What Dick York and I have in common.

The super awesome friend Chris Hammer pressured me to update when he posted the blog address on FB.. sneaky, isn't he?? I'm sitting in a lovely little hotel room now.. Watching myself ger snowed in and praying that they plow the parking lot early enough to get to the radio station tomorrow. There's an unusual feeling growing in my gut-one which I've never had the night before a radio broadcast--it's nervousness. While I admit I've had this pre-broadcast jittery sensation prior to my first professional radio show EVER.. or the first one in a Major Market.. But this-- it should feel like getting back on a bike! It's only two days, for Petes sake.. What's wrong with me?? 20 years in radio, 11 of them in that same studio and I'm a mess.. I'm sure the weather has something to do with it.. And being away from my family doesn't help.. But mostly I think it's BECAUSE it's two days! I wanna get the most out of 'em you know? Either way, this little "trip" to the other side of the state to be closer to New Jersey 101.5 Radio will certainly make it memorable! (for me, at least) Meanwhile.. I'll just sit here, watching the snow drifts, calculating how long it'll take me to get to the station tomorrow, thinking about how many snow-related topics there are to discuss.. And thank Goodness foe Bewitched reruns!! Cause as nervous as I may be to sling on the 'ole headphones tomorrow, It's not nearly as distressing as watching Dick Seargent take Dick York's place as Darren with no reasonable explanation! I thought that only happened in radio!

Election day

ray's home from college for the night..election day. No school. They oughta make SURE college kids have classes on Election day so they're too occupied to even think about entering a voting booth. L-rd knows we don't need any of their radical ideas seeping into an already screwed up political climate!! Here's me thinking about what else to say:

Engrish

I adore Engrish..it's that wonderful combo of English and and Chinese..You know, when a Chinese manufacturer uses a Chinese/English dictionary for their instruction manuals, websites and the like..I recently did a search for replica scarves..I had a hankering for an Hermes scarf, but no desire to shell out the exorbitant bucks that such a purchase would require..so there I go..to the trusty Chinese replica website to try to find one. Well, unfortunately, no luck with the scarf, just a bunch of truly sad looking watches..but a fruitless internet shopping spree is never a waste of time when you get a classic example of Engrish like this

. How is refund done?
If it is not the watch's problem and you ask a refund, in this case you can not get a full refund, you can just get the watch's money back. Just the wrong watch or damaged watch can get a full refund.

Huh?

What exactly is the watch's money? Who knew a watch had a financial statement. And if you DO get the watch's money, wouldn't you in fact be getting a full refund?

And as far as the watch's "problem" is concerned...can a watch, in fact, have a problem? I realize there can be the usual problems with time keeping and such, but would you call that a problem? That could be considered the watch-WEARER'S problem, yes, but not that of the watch itself. When I think of problems, I think, you know..the usual: hunger, poverty, war, illiteracy, unsightly facial hair and the like. A watch, far as I can tell, can have none of these.

And while we're on the subject of poverty, most inanimate objects don't posess money. The aforementioned watch apparently does. (See above: "The watch's money")  Consequently, shouldn't this watch be one of the most problem-free watches around? Particularly when compared with the "wrong" watch and the "damaged" watch mentioned above. 

This watch looks pretty darn satisfied to me..

What you learn in nurse practitioner school

I would never want to expose my toes like this in such a public forum, but I feel compelled to after what may have seemed like elitist denigration of nurse practitioners in my last post. Trust me..I have the utmost respect for what they do..I'm just used to those initials on the nametag, you know! M.D...Anyway, this is an example of the best buddy-taping job I've ever seen. So there. Don't say I never commended a nurse practitioner!!

my fourth toe

What is it, 2, 2 1/2 inches long? How could something so relatively small cause so much pain, frustration and overall inconvenience? I knew it was broken the second it made swift and sure contact with the leg of my former favorite ottoman which matches my former favorite easy chair in my bedroom. I didn't just see stars...I saw meteorites..small planets..galactic matter that even the Hubble telescope is afraid of. And then...silence. Ignoring all previous statements to my children about modern medicine's inability to do anything about a broken toe (thus saving numerous late-night trips to the E.R.), I quickly limped to my closet to prepare for my journey. After all, When I saw how misshapen and swollen the toe was, I knew that this was no ordinary toe issue.

By the time I arrived at the Emergency Room, it was the size of the half-eaten croissant on my kitchen table that I glanced longingly at as I shuffled out the door..there was no time now to eat. No..this was serious business..I needed xrays, painkillers--narcotics in all probablity--possibly even surgery. No, the E.R. it was, the croissant would have to wait.

My arrival was anti-climactic. No blaring sirens, no swirling ambulance cherry-top lights, no slamming automatic doors, and worst of all, no handsome George Clooney or McDreamy types awaiting my arrival, speaking that oh-so-sexy medspeak all the hot doctors used to use.

There would be no hot doctors for me. In fact, there would be no doctors at all. For all that remains of  the emergency room infrastructure we once knew are assorted orderlies, overburdened nurses, and the occasional nurse-practitioner. And THAT is if you're REALLY sick. Barring a stroke, a major heart attack, or the rare gunshot-inflicted injury, there is no longer an emergency that bears enough importance to warrant a real honest to goodness Doctor. The kind with M period D period on his plastic nametag or embroidered on his lab coat. Yes, my friends, gone are the days where you could find an actual Doctor in an emergency room. I considered feigning vertigo or palpitations just to see if one would come out of the woodwork, but lost my nerve when I considered that that might just invite more practitioners, med-techs, physicians assistants or otherwise underqualified people in scrubs hovering over me trying to guess what was wrong. So I allowed one of the many unidentified croc-wearing, scrub-attired employees to wheel me in for an xray. The wheelchair, incidentally, was most deftly handled by this employee. Which got me thinking perhaps there is a vocational school out there just for the wheelers. But I digress..

After placing my tootsies, including the injured one, in a myriad of strange positions that The L-rd never intended them to be placed into, the Xray machine (one of the many things in the E.R. that remains unchanged over the years) did its thing, and 5 minutes later, the trusty nurse practitioner lady (heretofore referred to as NP) is back in my life, telling me the results. At the risk of using old "I Love Lucy" episodes as a barometer for all things wrong with modern life, I feel the need to make this comparison. Remember when the hotel clerk was also the policeman and then the justice of the peace as well, just by changing his hat? Well, apparently, the 'ole N.P. was the doctor, the radiologist, and the orthopedic specialist too.

She said yes, when she first saw the ugly unnatural crook of my toe as well as the pastryesque shaping of it, she also believed it had been knocked out of line. But now she could assure me that according to the xray, it was not. And yes, there was nothing she could do but "buddy tape" it, to its brother, the more-functional toe next-door. And yes, it was possible I would have a misshapen painful toe and pain for a good long time, expecially considering my age. All of these I could handle. But the bad news was yet to come. It would probably be difficult, if not impossible for me to wear high heels again for a good long time. If not ever. Now I can handle tragic news like this from a surgeon. That's how we're all socialized! That's what we all learned on Marcus Welby, E.R. and General Hospital. But news like this from an N.P.??? No. This I will not accept. And so, I wobble home. Dejected. And limp to my computer. And look up "Orthopedic Surgeons" on my Insurance Company Website. For I'm too young to give up on high heels. Too young to accept how much medicine has changed. And way too short to wear flats forever. Second opinion anyone?

Christmas in October

Ok so I've never celebrated Christmas.. That doesn't preclude me from knowing the feeling of waiting... The delicious anticipation that inevitably leads to something awesome.. A box that, when opened, sprays showers of light and hope and promise and childhood dreams-come-true...(unless it's pajamas or a new coat)..
But back to the waiting.. I sat at home today pacing with the nervous energy of a soon-to-be-first-time-dad...(wait.. They don't pace anymore.. That was only in "I love Lucy." Now they're too busy tending to bruised upper arms inflicted by the sharp kicks of a labor-transitioning wife.. Or their bruised egos inflicted by same by spewing degrading epithets...usually referring to their masculinity or lack thereof) but I digress...
I'm waiting for a box from fed-ex. One which contains the most lovely of gifts.. Namely, the two-week old purse I left on the beach in Atlantic City some two months ago.. Yes.. Some good Samaritan had the decency to turn it in at the famed Steel Pier. Ahhhh the Steel Pier.. It's a legend.. It's a study in true Atlantic City lore.. It's a lovely walk down a soft
and hazy path of days-gone-by memories.
And it's closed.
For the Winter.
I find this out when I receive a brief but informative note in the kind of obedient cursive that your third grade teacher had. The one you could never seem to master. "I have found your handbag. I found your address in your purse. We are closing for the winter. Please call when you get this note." Well, ya see..... not only does anyone who writes like that not have any idea that there's google, and you can find Angelina Jolie's home phone number if you really want to, and probably even give a prank call to little Shiloh Jolie-Pitt or one of her less western-looking siblings, but he/she definitely doesn't know how to navigate the treacheous waters of overnight delivery !! I manage to catch someone who happens to be in the office just closing out payroll and I shamelessly beg her to just wait for a FedEx guy and drop my purse in his box.So I beg and plead.. Mr FedEx man..please!!! Can you just show up at the Steel Pier offices with one of your handydandy labels and one of your handydandy boxes and bring me back my beloved fringe calfskin purse?? Yes, he says, and like the proverbial knight in shining box truck, he arrives at 3:00. With the box. With my purse and everything in it. No worse for the wear... It had one teeny weeny little speck of seagull doody on the strap which I promptly wiped away.. But it was otherwise pristine.
 And so ends the waiting.. And I couldn't have been happier if I had opened my gift that Christmas morning to find a huge diamond ring..
(well..... wait a second....... How huge we talkin'?)

You better like Philly tonight...

Ok so maybe you're not a phillies fan.. Maybe you're not even a baseball fan.. But don't tell me you don't get goosebumps from Roy Halladay's performance tonight. I really only casually follow baseball but I'm usually tuned in during the post-season 'cause that's when it's slightly less boring than usual.. But tonight.. Oh it's one of those moments that makes you proud to be an American, a human, have eczema, drool a lot, cut your toenails unevenly or have male pattern baldness. It was history making, people. Never fear, though. Unlike don Larsen's 1956 post season
No hitter, this moment of excitement can be artificially re-created through the use of the Internet. So go get a beer, lean back, scratch yourself, pop up the moment
On you tube (a cursory google search will find it for you in no time)
Pretend you don't known it's coming, and......... RE-CREATE THE MOMENT! Scream a lot.. Jump around, hug your dog, whatever!! it's fun, it's exciting, and they

Do it on reality shows all the time! Yes, you too can pretend to have a zany, rocking' fun-filled life just like they do on bravo, a&e, and oxygen!! And you don't even have to have those telltale cameras and annoying producers and
wires all over your living room! Enjoy!
And don't mention it. I'm glad to help.