Eight Feet Deep

I don’t have much to say today. I am in pain just as I have been for more than a week. The drugs work periodically. As it stands now it will be two weeks before I have an MRI to, possibly, determine what is wrong with me. Then a doctor’s appointment will come a week later in which my VA doctor will probably refer me to a neurosurgeon or orthopedic surgeon. That appointment probably won’t come for another six months. So it looks as if I have at the very least a good half-year of agony ahead. Whoo-hoo!

“Come on Sammy, sing me a little song. Camptown ladies sing this song … “
Supreme Court confirmation hearings for Judge Samuel Alito began today in the Senate. I managed to catch some of the opening statements on C-Span and just a few minutes ago heard a few of the comments from viewers upon conclusion of today’s hearings.

As for impressions of Alito, I have none. It’s out of my hands. Let’s see what happens among the wise men and women of the Senate. (Sigh!) What I do marvel at is the quality of the C-Span listener responses. I don’t care much for the fact that the network divides up the phone lines for callers among Democrats, Republicans and Independents. But the calls appear to be significantly less filtered than those you hear on the partisan radio talk shows.

Host: Hello, Quincy, Massachusetts, on the Republican line. You’re on the air.
Caller: (Sound of beer bottles and noise from a bar)Yeah, I’d jesh like to say I looove that Juggh ‘lito. Hee’sh the cat’s meow. You know I once had a cat. It got stolen. (Sniff) Oh jeez, I loooved that cat. Puddin.’ Thash her name.
Host: Next caller. Grand Forks, Nebraska, on the independent line.
Caller: Hello?
Host: Yes, go ahead.
Caller: Hello. Am I on?
Host: Yes, go ahead.
Caller: Hello. I just want to say that I think the ice forming at the outer edge of the planet Zeerbon 4 presents a significant hazard for all who defend Borgon. Gravity need not restrain the plant people because Borgon will teleport them to the fringes of the Xerolin Galaxy where they may take that short ride to Zeerbon 4. It’s all in the guide.
Host: Do you have a comment about Judge Alito?
Caller: Judge Who?

Ah, it’s live television. It’s democracy in action. It’s wacko-packed C-Span. You got to love it.

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?