Someone at work has some serious intestinal problems. The bathroom today reeked so badly. I can't even begin to describe the smell.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Brother 3 works in the building where I work. Today, I got a call from the on-site nurse. She told me that Brother 3 was down there, dizzy and sweating.
I went down to see him, and he looked both pale and red at the same time. Just so readers can put this in context, Brother 3 is a healthy young man in his early 20s.
I took him home to my house. He's sacked out in the living room with the other sickos watching Monsters, Inc.
So Son has had this rash on his torso. We took him to the doctor when it was one spot on his neck, and we got the word that it was ringworm. OK, that sounds kind of gross, but the treatment is just an antifungal cream.
The rash got worse.
The next appointment led to the diagnosis that it was some kind of environmental allergen or infection that would clear up on its own. Now the treatment is a hydrocortisone cream.
Son went to visit relatives for a week. When he got back, the rash had gotten worse.
I took him today. The doctor glanced at the rash, and immediately said, "This is consistent with impetigo. It's a bacterial infection. Here's a prescription for an antibiotic. He's contagious for three days. Wash your hands and call me if anyone else in the house starts to break out or has a sore throat."
So, I have a sore throat now.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Since I was laid up today with a stupidly injured back, I decided to rest my body and rot my mind. I watched the 2005 remake of The Fog.
It certainly wasn't a visual masterpiece, nor a spellbinding narrative, but it had its charms.
Specifically, Tom Welling. Oops, Son reads this.
There were a couple of moments where the movie startled me. I suppose it would have been more dramatic in a dark theater on a Friday night instead of a Tuesday morning at 7:30am in my living room. I did find, though, that after the first couple of times, the attempts to make me jump were pretty ineffective.
I was in the shower this morning, and as I've done every day for probably close to 30 years, I reached up to wash my hair. Big mistake.
My back spasmed so painfully that I was crouched over in pain for close to two minutes. I couldn't even shout out for help, because GPop is on a business trip, and Son is spending the week at GPop's parents' house. How on Earth can I hurt my back from WASHING my HAIR?
So now I'm sitting quietly on the couch, hoping that the pain will go away. Oh, the pain.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Brother 3, who is almost 15 years younger than me is of college age. He was walking back to his house from a friend's house last night, both of which are near the campus of Large State University, and three guys hit him, knocked him down, took his wallet, and took off. He managed to get up quickly enough to chase them. He found his wallet down the street a way, and his driver's license was still in it, but all of his money was gone.
The right side of his face is pretty bruised and contused, and he's in a bit of pain, but he's otherwise unhurt. He came over and slept a lot today. I fed him, and then sent him home.
Since it was just money, I doubt they'll get caught. I can only hope that they meet with swift justice. I'm not in a particularly forgiving mood right now.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
I would love to be an expectant father.
"What are you going to name the baby?"
"Well, if it's a boy, he'll be Ian. If it's a girl, we'll name her Chordata."
"Yes, it's an old family name."
It's not funny if I have to explain it.
UPDATE: Some people would argue that it's not funny at all.
When Son arrived in our family, he wanted pets. His previous homes had always had cats, dogs, alligators, hippopotami, razorback hogs, etc., so he wanted our home to turn into a menagerie. GPop has also always wanted a dog of some variety, as long as that variety is a Labrador retriever.
I, however, am allergic to animals of most varieties that have any sort of fur or feathers. After a couple of hours, even with loratadine tablets, I start to turn into the Incredible Dripping Nose, and I feel like I need to pull out my eyes to scratch behind them. Suffice to say, dogs and cats are out of the question.
Son's science teacher during the last school year had a variety of reptiles in his classroom, so we thought we'd look into a reptile of some sort as a pet we could all enjoy. Turtles were out, because they stink. Iguanas were out, because they get too big. Leopard geckos were out, because they can climb glass, and I have bad memories of caged pets escaping when I was a child. Snakes were out, because even the most enthusiastic herpophile can hardly call a snake "cuddly." I'm reminded of the Dorothy Parker poem, "Résumé."
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
After some research on Son's part, and some harrumphing on my part, we all settled on a baby bearded dragon. The little hatchlings are kind of cute, in a herpetological way, so it was fun to watch the little tyke scamper about and play little games in the sandy wonderland that was his terrarium. Oh wait, that was some other lizard in some alternate reality.
Bearded dragons are, as I've come to call them, the stoners of the lizard community. Most of the time, they sit quietly and stare at the walls, but if there's food to be had, they are quick to munch. We sometimes entertain ourselves by putting the plastic bug box containing crickets just outside the terrarium to watch the lizard get all worked up. I figure it makes him hungrier when we relent after about 15 seconds and give him his treats.
When the lizard came home, Son asked what we should name him (her?). I suggested "Lord Tiddlywink Whifflebotham." That went over like a lead balloon. Son decided that the bearded dragon should be named "Beardie." Or, if it turned out to be a girl, "Beardine."
Or, I suppose if it turned out to be a female impersonator, "Miss Beardilla Divine."
Lately, I've really started to appreciate Beardie's charms. He's pretty laid back, but he will occasionally just start to dart about and dance. Plus, he sometimes changes colors from light tan to black. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the color changes. I think he's just messing with us.
I'm going to propose that he get his Ph.D. and become Professor Beardon J. Beardie, of the Beard Institute of Beardology. I'll bet that, too, will be the aforementioned lead balloon.