my socks were wet with sweat, and I did a full slide that only ended when my head impacted the front door. A squeal and the dropping of both water bottles followed. To their credit, Jill and Alex came running.
"Are you OK?"
"No. I just whacked my head on the door."
"That must be very frustrating."
Five minutes later.
Jill: "You know, you spilled your cycling drink."
Me: "you mean when I whacked my head on the door?"
Jill: "Yes."
Me: "I guess I vaguely recall that."
Jill: "You know the puddle is still there?"
Tough house.
And now that I have introduced you to a new word, let me give you a second - CoViDiva. I still occasionally and very briefly go into my office. If I'm being honest, it's a mixture of needing to be out of the house and my irrational need to print things. I have a color copier at work, and printing things in color helps me find my happy place. I know. But keep it to your own damn self.
The corona virus affected/infected my office light. Or it was just its time. It's been flickering for some time, and when I visited last, had gone to its final reward. I pulled up the maintenance request form for the building, and let them know I needed someone to replace the bulb. The form has a very clearly marked question asking the priority level. As I don't go in often, and the entire office is empty and therefore I can set up at a dozen different places, I marked it as "low". Not even remotely approaching medium. This is clearly the lowest of low priorities. I submitted the form, and it e-mailed me a copy. On my copy, the form lied that I listed my request as a "high priority." NO!!! Now the nice, friendly building dudes are thinking, "Sure, Mr. CEO. We will leave our families, expose ourselves to the pandemic, so you can have a fucking light." Though the building is owned by a church, so they likely don't use the f word. And the building maintenance dudes are very lovely people. So yes, I am now a CoViDiva.
As you can see, I still have things to work on. Fortunately, during the pandemic, Magellan has decided to partially pay for tele-therapy. It's only $115, but I still have to choose from a very limited list.
I set up an appointment with my new therapist Sanjeep, and we had a session Tuesday. I kinda think he may be in a career transition from AT&T customer service. It's a tough world out there.
"Yes, Mr. Smith. How can I help you today?"
"Well, I'm having a bit of anxiety about the pandemic, coupled with my pre-existing health conditions."
"That must be very frustrating. Let me see if I can help."
"Thanks Sanjeep. I would like that."
" Have you tried turning your router off and then on again?"
"Um, no, but if you think that might help, I can try. What kind of therapy is this? Re-boot therapy?"
"No, EMDR."
45 minutes later, and I did feel a little better. And our internet is a little faster. I may upgrade to a higher therapy bandwidth next time.
Here at the Smith compound, we are adapting to the new world. We are a combination shared workspace, dorm, distance learning site, and cat sanitarium. As always, ready to switch to cat adoption agency the moment we find an interested party.
We have had virtual happy hours and virtual game nights. I am putting the final touches on my two new creations. The Lysol Margarita is just about there, but the Clorox Mojito still needs some work.
I have finished max bonus round four of chemo. Each time, it is a little harder to bounce back than the time before. But I am still bouncing back. Margaritas, with or without cleaning products, are still part of my self-created treatment plan, as is bike riding.
Just after the end of max bonus round four, I went out and did a 27 mile ride. It was amazing, and exhausting. It was also a fairly hot day. When I came back in the house, my socks were wet with sweat, and I did a full slide that only ended when my head impacted the front door. A squeal and the dropping of both water bottles followed. To their credit, Jill and Alex came running.
"Are you OK?"
"No. I just whacked my head on the door."
"That must be very frustrating."
Five minutes later.
Jill: "You know, you spilled your cycling drink."
Me: "you mean when I whacked my head on the door?"
Jill: "Yes."
Me: "I guess I vaguely recall that."
Jill: "You know the puddle is still there?"
Tough house.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Next Thoughts on the Dos Equis Virus (numbers edition)
If you know me at all, you know that I am a numbers person. But I cannot deal with the awful numbers being thrown about - infections, deaths, job losses, projections. So this post will use numbers for (mostly) good.
A. Three - the number of additional Mexican beers I know, limiting my use of them in blog post titles to just three more. But admittedly, one of them is Sol, which I recall is kinda awful. Like the Bud Lite of Mexican beers. Don't agree with my analogy? Try these:
It's like the Cella Lambrusca of Wine
It's like the Montezuma of Tequila
It's like the Trump of Presidents
It's also very likely my clever joke was funny at most once. Maybe twice. Though I still think I can pull off the next one as the Tsingtao Virus (now THAT is a good beer). It's clever, and a political statement. See what I did there?
2. Capitalism, Arbitrage, or Assholery - this one deserves it's own title. Over the last several weeks, we have slowly been able to acquire the non-acquirables that people have been hoarding - plantain chips, feta cheese, ghee. My order of sanitizing wipes from Amazon early March is now on track to be delivered by next MLK Day.
One product that has consistently evaded us is Comet Cleanser. No store has it, Bon Ami, or anything remotely similar. Somebody has an enormous hoard of Comet. I did find a recipe on the internet and tried to convince Abby to make it as a home-colleged chemistry lab, but realized we have none of the ingredients. It has been so long, I broke down and ordered it on Amazon. A bundle of 3 for $23, which will arrive sometime late May. We just have to come to terms that things will go un-Cometed for a few more months.
But then Jill pointed out that an in-store bottle of Comet retails for $0.83. So the seller through Amazon was marking it up 1,325%. Which made me wonder if I had just figured out why stores are so empty. Checked e-bay, and I currently have the highest bid on a 12-ounce bag of plantain chips, at $63.87. But the auction doesn't end for three weeks, so please don't overbid me.
By the way, is this "assholery" or douchebaggery"? There is a difference. Look for my next book: "Assholery and Douchebaggery: A Guide to the Trump Administration."
Happy ending - my very-non-sad corner HEB had Comet today (literally the eighth place I checked in five weeks). So I bought 2, spending just under $2. Let me know if you need one. I'll let it go for $182.07. Plus shipping, but no handling. I touch nothing these days.
III. 50 - the number of miles I have ridden on my bike in April, keeping appropriate distance from people and cars. It's not a knock-out number, but it comes with two others - 9 - days of rain so far this month; and 400 - mg of Temodar (my Chemo) that I took earlier in April (and will start again in two weeks).
By the way #2, looking at it written out, Temodar seems a bit like a fortune teller from the movies. Not magical like Zoltan, but Temodar, the chemo teller.
"Oh wise Temodar, what does the future hold for me?"
"I see you generally feeling like crap, and losing some of your appetite. Want me to hook you up with my weed dealer?"
D. $1,119,000 - the amount of money I borrowed this week from the guvment. Which ensures 121 - # of employees we will be able to keep on payroll (out of 121) for the foreseeable future. These forgivable SBA loans ran out of money on the first day, and there are about 700,000 small businesses and non-profits waiting. Which makes me both grateful and feeling a bit sad for those who have not or may not get it. Forgive me.
And by the way #3 (the last one) - there was a specific formula for the request, and we actually asked for $1,119,020. Our bank rounded it down. I was going to use the $20 for breakfast tacos. Which you may not think is a forgivable expense, but this is Austin. Living in Austin means never having to ask forgiveness for buying breakfast tacos with stimulus money.
5) - seven (ish) - the number of homemade meals I have made over the last two weeks - from the smoked turkey soup to jambalaya, churrasco steak with homemade chimichurri and a chicken dish that I made simply because you put brandy in it and light it on fire. I like doing that. Might do that with my next batch of bacon.
A. Three - the number of additional Mexican beers I know, limiting my use of them in blog post titles to just three more. But admittedly, one of them is Sol, which I recall is kinda awful. Like the Bud Lite of Mexican beers. Don't agree with my analogy? Try these:
It's like the Cella Lambrusca of Wine
It's like the Montezuma of Tequila
It's like the Trump of Presidents
It's also very likely my clever joke was funny at most once. Maybe twice. Though I still think I can pull off the next one as the Tsingtao Virus (now THAT is a good beer). It's clever, and a political statement. See what I did there?
2. Capitalism, Arbitrage, or Assholery - this one deserves it's own title. Over the last several weeks, we have slowly been able to acquire the non-acquirables that people have been hoarding - plantain chips, feta cheese, ghee. My order of sanitizing wipes from Amazon early March is now on track to be delivered by next MLK Day.
One product that has consistently evaded us is Comet Cleanser. No store has it, Bon Ami, or anything remotely similar. Somebody has an enormous hoard of Comet. I did find a recipe on the internet and tried to convince Abby to make it as a home-colleged chemistry lab, but realized we have none of the ingredients. It has been so long, I broke down and ordered it on Amazon. A bundle of 3 for $23, which will arrive sometime late May. We just have to come to terms that things will go un-Cometed for a few more months.
But then Jill pointed out that an in-store bottle of Comet retails for $0.83. So the seller through Amazon was marking it up 1,325%. Which made me wonder if I had just figured out why stores are so empty. Checked e-bay, and I currently have the highest bid on a 12-ounce bag of plantain chips, at $63.87. But the auction doesn't end for three weeks, so please don't overbid me.
By the way, is this "assholery" or douchebaggery"? There is a difference. Look for my next book: "Assholery and Douchebaggery: A Guide to the Trump Administration."
Happy ending - my very-non-sad corner HEB had Comet today (literally the eighth place I checked in five weeks). So I bought 2, spending just under $2. Let me know if you need one. I'll let it go for $182.07. Plus shipping, but no handling. I touch nothing these days.
III. 50 - the number of miles I have ridden on my bike in April, keeping appropriate distance from people and cars. It's not a knock-out number, but it comes with two others - 9 - days of rain so far this month; and 400 - mg of Temodar (my Chemo) that I took earlier in April (and will start again in two weeks).
By the way #2, looking at it written out, Temodar seems a bit like a fortune teller from the movies. Not magical like Zoltan, but Temodar, the chemo teller.
"Oh wise Temodar, what does the future hold for me?"
"I see you generally feeling like crap, and losing some of your appetite. Want me to hook you up with my weed dealer?"
D. $1,119,000 - the amount of money I borrowed this week from the guvment. Which ensures 121 - # of employees we will be able to keep on payroll (out of 121) for the foreseeable future. These forgivable SBA loans ran out of money on the first day, and there are about 700,000 small businesses and non-profits waiting. Which makes me both grateful and feeling a bit sad for those who have not or may not get it. Forgive me.
And by the way #3 (the last one) - there was a specific formula for the request, and we actually asked for $1,119,020. Our bank rounded it down. I was going to use the $20 for breakfast tacos. Which you may not think is a forgivable expense, but this is Austin. Living in Austin means never having to ask forgiveness for buying breakfast tacos with stimulus money.
5) - seven (ish) - the number of homemade meals I have made over the last two weeks - from the smoked turkey soup to jambalaya, churrasco steak with homemade chimichurri and a chicken dish that I made simply because you put brandy in it and light it on fire. I like doing that. Might do that with my next batch of bacon.
Saturday, April 11, 2020
My Next Thoughts on the Tecate Virus
I am happy to report I have moved a bit past shelter-in-place-hole. Figuring out Zoom happy hour helped. Today would have been our final vacation day in the Bay Area, so on Thursday we had a virtual wine tasting with Lisa and Fred. Broke open our finest box of wine.
I have several new observations about our new shelter-in-place world. Let's say, well, perhaps there will be 7. Sure. We'll start with that.
1. First and foremost, even though minimal human contact might seem like the ideal situation for an introvert, I am clear now that I need some baseline amount of human contact, beyond my immediate family. And cat contact doesn't count.
2. A few existential questions that had to be answered:
a) Jill wondered if one had to change out of pajamas before one could start drinking wine, assuming one had been in pajamas all day, working. The answer she came up with was "no", and to be clear, it's a hypothetical, intellectual exercise with no real world example.
b) I have realized that I need to carefully scan my calendar in the morning, or risk missing that the 11 am conference call with a national funder is in fact a Zoom call. Did a quick shave, just to realize that most people disable their camera anyway.
3. Passover started a couple of days ago. Thinking about it, seems like the perfect holiday for these times. Plagues on the House of Egypt? You've got your CoVid; global warming; Cheeto Voldemort, and last December's frog rain. I started to worry that the slaying of the first-born male child would be next. Then I remembered all my offspring are girls. So, no worries. Then I briefly worried about my nephew Ryan. But since he is part of the tribe, he'll be fine. I hope Stacy remembers to smear blood on the door. I think that was the sign to "Pass Over" the house, or maybe that's just to make sure Amazon leaves your package and drives away.
. So probably if you are going to hoard anything these days, it should be matzah.
4. My agency takes off Good Friday as a holiday. Not sure why, but it seems way low on the priority list for me to address. My specific question, though, is in this new world, how is a work holiday different from a work day? And a follow-up question, any body else having trouble remembering what day of the week it is?
5. Kinda related, I am finding that my morning commute seems to be taking longer each day. I have to get up, go downstairs to get coffee, determine if I have any video calls, shower and shave if I do (and usually even if I don't - don't want to be voted out of the house these days); then walk the few steps to the computer room where I have set up my office. Not sure why this seems to be taking more time every day. Damn cat traffic in the hallway.
6. For a minute, I felt like full-on frontier man. My brother sent us a smoked turkey from the New Braunfels Smokehouse. OK, I didn't raise the turkey, kill it, smoke it, wrap it, box it, and deliver it. But, after I removed the meat, I simmered the carcass with some veggies and made a smoked turkey broth, that I them used to make creamy smoked turkey soup with wild rice. Admittedly, I didn't grow any of the vegetables or rice. Basically, I boiled a turkey carcass. AND - I have now been able to get TWO curbside appointments at HEB. I may be over estimating my self sufficiency. But there are five cherry tomatoes in my garden that will be ready within ten days or so.
I will have more to say on the Dos Equis virus later, including how proud I am to live in a state that makes sure churches and gun stores are deemed essential businesses, but are going to the mat trying to close clinics that provide abortion services because they are "non-essential."
Have to go to my mantra: " At least we are still not Florida. At least we are still not Florida."
1. First and foremost, even though minimal human contact might seem like the ideal situation for an introvert, I am clear now that I need some baseline amount of human contact, beyond my immediate family. And cat contact doesn't count.
2. A few existential questions that had to be answered:
a) Jill wondered if one had to change out of pajamas before one could start drinking wine, assuming one had been in pajamas all day, working. The answer she came up with was "no", and to be clear, it's a hypothetical, intellectual exercise with no real world example.
b) I have realized that I need to carefully scan my calendar in the morning, or risk missing that the 11 am conference call with a national funder is in fact a Zoom call. Did a quick shave, just to realize that most people disable their camera anyway.
3. Passover started a couple of days ago. Thinking about it, seems like the perfect holiday for these times. Plagues on the House of Egypt? You've got your CoVid; global warming; Cheeto Voldemort, and last December's frog rain. I started to worry that the slaying of the first-born male child would be next. Then I remembered all my offspring are girls. So, no worries. Then I briefly worried about my nephew Ryan. But since he is part of the tribe, he'll be fine. I hope Stacy remembers to smear blood on the door. I think that was the sign to "Pass Over" the house, or maybe that's just to make sure Amazon leaves your package and drives away.
. So probably if you are going to hoard anything these days, it should be matzah.
4. My agency takes off Good Friday as a holiday. Not sure why, but it seems way low on the priority list for me to address. My specific question, though, is in this new world, how is a work holiday different from a work day? And a follow-up question, any body else having trouble remembering what day of the week it is?
5. Kinda related, I am finding that my morning commute seems to be taking longer each day. I have to get up, go downstairs to get coffee, determine if I have any video calls, shower and shave if I do (and usually even if I don't - don't want to be voted out of the house these days); then walk the few steps to the computer room where I have set up my office. Not sure why this seems to be taking more time every day. Damn cat traffic in the hallway.
6. For a minute, I felt like full-on frontier man. My brother sent us a smoked turkey from the New Braunfels Smokehouse. OK, I didn't raise the turkey, kill it, smoke it, wrap it, box it, and deliver it. But, after I removed the meat, I simmered the carcass with some veggies and made a smoked turkey broth, that I them used to make creamy smoked turkey soup with wild rice. Admittedly, I didn't grow any of the vegetables or rice. Basically, I boiled a turkey carcass. AND - I have now been able to get TWO curbside appointments at HEB. I may be over estimating my self sufficiency. But there are five cherry tomatoes in my garden that will be ready within ten days or so.
I will have more to say on the Dos Equis virus later, including how proud I am to live in a state that makes sure churches and gun stores are deemed essential businesses, but are going to the mat trying to close clinics that provide abortion services because they are "non-essential."
Have to go to my mantra: " At least we are still not Florida. At least we are still not Florida."
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Some Initial Thoughts on the Bohemia Virus
Have to start with the unpleasant truth. Several things added up this week to make me a very grumpy person. First, this third round of max bonus chemo was harder than the second, and I’ve felt crappy for the last week. Small win - I am now sure I am in the experimental and not control group. Though to be fair, I’m not in a study, so that wasn’t actually a question. Being cooped up in the house was less than amazing. Rainy weekend kept me off my bike, which (interspersed with margaritas) is my recommended treatment plan. Plus of course the monthly poison. And finally, there is the whole global pandemic with possibly millions dying. So yes, I know why I was grumpy, but it still does not excuse me being a shelter-in-place-hole. Especially since Jill and the girls are the ones who have to put up with me. Was finally able to ride today, and it really does make things better.
While it remains to be seen if the CARES Act will make a difference, I saw pretty quickly the possibilities. SBA loans to help small businesses and nonprofits keep people on payroll opened Friday. I applied, and by Sunday had been awarded a $1,119,020 loan that is 100% forgivable if I keep all 121 people employed through June. Going to use the $20 for breakfast tacos. Truthfully, that doesn’t suck.
And on a roll, I had an instinct that H-E-B couldn’t possibly have every single curbside appointment filled till Thanksgiving. So I checked at various times, and lo and behold, at 11 pm tonight a spot opened up for tomorrow afternoon. I grabbed it and filled my cart with the max 75 items. Honestly, I was so surprised, and the app kept telling me my appointment was going to expire in 15, then 10, then 5 minutes. So I ordered a bunch of random things, and plan to be pleasantly surprised (I hope). The only thing I actually remember is plantain chips. They had them! Yes, these are for a meal I made three weeks ago, but I was going to get them, dammit. Though I do expect calls for things not available, and substitutions I don’t want. “I couldn’t find plantain chips so I got planter’s nuts.” But I’m in! And I plan to tip $50, though I might need to tape that to the hatchback to maintain appropriate social distance. And that is a lot of quarters.
While it remains to be seen if the CARES Act will make a difference, I saw pretty quickly the possibilities. SBA loans to help small businesses and nonprofits keep people on payroll opened Friday. I applied, and by Sunday had been awarded a $1,119,020 loan that is 100% forgivable if I keep all 121 people employed through June. Going to use the $20 for breakfast tacos. Truthfully, that doesn’t suck.
And on a roll, I had an instinct that H-E-B couldn’t possibly have every single curbside appointment filled till Thanksgiving. So I checked at various times, and lo and behold, at 11 pm tonight a spot opened up for tomorrow afternoon. I grabbed it and filled my cart with the max 75 items. Honestly, I was so surprised, and the app kept telling me my appointment was going to expire in 15, then 10, then 5 minutes. So I ordered a bunch of random things, and plan to be pleasantly surprised (I hope). The only thing I actually remember is plantain chips. They had them! Yes, these are for a meal I made three weeks ago, but I was going to get them, dammit. Though I do expect calls for things not available, and substitutions I don’t want. “I couldn’t find plantain chips so I got planter’s nuts.” But I’m in! And I plan to tip $50, though I might need to tape that to the hatchback to maintain appropriate social distance. And that is a lot of quarters.
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
To Fool or not to Fool
E-mail to my leadership team this morning:
All,
As Jill pointed out to me this morning, April Fool's Day is my holiday. I decorate the house, send out cards, and have a big family gathering.
With CoVid, I can't do any of that, and likely will just sit at home tonight, enjoying my greatly increased broadband speed and drinking a dos equis.
I do want to reserve the right to revisit the holiday at some time in the future. I'm not going to say when, but you'll know when it happens.
Hope you are all having a lovely holiday.
--Russell
I actually think this is more effective than last year's attempt. Now, they will be on edge for the remainder of the year. You decide. Here is what they got last year. It was my first 4/1 with the team, but the problem was that I started the previous July. Nine months in, and this really fooled no one.
All,
It was so great to have most of us together last week for the board meeting. It got me thinking how amazing it would be if we were all in one place all of the time.
I know that in the past RST has had discussions about where our administrative offices should be. There are pros and cons of Dallas and of Austin. Over the weekend, I did a lot of thinking and a bunch of research. I think I came up with the perfect solution.
We are Refugee Services of Texas, so we need to be able to serve the whole state. I thought to myself, why not move our administrative offices to the geographic center of the state? Some of you heard me joking about moving to Waco. I'm not talking about Waco. I'm talking about Brady, Texas.
Brady is the closest town to the geographic center of Texas (map attached). It's only 227 miles to Dallas (196 to Fort Worth!), 128 to Austin, 287 to Houston, and 380 to Amarillo. All of those are easy drives. And if people did need to fly, the San Angelo regional airport is only 80 miles away.
There is a lot of rentable space in town. I contacted Jolene, the one realtor in Brady, and she told me that the Piggly Wiggly building has been vacant for more than five years, and thinks we can get it way below market rate.
Have I mentioned the annual World Championship Barbeque Goat Cook-Off held every Labor Day weekend? Enough said. And one Yelp reviewer says that you haven't lived until you've had the smothered chicken fried steak at Boondocks, right in the heart of downtown Brady.
For those of you with little ones, Brady has all three levels of school: Brady Elementary, Brady Middle, and Brady High. I remember how difficult it was trying to find the best schools for my kids, so I envy having only one choice. And all three schools have been consistently ranked "Acceptable."
I am not sure if any of the 5,523 people are refugees, but we could look at starting to resettle in the Brady metroplex. Brady housed a German prisoner of war camp in WWII, so they have some history of welcoming displaced individuals.
It's a farming and ranching community. Two of the primary industries is mohair-combing and sand mining. I bet those pay at least minimum wage, should we be able to resettle folks in the community.
Brady has a fascinating history. This is just a little bit from the Wikipedia page (they have a wikipedia page!). I recommend the full article.
"When the area was settled in the 1870s, the community was named Brady City after Brady Creek, which runs through town. The name was shortened to Brady when the town was incorporated in 1906. In 1787–88, Spanish explorer José Mares crossed the creek near the site of present Brady. Henry and Nancy Fulcher, the first settlers on Brady Creek, donated land for the townsite in the mid-1870s. Allison Ogden and his father-in-law, Ben Henton, built a store in 1875. A post office opened in 1876. After residents of McCulloch County chose Brady as county seat on May 15, 1876, the town grew fairly quickly. Brady had about 50 residents in 1877, and a stone courthouse was completed in 1878."
I am thinking that it may take us a bit to move all of our operations to Brady. My initial plan is to try to get us all settled in our new administrative home within one year - by April 1, 2020.
I hope you are as excited as I am!
Happy April.
--Russell
Saturday, March 28, 2020
Third Time's a Charm
Or what is the opposite of charm? Curse?
Started third round of bonus chemo last night. Since the first two went swimmingly, we decided it would be fun to finally go up to the full dosage. Again, fun may be the wrong word here. Perhaps "awful"? Maybe "unfortunate but likely needed"? Let's stick with fun. Feeling a bit more crappy today. Though it could be any combination of: extra bonus poison, being cooped up in my house, a serious lack of broadband capacity, and just the general state of the world.
I'll be doing my max bonus chemo till Tuesday, then likely sheltering in place for some time after that till my immune system is no longer compromised.
So, I need to cancel poker night next Thursday. And the rave we were supposed to host on Saturday. And I no longer can volunteer at the blood drive in two weeks. Sorry everyone.
Oh, and I likely have a pass to Aqua Fest over the summer that will go unused. But I kinda think Aqua Fest may have ended several decades ago, so max bonus chemo may be justified.
Eight things I've learned during the corona virus zombie apocalypse:
1) people are stupid. Not all, but some. And you know who you are.
2) Mainly because they have decided to hoard every fucking thing they can get at HEB. I don't actually think end times are here, but if they are, some of my neighbors have a crapton of Rice-A-Roni, butter, English muffins, and jackfruit.
3) Central Market is still my favorite store ever. Before retiring to the Smith compound, I made one last tasteful trip and got brie, sticky toffee pudding, malbec, a single box of risotto, and a well-marbled ribeye. We may not have provisions to last the winter, but we will have one damn good last meal if we get to that point.
4) some healthcare professionals have the whole telemedicine thing down better than others. My oncologist is getting things figured out, but no way I'm letting my new gastroenterologist do a virtual colonoscopy. That'll have to keep waiting.
5) kinda wish that Theranos woman hadn't been a con artist. An at-home blood test would have come in handy this week. Had to get blood work done before starting the poison. Left the first lab while they were checking my insurance because some woman in the waiting room started hacking up a lung. Probably just COPD, but seemed wise to leave quickly. I'll get a new license, insurance card, and credit card later. And
6) I still have a seriously compromised ability to pre-estimate the number of things I am about to include in a list.
Saturday, March 7, 2020
A Sacrifice to the Harvest God
I replanted my garden today. Hey, there are pickles to be made at some point in the future.
As I was finishing putting in the final seedlings in the ground, I noticed something completely terrifying on the back fence.
No, it was not this baby skunk. This is perhaps one of the cutest creatures I have ever seen. I start with Apollo here to give you some benign context.
I’ll explain. Kaileigh graduated in December 2018 with a degree in wildlife biology. When Kaileigh came back from her travels last summer, she stayed with us and did a gig on a research project with bats at Texas State. This past January, she did a short internship in Northern California studying mountain lions. Or maybe it was Pumas. Or it could have been cougars. It was definitely kitties!
Then she moved to Illinois where she is on a project studying skunks. And has sent us pictures that make me want a pet skunk. Like Apollo. No, this is what was on our back fence. And actually still is because there is no freaking way I’m touching it.
I could only think of six possible explanations.
1) this is the neighborhood association’s way to tell me our grass is too long.
2) brain tumor. But you can see this, right?
3) Elsie finally got the upper hand in the cat wars. But that assumes she killed the boy, stripped the body, and somehow managed to hang his skull and spine on the fence. Two problems- I don’t think she can get out the back door, and 2) exactly who is she trying to warn off with this display, seeing that in this scenario there is an ex-Leo?
4) Jill has a new hobby and I really need to pay more attention.
5) I have a new hobby that I don’t know about, See #2 (brain tumor) above. Or
6) my wildlife biologist daughter left us a present.
likely the last one is the most plausible, but I really don’t want to think about my lovely daughter ripping the spine out of some mid-sized mammal.
And one final possibility. I don’t watch horror movies, but I imagine this could portend some looming evil upon our homestead. If it’s in a different part of the yard tomorrow, I am so out of here.
As I was finishing putting in the final seedlings in the ground, I noticed something completely terrifying on the back fence.
I’ll explain. Kaileigh graduated in December 2018 with a degree in wildlife biology. When Kaileigh came back from her travels last summer, she stayed with us and did a gig on a research project with bats at Texas State. This past January, she did a short internship in Northern California studying mountain lions. Or maybe it was Pumas. Or it could have been cougars. It was definitely kitties!
Then she moved to Illinois where she is on a project studying skunks. And has sent us pictures that make me want a pet skunk. Like Apollo. No, this is what was on our back fence. And actually still is because there is no freaking way I’m touching it.
I could only think of six possible explanations.1) this is the neighborhood association’s way to tell me our grass is too long.
2) brain tumor. But you can see this, right?
3) Elsie finally got the upper hand in the cat wars. But that assumes she killed the boy, stripped the body, and somehow managed to hang his skull and spine on the fence. Two problems- I don’t think she can get out the back door, and 2) exactly who is she trying to warn off with this display, seeing that in this scenario there is an ex-Leo?
4) Jill has a new hobby and I really need to pay more attention.
5) I have a new hobby that I don’t know about, See #2 (brain tumor) above. Or
6) my wildlife biologist daughter left us a present.
likely the last one is the most plausible, but I really don’t want to think about my lovely daughter ripping the spine out of some mid-sized mammal.
And one final possibility. I don’t watch horror movies, but I imagine this could portend some looming evil upon our homestead. If it’s in a different part of the yard tomorrow, I am so out of here.
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Therapist Seeking Behavior
I am on a quest to find a therapist. I haven't gone to therapy before. It always sounded like a good idea, and I know lots of people who have been benefited from it. I don't have any real reason I haven't gone before. My best explanation is that I express my feelings through sarcastic blog posts. Yeah, I know, not actually useful, except when blogspot responds "and how does that make you feel?"
But now that I am heading into my one-year anniversary of the diagnosis (is there a different set of anniversary gifts for illness than for marriages? If not, I guess May 2nd is the "paper" anniversary for my tumor. Prescriptions, explanations of benefits, and test result print-outs would all be good presents, if you were looking). But I digress. With the life-changing/threatening diagnosis and treatment, seems like a good time to try therapy.
I used to run a mental health agency, so I know people who know people. I had some of them give me some recommendations. The inter-web gives me an idea of who might take my insurance. So, I chose a nice psychologist from amongst the recommendations and set up an appointment. I liked him, but turns out he is both location- and insurance-undesirable. Turns out that even though I thought I could head south of the river for therapy, I can't. It was a fine session, but the idea of getting on MoPac every Thursday at 5 and sitting in traffic for an extra 90 minutes is a deal breaker for me. I's not that I don't like South Austin. I don't. Sorry, but I really don't. Been a north Austin boy my whole life.
It also turns out that every therapist lists my insurance as one they take, with the caveat of "out of network". What this actually means is that they don't take my insurance.
So I set up an appointment with an LCSW (one of my people), who was a little-more geographically desirable. Called my insurance company, who explained they would pay absolutely nothing for it. Hey, I testified to the Texas legislature a few years back in favor of mental health parity rules that make sure mental health is covered the same as physical health. It passed. But it isn't. They also let me know they actually farmed out mental health coverage to some place called Magellan. I called, and waited the requisite two hours on the phone (hey, he was out of the office looking for the fountain of youth, or the City of Gold, or something). But when I finally got to talk to the famous explorer, it turns out that yes, they only pay for in-network therapists. And while there are (and this is not an exaggeration) just over 6,000 therapists in central Texas, there are exactly 39 who take Magellan. Take out the geographically undesirable, and the list drops to about 20. Oh, and one fun thing I found - since I ran the Austin Child Guidance Center for almost eight years, at some point I actually employed a significant percentage of the therapists I was finding. This knocked out another 8 or 9 from my short-list. But admittedly, these were more focused on children. And while play therapy doesn't sound like a terrible idea right about now, probably not what I actually need.
So, I now had an ultra-short list. I started reaching out. Three of them never got back to me. Two said they weren't taking new patients. One sounded like she was in the midst of some type of mental health crisis of her own.
Which narrowed me down to my final list. With exactly zero therapists on it. Finding a therapist is going to be the first thing I talk about in therapy, assuming I could find a therapist.
I don't have an unreasonable set of criteria. Someone who: takes my insurance; has an office north (or at least not south); doesn't sound suicidal; hasn't worked for me (or didn't go to high school with me - this was actually another problem I found); and utilizes at least some of the therapies I have heard of (CBT, DBT, humanistic, systems, gestalt - yes, I know what it is and even took a class in it) and doesn't focus too much on interpretive dance, journaling, and the like). How hard can that be?
Recommendations welcome. Though, admittedly, I feel a little bit better just writing all of this down.
But now that I am heading into my one-year anniversary of the diagnosis (is there a different set of anniversary gifts for illness than for marriages? If not, I guess May 2nd is the "paper" anniversary for my tumor. Prescriptions, explanations of benefits, and test result print-outs would all be good presents, if you were looking). But I digress. With the life-changing/threatening diagnosis and treatment, seems like a good time to try therapy.
I used to run a mental health agency, so I know people who know people. I had some of them give me some recommendations. The inter-web gives me an idea of who might take my insurance. So, I chose a nice psychologist from amongst the recommendations and set up an appointment. I liked him, but turns out he is both location- and insurance-undesirable. Turns out that even though I thought I could head south of the river for therapy, I can't. It was a fine session, but the idea of getting on MoPac every Thursday at 5 and sitting in traffic for an extra 90 minutes is a deal breaker for me. I's not that I don't like South Austin. I don't. Sorry, but I really don't. Been a north Austin boy my whole life.
It also turns out that every therapist lists my insurance as one they take, with the caveat of "out of network". What this actually means is that they don't take my insurance.
So I set up an appointment with an LCSW (one of my people), who was a little-more geographically desirable. Called my insurance company, who explained they would pay absolutely nothing for it. Hey, I testified to the Texas legislature a few years back in favor of mental health parity rules that make sure mental health is covered the same as physical health. It passed. But it isn't. They also let me know they actually farmed out mental health coverage to some place called Magellan. I called, and waited the requisite two hours on the phone (hey, he was out of the office looking for the fountain of youth, or the City of Gold, or something). But when I finally got to talk to the famous explorer, it turns out that yes, they only pay for in-network therapists. And while there are (and this is not an exaggeration) just over 6,000 therapists in central Texas, there are exactly 39 who take Magellan. Take out the geographically undesirable, and the list drops to about 20. Oh, and one fun thing I found - since I ran the Austin Child Guidance Center for almost eight years, at some point I actually employed a significant percentage of the therapists I was finding. This knocked out another 8 or 9 from my short-list. But admittedly, these were more focused on children. And while play therapy doesn't sound like a terrible idea right about now, probably not what I actually need.
So, I now had an ultra-short list. I started reaching out. Three of them never got back to me. Two said they weren't taking new patients. One sounded like she was in the midst of some type of mental health crisis of her own.
Which narrowed me down to my final list. With exactly zero therapists on it. Finding a therapist is going to be the first thing I talk about in therapy, assuming I could find a therapist.
I don't have an unreasonable set of criteria. Someone who: takes my insurance; has an office north (or at least not south); doesn't sound suicidal; hasn't worked for me (or didn't go to high school with me - this was actually another problem I found); and utilizes at least some of the therapies I have heard of (CBT, DBT, humanistic, systems, gestalt - yes, I know what it is and even took a class in it) and doesn't focus too much on interpretive dance, journaling, and the like). How hard can that be?
Recommendations welcome. Though, admittedly, I feel a little bit better just writing all of this down.
Monday, February 10, 2020
Bureaucratic Windfall
Ever run into a situation where you were supposed to do something to make something else happen, but were never aware of what you were supposed to do or how to do it? Until it was too late, and your unknown oversight caused a full breakdown in, well, apparently the entire space-time continuum. And, if you have had that happen to you, has it ever made you very happy?
I'll explain.
During my 12 days of healthcare, my PA gave to me: "One reminder that after age 50 I should get a colonoscopy. Six suggested places. And two gentle reminders of the importance of doing this. What she didn't give to me was a referral authorization, an authorization ID, a date range for which the authorization is valid, and the number of visits approved.
This I learned from the gastroenterologist's office this afternoon, as my appointment is tomorrow morning. Damn it, I had to cancel the appointment.
"We can hold the appointment and you can try to get the doctor's office to get you the authorization this afternoon."
"No, I only have a rotary phone, so it could take me some time to dial. I'll just cancel."
"Do you want to find a date to re-schedule?"
"Absolutely. I will find some date in which I will attempt to re-schedule. If I'm being honest, I'm guessing it will be after my next physical. When my PA again gently reminds me I need to get this done. But certainly, I will find a date to re-schedule, and then I will try to remember all the things I need to get from my PA- referrals, letters of support, and whatnot."
Some of you may give me grief and reiterate what I know is true - this is something I need to do. And I was being very compliant and on track, until insurance red-tape derailed me. Dang. [multiple happy face emojis].
I'll explain.
During my 12 days of healthcare, my PA gave to me: "One reminder that after age 50 I should get a colonoscopy. Six suggested places. And two gentle reminders of the importance of doing this. What she didn't give to me was a referral authorization, an authorization ID, a date range for which the authorization is valid, and the number of visits approved.
This I learned from the gastroenterologist's office this afternoon, as my appointment is tomorrow morning. Damn it, I had to cancel the appointment.
"We can hold the appointment and you can try to get the doctor's office to get you the authorization this afternoon."
"No, I only have a rotary phone, so it could take me some time to dial. I'll just cancel."
"Do you want to find a date to re-schedule?"
"Absolutely. I will find some date in which I will attempt to re-schedule. If I'm being honest, I'm guessing it will be after my next physical. When my PA again gently reminds me I need to get this done. But certainly, I will find a date to re-schedule, and then I will try to remember all the things I need to get from my PA- referrals, letters of support, and whatnot."
Some of you may give me grief and reiterate what I know is true - this is something I need to do. And I was being very compliant and on track, until insurance red-tape derailed me. Dang. [multiple happy face emojis].
Thursday, February 6, 2020
Snow Sparkles
Once in every 8-9 years, the "slight chance of flurries" manifests in Austin. last night we got enough to add Snow Sparkles to the unicorn family.
Wednesday, February 5, 2020
Then Right on Grackle
Had my best Siri experience yesterday. I have it set to a female Aussie voice. Headed to dinner with my brother at a popular restaurant in east Austin, and Siri was giving me directions. She told me to take a right on Lancaster, then stay straight onto Chicken Street. Lived here a very long time. Almost certain there is NOT a Chicken Street. [Certainly, lots of chickens.] Then she said it again. I stayed straight, and found myself on Chicón. Might need to switch Siri to Latinx.
A follow-up. I told this observation at dinner, and Stacy said he once switched his Siri voice to C3PO. Which sounds like an amazing idea! He thought so as well, until he realized C3PO kept calling him "Master Stacy". Oh. Not an amazing idea, For lots of reasons. But I still love the concept, so I changed Siri to R2D2. I don't expect to ever be able to find anyplace ever again. Jill will inevitably not get this joke, saying "I don't watch Star Trek."
A follow-up. I told this observation at dinner, and Stacy said he once switched his Siri voice to C3PO. Which sounds like an amazing idea! He thought so as well, until he realized C3PO kept calling him "Master Stacy". Oh. Not an amazing idea, For lots of reasons. But I still love the concept, so I changed Siri to R2D2. I don't expect to ever be able to find anyplace ever again. Jill will inevitably not get this joke, saying "I don't watch Star Trek."
Thursday, January 30, 2020
So Far Not Awful
Just finished the first round of monthly chemo last night, and now have a leisurely three weeks till the next one.
People have been asking me how it's going, and I initially responded "so far so good."
That's not a precise statement. So I'm changing it to "so far not awful." Been eating, doing some exercise, food still tastes the way it should (still working on coffee and wine). Margaritas still taste delicious. I am hopeful it stays not awful through at least the first couple of months. You'll certainly read about it when that changes.
I think I promised a blog post on my "12 days of healthcare." Over the holidays, I went to a lot of doctors, partly to catch up on things I needed to do but had put off over the year. I came up with the outline of a disturbing version of the 12 Days of Christmas, but couldn't quite bring it over the finish line. So, I'll share the snippets that would have been part of what likely would have been an epic post and amazing new holiday song.
So, it would go like this:
On the 12th day of healthcare, my doctor gave to me:
12 Tappers Tapping - related to my search for a therapist to help me deal with, well, this whole sucky thing. Still looking, but have ruled out ones who focus on EMDR (thus the tapping).
Nine Tesla's Tesling - had three MRI's over the past few months, each at 3 Tesla's.
Six (point 2) A1c - had my blood sugar checked and it's actually not bad, even though my strategy for gaining back weight included a lot of sugary things.
Three distance lenses - lost my progressive glasses over the holidays. I worried I'd have to switch to "conservatives", but they allowed me to replace them with new glasses that still make me outraged by Cheeto Voldemort.
Two crowns a-chewing - got one new crown and had another one put back in after it popped off. I lost it taking a bite of untoasted sourdough bread, the most pitiful way to pop a crown ever.
And one col-on-os-co-py!!!! Actually just an appointment to talk to a dude about setting it up, but one is supposed to get one at age 50, and I have been putting this off. Mainly because I don't want to do it. But it would totally suck to beat brain cancer and then get taken out by colon cancer, or butt cancer, or whatever they are checking for.
I understand this may have veered a bit too far into TMI, but I also think that ship sailed a long time ago. And it's missing about half of the days of healthcare, but those would have been hilarious.
Someone can feel free to take this, run with it, record it, and please send me royalties.
Oh, and I just started a new phase. I'm calling this the "Indigo Girls" phase. Where I am starting to seek my source for some definitive. Been to the doctor, looked to the children, drank from the fountain, etc. Not found anything yet, but I have realized that "Closer to Fine" is not a bad song to get stuck in your head.
And one final observation. One I will chalk up to the new phase and possibly the chemo. I did have an extended sleep conversation with Beth this week, my old friend/girlfriend from almost 30 years ago who passed away several years ago. Only one data point, but if others visit, I might need to be concerned.
People have been asking me how it's going, and I initially responded "so far so good."
That's not a precise statement. So I'm changing it to "so far not awful." Been eating, doing some exercise, food still tastes the way it should (still working on coffee and wine). Margaritas still taste delicious. I am hopeful it stays not awful through at least the first couple of months. You'll certainly read about it when that changes.
I think I promised a blog post on my "12 days of healthcare." Over the holidays, I went to a lot of doctors, partly to catch up on things I needed to do but had put off over the year. I came up with the outline of a disturbing version of the 12 Days of Christmas, but couldn't quite bring it over the finish line. So, I'll share the snippets that would have been part of what likely would have been an epic post and amazing new holiday song.
So, it would go like this:
On the 12th day of healthcare, my doctor gave to me:
12 Tappers Tapping - related to my search for a therapist to help me deal with, well, this whole sucky thing. Still looking, but have ruled out ones who focus on EMDR (thus the tapping).
Nine Tesla's Tesling - had three MRI's over the past few months, each at 3 Tesla's.
Six (point 2) A1c - had my blood sugar checked and it's actually not bad, even though my strategy for gaining back weight included a lot of sugary things.
Three distance lenses - lost my progressive glasses over the holidays. I worried I'd have to switch to "conservatives", but they allowed me to replace them with new glasses that still make me outraged by Cheeto Voldemort.
Two crowns a-chewing - got one new crown and had another one put back in after it popped off. I lost it taking a bite of untoasted sourdough bread, the most pitiful way to pop a crown ever.
And one col-on-os-co-py!!!! Actually just an appointment to talk to a dude about setting it up, but one is supposed to get one at age 50, and I have been putting this off. Mainly because I don't want to do it. But it would totally suck to beat brain cancer and then get taken out by colon cancer, or butt cancer, or whatever they are checking for.
I understand this may have veered a bit too far into TMI, but I also think that ship sailed a long time ago. And it's missing about half of the days of healthcare, but those would have been hilarious.
Someone can feel free to take this, run with it, record it, and please send me royalties.
Oh, and I just started a new phase. I'm calling this the "Indigo Girls" phase. Where I am starting to seek my source for some definitive. Been to the doctor, looked to the children, drank from the fountain, etc. Not found anything yet, but I have realized that "Closer to Fine" is not a bad song to get stuck in your head.
And one final observation. One I will chalk up to the new phase and possibly the chemo. I did have an extended sleep conversation with Beth this week, my old friend/girlfriend from almost 30 years ago who passed away several years ago. Only one data point, but if others visit, I might need to be concerned.
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Squirrel!
From the combined opinions of Dr. Vaillant and a second opinion from Dr. de Groot at MD Anderson (I am de Groot. My brother suggested his name might be Ignatius Maximillian de Groot - or I.M. de Groot*), I re-start Chemo this Saturday. I will regale you all with my medical travels soon, from my holiday "12 days of healthcare" to my journey into the bowels of the Cancer Industrial Complex. But since ugly things may be re-starting soon, I feel the need to post some random pictures from the last few weeks, to distract from the pending poison resumption.
I'll start with a couple from Dallas, where I am now for a board meeting. I went out to dinner with my friend Chris last night, and the restaurant was next door to this. Not sure if tattoos will help with the cats, or how, but it's definitely worth a shot.
This is the inside of the front door to our administration office in Dallas. Now, I did some research into signage that prohibits weapons after our legislators basically gave the green light for every idiot with a gun to take said gun wherever they want, whenever they want. Businesses can opt out by placing signs with some very specific verbiage, with a very specific font size, and the regulations stipulate there must be at least two colors. This sign meets that requirement. And though it lacks the required language, is the wrong size, and in general does not meet any other of the very strict regulatory requirements intended to limit the limiting of guns everywhere, I believe that the biggest problem with this sign is its placement - on the back of the front door. Ensuring, at least, that employees who brought a weapon to work do not carry it into the hallway.
During the week leading up to the "resume Chemo" decision, things got a little dark for me. There is an SPCA very near my office, and one afternoon, on the way home, I stopped in for some puppy therapy. This is Duke, who looks strikingly like my dog Shoebox from my childhood. Shoebox was a good dog. I sent this picture to Jill, and she texted me "Where are you?" I told her.
I then sent her a picture of three Australian shepherd puppies, all already adopted, but tremendously cute little fluff balls.
Jill responded with "Get. Out. Of. There. NOW!!!"
I always listen to my wife, and she always knows what's best. So, If you want to meet Shoebox 2 and the Fluff triplets, text me.
And finally, there is Baby Sparkles. Jessica sent me a "Grow Your Own Unicorn" that I had not hatched. Knowing things are re-starting, it felt like it was time to bring Baby Sparkles into the Sparkles family. Seven days of soaking leave him a little slimy, but Dr. Rainbow Sparkles has accepted him into the Sparkles clan nonetheless.
* I tried this joke on Jill, who repeated "I don't know Star Wars." But still rolled her eyes.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
I'm Coming Elizabeth!
With apologies to Alannis Morrissette (and to Redd Foxx),
"Isn't it ironic, don't you think? It's like getting a brain tumor, going through treatment, making it to the end of the year, and then getting killed by Sanford and daughter on a short bike ride three days after Christmas."
It was a lovely day for a short bike ride, and bike rides aid in my recovery. So, I was just a couple of miles in to an ultimately 15-mile ride and I was behind a line of cars on a residential street. The front car pulled to the side, letting everyone else pass. Once the cars passed, I was right behind the pulled over vehicle, which turned out to be a pickup truck hauling a trailer filled with junk. I paused to see if they saw me and if I should also go around. When the truck didn't move, I started pulling around.
I passed the trailer and was next to the open driver's window when the truck started pulling back into the street. The street where I was. There was a woman in her 20's driving, and I looked at her and said "watch out." It was at a reasonable level of voice, and was simply a "I'm here, so be careful pulling out" admonition. She stopped pulling out, I went around, she went on her way. Everything fine, yes?
I thought so. The pickup truck pulled up next to me, and the dude in the passenger seat rolled down his window and started screaming at me. I wasn't entirely sure what he was saying or what specific infraction he was accusing me of. Having had other unpleasant interactions with cars (and angry people), I am pretty good at not escalating. So first, I ignored him and kept riding.
The truck pulls next to me again and he picks up yelling. I respond with a "it's all good. No problem." Then kept riding. Apparently not the response he wanted. Truck pulls next to me again. It's about here that I realize it's not just angry dude, since the woman is driving and is the one pulling next to me over and over again. He starts yelling again, and the words I pick up are something about his daughter pulling over to let people pass.
I tell him "I was just making sure she saw me." Also not the response he was seeking. But I keep riding. Truck pulls up next to me again. Dude keeps yelling. Honestly, I am tuning out most of it by now. But he ended with something like, "We are pulling over, and you are going to apologize to her. If you don't, I'm going to..." I really didn't hear the "or else" threat, but am clear it had some violence involved. Sure enough, they whip around, go up a bit, and pull to the side of the road.
Still in de-escalation mode, I am thinking of an acceptable apology.
"Sorry I verbalized a warning since you had made no indication of seeing me, and very likely were headed toward running me over. An encounter that would have certainly impacted both of us negatively, but I would wager would be worse for me. If I somehow startled or offended you in trying to ensure you didn't kill me, I truly regret that. Oh, and sorry your father is such an asshole. And since you are part of this whole thing, sorry your entire family is filled with assholes. And further apologies if your mom or a sibling or two are not assholes and I have just unfairly painted your whole clan with the "asshole" brush."
But realizing this wasn't likely a de-escalation, and also that I ride much faster than that and wouldn't get through the whole speech while passing them, I shortened it. I passed the truck, looked in the open window, and said "Merry Christmas." Then I kept riding.
The truck pulls back onto the street and whips around me again. It was about here that I wished I had listened closer to the threat he made. It occurred to me that my evasive maneuver depended on the threat. If he (or really his daughter) was going to try to run me off the road, I could ride up a driveway and through someone's XMas decorations. Certainly blow-up Santas are either deterrents or helpful obstacles. If they were going to pull over and he was going to get out to kick my ass, I would leave the dude in the dust. I outran two pit bulls trying to eat me once, hitting speeds close to 50 mph. Idiot angry junk man ain't never going to catch me. Give me three steps, give me three steps, mister. But if the threat was in someway involving guns, then I could, well, I could get shot. No easy evasive maneuver there, outside of movies or video games. But they kept driving. Possibly the "Merry Christmas" was enough.
"Isn't it ironic, don't you think?" It's like having multiple unpleasant encounters while cycling with young white idiots in pickup trucks, and the first one that actually seemed dangerous was with a middle-aged Hispanic junk man. And his daughter.
"Isn't it ironic, don't you think? It's like getting a brain tumor, going through treatment, making it to the end of the year, and then getting killed by Sanford and daughter on a short bike ride three days after Christmas."
It was a lovely day for a short bike ride, and bike rides aid in my recovery. So, I was just a couple of miles in to an ultimately 15-mile ride and I was behind a line of cars on a residential street. The front car pulled to the side, letting everyone else pass. Once the cars passed, I was right behind the pulled over vehicle, which turned out to be a pickup truck hauling a trailer filled with junk. I paused to see if they saw me and if I should also go around. When the truck didn't move, I started pulling around.
I passed the trailer and was next to the open driver's window when the truck started pulling back into the street. The street where I was. There was a woman in her 20's driving, and I looked at her and said "watch out." It was at a reasonable level of voice, and was simply a "I'm here, so be careful pulling out" admonition. She stopped pulling out, I went around, she went on her way. Everything fine, yes?
I thought so. The pickup truck pulled up next to me, and the dude in the passenger seat rolled down his window and started screaming at me. I wasn't entirely sure what he was saying or what specific infraction he was accusing me of. Having had other unpleasant interactions with cars (and angry people), I am pretty good at not escalating. So first, I ignored him and kept riding.
The truck pulls next to me again and he picks up yelling. I respond with a "it's all good. No problem." Then kept riding. Apparently not the response he wanted. Truck pulls next to me again. It's about here that I realize it's not just angry dude, since the woman is driving and is the one pulling next to me over and over again. He starts yelling again, and the words I pick up are something about his daughter pulling over to let people pass.
I tell him "I was just making sure she saw me." Also not the response he was seeking. But I keep riding. Truck pulls up next to me again. Dude keeps yelling. Honestly, I am tuning out most of it by now. But he ended with something like, "We are pulling over, and you are going to apologize to her. If you don't, I'm going to..." I really didn't hear the "or else" threat, but am clear it had some violence involved. Sure enough, they whip around, go up a bit, and pull to the side of the road.
Still in de-escalation mode, I am thinking of an acceptable apology.
"Sorry I verbalized a warning since you had made no indication of seeing me, and very likely were headed toward running me over. An encounter that would have certainly impacted both of us negatively, but I would wager would be worse for me. If I somehow startled or offended you in trying to ensure you didn't kill me, I truly regret that. Oh, and sorry your father is such an asshole. And since you are part of this whole thing, sorry your entire family is filled with assholes. And further apologies if your mom or a sibling or two are not assholes and I have just unfairly painted your whole clan with the "asshole" brush."
But realizing this wasn't likely a de-escalation, and also that I ride much faster than that and wouldn't get through the whole speech while passing them, I shortened it. I passed the truck, looked in the open window, and said "Merry Christmas." Then I kept riding.
The truck pulls back onto the street and whips around me again. It was about here that I wished I had listened closer to the threat he made. It occurred to me that my evasive maneuver depended on the threat. If he (or really his daughter) was going to try to run me off the road, I could ride up a driveway and through someone's XMas decorations. Certainly blow-up Santas are either deterrents or helpful obstacles. If they were going to pull over and he was going to get out to kick my ass, I would leave the dude in the dust. I outran two pit bulls trying to eat me once, hitting speeds close to 50 mph. Idiot angry junk man ain't never going to catch me. Give me three steps, give me three steps, mister. But if the threat was in someway involving guns, then I could, well, I could get shot. No easy evasive maneuver there, outside of movies or video games. But they kept driving. Possibly the "Merry Christmas" was enough.
"Isn't it ironic, don't you think?" It's like having multiple unpleasant encounters while cycling with young white idiots in pickup trucks, and the first one that actually seemed dangerous was with a middle-aged Hispanic junk man. And his daughter.
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
Gratitude
Here we are, a day before Thanksgiving, 2019. I am generally not one to be overly excited about he whole "what are you grateful for?" discussion after a large meal, but it seems appropriate this year, before the big meal.
I am grateful to be here, getting ready for Thanksgiving. I honestly can't say I had a lot of worry that I wouldn't, but looking back at the past seven months, I do get a bit of retroactive angst about how things could have ended up on that drive in May, and with all that has transpired.
I am grateful that the drive in May was not my last, and that no one, including myself, got hurt, and even the car somehow only got a tiny scratch. I have now had 30 or 40 driving experiences since then that have ended more expectedly.
I am grateful for Jill. She keeps me grounded and positive. She supports me doing things that help me heal, and helps me understand my boundaries, even as they change. She also single-handedly got the twins off to college. Jill is my love.
I am grateful all my girls are here for Thanksgiving. The twins are back, and both are enjoying college. Kai-Loo has been staying with us on and off, and doing her one-woman estate sales business as well as working on a research project with bats at Texas State.
I am grateful for family and friends, who have been supportive in a thousand ways. Too many to name, but some of the ways: calling and checking on me; bringing food; taking me to lunch; sending random funny greeting cards; sharing their own stories; sending a rainbow unicorn; supporting Jill, as she has had to deal with a lot this year; and reading my random thoughts and saying nice things.
I am grateful that I am no longer losing weight, and that food generally tastes the way it should. Two sad hold-outs: coffee and wine. But margaritas still taste fine. And I am very grateful for that.
I am grateful that I can cook again, and that I am both riding and writing. Those three things help me find my place in the world. I'm also grateful to be able to be back 100% at work, doing what I love to help vulnerable people in a difficult environment.
I am so grateful for all of these things. My Corner Pieces.
I am grateful to be here, getting ready for Thanksgiving. I honestly can't say I had a lot of worry that I wouldn't, but looking back at the past seven months, I do get a bit of retroactive angst about how things could have ended up on that drive in May, and with all that has transpired.
I am grateful that the drive in May was not my last, and that no one, including myself, got hurt, and even the car somehow only got a tiny scratch. I have now had 30 or 40 driving experiences since then that have ended more expectedly.
I am grateful for Jill. She keeps me grounded and positive. She supports me doing things that help me heal, and helps me understand my boundaries, even as they change. She also single-handedly got the twins off to college. Jill is my love.
I am grateful all my girls are here for Thanksgiving. The twins are back, and both are enjoying college. Kai-Loo has been staying with us on and off, and doing her one-woman estate sales business as well as working on a research project with bats at Texas State.
I am grateful for family and friends, who have been supportive in a thousand ways. Too many to name, but some of the ways: calling and checking on me; bringing food; taking me to lunch; sending random funny greeting cards; sharing their own stories; sending a rainbow unicorn; supporting Jill, as she has had to deal with a lot this year; and reading my random thoughts and saying nice things.
I am grateful that I am no longer losing weight, and that food generally tastes the way it should. Two sad hold-outs: coffee and wine. But margaritas still taste fine. And I am very grateful for that.
I am grateful that I can cook again, and that I am both riding and writing. Those three things help me find my place in the world. I'm also grateful to be able to be back 100% at work, doing what I love to help vulnerable people in a difficult environment.
I am so grateful for all of these things. My Corner Pieces.
Wednesday, November 20, 2019
A Sneak Peak of my Secret Turkey recipe
My Saturday ride included a handful of Mighty Fine friends (both fine people and teammates from Team Mighty Fine). Including Laura, who works at HEB corporate, and Pam, who made an impassioned defense of the little HEB on the corner that could. Or that at least can, sometimes. I believe I was clear that I love HEB, but I do admit my annoyance is at the Spectrum dudes, and I promise to not be so hard on the corner HEB.
It was with that new attitude that I stopped by the store this evening. First thing I notice - no Spectrum table next to the far door. Perhaps the guy from Target relayed my concerns and HEB made a change!
Sadly, no. I did my shopping clockwise, which is the scientifically proven most efficient way to shop. This way, I end my trip in produce, so my freshly chosen produce gets home fastest (it’s just like getting it straight from the farm! Ish).
But, dammit, Spectrum dudes weren’t gone, just moved to the middle of produce. So now, instead of blocking Metamucil and generic Tylenol, products I only occasionally need, I have to pass them to get to the bananas.
A new strategy is in order. Fortunately, I adapt quickly.
“Excuse me sir!”
“Oh, great. Can you tell me where the worshcheshire sauce is? I’m sure I’m not spelling that correctly, but it shouldn’t matter because I’m actually asking you out loud.”
“Well, um...”
“What about ghee? Or is it pronounced “jee”? It’s Indian, and it’s like butter. I’m pretty sure it’s jee. I was going to go to the Asian market across the street, but thought I’d check here first.”
“Actually, sir...”
“And do you have any idea what to do with jackfruit?” I keep buying it because it looks cool, but now I have three and have no idea if it’s even edible.”
“Actually sir, I don’t work here.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Eventually you will sucker in someone with crappy internet and cable.”
So now I am coming up with my list of interesting and/or obscure products to confound Spectrum dude.
Olive loaf?
That memory pill made from jellyfish?
Those chips made from crickets?
Suggestions welcome.
It was with that new attitude that I stopped by the store this evening. First thing I notice - no Spectrum table next to the far door. Perhaps the guy from Target relayed my concerns and HEB made a change!
Sadly, no. I did my shopping clockwise, which is the scientifically proven most efficient way to shop. This way, I end my trip in produce, so my freshly chosen produce gets home fastest (it’s just like getting it straight from the farm! Ish).
But, dammit, Spectrum dudes weren’t gone, just moved to the middle of produce. So now, instead of blocking Metamucil and generic Tylenol, products I only occasionally need, I have to pass them to get to the bananas.
A new strategy is in order. Fortunately, I adapt quickly.
“Excuse me sir!”
“Oh, great. Can you tell me where the worshcheshire sauce is? I’m sure I’m not spelling that correctly, but it shouldn’t matter because I’m actually asking you out loud.”
“Well, um...”
“What about ghee? Or is it pronounced “jee”? It’s Indian, and it’s like butter. I’m pretty sure it’s jee. I was going to go to the Asian market across the street, but thought I’d check here first.”
“Actually, sir...”
“And do you have any idea what to do with jackfruit?” I keep buying it because it looks cool, but now I have three and have no idea if it’s even edible.”
“Actually sir, I don’t work here.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Eventually you will sucker in someone with crappy internet and cable.”
So now I am coming up with my list of interesting and/or obscure products to confound Spectrum dude.
Olive loaf?
That memory pill made from jellyfish?
Those chips made from crickets?
Suggestions welcome.
Monday, November 18, 2019
I am a Lucky Sumbitch
Been thinking a lot about Grandpa Sid recently. More accurately, he seems to keep coming up. Like a cantankerous, foul-mouthed ghost watching CNN at full volume.
My aunt Randy texted my brother and me a couple of weeks back with the intriguing question:
"What did we write on grandpa's gravestone?"
"Um, Sid Smith, and a couple of dates a hundred plus years apart?
"Yes, but the phrase he wanted."
"Oh, that. He was a lucky sumbitch."
"OK, thanks. Do you remember the Hebrew?"
A bit of explanation is in order. Grandpa wanted that phrase, but he wanted it in Hebrew. Through six years of Hebrew school, I learned exactly five words* (English transliteration follows, as I can't find the Hebrew alphabet on my computer. Which is either a testament to my marginal tech skills or proof that my computer is anti-Semitic):
Father - Abba
Mother - Ema
Yes - Ken
No - Lo
God - Adonai
The best I could have done for grandpa's gravestone is something like:
Adonai (God)? Lo (no). Abba (father)? Ken (yes). Ema/Abba (mother-father)? Ken/lo (not exactly, but sometimes something close to that).
Aunt Randy decided to seek more professional assistance. I think one of my cousins found some relevant Hebrew. Possibly through google translate, but I have no idea. Randy did say that they found out Hebrew doesn't have a word for "sumbitch", so they had to do a more rough translation.
I kinda think Grandpa's "He was a lucky sumbitch" probably ended up being in Hebrew something like "He was blessed with many bounties by the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob."
Last week I had a board meeting up in Dallas. We had a couple of new board members, so at the beginning of the meeting we all went around and introduced ourselves with some relevant information about our place in Refugee Services of Texas, our tenure, and then one "fun fact" about ourselves.
I actually have about seven fun facts. And no, I am not going to share them all now. You'll have to wait for a future blog post. But the one I did share also had to do with Grandpa Sid.
Long story a little less long - after re-districting removed him from his beloved Congressman Doggett's district, grandpa decided to run for Congress. As a family, we spent likely $200 on t-shirts, bumper stickers and yard signs (printed only on one side), with what is one of my few claims to fame - his campaign slogan: "At 95, Who Needs Term Limits?" An AP reporter did a story on him and it went global, and grandpa did morning radio shows and was featured in over 100 news articles. My slogan was included in the end-of-year Time Magazine as one of seven quotes of the year. Grandpa came in third (out of four) in the democratic primary, and I still write him in every time for US Congress district 10. The husband of one of my co-workers at the time was a documentary film-maker, and did this incredible 10 minute video on his run**, should you want to learn more (The More You Know!):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O--E3WPsIsI
And then this last weekend was my birthday. I have had to revise and our postpone some of my goals for the year. Mainly the cycling goals. My "lose thirty-five pounds and get a bunch of new clothes that I couldn't have fit in since 1986" goal (one I didn't even know I had)? Check. But I pulled out of the MS150 and my 1/3 of the 1/2 Ironman in October.
I also had to give up on the "go a full year without a near death experience" goal. I need one of those signs on my bedroom wall "Days without an industrial accident ___", but "Years without a near death experience." Gotta start that one back to zero in 2020.
For several years my birthday goal was to ride the number of miles that matched my age. I kinda got this from grandpa Sid, who took up running in his seventies, and ran/walked the Capital 10,000 well into his nineties. For several years his goal was to "beat his age" - i.e. when he was 85, he wanted to finish the 10k in less than 85 minutes. I was successful in my "ride my age" goal till I had a wipe-out on a muddy trail on my 50th birthday. That year, I decided I was 36.
This year, I briefly set a goal of riding 54 miles in a day. I did quite quickly understand and agree with Jill's "Oh, hell no." So I revised the goal to 54 miles over the weekend. I rode with Jill and some friends from Team Mighty Fine on Saturday, going 31 miles. Then I went solo yesterday for 24 miles, adding up to 55 for the weekend (I had to have one to grow on!).
I was happy to ride with friends, and delighted that a bunch of friends joined me on my sorta-annual Hofbrau trip Saturday, and that two of my girls were home this weekend, and the other comes back next week. I am truly blessed with many bounties by the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
* I did learn the alphabet, how to generally pronounce things, and then memorized the prayers that I needed to recite that helped me to become a man at the age of thirteen. Only in re-reading that am I seeing how that can be mis-understood. I only became a man in the biblical sense. Still problematic! I wore a suit, spoke Hebrew I didn't understand to a gathering of my parents' friends, and received about $10,000, several Cross pens, and a red lava lamp from Bobby.
** And then check out IMDB, where I was able to get Abby and Alex listed as cast members for the film "Sid Smith for Congress as "twins", and add this synopsis:
"After being redistricted out of his long-time congressional district (and thus losing his Rep Lloyd Doggett), Sid Smith - newspaper man, long-time Austinite, Realtor, 20-time winner of Cap10 K (from age 72 to 92), widow of Bert Kruger Smith, raconteur, sum-bitch, and outspoken liberal, decides that he will run for the seat at age 95. With little more than a couple dozen yard sides (printed on only one side), a catchy campaign slogan from his grandson Russell ("At 95, Who Needs Terms Limits?), and a handful of bumper stickers and t-shirts, Sid hits the trail in his long shot bid. Along the way, he garners international attention and builds momentum to the big election night, where he finishes...not last."
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1387273/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1
My aunt Randy texted my brother and me a couple of weeks back with the intriguing question:
"What did we write on grandpa's gravestone?"
"Um, Sid Smith, and a couple of dates a hundred plus years apart?
"Yes, but the phrase he wanted."
"Oh, that. He was a lucky sumbitch."
"OK, thanks. Do you remember the Hebrew?"
A bit of explanation is in order. Grandpa wanted that phrase, but he wanted it in Hebrew. Through six years of Hebrew school, I learned exactly five words* (English transliteration follows, as I can't find the Hebrew alphabet on my computer. Which is either a testament to my marginal tech skills or proof that my computer is anti-Semitic):
Father - Abba
Mother - Ema
Yes - Ken
No - Lo
God - Adonai
The best I could have done for grandpa's gravestone is something like:
Adonai (God)? Lo (no). Abba (father)? Ken (yes). Ema/Abba (mother-father)? Ken/lo (not exactly, but sometimes something close to that).
Aunt Randy decided to seek more professional assistance. I think one of my cousins found some relevant Hebrew. Possibly through google translate, but I have no idea. Randy did say that they found out Hebrew doesn't have a word for "sumbitch", so they had to do a more rough translation.
I kinda think Grandpa's "He was a lucky sumbitch" probably ended up being in Hebrew something like "He was blessed with many bounties by the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob."
Last week I had a board meeting up in Dallas. We had a couple of new board members, so at the beginning of the meeting we all went around and introduced ourselves with some relevant information about our place in Refugee Services of Texas, our tenure, and then one "fun fact" about ourselves.
I actually have about seven fun facts. And no, I am not going to share them all now. You'll have to wait for a future blog post. But the one I did share also had to do with Grandpa Sid.
Long story a little less long - after re-districting removed him from his beloved Congressman Doggett's district, grandpa decided to run for Congress. As a family, we spent likely $200 on t-shirts, bumper stickers and yard signs (printed only on one side), with what is one of my few claims to fame - his campaign slogan: "At 95, Who Needs Term Limits?" An AP reporter did a story on him and it went global, and grandpa did morning radio shows and was featured in over 100 news articles. My slogan was included in the end-of-year Time Magazine as one of seven quotes of the year. Grandpa came in third (out of four) in the democratic primary, and I still write him in every time for US Congress district 10. The husband of one of my co-workers at the time was a documentary film-maker, and did this incredible 10 minute video on his run**, should you want to learn more (The More You Know!):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O--E3WPsIsI
And then this last weekend was my birthday. I have had to revise and our postpone some of my goals for the year. Mainly the cycling goals. My "lose thirty-five pounds and get a bunch of new clothes that I couldn't have fit in since 1986" goal (one I didn't even know I had)? Check. But I pulled out of the MS150 and my 1/3 of the 1/2 Ironman in October.
I also had to give up on the "go a full year without a near death experience" goal. I need one of those signs on my bedroom wall "Days without an industrial accident ___", but "Years without a near death experience." Gotta start that one back to zero in 2020.
For several years my birthday goal was to ride the number of miles that matched my age. I kinda got this from grandpa Sid, who took up running in his seventies, and ran/walked the Capital 10,000 well into his nineties. For several years his goal was to "beat his age" - i.e. when he was 85, he wanted to finish the 10k in less than 85 minutes. I was successful in my "ride my age" goal till I had a wipe-out on a muddy trail on my 50th birthday. That year, I decided I was 36.
This year, I briefly set a goal of riding 54 miles in a day. I did quite quickly understand and agree with Jill's "Oh, hell no." So I revised the goal to 54 miles over the weekend. I rode with Jill and some friends from Team Mighty Fine on Saturday, going 31 miles. Then I went solo yesterday for 24 miles, adding up to 55 for the weekend (I had to have one to grow on!).
I was happy to ride with friends, and delighted that a bunch of friends joined me on my sorta-annual Hofbrau trip Saturday, and that two of my girls were home this weekend, and the other comes back next week. I am truly blessed with many bounties by the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
* I did learn the alphabet, how to generally pronounce things, and then memorized the prayers that I needed to recite that helped me to become a man at the age of thirteen. Only in re-reading that am I seeing how that can be mis-understood. I only became a man in the biblical sense. Still problematic! I wore a suit, spoke Hebrew I didn't understand to a gathering of my parents' friends, and received about $10,000, several Cross pens, and a red lava lamp from Bobby.
** And then check out IMDB, where I was able to get Abby and Alex listed as cast members for the film "Sid Smith for Congress as "twins", and add this synopsis:
"After being redistricted out of his long-time congressional district (and thus losing his Rep Lloyd Doggett), Sid Smith - newspaper man, long-time Austinite, Realtor, 20-time winner of Cap10 K (from age 72 to 92), widow of Bert Kruger Smith, raconteur, sum-bitch, and outspoken liberal, decides that he will run for the seat at age 95. With little more than a couple dozen yard sides (printed on only one side), a catchy campaign slogan from his grandson Russell ("At 95, Who Needs Terms Limits?), and a handful of bumper stickers and t-shirts, Sid hits the trail in his long shot bid. Along the way, he garners international attention and builds momentum to the big election night, where he finishes...not last."
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1387273/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1
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