Author: Dick

No, my title does not refer to David Berkowitz, a.k.a. the Son of Sam, who has to be one of the all-time classic postal creeps. I refer instead to how over the years the cost of mailing a letter has ever so gradually increased — here a penny, there a penny, everywhere a penny, penny. Now it costs 2 cents more than it did yesterday.

Mailing a letter for less than 40 cents this day and age does not seem unreasonable. I used to be a prodigious letter writer but like so many others who discovered e-mail, not so much anymore. So sending the odd letter or three out a month for 37 cents or 39 cents or even having to mail out a story pitch to a publication for a couple of bucks a whack doesn’t really bother me that much.

I am not saying the U.S. Postal Service is perfect. It’s not. It could really do a whole lot better. I’m just saying the price of mailing a letter still is not really unreasonable.

But the whole creep phenomenon is kind of puzzling and somewhat annoying. For years the postal poobahs have raised the price of a stamp by a cent or two. You always have to buy another smaller denomination stamp to have proper postage when the increase takes place. And since the price of postage has remained generally low while other prices have risen over the years such as gasoline or attending college, I’ve never understood why the price couldn’t be hiked substantially enough that they wouldn’t have to come back every couple of years and raise the rates again. Maybe I’ve read the reason somewhere and forgotten it. I don’t know, it seems like stamp prices are always going up.

A price increase also inevitably ends up with some odd-number for a price — 33 cents, 37 cents, 39 cents. Why didn’t they just raise the price from 37 cents to 40 cents and we would be done with raising prices for a little longer? I’m sure there is a good reason. I’m sure I’ve heard it. I just don’t remember it. And I have nothing better to write about at the moment, so there! How pathetic is that?

I’m just back from the doctor and the laundromat. I don’t feel a whole hell of a lot better but my clothes certainly have that fresh smell.

While at the laundry I noticed a pair of jeans tumbling around in the dryer and for whatever reason I thought it looked like it might be fun to be a pair of jeans. Those jeans looked so carefree tumbling around and around. I imagined it to be kind of like going to the amusement park for those jeans.

“Wheee! I like going on that dryer ride with my shirt and underwear friends!”

Okay, whatever. Now if someone was to put me in a dryer and start feeding it quarters I don’t think it would be very amusing. But pants? Why not?

Thinking about being a pair of jeans going to Six Flags Over Laundry led, of course, to thinking about the life of a pair of jeans.

If I were jeans I would certainly be blue jeans. Not to get smutty but I think I’d prefer to be a pair of women’s jeans and worn by someone whose figure makes me look like a million bucks! Okay, so maybe people won’t really be noticing me all that much if I’m worn by someone with a knockout body. But lest I remind you, this is MY fantasy here. Ah, I can just see me out on the town, twisting the night away! Ultimately, I’d also want to be worn by someone who would take care of me and not send me off to Goodwill in my golden years.

Such thoughts beg the questions: What if we were reincarnated as clothing? What article of apparel would you be? Who would wear you? It’s kind of a fun thought in a way. But yet, it’s also a bit creepy.

If you are a “Seinfeld” fan you will surely remember “The Chinese Restaurant” episode. For those of you not familiar with the program it was an episode that takes place while the principals of the show waited for a table in a Chinese restaurant. Jerry and the gang ultimately give up on getting a table. After they leave, the restaurant’s host looks up and announces: “Seinfeld … Party of four?” Well, you had to be there or at least you had to watch the episode.

I was reminded of that episode today while waiting to hear back from our local Department of Veterans Affairs clinic. Twice today I called inquiring about seeing my doctor because my neck feels like it has a spear stuck through it and twice I was told I would be called back. As the end of the clinic’s workday approached, I took it upon myself to call the clinic’s patient representative. All of the VA’s hospitals and clinics have these reps, or so I suppose. They act as ombudsman for patients who often have to struggle through an overburdened and bureaucratic system. I explained my problem, told her I didn’t figure I would get to see the doctor today but would have appreciated having my phone call returned. Without another word the patient rep made me an appointment for in the morning.

About 10 minutes after having my appointment made, my doctor’s nurse called and asked what they could do for me. Seinfeld … Party of four?

Such timing is not exactly a rarity for the VA. During my last, lengthy medical episode in 2001 I had sought a consultation with a neurosurgeon over whether I should have surgery. I was told the wait for an appointment would be six months. I had already gone through about a year’s worth of agony. Finally I relented and went to see a civilian neurosurgeon. I saw the doctor. He set the date for my surgery and a few days later, guess who should call? That’s right, the VA, saying they could get me an appointment with a neurosurgeon on Aug. 8. That happened to be the date my surgery was scheduled. Seinfeld … Party of four?

Well, I am happy just to have an appointment for tomorrow although I don’t know what the doctor will do. It seems the M.O. is just to keep giving you drugs and sending you away. That might not be all that bad if the drugs would work for more than an hour. Unfortunately, the Vicodin just hasn’t been doing the trick. It makes my nose and eyes itch. It kind of impairs my brain a bit. But it doesn’t take the pain to task for very long.

Oh well, enough about my pain. How about those Longhorns? How about Doug Flutie’s drop kick the other day? Hey, that really was something, talk about your throwback days. What’s next, the Flying Wedge? Leather helmets?

This is not an X-ray of my cervical spine. I just found the facial expression, grimace if you will, interesting. It seems you can’t really make out the facial expressions in most X-rays but I’d be willing to bet that a vast majority of those people having X-rays are not smiling. It’s just a guess. I don’t have scientific proof.

I am waiting to hear back from the VA clinic as to when I might get to see my doctor for this horrific neck and back pain. I don’t know what the doc will be able to do for me since putting me out of my misery doesn’t seem a viable option. Sorry to bum you out. Pain doesn’t put me in the brightest of mindsets.

If I was working in an office I’d probably start a treatment pool. Each person pays a couple of bucks and gets to guess what course of treatment my VA doctor will prescribe. A shot of cortisone? Morphine? Muscle relaxers? Cervical collar? X-rays? MRI? Physical therapy? Referral to a neurosurgeon? I’ve been through all of this before so I know all the options. But I don’t know what’s in my doctor’s mind and even if I did I probably would have a difficult time processing a lot of what he was thinking because I imagine he thinks in the Tagalog language.

Oh well, so much for painful musings. I’m starting to bum ME out and that won’t do. So I’ll just see what happens and let you know, even if you don’t really want to know. How’s that for a deal?

Quite a game UT Austin pulled off in the Rose Bowl with a 41-38 nail-biter against USC to win the national championship. I didn’t know how it was all going to come out, which means it was a good football game. That’s something you don’t always see these days.

I’ve been in severe pain all day and eating Vicodin like it was Lifesavers to little effect, so it’s nice to have something positive at the end of a long, painful day. Oh that, and the cable guy came out and may have come up with a semi-permanent solution to my Roadrunner problems. I’d elaborate but I just don’t have it in me right now and I want to lay down my weary head and neck both of which feel as if someone has been beating it with a two-by-four. Perhaps I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow if I feel the same. Right now, I’ve got to see if I can sleep. Ta.