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Month: August 2006

Ramsey, Patsy

Ramsey, Patsy

Okay, I’m commenting on the John Mark Karr hullabaloo for two reasons. #1 the media coverage here in Los Angeles. #2 the connection I have to JonBenet.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Patsy Ramsey was Miss West Virginia in 1977. She was born in Parkersburg West Virginia and graduated from Parkersburg high school . She then attended nearby West Virginia University. Parkersburg West Virginia is a mere 14 miles from my own hometown of Marietta Ohio. In fact, Parkersburg was host to many of the malls and coffee shops where I spent a majority of my free time in high school. Our football team played PHS every year; the year that I was in the marching band I marched on the PHS astro-turf. John and Patsy attended Patsy’s 25th high school reunion in 2000. The event attracted national press attention due to the public’s still lingering suspicions about the death of their daughter.

Speaking of which

Jonbenet’s supposed killer has been getting on my nerves. Apparently the story is so important that here in Los Angeles regular television programming had to be put on hold on several channels so we could see a live feed from LAX of his plane arriving from Thailand. In the air. Taxiing to the terminal. Connecting with the terminal. Debarking, although we couldn’t see anything since we were looking at the OUTSIDE of the airport. At least in the OJ chase we could see his silhouette inside the truck. …and we didn’t know what would happen next….

All this attention and many think the guy (while a professed danger to children who should be in prison anyway) is simply a patsy (pun intended). SO STOP REPORTING ABOUT IT EVERY FIVE MINUTES! Does the rest of the country have to endure this nonsense? I’m just curious….

a laugh for a change (found on the glorious internet)

a laugh for a change (found on the glorious internet)

In case you needed further proof that the human race is doomed through stupidity, here are some actual label instructions on consumer goods that can be found today being sold in stores nationwide:

1. On Sears hairdryer:

“Do not use while sleeping.”

(But…, that’s the only time I have to work on my hair)

2. On a bar of Dial soap:

“Directions: Use like regular soap.”

(And that would be how. . . ?)

3. On some Swanson frozen dinners:

“Serving suggestions: Defrost.”

(But it’s “just” a suggestion)

4. On Tesco’s Tiramisu dessert (printed on bottom of box):

“Do not turn upside down.”

(Oops, too late!)

5. On Marks & Spencer Bread Pudding:

“Product will be hot after heating.”

(Hmm . . . .)

6. On packaging for a Rowenta iron:

“Do not iron clothes on body.”

(But wouldn’t this save even more time?)

7. On Boot’s Children’s Cough Medicine:

“Do not drive a car or operate machinery after taking this

medication.”

(We could do a lot to reduce the rate of construction accidents

if we could just get those 5-year-olds with head colds off those

forklifts.)

8. On Nytol Sleep Aid:

“Warning: May cause drowsiness.”

(One would hope)

9. On most brands of Christmas lights:

“For indoor or outdoor use only.”

(As opposed to underwater?)

10. On a Japanese food processor:

“Not to be used for the other use.”

(I gotta admit, I’m curious.)

11. On Sainsbury’s peanuts:

“Warning: Contains nuts.”

(NEWS FLASH)

12. On a child’s Superman costume:

“Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly.”

(I don’t blame the company, I blame parents for this one.)

13. On a Swedish chain saw:

“Do not attempt to stop chain with your hands.”

(Was there a chance of this happening somewhere? . . . Good grief!)

14. On a bottle of Palmolive Dishwashing liquid:

“Do not use on food.”

(Hey, Mom, we’re out of syrup! It’s OK, honey, just grab the Palmolive!

Totally Tubular

Totally Tubular

Many of you know of my unique eating problem. In short – apparently sometimes my esophagus just decides to be lazy and not swallow all the way to the stomach. This happens at random and can incapacitate me for anywhere from 30 seconds to an hour, although usually not longer than a ten minute trip to the porcelain throne (or porcelain wash-basin if it is private). This has been going on since some time in college.

Thursday after work I went to California Pizza Kitchen with two friends/coworkers. Halfway through a piece of BBQ chicken pizza I felt my esophagus getting jumpy. I determined a trip to the bathroom was necessary. An hour later I was still in the bathroom and my friends had gone (after asking me if I was okay). I decided it was time to take action. I had asked my doctor at my last check-up about the condition – but he didn’t really have any idea.

I called the “24-hour nurse hotline” that comes with my health insurance (a PPO). The nurse asked me a lot of questions and recommended I go to the emergency room. The closest one was West Hills Medical. After waiting ten minutes I was brought “backstage” and told to wait. A doctor discussed a case with another doctor on the other side of the large room. Someone somewhere has epilepsy and is taking depacote. After another ten minutes I was told to wait in yet another room. After a full half hour in there a doctor came in and spoke to me for not more than 90 seconds. Another ten minutes went by and I was escorted to the Radiology department. I had to drink a Barium Sulfate solution while they took x-rays of my neck and chest. They had made a big deal about how the solution would taste “terrible” – but I just found it to taste like a chalky soymilk (note that I don’t like soymilk). Then it was back to the same little room to wait another twenty minutes. The doctor strolled up and said “I don’t see a blockage on your x-rays – you can go” as he grabbed something out of a drawer and headed back out. He was so quick to get out that he didn’t notice that the cap came off of one of his bottles and landed in my lap.

Five minutes later a nurse came in to have me sign my discharge papers. I asked him if I could speak to the doctor about my condition. He (yes, it was a male nurse) said that I couldn’t see the doctor again and they didn’t know what was wrong with me and I’d have to call my regular doctor to do anything further about the condition. I told him that I already asked my regular doctor about it and I’d explained that to the admitting…guy (don’t know if he was a doctor or not). The nurse said again that he had no idea what to tell me but I had to leave the emergency room now. “oh – well not now – you have to pay first.” So I walked over to the small counter and proceeded to get dinged for an immediate $100 co pay. Interesting that when you have insurance you have to pay NOW, but when you don’t have insurance they’ll take nothing and bill you later.

So I just blew a c-note to sit in an uncomfortable chair and watch nurses walk by for three hours.

I was still in (moderate) pain when I left the hospital. This pain lasted throughout the night and finally subsided in late morning the next day.

Now however, I’m having shooting pains in my abdomen; probably due to the metal shredding my lower intestines.

Speaking of The Shredder – Can anyone guess what movie comes out on my birthday next year? I’ll give you a hint, the original live action version was released on the same day in 1990, and when the neighborhood kids (a few of which were younger than me) knocked on the door to take me to the film I was denied access by my parents due to the R rating (or perhaps they didn’t trust Cory Feldman in a plastic suit – oops – I’ve said too much!).

super cut?

super cut?

A few weeks ago I cut out a coupon for SuperCuts. Yesterday I decided to take the business up on their offer of $2 off. I walked into the small salon in the Albertson’s shopping center on Verdugo and Hollywood Way in Burbank. I remember I’d visited this location long ago when I still lived with Aaron on Cahuenga Boulevard.

I walked in and a tall thin man with Jet black hair asked me if I came for a cut. Let me give you a visual. The guy looked like a 6’3” 120 pound Wayne Newton (with the same hair). Immediately I noticed something was off. He was emitting an unusual amount of grunts and ticks. He was so jumpy he managed to launch a pen at my stomach when he tried to pick it up to write my name on the customer list across the counter.

Then I discovered that he’d be the one cutting my hair. What would you do? I felt sorry for the guy, after all it probably isn’t his fault that he’s got the nervous ticks – but what profession would you choose if you had constant jitters? Probably not one where you brandish sharp objects at people’s heads.

I quietly crossed my fingers underneath the protective purple hair gown.

It turned out that it was probably the gentlest haircut I’ve ever gotten. The guy was so worried about it that he was very cautious. I swear half the time he’d slice the scissors and not actually cut anything. The haircut didn’t turn out how I wanted. It ended up being the kind of haircut that will put you back in the seat in under three weeks. However, I just wanted to get out of there as I was going to be late to my next destination (racquetball court #3) if I had this guy do another fifteen minutes to remove another eighth of an inch.