02/26/10
Both Miz Susan and I were disappointed when the U.S. women's hockey team didn't grab the gold last night. Heck of a game though, eh? If the USAers didn't claim the top step of the podium they at least caught Susan's attention to the point that she watched the entire game from the time that she got home. We missed the early scoring--her, because she works for a living and me, because I was boiling eggs in the kitchen for another of Susan's nummy salads (translation: meatless meals) for dinner. I shouldn't be kicking since all I had to do was stand around in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil while she had to brave the Mississippi Market to get salad greens and more half+half.
Despite the loss, Susan's willingness to watch the game last night might just mark the opening up of whole new worlds of possibilities for us. I doubt that, in her entire life, apart from her niece Marcy's youth league games, Susan has watched enough minutes to patch together a full hockey game. You'll hear the hockey announcers talk about a star defenseman racking up 40+ minutes of ice time in a big game but that's about where Susan stands for her viewing career. In her defense, I sense that ice hockey was not a way of life down in Lamberton, MN. I'm not saying that there wasn't talent for the game out west on Hwy 14 but it would appear that whatever talent there was got scooped up early and hustled of to the top Junior A leagues. It's tough to run a grade-A high school hockey program when your best kids keep getting sent north to Montreal and Toronto.
Susan was very disappointed that our ladies (didn't you want to strangle Mike Milbury every time he used that word last night? I'd forgotten how much I despised him when he played for the Bruins.) fell short but I tend to the philosophical in these things. As the puckheads are want to say, "You've got to put the biscuit in the basket if you wanna win." Do puckheads really say that? Anyway, our skaters didn't really come close to lighting the lamp except for maybe once off of a scramble in the second period and the Canuckers played plenty well enough to make it stand up. Hats off to the Canadiennes. I'm happy to join in on Oh, Canada! most any time.
But we do need to remember the real purpose of the Olympics and who invented them. The Americans and NBC-TV, right? C'mon, everyone knows that. And when I say "Americans", I'm not willing to get all inclusive to bunch Canada and Mexico in with us. Both of those countries have made plenty of contributions to the world at large but, by god, the Olympics are ours. And with an eye to avoiding future disappointments to households all over this great land and to maintain the potential for ad revenue growth for NBC, I have a few suggestions (the "modest proposals" mentioned in the title above) on how to improve the game of Olympic hockey.
What we really need to understand is that we can't have the U.S. teams in ice hockey losing to anybody. The rest of the world can have all the curling and team Nordic combined skiing medals that they can bear to drape around their necks but the integrity of U.S. viewership needs to be protected at nearly all costs. So, with that in mind, I'm going to throw out these few simple suggestions. Get back to me and tell me what you think.
I'm perfectly willing to let the first period of any future hockey game get played on an even keel. But if Team USA (and this is for women's and men's teams alike) is losing after the first period then the second period will need to be with the other team playing without skates. Broomball shoes would be OK but no skates. And if we're still down after two, then the other guys will have to pull their goalie. For the whole period. Oh, we'll let them have a sixth player but he or she would be restricted to staying inside the center face-off circle. Oh yeah, and that sixth player wouldn't get a stick. These few simple rules modifications should be enough to give our U.S. team a fighting chance to win in most games.
I came up with these ideas last night after Team USA's loss but I'd been thinking hard about ways to improve the Olympics even before that. How about, for example, running the downhill skiing events at night? The cameras could be equipped with infra-red lenses to pick up the body heat from the skiers as they go bouncing past. Or maybe doing the ice dancing competitions on the bobsled run? I'm even working on ideas to successfully combine the ski aerials, snowboard-cross and the biathlon. This could make for some major league fantastic reality TV. And the ratings. Just imagine the ratings!!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
back from the doctor's office
02/25/10
That was actually this past Monday. Miz Susan took a day off of work despite her concerns that some less-than-handpicked sub might undo all of the progress her 4th graders had made since last September. She's more worried about me undoing all of the progress I've made since Christmas Day and she wouldn't let me go by myself. Something about ice and crutches and about how stupid I am. Something along those lines. Hard to argue with her given the evidence she's collected.
It's a good thing that she came with me. I'd never have thought to bake cupcakes to take to the staff at the Specialty Clinic. And if I had thought of it, those cupcakes sure as hell would not have made it out of the car and up to the third floor. You'd be surprised at how many cupcakes you can eat in an 18 minute car ride. Not as many as White Castles but still quite a few. City driving allows for better productivity in the speed eating department since you can usually catch a few stoplights along the way to line things up for maximum efficiency.
They made like they were happy to see us down at 435 Phalen. I suppose they were since we've kept them fully employed since last July. No worries about layoffs in the local medical workforce when I'm in town. And they all brightened up even more when Susan handed over the cupcakes. I tried to keep up a brave front as the last of my birthday booty disappeared into the staff break room. Almost the last anyway; there are still a few pieces of Jill and MaryAnn's pecan pie left and I ain't giving those up to anyone.
The doc poked and prodded and made me hop around the exam room on one leg for a few minutes. He told us that he was pleased at seeing better progress than he would have expected. I doubt that he had any concept as to just how easy I've been taking it for the last six weeks. My knee and all of its assorted muscles and tendons and whatnot have really had no opportunity to do anything but make progress. He told us to come back and see him in four weeks and to keep on doing whatever it was that I had been doing.
That wasn't all though. He called in for the delivery of my old friend, the CPM (Continuous Passive Movement) machine. That arrived Tuesday afternoon and I've already logged a few sessions in its healing clutches. In fact, I'm headed back that way soon. I'm glad to have the thing back as it's a concrete reminder that I might be able to walk again someday and also because I haven't done nearly the amount of reading I did last fall. Maybe I'll get through a couple of books that I was looking forward to.
The CPM even got delivered by the same guy as last time. He was also happy to see me. Here's a guy who spends his workdays on the freeways with a minivan full of medical equipment making deliveries and doing set-ups. He said his route map on Tuesday was Plymouth to Cottage Grove to Regions and me in the Midway to Coon Rapids and then home to Chisago City. But no matter how crazy his days must sometimes feel, he's gladdened by the fact that he's not me. He, at least, gets to get out of the house once in a while.
I am starting to feel that there might be light at the end of the tunnel. Miz Susan and I went off to see Kate perform in Hopkins High's adaptation of Talking With last night. The highlight of the evening was Kate (live snake and all--ask her, not me) and the rest of the cast but I also shone in my supporting role as driver; my first driving since being rendered hors de combat in the Great Christmas Snow Shovel War of 2009. Miz Susan graciously accepted my offer that I drive to Minnetonka and I made the most of it, weaving in and out of traffic like a regular suburbanite on the way home from happy hour. I'm on the way back.
I realized that I maybe should have grabbed the wheel for the return leg when Susan announced that she was suffering from night blindness just as she started down the long twisting entrance ramp onto Hwy 169. We did make it home safely despite the best efforts of some for-real suburbanite doing his for-real happy hour induced weave on 94 just past the 280 exit. I thought that it was touching that he wanted to share the lane with us at 55 mph but Susan took a dimmer view of his advances. She asked me what in the hell he was doing. As if I knew. I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing most of the time let alone some idiot who would easily have blown a .15 on any passing cop's drunk-o-meter.
I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to driving every day again.
That was actually this past Monday. Miz Susan took a day off of work despite her concerns that some less-than-handpicked sub might undo all of the progress her 4th graders had made since last September. She's more worried about me undoing all of the progress I've made since Christmas Day and she wouldn't let me go by myself. Something about ice and crutches and about how stupid I am. Something along those lines. Hard to argue with her given the evidence she's collected.
It's a good thing that she came with me. I'd never have thought to bake cupcakes to take to the staff at the Specialty Clinic. And if I had thought of it, those cupcakes sure as hell would not have made it out of the car and up to the third floor. You'd be surprised at how many cupcakes you can eat in an 18 minute car ride. Not as many as White Castles but still quite a few. City driving allows for better productivity in the speed eating department since you can usually catch a few stoplights along the way to line things up for maximum efficiency.
They made like they were happy to see us down at 435 Phalen. I suppose they were since we've kept them fully employed since last July. No worries about layoffs in the local medical workforce when I'm in town. And they all brightened up even more when Susan handed over the cupcakes. I tried to keep up a brave front as the last of my birthday booty disappeared into the staff break room. Almost the last anyway; there are still a few pieces of Jill and MaryAnn's pecan pie left and I ain't giving those up to anyone.
The doc poked and prodded and made me hop around the exam room on one leg for a few minutes. He told us that he was pleased at seeing better progress than he would have expected. I doubt that he had any concept as to just how easy I've been taking it for the last six weeks. My knee and all of its assorted muscles and tendons and whatnot have really had no opportunity to do anything but make progress. He told us to come back and see him in four weeks and to keep on doing whatever it was that I had been doing.
That wasn't all though. He called in for the delivery of my old friend, the CPM (Continuous Passive Movement) machine. That arrived Tuesday afternoon and I've already logged a few sessions in its healing clutches. In fact, I'm headed back that way soon. I'm glad to have the thing back as it's a concrete reminder that I might be able to walk again someday and also because I haven't done nearly the amount of reading I did last fall. Maybe I'll get through a couple of books that I was looking forward to.
The CPM even got delivered by the same guy as last time. He was also happy to see me. Here's a guy who spends his workdays on the freeways with a minivan full of medical equipment making deliveries and doing set-ups. He said his route map on Tuesday was Plymouth to Cottage Grove to Regions and me in the Midway to Coon Rapids and then home to Chisago City. But no matter how crazy his days must sometimes feel, he's gladdened by the fact that he's not me. He, at least, gets to get out of the house once in a while.
I am starting to feel that there might be light at the end of the tunnel. Miz Susan and I went off to see Kate perform in Hopkins High's adaptation of Talking With last night. The highlight of the evening was Kate (live snake and all--ask her, not me) and the rest of the cast but I also shone in my supporting role as driver; my first driving since being rendered hors de combat in the Great Christmas Snow Shovel War of 2009. Miz Susan graciously accepted my offer that I drive to Minnetonka and I made the most of it, weaving in and out of traffic like a regular suburbanite on the way home from happy hour. I'm on the way back.
I realized that I maybe should have grabbed the wheel for the return leg when Susan announced that she was suffering from night blindness just as she started down the long twisting entrance ramp onto Hwy 169. We did make it home safely despite the best efforts of some for-real suburbanite doing his for-real happy hour induced weave on 94 just past the 280 exit. I thought that it was touching that he wanted to share the lane with us at 55 mph but Susan took a dimmer view of his advances. She asked me what in the hell he was doing. As if I knew. I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing most of the time let alone some idiot who would easily have blown a .15 on any passing cop's drunk-o-meter.
I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to driving every day again.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Valentine's Day with me as target practice for cupid and his little bow and arrows
Valentine's Day is upon us. I thought it would never get here. The last three months of the NFL season definitely slow down the passage of time to a crawl and are an unhappy reminder of just how long it is between late-October and late-February. I suppose that winter and its short days, long (and generally uneventful) nights, low sun angle (is that redundant?), and all of its many varieties of noxious weather conditions also play their parts in making the clock and calendar seem like they're standing still. But we're past all of that now. The days are getting longer and, if the nights are still pretty uneventful, there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon marked by Valentine's Day and my birthday, a mere week later. Twins pitchers and catchers report on February 21, my special day. Coincidence? Maybe. But I like to think that we all deserve a break and a sense of hope that, soon, we'll have major league baseball to ease us through the still otherwise unevevtful evenings.
But we do need to get past this Valentine's Day thing first. I've never been the biggest fan in the world of Valentine's Day and have tended to see it as a contrived event to benefit the manufacturers of schmaltzy red and pink tinted cards and the retail outlets that sell the damn things. I'm all for getting tons of chocolate dumped in my lap but mostly what I've gotten instead are those rock-hard, heart-shaped little instant tooth decay pellets with the stupid messages on them. Seriously---Q-T-π? Those things are even more deadly than the sugar-coated marshmallow lumps that get sold during the Easter season. But I'll admit that there are a few silver linings in the Valentine's clouds and those have to do with...surprise!!...food and drink.
And I'm not just talking chocolate. I'm talking pizza from Carbone's on Randolph. Heart-shaped, no less. And unlike the little heart-shaped sugar jaw breakers, this stuff--though it might still kill you--will at least make the trip to the hereafter worthwhile.
We first discovered the concept of heart-shapizza a feww years back at Carbone's on Randolph, my old stomping grounds from way back in high school and even before that. I would have been far too cool to have submitted to such an emotions-on-the-sleeve thing back when I was 17. Moot point though; I'm almost positive that this beauty wasn't on the menu back in the day. No, I'd somehow convinced Miz Susan that what we really needed for Valentine's Day dinner was pizza from Carbone's. Imagine my shock when she actually agreed. Then imagine my pathetic little man-brain spinning feverishly when I ordered and they asked if I wanted it in the shape of the day. Who was I to say anything but, "Hell yes, I want it it heart-shaped!"? Particularly since I'd undoubtedly done my usual half-assed job of paying due respect to the holiday and was probably coming home with, at best, a more than half-wilted bunch of daisies from the floral department at Cub. Long story short, we loved it (hard not to love a Carbone's pizza) and we've been stuck on it ever since. A tradition had been born.
I mentioned drink as well. Miz Susan got hooked on the bubbly a couple of New Year's Eves ago down at the University Club. One of the waiters who was probably looking to pad our bill gave her a free sip of the stuff and she fell right into his trap. Before I knew it we had a whole bottle to kill and now she's always taking a detour past the champagne rack whenever we go to the liquor store. Sadly, the weather and the trials of the week conspired to keep her from that one last stop on Friday afternoon and we were left without any Schramsberg Blanc de Blanc. We've given up on any ideas of ever tasting Dom Perignon, let alone buying a bottle. I talked her into beer instead and she was more than happy to help polish off the last of the Schell's Octoberfest after I pointed out that if she really needed to drink imported she could start putting a dent in the Amstel Lights that had gotten shoved to the back of the fridge.
So Valentine's Day dinner was a relatively low-key operation despite Miz Susan having to venture out to pick up the pizza, Carbone's one major failing being that they don't deliver. Never have, doubt they ever will. But it's not like I didn't have to pay a steep price for the beer and pizza. I wonder if Miz Susan would have even allowed me this much if I hadn't played the part of Valentines Lackey for her fourth grade class.
For whatever reason, political correctness has not yet done away with the exchange of Valentines in at least a few of our public schools. The kids probably still like it and I know that Miz Susan always brings home a wad of the things every February. For her students, she (meaning me) has sometimes copped her cards off of the internet but this year she decided to throw some of our hard earned dollars at Target in exchange for a box of 32 of the cutest, glossiest, heartiest little monkey Valentines you can imagine. Complete with matching rub on tattoos. She even ponied up for a couple of bags of M&M minis to go with each card. About five minutes into the process of separating and addressing and folding and taping and M&Ming she told me that this really wasn't a very efficient use of her time. She was right, of course. She's making good money and I don't even qualify for unemployment so I offered to take over for her. I separated the perforated sheets of the little monkeys and turned them over to her for addresses and her initials. Then she threw them back at me for the rest of the minimum wage work. I tucked the matching tattoos into their little slots and taped packages of M&M minis and folded and sealed them all up with the little red heart stickers that came with the pack. An hour later, with my hands throbbing from the picky-ass work and Miz Susan smirking and basking in the glow of having Tom Sawyered another chunk of her work-related tedium off on me, I wrapped things up. After a last count to make sure that no 4Y student was going to be scarred for life due to a missing Valentine monkey card which had slipped under the bed, I poured the things back into the Target bag. To rub my nose in my low-life status even further, Miz Susan grabbed the bag with the untaped M&M's and took that away from me too. She threw me one measly little package for my troubles but that was all. I figured that I could bide my time, that maybe there'd be a few leftovers after the mayhem on Friday that would come back home. I should have known better. Those most likely got handed over to the Desk Fairy for future positive reinforcement purposes because I sure as hell never saw them again.
Can't hardly wait for Valentine's to roll around again next year.
But we do need to get past this Valentine's Day thing first. I've never been the biggest fan in the world of Valentine's Day and have tended to see it as a contrived event to benefit the manufacturers of schmaltzy red and pink tinted cards and the retail outlets that sell the damn things. I'm all for getting tons of chocolate dumped in my lap but mostly what I've gotten instead are those rock-hard, heart-shaped little instant tooth decay pellets with the stupid messages on them. Seriously---Q-T-π? Those things are even more deadly than the sugar-coated marshmallow lumps that get sold during the Easter season. But I'll admit that there are a few silver linings in the Valentine's clouds and those have to do with...surprise!!...food and drink.
And I'm not just talking chocolate. I'm talking pizza from Carbone's on Randolph. Heart-shaped, no less. And unlike the little heart-shaped sugar jaw breakers, this stuff--though it might still kill you--will at least make the trip to the hereafter worthwhile.
We first discovered the concept of heart-shapizza a feww years back at Carbone's on Randolph, my old stomping grounds from way back in high school and even before that. I would have been far too cool to have submitted to such an emotions-on-the-sleeve thing back when I was 17. Moot point though; I'm almost positive that this beauty wasn't on the menu back in the day. No, I'd somehow convinced Miz Susan that what we really needed for Valentine's Day dinner was pizza from Carbone's. Imagine my shock when she actually agreed. Then imagine my pathetic little man-brain spinning feverishly when I ordered and they asked if I wanted it in the shape of the day. Who was I to say anything but, "Hell yes, I want it it heart-shaped!"? Particularly since I'd undoubtedly done my usual half-assed job of paying due respect to the holiday and was probably coming home with, at best, a more than half-wilted bunch of daisies from the floral department at Cub. Long story short, we loved it (hard not to love a Carbone's pizza) and we've been stuck on it ever since. A tradition had been born.
I mentioned drink as well. Miz Susan got hooked on the bubbly a couple of New Year's Eves ago down at the University Club. One of the waiters who was probably looking to pad our bill gave her a free sip of the stuff and she fell right into his trap. Before I knew it we had a whole bottle to kill and now she's always taking a detour past the champagne rack whenever we go to the liquor store. Sadly, the weather and the trials of the week conspired to keep her from that one last stop on Friday afternoon and we were left without any Schramsberg Blanc de Blanc. We've given up on any ideas of ever tasting Dom Perignon, let alone buying a bottle. I talked her into beer instead and she was more than happy to help polish off the last of the Schell's Octoberfest after I pointed out that if she really needed to drink imported she could start putting a dent in the Amstel Lights that had gotten shoved to the back of the fridge.
So Valentine's Day dinner was a relatively low-key operation despite Miz Susan having to venture out to pick up the pizza, Carbone's one major failing being that they don't deliver. Never have, doubt they ever will. But it's not like I didn't have to pay a steep price for the beer and pizza. I wonder if Miz Susan would have even allowed me this much if I hadn't played the part of Valentines Lackey for her fourth grade class.
For whatever reason, political correctness has not yet done away with the exchange of Valentines in at least a few of our public schools. The kids probably still like it and I know that Miz Susan always brings home a wad of the things every February. For her students, she (meaning me) has sometimes copped her cards off of the internet but this year she decided to throw some of our hard earned dollars at Target in exchange for a box of 32 of the cutest, glossiest, heartiest little monkey Valentines you can imagine. Complete with matching rub on tattoos. She even ponied up for a couple of bags of M&M minis to go with each card. About five minutes into the process of separating and addressing and folding and taping and M&Ming she told me that this really wasn't a very efficient use of her time. She was right, of course. She's making good money and I don't even qualify for unemployment so I offered to take over for her. I separated the perforated sheets of the little monkeys and turned them over to her for addresses and her initials. Then she threw them back at me for the rest of the minimum wage work. I tucked the matching tattoos into their little slots and taped packages of M&M minis and folded and sealed them all up with the little red heart stickers that came with the pack. An hour later, with my hands throbbing from the picky-ass work and Miz Susan smirking and basking in the glow of having Tom Sawyered another chunk of her work-related tedium off on me, I wrapped things up. After a last count to make sure that no 4Y student was going to be scarred for life due to a missing Valentine monkey card which had slipped under the bed, I poured the things back into the Target bag. To rub my nose in my low-life status even further, Miz Susan grabbed the bag with the untaped M&M's and took that away from me too. She threw me one measly little package for my troubles but that was all. I figured that I could bide my time, that maybe there'd be a few leftovers after the mayhem on Friday that would come back home. I should have known better. Those most likely got handed over to the Desk Fairy for future positive reinforcement purposes because I sure as hell never saw them again.
Can't hardly wait for Valentine's to roll around again next year.
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