September 12th, 2009
Over here for now.
Just over a year ago I smashed my face into the side of the tub. While things are certainly better, I’m pretty clearly not 100%
It’s most noticeable when I smile. People try to say it looks like a dimple. A tipsy woman at L&W’s wedding commented on my dimple, as did the young hostess at a Chinese restaurant. Emily routinely attempts to convince me of the same. I don’t see it, though. Seems too high and somehow “rolling” to be a dimple.
Still, scars are cool. I just need a better story than “the bathtub hit me.”
So, last night, me and the Mrs. are sitting around watching a movie and dorking out on the computer. I decide to log into Facebook for the first time in months to answer Emily’s challenge and play a couple of games of Scramble. Pretty quickly, that devolves into trying to figure out who I know that I can add to my limited stable of friends.
Should I mention wine was involved?
Anyway, once I’ve exhausted the friends, relatives, and auto-import of my GMail address book I decide that I want to friend someone cool, smart, and likely to be eating at the same restaurants I am. Sure, I’d never met him, but he seems pretty down to earth and I did take 1 day of my honeymoon to read his entire book, so that has to count for something, right?
Apparently, it does. This completely made my morning.
I know I haven’t had a blog post in a million years. I’ve even had lots of good ideas for posts over the last few months, but I’ve been busy. Super busy. Mainly, I got married. That takes a lot of time. I’ll tell you all about it someday, but not now. Today is just a bit of sharing of some questionable email.
I get the privacy freaks who get too spooked about companies having too much info. I understand the idea of not wanting too much info in the hands of one company about your spending habits, web-surfing habits, what have you. While I certainly appreciate this, my general feelings are that when it comes to commerce, having so much data on you is almost as anonymizing as having none. With so much data you become no more than a statistical blip on a bottom line that no one really cares. Yes, you can be searched for, but you are also readily lost.
Besides, I figure if I’m going to have to sit through some form of advertisement I’d at least like them to have a chance of being something I might be interested in. Show me loving shots of a sexy new gadget instead of expounding on the virtues of a super absorbent diapers. Tell me about Michel Gondry’s latest movie instead of additional retirement benefits I may not be receiving. If you want me to know that it has wings, you’d better be talking about an airplane. It’s just common sense. It will just work out better for everyone that way.
I know that automated statistical data isn’t always right. Sometimes your Tivo thinks you’re gay or 7-year-olds get offers for gold cards. All in all though, I’ve always liked Amazon’s recommendations and the info they provide. It is helpful to know that 38% of the people who viewed an item bought something else. I like seeing that people in my area are into a particular book. In fact, if there is any problem I have it is that their recommendation engine is too good. I frequently find I have a page full or suggestions for stuff I already own.
Then there is this email.
I love Steve Martin. He’s clever, witty, dry, but with a great sense of heart. I’ve read all of his books and plays (and highly recommend The Zig-Zag Girl from this book). And while he certainly has a keen sense of understanding and insight into human behavior, I don’t quite get what he has to do with Public Services Inspection in the UK. Even if social workers in Britain love Steve for all of his quiet intellectualism wrapped in surreal and metaphorical dressings, I’m going to say they missed the mark.
I think maybe someone needs to tweak the algorithm just a little bit.
And by other guy, I mean the side of the bathtub.
I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling fine and dandy. Instead of the usual waking up slowly I tend to do, I hopped right out of bed and went into the bathroom. While in the bathroom I began to feel nauseated. I actually thought I might get sick. I was trying to think about the night before. Why would I feel sick now? Am I really sick or is this just some sort of psychosomatic, self-fulfilling concern?
The next thing I know I am waking up leaning against the bathtub. The first thought flickers through my synapses. “Was I so tired I took a nap in the bathroom?” I vaguely remember not feeling well and thinking that I must have tried to use the coolness of the tub to soothe my illness. I also realize my knee kind of hurts. Then I notice the toilet seat is up and not flushed. Then I remember I had just gone to the bathroom. Next it’s the realization my face hurts. What the hell?
Holy crap, I fainted.
I have never fainted in my life. Ever. If I did, I at least thought I’d realize it was happening. I always imagined it like the movies. Things fade away. You feel yourself fall. Things go black and smeary. Some indication that there was a problem afoot. Perhaps a voice telling you to put your trays in the full upright and locked position. Something. Anything.
That’s not how it is at all. Not even a little bit. One minute I was felling a bit woozy. The next I am waking up from a nap.
I reached up to flush the toilet and sat on the floor gathering my composure. I was now feeling feverish, clammy, and sweaty. That was probably panic as much as anything. The cool tile floor was helpful to keep everything at bay. I thought I should get up and head into the bedroom, but I now had absolutely no faith in my body’s ability to keep me upright.
I heard Emily and the kids moving around and past the bathroom door. Once I heard Em nearby and called her in – making sure to have her open the door slowly. I didn’t need to be smashed by the door as well. I told her that I thought I might have passed out and that my face hurt. She actually didn’t reply with, “Well, it’s killing me.” This is why I love her. She did try to piece it all together and let me know I had a cut on my cheek. She got me into bed and took great care of me.
After a day of ice and pain killers and taking it easy I was feeling OK. The swelling is much better today, but the right side of my face could still play the Marlon Brando part in a community theater production of The Godfather.
I really don’t know what caused all of this. My guess is that I jumped out of bed too quickly and then locked my knees while standing at the toilet. Like anyone, I’ve had a head rush when getting up from bed or a chair, but nothing that made me feel sick and nothing that led to fainting. Had this happened just randomly in the middle of the day I’d be much more concerned. Since it’s pretty obvious what the catalyst was, it’s not too difficult to dismiss it. Even as it is, though, each transition from sitting to standing is a little more disconcerting and tackled with much more care and deliberation than any before.
The really strange thing is how a silly little thing illustrates the tenuous lease we have on life. I’m not trying to be dramatic here. I don’t think there is anything wrong with me – aside from a hurting, squishy face. It’s just amazing how a normal and mundane morning can go from uneventful to surreal and potentially, literally scarring. You start to wonder what might have happened if you fell the other way and hit the sink. What might have happened had this occurred while driving?
We have such faith in our bodies. They are so resilient, so robust. Even if they aren’t the snazziest model ever, they are surprisingly adept at getting us through the life’s bumps and bruises without much thought. We really take for granted all the little things we do every day – like standing upright. We expect it and it seems so simple. It’s not simple at all. Everything must work perfectly or things will crash. All it takes is a split second glitch; a tiny hiccup in the gross motor skills we don’t even think about to smack that realization into you.
That and the tub.
It looks like I’ll be able to pick up my new car later today. If all goes well, I’ll be motoring before the sun goes down.
The problem is I’m trying to figure out what the first song to be played in the new Mini should be. Since I’ll have the iPod integration you know there will be a playlist with a variety of appropriate choices. Still, I need that #1 song.
I’ve been thinking about the good “road” songs I can think of (basically the non-California specific songs I used on my “Move West” playlist).
Seeing as Basil is a British bloke, the Beatles seem pretty appropriate. There is also the theme song from Austin Powers. That would be fun.
Of course, I could just pop my recent favorite songs from Of Montreal, Mika, the Shins, and Modest Mouse. I worry they might not stand the test of time, though. Then again, they would always have an anchor to this place and time.
Decisions, decisions. You got any ideas?
Well, that didn’t work. Maybe they are too smart for us. Or maybe, better yet, they’ve moved on.
It’s time to fight back. We’ve got the motive. We’ve got the means. By tomorrow, we’ll have the peeps.
If you were grossed out like I was by the last “peep poop” post, please read no further.
Today we were doing some general kitchen organizing. A lot of things in the kitchen haven’t found a home since moving in a few years ago. Many glasses and serving dishes and bundt pans are tucked in corners where they were placed “temporarily” in 2003. Throw in 4 kids, a couple of Easy Bake ovens and more coffee mugs than a hipster poetry reading and you have the start of a great weekend project.
Emily did a great job getting the pantry and spices organized. I found some old watches, half a dozen lens cleaning cloths, a few Leatherman multi-tools, and a couple of phone books (I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those) stashed around. Still no sign of the Baby Alive bottle that really got this underway, but we were making progress on the area of our house that most needed it.
Behind the cleaning products, extra vases, and plastic grocery bags I unearthed the peeps’ secret lair. A week ago I didn’t know peeps could be a pest. Now I can recognize their lair on sight. We’ve come a long way. Apparently, they’ve been stealing bits of felt from the kids’ craft bins. Sure, it looks nice and cozy until you realized the whole area is covered peep droppings.
This cannot be sanitary and I’ve had it. Has anyone ever had a peep infestation before? How dangerous is it? How do I get rid of them? I was thinking of going to the hardware store and getting some mouse traps or glue strips or something. Do you think that would work?
I’m this close to just moving.
The other night after the kitchen debacle I hung out waiting for that other peep to show itself. While I did see him a couple of times I never actually got a hand on him. I had seen him around the appliances on the counter, but I figured it was just a temporary thing as he was running for his candy-coated life.
Once again, as is the theme of the past few posts, I was wrong.
This morning I was clearing up bagel crumbs on the counter and pulled out the toaster (I’m very thorough like that). While I expected to find some bagel crumbs and maybe some bit of cinnamon raisin toast residue from yesterday, I never EVER expected to find what I found.
EGADS! I may never eat in our kitchen again.