About the proximity, I mean.
If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, then you also know there was a minor complication that required me to stay overnight for observation, which is something I’ve come to expect when getting my annual psych exam for the fire department — but not when it comes to surgery.
What most people DON’T know is that I was manscaped by a nurse named Vern.
And no, that wasn’t short for “Laverne.” Continue reading Manscaping and other things I learned from surgery
It’s my first post-surgery post! It’s also Saturday! That means instead of being with hospital staff I’m back with the staff at Long Awkward Pause for this week’s Saturday Six. Imagine my surprise when I showed up to find everyone wearing hospital gowns! Next, imagine how surprised Chris was when he realized his was on backwards! But hey, it’s the thought that counts — and you can count on me never thinking about what I saw ever again. Speaking of weird… this week’s subject is Steve Buscemi’s eyes, and what if they were put on Disney princesses?
For example:
Omawarisan: I have no idea what Frozen is about. I think you’re supposed to let something go, but that’s about it. Buscemi was great in Fargo, and then he was in the woodchipper.
BrainRants: I want to say, “For the love of god, not another ‘Frozen’ meme,” but this is an improvement.
The Hedonist: I know your eyes are “up here” but can I just continue looking at your boobs?
Ned: I believe this is actually Elsa’s stunt double.
(What about Pocahontas? Ariel? Snow White? Yeah, it gets weirder. To see just HOW weird, join me for five more examples of Steve Buscemi eyes over at LAP by clicking HERE…)
(Depending on when you read this, I may already be passed out at the hospital. Preferably in the actual operating room itself and not in the foyer near the registration desk. Today they are repairing a hernia that has kept me away from firefighting for the last month. To celebrate, and because I will be off the grid for most of the day, it seemed like the perfect time to re-run my very first Freshly Pressed post — which, as you can tell from the title, is especially appropriate. And in case you’re wondering: I promise not to come back looking like the old Rene Zellweger…)
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A recent study conducted by the healthcare industry shows an alarming trend in America’s operating rooms. According to the study, reports of “wrong-site surgery” are on the rise.
To clarify, “wrong-site surgery” occurs when a doctor operates on, say…
Your brain.
When he was supposed to operate on, say…
Your big toe.
Or someone else. Continue reading Surgery is safer when patients come with instructions
Late Sunday evening I opened my iPad for the first time since Friday, when I wrote about the tragedy that had swept — home to home and heart to heart — through our small community the previous morning. Those who have been following this blog for a while already know, though I’m a humor columnist (If you just started following, I promise this blog gets funnier), I take a turn for the serious when the situation warrants. And while I still have to produce “funny” for newspapers that carry my column, this blog is a true extension of myself — because you allow and encourage it to be.
Friday was a truly wonderful and humbling example of that.
With the kids in bed and my wife asleep on the couch next to me, I sat staring at the screen with a mixture of awe and profound appreciation for the more than 150 responses — words of encouragement, support and understanding — for me, my son, our family and the community. Writing that post was a necessary part of my own healing process; receiving so much support was like talking through it with a close friend. Continue reading I can’t say ‘Thank You’ enough — but it’s worth a shot
I stand in the slightly cracked doorway of my son’s room, studying the sliver of his face illuminated by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. He’s 15, and just a year younger than the two teens who died earlier this morning. On the floor next to his bed is his cell phone, seemingly discarded, just below a dangling hand.
The one with the baseball scar on the knuckle.
It’s not until I notice the moisture glistening around his eyes, and see the tear edge hesitantly down his cheek, that I realize he’s only pretending to sleep
His phone buzzes and lights up momentarily as someone’s grief is expressed in a Tweet. I glimpse a screen that scrolls endlessly with disbelief. Outrage. Sadness and pain. Classmates, friends and family trying to comprehend the incomprehensible…
It began with my fire department pager buzzing and shrieking a little after 7 a.m., followed by the report of a motor vehicle accident 15 miles away. A car over an embankment. Possible entrapment. Five occupants; two unresponsive. The caller was one of the victims. All were students heading to school. Continue reading Why I won’t — and can’t — be funny today
…TAT-tat-tat-TAT-TAT-tat-tat-TAT…
[Breaking News: from another strangely irrelevant moment in our newsroom…]
Oftentimes, finding “hard” news at a small paper is difficult. Unless Mrs. Schelpendorf gets rowdy at the Elks’ Yatzee party and assaults Mr. Schlependorf with a folding chair for spelling cleavage, finding hard news to attract readers requires being “inventive.” I use that word because it is the term our editor used during today’s editorial meeting to “encourage” us (I use that word because I am sometimes sarcastic) to find news that will sell papers. Continue reading … This Just In …
It isn’t often I’m asked to talk about what bugs me. In fact, the last time someone asked me that question it cost me $150 an hour for them to listen. And I’m pretty sure I heard snoring, although I was told it was not, but was in fact my own repressed anger toward espresso machines manifesting itself.
Whatever.
So when the talented ladies at The Sisterwives said I could tell them what bugs me for free, I immediately launched into a long-winded rant covering everything from incontinence commercials while I’m eating, to people who use an entire parking space for their tiny Smart cars when they could easily park them in a SHOPPING CART CORRAL! After listing to me spew on for a while, Beth at The Sisterwives politely said, “This isn’t actually a therapy session, so I’ll need you to write that down please.” Continue reading Join me and some other guys for a rant — Sisterwives style
…TAT-tat-tat-TAT-TAT-tat-tat-TAT…
[Breaking News: from another strangely irrelevant moment in our newsroom…]
Over the last 15 years, our newsroom has faced many moments of crisis which, if not for the level-headed quick thinking I’ve developed as a journalist, could’ve lead to disaster. Or at the very least a sprained finger, such as yesterday, when I defused an escalating “situation” by dividing the last donut into five equal pieces. This morning brought a new crisis on a scale we have never faced before; a “situation” that could have a ripple effect on our newsroom for years to come; an unforeseen change that none of us was prepared for. Continue reading … This Just In …
Carving a jack-o-lantern used to require little more than a pumpkin, an oversized kitchen knife, and a tourniquet. It was a simple matter of plunging a 10-inch French knife into the gourd of your choice and creating a triangle-eyed, square-toothed masterpiece of horror.
In those days, the trickiest thing about making your jack-o-lantern was deciding on how to light the candle.
Option one: Light candle, then attempt to lower it into the pumpkin without catching your sleeve on fire.
Option two: Put the candle inside the pumpkin first. Then attempt to light it without catching your sleeve on fire.
Option three: Accept the inevitable and just light yourself on fire, then go find a candle.
After a quick trip to the emergency room for stitches and some light skin grafting, you could return home and set your jack-o-lantern on the porch, where it would remain until gravity and molecular breakdown eventually caused it to collapse in on itself like the birth of a new star — appropriately enough, usually around Christmas time. Continue reading No pumpkin-carving experience is complete without a near-fatal knife wound
Anyone who reads my weekly newspaper column or blog posts knows I try to keep life in perspective through humor. In fact, I’d say it’s one of the reasons my children are still alive today. While I joke about that, for many years humor was also part of a coping mechanism from a childhood witnessing both verbal and physical abuse by the men in my family — specifically, my father and older brothers.
The good news is that each of them eventually turned themselves, their lives and the lives of the people they loved, around. It wasn’t until I became a father that I realized the impact that a childhood witnessing abuse had on me, and how some of those wounds — as both a witness and recipient — had never truly healed.
I know this because I occasionally saw reflections of my father and brothers in myself as I fought to avoid making the same mistakes with my own children; I also know this because I came to realize that as much as we want to tell ourselves we can choose not to take any baggage with us on our journey through life, ultimately it’s always somewhere waiting to be claimed. Continue reading Real men are always in control — of themselves, not others
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