To Doctor or Not

I don't like Doctors. For the most part they are condescending and carry an ego the size of the Rocky Mountains. In my hierarchy of likes I rank them just above lawyers and far below cops and students of higher education. Certain Directors of Development rank in the top three.

But as I ascend into my golden years, my need for medical advice triggers a mandate to cast aside my bias. And so with the reluctance of a swimmer posed with the dilemma of crossing a pool full of alligators, I scheduled my much put off colonoscopy.

The truth is the preparation day is the worst part of the ordeal. The liquid diet, atrocious tasting laxatives, constant interruptions for the eruptions all make for a quite unpleasant day. The actual day of the procedure is quite anti-climatic and really most serene. The last thing I remembered before the procedure was the nurse telling me that she was ready to push the sedative and then another nurse placing me in the fetal position. I entered a state of euphoria and the next I knew I was in the recovery room demanding a Twinkie and asking what time it was. Repeatedly.

Two small polyps were removed during the procedure and by Thursday I will know the results as to whether they were benign or precancerous, But the removal of precancerous polyps prevents the formation of cancerous cells from these polyps. So all in all it was a wise decision on my part to go ahead with the exam.

Sometimes you must set aside your bias.

If you have put the procedure off for whatever reason, rethink your position. Might save your life and the Dr. even prescribed the Twinkie I demanded

Honestly Stupid

The other night as I was driving home I had a philosophical/ethical thought pop into my mind out of the blue. Suppose I was walking along the street or a parking lot and found a wallet or purse containing a sizeable amount of cash and identification of the owner. What would I do? It is easy to answer. Or is it? Would I return it or would I just keep it? As if teasing me, fate would have it that as I alighted from my car I found a shiny new quarter on the ground. Not giving it a second thought I picked it up and put it in my pocket. The next morning I also found a penny on the ground. I'm rolling in the dough, I thought. Luck is with me this day.

But the test was put to me today. At work a lady paid for her lunch by handing me the the little black binder with her receipt and the cash inside telling me to keep the change. The bill came to $27.45. Inside the binder was a $20 bill, two $1 bills and a $100 bill. Quick addition told me there was $122.00 in here. A $94.55 tip? I'm good, but not that good.

I immediatey realized that she had meant to place a $10 bill in the place of the $100. The tip in that case would have been $4.55. Almost a $1 short of 20%, but in this day and age with the gas prices and the economy what they are I can't grumble for too long. In any event and with no thought one way or the other, I marched back out to the table and informed the lady of what I thought was a mistake. Oh, how delighted she was as to my honesty. Oh, what a great job I did. Oh, how yes she had intended for that bill to be a $10 and not a $100. She searched through her purse to find a $10 bill, but unable to find one she handed me two $20 bills and told me she needed change. I made the correct change and the lady and her little party departed. I opened the binder to find four $1 bills.

So I lost .55 cents by saving her $94. The half buck isn't a big sum for me to lose, but I imagine that if she opened her purse later and found herself to be $94 short she would have been most distraught.

I answered my question. My integrity remains intact. Lady, I lost a morsel of a gallon of gas and you gained this time. The next time you may not be as lucky for your reliance on the honesty of others may not protect you from your stupidity.

Hillary's Naked Smile

Oh my God. Hillary Clinton’s breasts exposed to all in a bust that sits in the Museum of Sex, New York City. Hillary now shares the fame of the great Venus de Milo or whatever her name is. The artist has named the piece: "The Presidential Bust of Hillary Rodham Clinton: The First Woman President of the United States of America." (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/14270562/from/RS.3/)

Campaign slogans come to mind:

White House or Bust.

Don’t vote for me and you’ll get a bust in the mouth.

A bust in the mouth is worth two in the hands.

This Bu(d)st’s for you.

If you don’t like my bust, kiss my Democratic ass.

How about tattoos?

Bill wasn’t here.

Kill Bill.

Property of the U.S. Govt.

In this bust we trust.

What next? A Condi Easter treat?

Not My Father's Sex Eduaction

A recent segment of a news broadcast caused me to stop and think. The story concerned sex education and how to approach your teenager to make him/her aware of the responsibilities associated with sex. The analyst and the expert bantered back and forth citing those statistics championing their specific agenda. It occurred to me then that maybe my prior discussion with my teenage son about the birds and bees left some unanswered questions.
During our conversation he made clear his knowledge of the procedure utilized in the act. He knew where babies came from and why. He give his word that he would respect women and that he understood all parts of the word “no”. He grasped the importance of prevention of STD’s. I left it at that feeling that I had done my part and he was fully educated on the subject. It was easier than I thought it would be. A cakewalk.

But in listening to the news story, I was left with the impression that teenagers really didn’t understand the mechanics of using a protective device. Methods of explaining and demonstrating the use of condoms were discussed. I thought this to be rather redundant, since an explanation of responsibility would assume the knowledge of the use of protection. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, I raced off to the supermarket for a late night purchase of condoms and bananas. Why was the clerk looking at me like that?

I called my son the next day and told him that we needed to talk. When we got together I explained the purpose of the instruction and demonstrated the use of the condom on the banana. While I assumed he was somewhat embarrassed and possibly confused , he assured me he understood.

Monday I got a call from him. He and his girl friend broke up. Seems she didn’t like the banana. Perhaps sometimes we try to hard ?

Hazelnuts Matter

Three generations of a family came into the restaurant for breakfast the other morning. Grandma, mom and the three unruly kids aged approximately 7-10. After they were situated in the booth, I welcomed them and inquired as to what they might like to drink. Simple question, but then again nothing is simplistic in this affluent suburb. Mom would have a hazelnut cappuccino. I replied with regret that we no longer served flavored cappuccinos. Ignoring the operative words-no longer- I was immediately rebuked and sternly informed that the drink of choice had been ordered in the past. I delicately reminded the lady of the true meaning of no longer available. A puzzled look came to her face as she gazed at the wall and sighed, “Imagine that”. She appeared to be deep in thought for about 30 seconds trying to decide what to do next now that she would be unable to dip into the flavored drink. Grandma came to the rescue suggesting a regular cappuccino topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. A smile came upon her and she then asked the children what beverage they would like. “Chocolate milk”, screamed one. “Sprite”, beamed another. A puzzled look came from the third. Mom and Grandma ordered water for the three.

As I prepared the drinks, I thought of how far removed from reality some people sit. Genocide in Africa. War in Iraq. Israel bombing Lebanon. Gas prices out of control. Massive power outages and people dying from the devastating heat. Drugs. Crime. The list of things one should worry about could go on and on and nowhere included in the list is the absence of hazelnut in a cappuccino.

Mom ordered Eggs Benedict. Grandma ordered Eggs Florentine. After much debate, Mom ordered the children the little pancakes formed in the face of Mickey Mouse. Grandma concurred. That wasn’t what they really wanted, but hey kids that’s life. When you grow up, you can do the same to your kids.

Maybe I’m being too hard on Mom and Grandma. More than likely they are unaware of the happenings around them. National and local news reports rip through the airwaves in a matter of moments. Not much time to report the news with all those commercial breaks. Major stories like the fighting in Lebanon will not preempt the time allotted to the soaps or Oprah. Cable TV is only tuned to the Cartoon Channel. The noise of the outside world is diminished by the ear phones of the Ipod.

Apathy abounds in the lowly hazelnut.