Smoke and Mirrors

In a perfect world . . .

Month: September 2008 (page 1 of 3)


Heart my coconut
Aerodynamic brilliance
Forever full moon

My daughter Sarah came by the house a week or so ago and decided to
lounge around on the couch and do some work for school.
Methinks she needed a break from the campus crowd.
At one point she got up to go into the bathroom and I heard her start laughing.
Holding my precious bottle of Headlube, she looked at me and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” I said.

“Headlube? Come on, Dad. It comes in a friggin’ water bottle for God’s sake!” (she’s still laughing)

“So what,” I said, “It’s usually 8 bucks and I got it for 2.50. It’s just moisturizer and besides it’s my head.”

“See you got the ‘matte’ finish. Nice.” she said.

Yeah, I’m all about the silky smooth but understated cueball noggin’ I guess.
Hmmm . . .
Can’t wait to see how long it will take for the comments to plummet this post to rock bottom.
Yeah, I got it coming with a product that sports that kind of name.
As it says on the bottle, “It’s your head. Buy this lube.”
So, I did and I might add that some days my glabrescent dome is a blessed work of art.
IMHO . . .

Dr. MacFunnybones

This was too funny not to share.
Once again, not sure of the authenticity but damn, these are funny.

Medical Stories

1. A man comes into the ER and yells, ‘My wife’s
going to have her baby in the cab!’ I grabbed my stuff, rushed out
to the cab, lifted the lady’s dress, and began to take off her
Underwear. Suddenly I noticed that there were several
cabs —and I was in the wrong one.

Submitted by Dr. Mark MacDonald, San Francisco

2. At the beginning of my shift, I placed a stethoscope
on an elderly and slightly deaf female patient’s chest wall.
‘Big breaths’, I instructed.
‘Yes, they used to be,’ replied the patient.

Submitted by Dr. Richard Byrnes, Seattle , WA

3. One day I told a wife that her husband had died of a
massive myocardial infarct. Not more than five minutes later, I
heard her reporting to the rest of the family that he had died of
a ‘massive internal fart.’

Submitted by Dr. Susan Steinberg

4. During a patient’s two week follow-up appointment
with his cardiologist, he informed me, his doctor, that he was
having trouble with one of his medications.
‘Which one?’ I asked. ‘The patch. The
nurse told me to put on a new one every six hours and now
I’m running out of places to put it!’
I had him quickly undress and discovered what I hoped I
wouldn’t see. Yes, the man had over fifty patches on his
body! Now, the instructions include removal of the old patch before
applying a new one.

Submitted by Dr. Rebecca St. Clair, Norfolk , VA

5. While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient,
I asked, ‘How long have you been
After a look of complete confusion she
answered. ‘Why, not for about twenty years – when my
husband was alive.’

Submitted by Dr. Steven Swanson, Corvallis , OR

6. I was performing rounds at the hospital one morning
and while checking up on a woman I asked, ‘So how’s
your breakfast this morning?’ ‘It’s very
good, except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can’t seem to
get used to the taste,’ the patient replied.
I then
asked to see the jelly and the woman produced a
foil packet labeled ‘KY Jelly.’

Submitted by Dr. Leonard Kransdorf, Detroit

7. A nurse was on duty in the emergency room when a
Young woman with purple hair styled into a punk rocker mohawk,
sporting a variety of tattoos, and wearing strange
clothing, entered. It was quickly determined that the
patient had acute appendicitis, so she was scheduled for
immediate surgery. When she was completely disrobed on
the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair
had been dyed green, and above it there was a tattoo that
read, ‘Keep off the grass.’ Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the patient’s dressing, which said, ‘Sorry, had
to mow the lawn.’

Submitted by Doctor . . .


8. As a new, young MD doing his residency, I was quite
embarrassed when performing female pelvic exams. To
cover my embarrassment, I had unconsciously formed a habit
of whistling softly. The middle-aged lady upon whom I
was performing this exam suddenly burst out
laughing and further embarrassing me. I looked up from
my work and sheepishly said, ‘I’m sorry, was I
tickling you?’
She replied, ‘No doctor, but the song you were whistling was, ‘I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener’.

Dr. wouldn’t submit his name (Go figure)


My father is stuck.
Although it’s unlike Winnie the Pooh in the Honey Tree
or even a tomcat that’s climbed too high into an archaic but majestic oak, those types of ‘stuck’ are manageable to a certain degree.
It’s like he’s an enigmatic and unsolvable crossword puzzle, a stalemate of stalemates, a real life version of Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day where every day is the same.
And though I repeatedly tell myself that it doesn’t bother me, deep inside it does.
Every visit it’s the same old thing.
I sit and stare.
I tell him stories.
I tell him about the weather and what I had for lunch.
I tell him what I’m making for supper.
Almost like it really matters.
It’s sad when I can’t even fool myself anymore.
I swipe madly at this insidious and maddening cobweb that has my father’s mind and memories
in its grip, deliberately refusing to let go of him.
I was sitting the other day watching him go in and out of sleep like a short-circuiting light bulb, his eyes methodically opening and closing; wax on, wax off.
I softly said, “Dad, what are you waiting for?”
He muttered something incomprehensible and shut his eyes, tired of trying to solve the puzzle, tired of my questions, tired of this confusing life.
And I can’t blame him.
He’s endlessly moored to this drab room in a city nursing home with no knife to cut the ropes.
I’m starting to feel lost as well.
Lost to him and so very lost for me.
I feel guilty after asking him the question and retreat to my dark corner of the quiet boxing ring knowing he shouldn’t have to answer a query such as that.
This is about him and not about a too selfish ‘Michael’ and his all too busy life.
But how does it finally end for this sad and fragile man?
Please, dear God tell me. Will you?
If I’m supposedly being taught some kind of lesson here, I’m really losing my patience and these days nothing seems to make sense. Nothing.
So maybe God listens.
Once again, I close my eyes on another day and I think, maybe tomorrow.
Yeah, right, maybe tomorrow . . .

a Bengal Birthday

Happy Birthday to my one and only . . .
from ~m, the girls, Sherlock, Opus & of course Guinness
We love you!

Overheard @ the Rattlesnake

When I began blogging in February of 2005, I was gun-shy in terms of posting and commenting.
I made friends slowly but have held on to several that I made way back when.
Carnealian of Graven Images has been with me since then.
I finally got the chance to meet her and her boyfriend Brian last Thursday night in Boston.
Carol (her real name) and Brian were on their way up north to visit her nephew who was celebrating
his 21st birthday.
She decided that a trip to Boston was to be included in her itinerary.
She’s always been a sweetie whenever she visits my blog and I consider her my friend, Brian as well.
We spent the better part of the night at the Rattlesnake on Boylston Street trading stories and laughing, trying to make some sense out of this crazy obsession called blogging.
It was wonderful to finally meet her.
Turns out she’s even sweeter in person.
3 hours went by in the blink of an eye before I had to run to catch my train.
Give Carol a visit and see all the cool stuff she did in Beantown.
She even called me ‘the coolest guy in town’.
Must have been the ‘Jazz’ shirt that did it . . .
Click on the three of us up above to read her post.


{for my 3 young ladies}

Go higher than you ever thought you could.
Climb the ladder of success, whatever that is for you.
Climb your way to the top.
Take as long as you need: no one is watching the clock (except maybe you).
Before you reach out to hold onto something, make certain it’s strong enough to support you.
Grit your teeth and scrape your knees and bleed and sweat.
If your mountain is simply to get through the day, then scale it.
When you get to the top, look back at what you’ve accomplished.
Now smile or holler or cry.
Before you head for the valley and the next mountain, remember the women who have gone before you and the ones who will follow your climb.

~Rachel Snyder

Myocardial Infarction

Why not just eat an entire freekin’ cow for cripe’s sake?
Click on the MI culinary delight above for a cafe that is possibly responsible for
more saturated fat-related deaths than Mickey D’s
But hell, the waitstaff looks damn curvy and nice.
Okay, I’ll give them a bye
I guess if you’re going to have a heart attack this is the place you’d want some serious mouth-to-mouth action.
Somebody order me another triple-bypass, will ya?
Double the fries, too

No email today

I can’t respond to any emails today
Something has crashed on my computer
and the mouse is missing.

(tnks to Gerry for the idea. I had to change the pic. This looks exactly like my male tabby Sherlock)

transcribing patience

I haven’t been around much for a number of reasons.
The biggest is that I’ve been transcribing a vocal arrangement for my daughter Sarah.
(from a recording I did years ago with my sister, Maureen for her wedding in ’83)
Sarah belongs to an ‘a cappella’ group at her college and wanted to do the version of
“When I fall in love” that I sang many years ago.
It’s an SATB arrangement that divides into six parts in some sections.
Yeah, crazy. But really nice in a Manhattan Transfer kind of way.
I can’t find the sheet music I used so I must use my ears to transcribe this Jazz vocal nightmare.
Truth be told, I’m kind of enjoying it.
It will however keep me from doing too much here for now.
Hope you folks don’t mind.
And I pray these girls want to sing on Sunday night.
If not, Mr. Murphy will not be wearing his slappy-dappy-flappy-happy hat.
(I have no idea what kind of hat that would be, but I’m quite sure it’s outrageously ugly)
Cross your fingers for me, folks.

Midnight Angel

A flutter of wings
in a world washed grey
closing tired eyes
slowly slip away

a fight against The will
learned tolerance to the pain
incomprehensible ruin
terminal drops of rain

the lack of understanding
invisible hands of a ticking clock
solitary hours moving away
shadows lost to the infinite dark

a moment of hope will surely find her
a millisecond of brilliant white light
a midnight angel to soothe her
freeing her soul to the black of night . . .

{for K}

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