I am Iron Man

Where is Ozzy when I need him.  Damn.   Hey Robert Downey Jr., piss off (just kidding).  For those who don’t like rock and roll when rock and roll was rock and roll don’t click on this link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MII3ns2KTBc&feature=related  for the rest of you.  Click on the link and enjoy because it’s live from Paris in 1970 – when it was still rock n’roll. 

I am Iron Man!


This is the xray of what they put into my leg.  Rock on.  I AM IRON MAN!   Check out that hardware.

Got an A+ from the doctor late today and as of 4:30pm, April 1 I could begin to bear or is it beer weight on my leg.  Yee Fucking HA.  The recovery process has taken a MAJOR step forward.  I have my first PT appointment on Friday  and am ready to kick significant recovery butt.

Trust me, I know it is going to be a long process, however, it’s another big step in the recovery process. 

I even got a transitional bootie.  It sort of looks like something Madonna would wear.  At least it meets all the criteria…it’s black, has laces and supports a part of my body that otherwise couldn’t support itself.

Off to the races….watch out


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Crutch this…..

Yuck, it’s taken me a better part of a day to clean the Nemex off my computer.  The good news is that it worked.

Yesterday I read somewhere that I better do something because my computer was full of worms or maybe it had a worm.  I don’t remember.   I figured I had two choices, rip the computer apart – pull out the worms and go trout fishing or do something to kill the worms. 

As I sat there pondering my next step Otis (the leg breaking dog) jumped onto the couch and proceeded to put his head on that little button in the corner of my laptop that makes it think I closed the screen, thereby sending my computer into hibernation.

Hibernation, that’s kind of a funny concept for a computer.  It would be cool if upon awakening from hibernation the laptop would have two little laptops with it, or maybe a couple MP3 players.  But no such luck.

I push the magic hibernation button thingee again and all of a sudden, like a grizzly bear hungry from a long winters nap my computer springs back to life, returning me, to this page.  At that moment I have a brain storm, I know how to rid my computer of the worms.

Grabbing my crutches I make my way out the door and pause for a moment,  looking down at the 5 steps I need to successfully navigate to get down off my deck and to my truck.   Stair navigation on crutches is not the easiest thing in the world for me.  You see, even though I was an athlete growing up – wait that’s a little bit of a stretch – lets try that again. 

You see, even though I played sports in my youth I never possessed great balance.  If I put anything thicker than the sole of a shoe or sneaker between me and the ground things get a little iffy.  Whether it’s a ski, a snowboard, roller blades or ice skates forget it, I am going to go down like one of Spitzers cheap ho’s.  Actually I guess they weren’t so cheap.

So balancing on two metal poles supporting all my weight on my hands, wrists and forearms on the top step with 5 more to go is not a place of comfort for me, I get that weird tingling feeling in the back of my head even though it’s only 5 feet to the ground.

You know that tingling feeling.  The one you get in the back of your head when your peering off a cliff or building ledge that is really, really high.  You know that weird woozy voice in the back of your head that says, “it would really suck to jump or fall from this height.”  That voice that says, “why the FUCK are you looking over the edge, back up now you FUCKING idiot.  Yes, that voice.

Shit, trying to navigate on the damn crutches on flat ground is a big enough challenge.  I flash back to a few weeks ago.  I am at this restaurant when nature calls.  I get up from the table, make my way to the men’s room, open the door and proceed inside.  Not two strides inside the door my left crutch hits a wet spot and decides to kick out like some double jointed dysfunctional Radio City Rockette.

Rather than putting weight on my broken leg I am left with no other choice than to slam my ass on the floor.  There is nothing, I repeat nothing worse than sitting on the floor of a men’s room when you are sober.   

As I begin the trek down the stairs I remember that the key is to keep your weight slightly forward.

WHOA, forward is wrong. 

Way fucking wrong.  

Way, way, way fucking wrong. 

What the fuck is wrong with my brain.  I should know that weight forward, going down the stairs is a bad thing.  Very bad.

It like giving Dick Cheney a loaded shotgun.  Bad, bad, bad, bad.  Weight forward is for going UP the stairs. 

I am a complete moron.  Luckily I correct my thinking before I go head long down the stairs. 

Lean a little back, keeping my weight slightly behind the bottom of the crutches.  Slowly, step by step.

Perfect, like one of the Flying Wallendas I manage to get myself to the bottom of the stairs in one piece. 

I climb into my truck with the destination being the pet store to get some dewormer.  Shit I figure if the stuff works for dogs it has to work for my computer.  I get to the store and buy a  gallon of some Nemex which is supposed to be great for getting rid of worms. 

I get home and proceed to soak my laptop in it for a few hours.  I then drain my laptop and put it out in the sun to dry for a few hours and like magic all the worms are gone. 

The only side effect was that when my laptop thought I wasn’t looking I caught it dragging itself across carpet, rubbing its DVD player on the floor.  Weird.


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Oreo and the Miracle of the Hot Dog

I started this posting the better part of a year ago (actually looking back at the log I realize it was Aug 2007).  You see I was convinced then, that our Old English Sheepdog, Oreo, was about to pass away and I was sad.  Really sad.  That sadness went the way of the miracle hotdog.

The Miracle Hotdog.  Blessed be the Miracle Hotdog!  Long live Oscar Meyer.  Bust out the Boar’s Head, All hail Nathan’s best.  Kayem and Sabrette rock.  The Hotdog as canine savior!

Oreo was battling lyme disease and was barely moving.  Heck, she was barely breathing.  That is when my brother decided it would be a good idea to give her a hotdog.  Why I don’t’ know.  She opened her eyes and with little energy ate each piece of hotdog that my brother fed to her. 

In the next few hours Oreo’s breathing was stronger and in a matter of a day she was back to her stubborn, “I am the Princess don’t fuck with me,” attitude.  In the months that followed she was, well herself.

Well today I write because there was only one miracle hotdog and our Oreo passed away last night.

I am so thankful for the past 18 plus months that the Miracle Hotdog gave us with Oreo.  We had a great ride and a great many more adventures.  Whether it was a drive somewhere or a simple walk in the woods, it was great.  Plus Oreo was able to meet and help shape Otis (the leg breaker himself) our 1 year old sheepdog. 

Here is what I wrote then –

It’s hard for me to write this as I can barely see the screen cuz my eyes are overflowing with tears.  Tears of great saddness.  You see, one of our dogs, Oreo passed away today.  Damn it hurts.  She was the most beautiful Old English Sheepdog you ever met.  Beautiful both physically and beautiful in spirit.  Damn she was a pain in the ass.

 We adopted her from the New England Old English Sheepdog Rescue folks.  They’re a great organization and can be found on the web at http://www.neoesr.org/main.htm.

We got her when she was about 4 years old and definitely full of herself.  Over the years she has fit right into our family of animals, albeit we’re down to a single sheep dog now.    

She was both strong willed, stubborn and most of all very lovable.  She loved to sit between the two front bucket seats whenever we went for a ride and she loved to go for a ride.  She was one tough dog.

She had the most amazing bark when she wanted something.  You know, one of those barks that goes clear on through to your soul. We will miss her.

Zooming back to today –  I gotta go now, Otis the leg breaker just decided to intrude on this moment of reflection and defiantly shit on the rug.  I think the baton has been passed.

Here is a photo of Otis (on the left) explaining how he broke my leg to Oreo


Long live Oreo and the Miracle of the Hotdog


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Concession to the depression of the Recession Confession

I usually try and stay away from current events but  I thought I’d a share a few synaptic provocateur free rambling  observations on the world today….ok maybe not totally s.p. free

First, there is a great Op Ed piece in the NY Times today from an AIG employee.  As my brother said, “there’s always two sides to a story.”  Here’s the link to the piece:


Mr. DeSantis resignation letter is both interesting and not surprising.  Might I add, bravo.

We’ve run out of collective fingers and toes to count how many people have been sacrificed by corporations.  Now don’t me wrong, I’d be happy to be sacrificed for a $740K bonus (after taxes).  However, understanding the timing of all this crap Mr. DeSantis is still just an employee who did his job with the corporate commitment and contractual agreement from his employer that he’d be compensated for said job.

I am confident for every Jake DeSantis there are thousands of people who have had similar experiences, albeit without the significant cake.  Whether it was by reinvesting in corporate stock shares or working 15 hour days folks make dedicated commitments to corporations and after all that they end up having the company drain them of both their financial and emotional capital.  Why is it that corporations fail to recognize and demonstrate the value of human assets.  When did this relationship start being a one way street?

I know I am generalizing .  There are some good companies out there doing great work with a commitment to their employee base.  The challenge is they never make the headlines.  Nope, the headlines are left for the Enrons, Bear Stearns and AIG’s of the world. 

Then we have the government.  Ah, the government.  Knee jerking like the high stepping army of Kim Jong Il.  Quick let’s pass specific laws to punish these people who received these bonus’s.  Beautiful knee jerk reaction….horse – barn folks.  Why is it that this bonus structure which has been on the AIG books for months never was identified.  Shit, we the people supposedly own 80% of AIG.  Who is overseeing this crap.  Where were you six months ago Mr. Blumenthal?  Tied up in tracking down illegal weight loss claims and credit card fraud by some rogue Acai berry sellers?   Senator Mr. Dodd everything was cool when AIG was filling your campaign coffers and paying your wife to be some defacto director….huh?  What’s that, we can’t hear you?  Me thinks your run is just about over, get that resume ready.  Hey, maybe you too can get a job at AIG.

We have such short memories.

I read a great article the other day about the SEC.  We have a government that goes to great lengths to create Drug Czar to oversee drugs (how does one apply for such a job) yet the SEC chairman just asked permission to use $17 million of unspent funds from previous years.  UNSPENT?

Hmmmm, think maybe we should have spent those funds on some due diligence figuring out how “investors” were promising 20 to 30 percent return on ones investment or maybe taking a good look at the credit swap transaction and derivatives?  Oh, wait maybe that wasn’t the SEC’s job, maybe it was the Federal Reserve or maybe the Treasury Dept.  We got this great big government that has had their heads up their collective asses for years now. 

Please understand this isn’t about Democrats or Republicans.  It’s not about Conservatives or Liberals.  It’s about working together in a god damn unified fashion.  Like one big fucking team.  Novel concept if there ever was one.  Working, efficiently and with politics aside.  The only reason to review how we got in this damn mess is to understand it and set up the appropriate checks and balances to ensure it don’t happen again.  NOT TO PLACE BLAME.  Any one can identify a problem, the key is being able to understand it and produce a solution.  

Speaking of blame, there is a great Monty Python sketch, I think it’s called the dead bishop sketch, here is a bit of the dialogue:

Son: (coming in the door) ‘Ello Mum. ‘Ello Dad.

K: ‘Ello son.

S: There’s a dead bishop on the landing, dad!

K: Really?

M: Where’s it from?

S:Waddya mean?

M: What’s its diocese?

S:Well, it looked a bit Bath and Wells-ish to me…

K: (getting up and going out the door) I’ll go and have a look.

M: I don’t know…kids bringin’ ’em in here….

S: It’s not me!

M: I’ve got three of ’em down by the bin, and the dustmen won’t touch ’em!

K: (coming back in) Leicester.

M:‘Ow d’you know?

K: Tattooed on the back o’ the neck. I’ll call the police.

M: Shouldn’t you call the church?

S: Call the church police!

K: All right. (shouting) THE CHURCH POLICE !!

(sirens racing up, followed by a tremendous crash) (the church police burst in the door)

Detective: What’s all this then, Amen!

M: Are you the church police?

All the police officers: (in unison) Ho, Yes!

M:There’s another dead bishop on the landing, Vicar Sargeant!

Detective:Uh, Detective Parson, madam. I see… suffrican, or diocisian?

M: ‘Ow should I know?

D:It’s tatooed on the back o’ their neck. (spying the tart) ‘Ere, is that…. rat tart?

M: yes.


D: Disgusting! Right! Men, the chase is on! Now we should all kneel!

(they all kneel)

All: O Lord, we beseech thee, tell us ‘oo croaked Leicester!


Voice of the Lord: The one in the braces, ‘e done it!

Klaus: It’s a fair cop, but society’s to blame.

Detective: Agreed. We’ll be charging them too.

K: I’d like you to take the three by the bin into consideration.

D:Right. I’ll now ask you all to conclude this harrest with a hymn.

All:All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The church has nigged them all. Amen

There you have it –  “societys to blame.”  Blessed be the cheese makers!

Repeat after me – Funky Town greed.


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And now for something completely different


That my friends is the xray of my left fibula, yes the broken one.  That has put me on the shelf for a few days and after surgery tomorrow (Friday morning) will put me  on the disabled list for the better part of 3 months.  The recipe for disaster was simple, a perfect storm, a confluence of shit who’s timing was impeccable.  A ten month old sheep dog with his lead tangled around my right leg, all my weight on my left leg and ice.  Ice, ice baby – where is vanilla ice when you need him?

When I went down I knew it wasn’t good.  I didn’t hear a snapping sound or anything like that.  What I felt was a vibration.  The best way to explain it is if you take a good sized twig and try to snap it, just before the twig breaks you can feel a vibration in the twig then snap.  All I remember is feeling that vibration.

Actually the other thing I remember is being thankful that somehow in the midst of this cataclysmic event I had managed to fall in between the piles of dog shit on the ice.  It is funny today, but I am not sure if I would have found it funny then if I had done a face plant in one of those piles of crap. 

So the doc says she needs to go in and build a fucking bridge in my leg.  You know a few screws, a pin or two, maybe a plate, shit who knows maybe even a toll booth.  It seems that in my haste to fracture my fibula I’ve also managed to mess up my ankle and without all the hardware holding shit in place my ankle would not be much good to me in a few years.

So with much trepidation I’ve agreed to surgery.  The scary part if I was a fine tuned athlete like a thoroughbred horse I’d already be compost for the garden.  Thank god I fit the criteria for saving  –  fat, middle-aged bald guy with a penchant for no good.  hehehehehe . 

A few casual observations I’ve made in the past few days regarding our health care process.  First, I have health insurance so every health worker has treated me with great respect and care.  Almost like royalty.   Second, from the emergency room to the doctors office to the blood work lab to the cardiology testing center there wasn’t a clock to be had.  Nope not one.  I guess they figure if they don’t make a clock available you won’t realize how long you’ve waited to be seen.   Third, health care workers care.  Or at least they are putting on a tremendous front.   From the registration folks to the nurses to the lab assistants everyone seemed to care, which in today’s world, is so fucking important.

I know the world doesn’t need yet another blog about this fool going through some medical challenges and god knows it’s only a broken leg and fucked up ankle.  There are folks out there doing tremendous writing about their ability to live with cancer and all other kinds of serious shit.  Hopefully I can bring  a little laughter over the coming weeks to you and to me.  Lord knows I don’t look at shit like everyone else.


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Cotton Tipped Killers – The Q-Tip Conspiracy

Let me first say that if this is my last blog you know they got to me.  Who is they – Unilever or Wyeth security teams. 

Why?  They both produce products that are dangerously addictive and are not needed.

What products – Q-tips and  Chap-Stick.  Today I’ll review those cotton tipped killers , Q-tips.

A quick little history – the Q-tip was invented by this dude Leo in 1923 and were originally called Baby Gays.  Baby Gays were later rebranded simply Q-Tip, can’t imagine why.

I am not a Q-Tip user.  Never have, never will be.  Most of the people I know who are addicted to Q-Tips  use the Q-Tip wrong.  These people are non-professionals when it comes to cotton tipped swab usage.  Because they are non-professionals they use the little cotton tipped pungi sticks wrong.  Yes, wrong. 

Every morning across America non-professionals are jabbing their ear canals and ear drums with these potential neurologically damaging cotton tipped cranial spears like a skin diver trying to spear that tasty fish in the coral reef.

Never, never, never should the cotton tipped little demons pass beyond the outer edge of your ear.

Yet everyday, millions of Americans do just that – they plunge these cotton tipped killers deep into the ear canal in search of some stray ear gik or ear spooge.  

Whatever, the gik and spooge are harmless and will manage itself if people just left it undisturbed.  Think about it – you want some giant cotton tipped thingee poking you in your comfy place?  Nope.  If it happened everyday you’d get pissed.  Guess what – the ear gik and spooge get pissed too!

When poked by some cotton tipped prod gik and spooge get enraged and begin to act out in various ways.  Maybe it’s an ear infection.  Maybe it’s a simple ear ache.  Maybe they go into overdrive and start to fill your head up with the gik and spooge.

Regardless – let the sleeping gik and spooge lie.  Don’t stick shit in your ears because you have no idea how close you are coming to dancing with the devil every morning when you perform this voluntary act of potential reckless self destruction.

For the record – I have never had an ear infection, never had major gik build up, never had an ear ache. 


Why – cuz I don’t let the cotton tipped demons anywhere near my ears!  Nope.  Never have, never will.

If you doan (as Ricky Ricardo would say) believe me – check out the below story!

Health Canada to review cotton swab labelling

Last Updated: Wednesday, February 6, 2008 | 8:50 PM ET

Health Canada said Wednesday it will review a coroner’s recommendation for stronger warning labels for cotton swabs, after a Montreal man died two days after piercing his eardrum with one.

 All cotton swab manufacturers must have a notice on their outer label that warns consumers not to insert the swab into their ear canal, Health Canada said Wednesday in a statement.

In a report released Tuesday, Quebec coroner Dr. Jacques Ramsay suggested including pictograms on cotton swab packaging that showed a small ear with a red X painted over it.

“In light of the Quebec City coroner’s report recommending a picture warning on the outer labels, Health Canada will be reviewing this recommendation and will take action, if necessary,” agency spokeswoman Carole Saindon said.

Daniel St-Pierre, 43, died last March of meningitis-induced intracranial complications caused by a bacterial infection he developed after accidentally piercing his eardrum with a cotton swab two days earlier.

In his coroner’s report, Ramsay said most consumers are not aware that even a single use of a cotton swab can cause fatal consequences, although on Wednesday he said he has only heard of four or five such cases.

“The infection starts in the inner ear, basically millimetres away from the brain. And that’s one of the rare but possible complications that the infection could go one step further,” Ramsay told CBC News.

Even in cases where cotton swabs do not cause an infection that leads to death, Ramsay said the innocuous-looking sticks can cause a range of problems for people who misuse them.

“If you talk to an ear, nose and throat specialist, they have tons of cases of perforated eardrums and some people with permanent hearing loss and vertigo, dizziness, symptoms like this,” he said.

Ramsay suggested people use their pinky fingers instead of cotton swabs to clean the insides of their ears. His recommendation was echoed Wednesday by nose and throat specialist Jack Rothstein, who said people should never put anything “smaller than an elbow” in their ear.

Rothstein said he sees 10 to 15 cases a year of eardrums that have been broken by improper use of cotton swabs or hair pins.

“If a non-professional puts a [cotton swab] into the ear canal, this could accidentally be pushed into the ear drum and cause a hole in the ear drum,” he said.

“And in fact, the ear is a self-cleaning organ, it does not require anything to be put into it in order to clean it, except if a professional has to do it in the office.”

Health Canada did not indicate when their review of Ramsay’s recommendations would be finished.

Read that again – they referenced non-professional cotton tipped swab users.  That’s YOU!

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Monkeys fish, why can’t I?

OKay so it’s late.  The good news is that there is a fierce thunderstorm going on outside ushering in some cooler air for us folks in the Northeast….

So I am sitting here and in between looking at multiple weather radar sites (yes I still am addicted to the weather) what do i find – yep an article about monkeys that fish and actually catch fish!


Now when I think about my fishing prowess I now have to change the ranking scale.  For years I had myself in front of monkeys – but no, lo and behold there are these indonesian silver haired fishing macaques( Sounds like some bad country group to me) who fish.  What I don’t understand is who is making their fishing rods for them the damn gorillas?  There’s probably some sweat shop set up and staffed with a bunch of young rhesus monkeys turning out fishing rods for the damn silver haired macaques.  I guess it’s better than ending up over your head in formaldehyde waiting to be dissected by 10th graders.

Back to the monkeys – so now in my fishing ranking chart the monkeys have moved ahead of me.  Shit, good thing squirrels don’t know how to fish – do they?  

Enough nonsense….off to dream about landing the big kahuna of fish.  cheers 

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