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There is a remote chance I won't watch much TV tonight

 Since I got home from work an hour ago on this cold and rainy day, I have spent most of my time trying to program my TV remote control.

 I never can remember when reprogramming the remote. Is it the on and off button? The TV button? Play, forward, reverse. I did get the remote to cut the ‘vision on and off and to control the volume. Now if I could just get the channels to change. I mean, I wouldn’t  have that big a problem getting up to cut the TV on and off. But changing channels, that’s a (1 horse (2 house or (3 hose of a different color. I don’t know how many channels I have, not hundreds, but more than enough. And I like to flip through them.

 Now I don’t have any problem with just leaving TV for one night, or at least until I get another remote or fix this one (Anyone know how to troubleshoot an RCA Universal 3-device remote Model No.RCR311ST?)I’ve got three books I plan to read over the next couple of weeks. Unfortunately, none of them are repair manuals for that particular RCA remote.

 Oh well, if it isn’t one thing Roseanne Roseannadanna, it’s another.

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I am I said helps Hurricane Ike victims

Did you ever read about a frog who dreamed of being a king and then became one? Well, no. Not that I can recall.

Neil Diamond may have thrown out some esoteric lines in songs he has written over the past however many decades, as in the lines above from “I am I said.” This makes me wonder, in reality, I am, I said? No, I guess I am not I didn’t say. He was, he said. But he said he was. Oh well, you can’t always hit a home run.

I have pretty much liked Neil Diamond’s music since the 1960s. Some of his songs sound better sung by others such as “Solitary Man” rendered by Chris Issak. And, of course,  Diamond’s “I’m a Believer” just isn’t believable if it isn’t done by the Monkees. Nevertheless, even though millions of younger people may say “who?” when mentioning Neil Diamond, he is, I say, a very durable entertainer.

What gives entertainers additional, or perhaps some will say, I said, true worth, is what they do beyond writing and singing songs, playing pro basketball or hosting a talk show. I’m just saying. I said. Diamond’s worth has probably risen considerably by some of my neighbors lately. When I say neighbors, I said, I mean people who live in my neck of the woods, or Gulf Coast. The point is Diamond has used money from merchandise sold at his concerts to build 12 homes for families who lost theirs’ during Hurricane Ike last year.

Tommorow, a couple who live on the Ike-ravaged Oak Island –north of the Bolivar Peninsula — will move into the first home to be built thanks to Diamond’s largess. Diamond has a history of helping others and decided to assist those whose homes had been obliterated last year when Ike struck.

So say what you will about Neil Diamond and his songs. I like a lot of his songs and have for years. But it’s nice to hear of someone putting their talents into something really worthwhile.

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When rude robots attack

Today turned out to be even stranger than the day before.

No, my truck wasn’t struck by a flying condom traveling down the freeway like I believe it to have been yesterday. Also, nowhere did I see Houston Mayor-Elect Annise Parker being all Christmasy by donning her gay apparel. Sorry, I just had to use that one. I didn’t see Houston’s first openly gay mayor-elect yesterday either although I mentioned her in this venue.

But the top of my windshield or edge of my truck’s roof did get struck by a brick-sized chunk of what appeared to be concrete as I drove home from Houston to Beaumont on Interstate 10. The piece of whatever it was just seemed to come out of nowhere. It reminded me of a similar incident that I wrote of here. There were plenty of big trucks in the three lanes ahead of me so the chunkaroid could have come from one of them. I wasn’t close to any overpasses, which is good because I am concerned about having an overpass collapse on top of me. I mean, I’m not obsessed with the thought, but with the state of our infrastructure these days you have to keep on your toes. People who are psychopathic or who otherwise have nothing to do occasionally will likewise throw objects onto vehicles from overpasses. I just threw that in to scare the hell out of you.

The strangest part of my day happened as I stood waiting for an elevator at the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Hospital in Houston. A veteran who appeared to be fairly disabled and was traveling in a rather speedy wheelchair was kind enough to physically accompany me to MRI after I had asked a VA employee in the hospital how to get there. I had been there before and would have eventually found it but this considerate man insisted on showing me how to get there. It was as this gentleman and I were standing at the elevator that a robot rolled silenty up behind us and told us to move so it could get on the elevator.

It turns out this is one of the robots the hospital purchased in 2004. The hospital bought two of the so-called “Helpmate” robots which were named “Jewels” and “King Tut.” I’m sure there is a cute story behind the names. Oh well. The robots are basically rolling couriers that can deliver up to 200 pounds of medications and supplies to different locations in the hospital. They are programmed with a map of the hospital. When they encounter an obstacle such as today, they also have the ability to announce — in either English or Spanish — that something is in the way and then ask that the obstacle be removed.

robot

 With the disabled fellow and I being the obstacle, I found this walking, talking storage cabinet to be rather imperious. But the way things have been going for me lately, I figured if I said anything the robot might have done something like zap me with death rays. Even if it didn’t I don’t think it is wise to cross a robot with an attitude.

Here is an update for those interested in the reason for my visit to the hospital. I met with the neurologist who turned out to be a good listener. We went over my blood work drawn and analyzed earlier this week as well as previous blood tests, for readings of areas which could indicate a cause for my neuropathy. None of the markers, including thyroid function, were  abnormal with the exception for those tests that might indicate diabetes.

Despite my primary doctors saying I was a “near-borderline” diabetic although not fully over the line, an analysis found that my last test showed a somewhat high reading and an average of the last three tests indicated a bit higher reading than normal. The higher readings appeared to coincide with a very unnerving weight gain over the last six to eight months that my former internist said could have been due to some medicines I am taking.

The doctor also took note that I had been experiencing a shooting low back and hip pain which could indicate a pinched nerve, hence my trip to MRI this morning for an appointment which will be next month to get images of my back.

As I await tests the doctor is adjusting the Lyrica I am taking for the neuropathy and I must seriously begin dieting, no small feat at Christmas season, to see if diabetes or another reason is causing my pain.

I was frank but diplomatic with the doctor in saying that with about a third of the cases like mine being caused by diabetes, I was concerned about a physician just seeing some numbers and immediately focusing on that disease as the cause rather than some of the hundred others. And he indicated that he understood my concern.

So, I go into the holiday season still not knowing what’s interrupting my life but perhaps a little closer to finding out some answers, or not. As for now, I think I’ll be okay if I don’t have dreams tonight about pushy robots.

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Musings in the former shadow of the Astrodome

 Maybe in days long ago one could say I was sitting in the shadow of the Astrodome. But not these days.

 I am spending the night in what’s meant to be an extended stay motel, mostly for people who have family or are receiving treatment at the nearby Texas Medical Center. I saw the Astrodome when I drove up Fannin but it is mostly dwarfed these days by Reliant Stadium and the Reliant Center kind of blocks all the shadow of the ‘Dome these days.

 As for my lodging, I am impressed. It’s a nice, clean little room with pots and pans and an electric range on which to cook and of course your microwave, coffee maker, a two-slice toaster medium sized refrigerator-freezer, TV, chair and bed. That about does it.

 The Homestead Houston Medical Center-Reliant Center’s room is not the more-than-I-needed suite at the Residence Inn by Marriott in Bethesda where I twice stayed while taking training courses for my part-time job. But for $41 and some change for tonight it’s a steal.

 Yes, $41-something. I decided to take a chance on Hotwire.com. This place showed up at around $55 per night on all the other travel sites. But with taxes and “recovery fees” (whatever that is) the total came to about $75. That’s why I double checked with the hotel to make sure I had the room at the stated price. If I don’t go all berserk and throw the refrigerator out of the window it might just work out. Hey, hotel people — if you are reading this — I’m just making a point. I forgot what it is though.

 It has been a foggy, rather mundane day. The fog and rain on the I-10 drive to Houston wasn’t too bad. About the only weird thing that happened is that some kind of synthetic-type material blew from out of nowhere and landed on my antenna. I don’t want to gross anyone out but it was covered with streaks of mud and, it looked to me at least, kind of like a condom. Perhaps it was a condom that made it through Hurricane Ike. Some people got antenna balls. I got rubber balls, bouncy bouncy. Fortunately, it didn’t stay long.

 Tomorrow I’ll see another neurologist at the VA. At least it won’t be a long trip, maybe a half-mile. I sure hope this doctor can put me on a path of either figuring out what is causing my neuropathy or not. As I think I have mentioned before, even if I don’t find out the cause then I can start developing a plan to live with this “nerve disease” as one diagnosis put it. This thing has interrupted my life. I tried to not let it. But so much for plans.

 And I’ve got arthritis coming from out of the woodwork. It must be the weather. I was hoping to meet up with my old high school friend and neighbor, Patti. But I don’t really feel up to going out now. That all pretty much sucks, if you know what I mean.

 Oh, I drove into a foggy Houston this afternoon on the day after the city elected it’s first lesbian mayor. At least, the first acknowledged gay person. And guess what happened? I didn’t get propositioned by hordes of gay guys once or not one gay person sneaked up upon me with intentions of kidnapping me for a “queer-eye for the straight guy” makeover.  Even though, I could really use a makeover. But I’m sure if some kind of calamity happens in Houston that the Rev. Pat Robertson will blame it on the citizenry having elected Annise Parker to lead the nation’s fourth-largest city.

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See, I've got this song in my head

A pretty good proportion of the population — meaning a lot maybe but I don’t know how many exactly — gets songs stuck in their heads once in awhile.

It can happen when you hear someone whistling some tune while they toil away at some task or another. You go to your kids’ school plays and the little ones sing something just darling and later that night while you try to sleep that song is still there. And then, there is background music as in music to shop by.

Now the grandpappy of background music, known as Muzak, has been around for years. As early as the 1950s — a time when the least little thing could get people wound up, a special congressional committee would be formed — there were charges Muzak was causing brainwashing.

I would imagine the subject of manipulation through background music would be research gold for a music-loving social psychologist. From what little scientific reading I have done I don’t know this to be one way or the other a fact. This piece suggests that playing classical music in a wine store made shoppers buy more expensive wine. Whether that would mean that playing Sousa marches in a gun store would cause customers to arm themselves to the teeth is something to think about, but I don’t know that to have been specifically studied and affirmed.

Nonetheless, it seems at the very least background music in grocery or department stores do seem to make songstuckus — my made-up word for a song being stuck in one’s head — more severe.

Since a great deal of my work is done in different stores, I listen to a lot of background music. I never really thought much about store music until I started visiting many different stores. Even when I go to stores now just to shop I am somewhat taken aback by the variety of background music in stores.

Go to the store just up the street, with a decidedly more working class black population, and you may hear Soul from the 60s and 70s. Before you know it, you’re walking out of the store with groceries in your arms and Eddie Kendricks and the Temptations in your head singing “The Way You Do the Things You Do.”

Sometimes the songs you hear will stick with you even though you may not have ever heard them or hadn’t listened to a particular song in years. Like at a drug store in Port Arthur awhile back while waiting to speak with a pharmacist. “Hmm, hmm, hmm.” Wow, what is this? And you remember from way back to “Toulouse Street” on which the Doobie Brothers quietly sing “I might just pass this way again.”

Today it was early Beatles I hear over and over. “If there’s anything that you want/If there’s anything I can do/Just call on me, and I’ll send it along/With love from me to you.” Such simple, melodic, pop music. You wonder what all the hubbub was about when the Beatles first appeared on the scene wearing identical suits and moptops? Nonetheless, the song got stuck in my head at a store this morning and now I can’t get it out!

I don’t really know why music from the store has such an impact. It is played at level in most cases where it is almost subliminal, which makes some sense. But if it’s meant to affect you, to buy more toilet paper and six-packs of Busch, then why does the lyrics and music get stuck in your head and not the products themselves?

It’s jus another one of life’s great mysteries, unsolved, with love from me to you.