hard bones

This is the first truly relaxing day since May 24, the day that will be forever known as the Day of the Hard Bone. That's what Ms. Megablogger's orthopaedist Dr. Kumar said about the surgery to add a new hip in her left leg, clearly marked so it wouldn't be confused with the right and sawed off by mistake...and if so, it's the patient's fault.

That's how the system works. We got to the pre-op center at about 10 a.m., and waited until they could wheel her in at 1 p.m. I went to lunch, she went under...well, not quite. She was awake, but detached the whole time. That's why when the surgeon found out the size wouldn't fit her bone - he was using a 14, needed a 17, which he got from the pick-a-parts shelf, back in he went to hammer the point home. She realized something was amiss, when he exclaimed "oh fuck," halfway-thru.

That night, she was very groggy and in some discomfort, after all a hip replacement is just that, but in the intervening days - even though the next day, they were considering sending her to a nursing home for 2 weeks (hell, no!!!), she's doing super great...still in bed, needs help in and out to go potty, but all in all, great stuff.

On that Sat., I visited the home in Lakewood on Albury where Gary had seen some killer LPs, and they were just that - rare James Brown (11), Rudy Ray Moore (3) and more and more, all black all soul, 42 or so for $75. More than fair.

Yesterday, visited Joe Ont in Lakewood, the guy I was supposed to see the day I visited Robbie. He has some great stuff too. Lots'o folks into records. He lives just a few houses down from Gary...weird.

how to edit a book

I've been busy all week watching TV. Writing also. I'm trying to create a paragraph without the words but, and, so, after all, which, or you...in the approximate order. Can it be done? No sure, perhaps it's not my job, though I am giving it a try.

Went through my 140,000 Smoggy Weather ms. with the find button keyed into "and." Started with 935 examples of "and" in about 70,000 words...doesn't seem like much, does it. But showed up 193 times. I'll report later about how many I could change, delete, keep. By now, I'm about 45 pages into 178, it'll take awhile.

Makes sentences shorter, punchier, hand, sorer, eyes, blearier.

inspiration for Mother's Day bkfst

Last night, Ms. Megablogger and I were watching TV, the true story of a Nashville murder on CBS' 48 Hours. Because in the past, I made fun of Animal Planet and the Grandma Moses Show on HGTV, she made fun of me watching a show about country music because sometimes she likes to spontaneously get even.

But even Ms. MB liked this one, and one scene, of the later-to-be-convicted killer working at the local McDonald's in Lakeland Fla - actually it wasn't him, it was a generic scene of Mickey D's kitchen help preparing Egg McMuffins. Wow, what would be a more perfect Mother's Day bkfst than these sandwiches prepared by the killer of a country drummer!

I took a block of Smart & Final ham, fried up 2 slices, fried two eggs, toasted two bagels, put the egg on the ham, which I put on the bagel and couple of slices of cheese, and presto, you've got the new Nashville country killer bkfst. Ready in about five minutes.

This is the Megablogger's recommendation, without the Mickey D grease and calories, and tastes better...add cream cheese as desired.

Oh, yeah. They convicted the killer - he, Ronnie Skipper, served 7 mos. and the wife, Catina, got 2 mos. for perjury and her demo flopped, cause I ain't never heard of her.

She should change her name to Rosa Catina, move to El Paso and open a bar where she could play Marty Robbins records...he had a better NASCAR career than Ronnie ever will.

ML - ch. 2

I had such fun ripping out chapter one, that I savored the thought of ripping out Robert Ludlum's heart from his chest as I did this. Is he still alive?

Title: ML - chapter one

This is where chapter one went until I ripped it out of my computer. It was an accident, I swear.

day on the shore

I actually did these things in the morning, after drinking coffee, reading part of the paper, eating a breakfast of leftover spaghetti sauce served as a clever sort of pizza on baked flat bread and goofed around with the computer...

1. I undresed.

2. I put my dirty clothes where they belonged.

3. I found a towel and clean clothes.

4. I showered.

5. I dried myself off.

6. I dressed myself in the clean clothes.

7. I called Robby, whose real name is Mike, and got him to call me back, because he had been showering himself...a very good thing, as I was going to visit him soon.

8. I picked up my albums and went forth to my car, remembering that...

8a. I forgot my sunglasses and other stuff (odd dental needs)...

8b. I collected my sunglasses and other stuff I'd forgotten...

9. Drove to the Shore to see Robby, real name Mike. He was home and his pooch Lola greeted me at the door. Seemed like Robby, real name Mike, was, how shall we say it? a little groggy, a real wobbly Robby, having watched the Lakers lose and De La Hoya win in a pay per view fight party last night with a bunch of drunken friends, me not invited, and even tho he suggested I come down with an LP to record - I did, Jimmy Wright and Porky Harris, whom I intend to interview next week - he fumbled around with the recorder, putting 18 LP tracks on 30 CD tracks....the rest were ruined.

"I'm just learning how to do this," he explained, waving around the CD recorder remote control. Did he have a remote idea. I held my tongue. I was getting a freebie, but at what cost?

Took about two hours, then I listened to him and all his alter-egos and his alter-ego's alter-egos, which he took to the Vince Daniels, real name Jim Dunlap, show on a San Berdoo pay as you bdcast show, yesterday. Vince, real name Jim, was the victim of priest sexual abuse, so it seems that Little Margie, a 5-year old neglect victim, wasn't too funny to the Jimster. Made him nervous, made the show great, which Robbie played me as a podcast. Rock on, Robby!

Soon, Vince, real name Jim, will be very very rich. He already bought a new PT Cruiser on his downpayment from the O.C. Dioscece, but Cardinal Mahoney is really going to have to dig deep, because, when it comes to being a victim, let's just say, Vince doesn't hide it!

We had fun. I came home, wrote this. Though I was going out later, but my afternoon appt. cancelled. Was hoping to do a two-fer, got a one-fer, so I took a one hour nap.

hillbilly derby

NASCAR - the Hillbilly Ky. Derby - pretty well sums it up. I wrote some important articles today, campaign pieces and a few exposes, then I put down the pen of vitriol and attacked a pretty damned good dinner of pasta and sauce.

Then it occured to me. Except to pick up the paper, I've not been out of the house today, and the weather's been perfect for those so inclined. Gotta work on that pathetic behavior tomorrow. And Sunday is definitely a different day...than Saturday, that is. Come to think of it, Monday, too.

not drinking yet

At a few minutes after noon, I'll have a cup of coffee. Fresh pot, not the one I drained between 7 and 10 this morning, before my restless late morning nap. Feeling better now. At 3, I felt like wasting time, so I tuned in the tube and saw - horses! Little men on horses! Some horses that went into the cage, one that fought it, but they stuffed him in, either that or stuff him into a sausage roll, and this was a better bet, because he could run out the other end.

And run, that horse and others did. My Old Kentucky Home, mint juleps, slavery and something about the young rolling around on the hardwood floor, images that only Stephen C. Foster could conjur up. People dressed up like never before, ZZ Top next to a black guy, who I'm sure I should know, but feel okay about not, and all those old Ky. home coming images coming face to face with all those mint juleps.

Reminds me of when our cable VP held a derby party at a select bar every year, after year. Where is he now? I think he left with Matilda to Venezeula. Damn, I'm glad I'm drinking again.

drinking again

I've recovered from my rehab period, and I'm a better human for it, period. Last night was the test, and tho I woke up for a short period, I slept from about 11 to 6:30 a.m. or so, so now I've been properly cleansed and turned out.

Tonight, I'm going to give Chas. Shaw a tumble, find a NASCAR race, mention something to Ms. Megablogger about how this is the last race of the season, or a similar lie, dig in and watch the damned thing. A least I don't smoke.

With my recovery, comes the all-important evangelical period, whereby I bore others about my discipline, theories about why it worked and why it will work for you, if only you believe, brother...or sister. So hold your glasses high, Megablogger is back.

weak for wine

Okay, I admit it. I fell into my old love for cheap red wine and had two glasses of Chas. Shaw this evening before I dozed off during a NASCAR Busch Series race on FX. Maybe, NASCAR is the problem, and I'm not really weak.

After the race, I tuned in Keith on MSNBC in time to watch him talk about another member of the weak race, the male. Patrick Kennedy is going into rehab. Can I look myself in a mirror after experiencing such trauma? What do mirrors have to do with this activity anyhow? Will I sleep like a baby, insuring that I can launch myself into an anti-rehab program, red wine and NASCAR.

As I write, a PD chopper is overhead. If I rush out and toss the bottle into the recycle bin, maybe they'll not notice. I think it has to do with a girl gang fight at the park, quickly becoming new spectator sport. It'll appear in the scanner report, even if it's unfounded, it's too good not to acknowledge. After all, the report of a crime is often better than the real crime.

Except I pissed off the PD PIO today when I asked her to investigate a rather tricky hit and run near the Holiday Inn yesterday. First time I even heard her speak like a human being. When she's pissed. Maybe I've stumbled in on a secret of man-woman dealings, but I'll keep it under my hat pending more study. Lots more study.

gas

Being a world traveler, I have a special appreciation of transportation costs. That's why, when I purchased gasoline three Saturdays ago at $2.79 a gallon, I resolved to use the car sparingly, hoping to skate over the coming price spike.

No kidding, next time I went by that self same gas station two weeks later, it was up to $3.13 and now that seems like a bargain price, because it's in the $3.39 range. But $2.79 gas makes my car run just fine, thank you.

So as I coast around, slowly and sparingly, I'll keep watching for the first weakness in the pricing structure prior to making any future investment decisions, or run completely out of gas, whichever comes first.

Post Office is thinking of having a stamp that can be used always, no matter the price spike. Hmm, if I invest about $10 million of borrowed money, will I clean up in years to come? Can't do it with gas, but I guess the P.O. wants as much front $$$ they can get. Connect the dots, call me in the morning.

No More Free Fire

I read somewhere, actually Ms. Megablogger pointed out, that calorie-for-calorie, nothing's more fattening than one Taco Bell taco. That's good enough for me, but damn! they're good. So I figured, if I could score some fire sauce and by surreptition, sneak in the local Taco Bell, either order or pretend to order something cheap (.79 tacos, used to be .59), load up on a year's supply of those little packets, stuff all pockets, the food sack, in my pants...no just kidding about that...then add a dollop to an understated tortilla & cheese, not that I fixate on eating or anything like that.

My Taco Bell - it's special. Did you know that a guy named Bell started Taco Bell in Long Beach, after he had a restaurant in San Berdoo and an early Mexican restaurant in L.B., went into business with some L.A. Rams - and finally came up with TB - not the disease, Taco Bell, that is.

Since this one's been around since the early 1960s at Parkview Village (formerly the Triangle) and was actually picked up and moved (tortillas and all) to its current location in the mid 1960s, it's been churning out good wholesome, steamy, nothing too hot or too cold, sorta-like Mexican food from almost the get-go of the chain, which means it has NO DRIVE-THRU - a real downside in today's culture, which is DRIVE-THRU or DIE! So DIE it did.

On our way to Chinese, my daughter pointed out a chain link fence around it, so I walked over there today, and couldn't see any signs inviting me to come back soon. So I did what I could do. I went to the Blue Dog Tavern.

At the Blue Dog Tavern, Blue Dog Bob solved the problem Out goes Taco Bell, in comes a host of storefronts. So through Blue Dog Bob, I discovered there's no more fire sauce for me. I should get out more often.

Bob told me that he's now presenting blues at the Blue Dog and that Joe Wood is the hot blues guy at the moment. Has fire sauce moved next door - from Taco Bell to Blue Dog? Could Joe Wood be the fire sauce of the blues? Could it be, serendipity, not surreptitity (is there such a word?) rules.

all you sob sisters, gather 'round for what I'm-a puttin' down....

So, I'm speaking with the family, more like a lecture. I run a blog called "My-Home-Town" in which I drop political nuggets, the idea being to guess my home town.

Here's an example I've yet to let loose on the reading public. I'm basically chicken fat, so I obscure real names. Rumor has it, an elected politico is a psychologist by trade, who was approached by a woman to help her heal thy marraige with an ex-politico. Said shrink instead steals off with the afflicted spouse, thus ruining the marriage, which might or might not be a major loss. A rumor, of course.

After telling it, Ms. Megablogger responds, "oh, Megablogger, stop being so judgemental!"

Politically speaking, I'm the villain. Shrink is just doing what you might expect of a political-shrink, which, come to think of it, shouldn't be considered at all out of the norm...when that politico got votes, they got the behavior they the voters deserved.

hand over that jug o'Gallo

Now our daughter loves to cook. Generally, by Judge Judy, she's chopping up enough garlic for a lasagna take-out stand, and while Keith's on, she's got the oven going. I showed her how to combine a whole chicken, some cooking oil, garlic and a few oranges and come up with orange chicken, my own approach to it, at least. Secret is, you got to loosen the skin, the chicken's that is, and put the fixings between that and the meat, also known as the dead carcass, for all the fans of dead carcasi, and you probably know who you are.

So, oiled, oranged and garlicked, the chicken is placed into a very hot oven, gas on, and left there until it gets crispy. That's the whole idea - crispy. So she, in the hopes that more orangy is better orangy cut oranges in half and laid them on chicken pieces, making them soggy through the cooking process, because the slices of orange don't expose the skin to the heat and the oranges end up looking like matching orange tumors once the cooking's done.

Why the cooking lesson from this male, don't rightly know, but by the time Jeopardy's on, we're eating, and if it's not video night (Walk the Line, maybe?), the bones and orange tumors pieces are in the trash before bedtime. Oh, yeah, and there's little precious wine time.

dreams pt. 1

Last night I dreamed. A friend, Dick B#$%^&*n and I were in the deep south and we were being examined for some project that involved an older lady southern cop in a trooper's hat in a tricked out hi tech cop car and she was very unfriendly to Dick. She came off like a manhater, but she liked me. I asked her why. She said that she was sure Dick was a druggie, but knew I wasn't. I'm thinking it was because he's Jewish and acts like he comes from Connecticut or one of those original colonial states.

Don't know if it's true about Dick, but the part about me was dead on and I was too intimidated to ask why she thought what she thought about Dick...the person, not the...you know, the thing.

I think I consciously bailed out on the dream, because the cop was getting a little too encouraging to me, and I couldn't work up any affinity for jumping into bed with someone who regularly wears a trooper's hat.

So that little run in with a southern cop, dream or not dream, helped me to devise a plan.

I'm going to drink heavily of the wine this evening and compare the results. Dreams that make me look good to me, or the regular kind where I'm either naked in a closet, which I've been in real non-dream life, or somehow impaired and scorned, again, check real life.

If I toss, turn, breathe loudly, have my spouse poke me on accounta too much noise and "your tongue's in the back of your throat and I saw on Oprah (or Martha or Dr. Phil) that you could die as a result," and I get up before 6 a.m., then I'll know to upgrade my brand of wine...get off that Two Buck Chuck and advance two steps to Gallo or something of equally fine caliber. So far, that's the plan.

Got a politician to talk with later. Am I obsessed with wine, food and politicians? Well, two outta three ain't bad.

Now gotta get back to the microwave, last nite's Chinese food is about to come up again...no, that already almost happened...I mean come out again, heated and smelling like it's already been through the cycle.

how come? pt. 1

And how come my radio station hits slowed to a crawl after jumping out of a building? Fake or fancy?

I haven't had any wine for about 4 days and it shows. Slowed me down and make me sleep...oh what a high price we pay for xtra Zs.

Interviewed 4 politicians today. Wonder if they're enjoying fine wine, well, maybe the atty. that got out of rehab and placed second as a dyke darkhorse, isn't, because rehab means more coffee, less booze.

Chinese Food

Today, I shifted some CDs around from shelf to shelf and listened to a couple of them for a few seconds, then declared that was good and got hungry.

My daughter wanted to scoot on out for Chinese food, so out we scooted to where we had history, good chow, cheap and greasy, with a counterman who remembers everyone and why. He's Chinese.

It's next to a liquor store and a place where big teenagers rush by on mopeds in order to reach the sidewalk to really break the law.

Reminds me of a clip I saw on Maury Povich today: woman comes into fast food place, crowded, but since her ethnicity is calling (won't say, wouldn't be right), she tries to jump the line, because that's her right. Clerk tries to stop her, she spits in his face...another unenumerated right, I can only surmise. Then a customer starts arguing with her and that's when the fun begins.

Her boyfriend who must've been on parole or an escapee, comes in, approaches the guy who made the almost-fatal mistake of arguing with her about her heaven-sent right to jump the line, spit in the face of the clerk and begins confronting him by clocking him. Knocks him down and then beats the holy crap out of this poor guy. "He got 4 years," said Maury. Who? The beater? The beatee? The clerk? Don't that beat all? Shoulda been 40, with at least 4 for the spitting bitch. But that's just me.

So the other night I'm walking to the Chinese place, had to park far away, because a woman in an SUV with the same right to do whatever the hell she felt like took 2 parking places, which she woulda probably done anyway had she been able to drive. I'm staring daggers at this woman in her SUV, because a woman can't hurt me, right?

Then out of the corner of my eye comes a huge guy that looks like the beating-guy in the tape, except much bigger, comes into my path. He sees I'm pissed at his woman and says "h'llo"... those are the words...the unspoken message was, "whatcha looking at white boy?"

I kept on walking. Shoulda kicked his ass, but then I'd be on Maury and I'd get jail time, which would mean my blog would have to be on a prison blog site, which I bet is more about sex in showers and prison guard bruality. OK, I admit it, I gave the guy a break. So sue me. Chinese food is still yummy.