Hair

I just got out of the hospital again yesterday. Once again, I had some chest pain problems that made me doubt my cardiac health, and I went into the ER, who sent me to CCU, who sent me to the Cath Lab on Monday. The good news: Nothing's wrong in there. Evidently, the new meds I am taking caused a buildup of fluid around the heart.

The worst part is the telemetry equipment. This is not a problem for most of the population, except for that percentage with gorilla-like hair growth on their bodies. If I had planned a trip into the hospital, knowing I would get an EKG, I might have taken my moustache-and-ugly-nose-hair trimmer and mowed a few spots. Really! When I was in Cardiac Rehab, they told us to trim the hedges in a few spots, because every time I went in I had to hook up a monitor with those stickers. Every single person that had to hook me up to a monitor in the last couple of days would pull up my shirt, and just the sight of the hair on my chest, the realization of the sheer abundance, would cause them to freeze for a second. You could see the conflict running through their minds. Here's a man with a potential heart problem whom they know they can help by giving this person an EKG, and there is enough hair there to make them think twice because they know that eventually someone will have to rip the stickers off this individual. Then they would do that "Oh, well" head-and-shoulder shrug and look at me and say "Sorry about this." Or they'd look in and do that pained look, where they're all puckered up and squint, and go "Ooooh," and then apologize. When I got into the Cath Lab, that nurse pulled off my gown, and didn't say a word. She just walked over to a table and got one of those trimmers they use and mowed out a couple of spots, and all the way across my chest at about the collar bone. I said "Bless you." I saw a halo around her head. I was also being sedated at the time, so that may account for it. So now I have what looks like crop circles on my chest. If we were at the beach, people would be gathering around in small crowds, going "What does it all mean?" I'm sure that if I go outside without a shirt, and face the right direction, I can get UFO's to attack New York. And I have one bare spot, dead center below the sternum. It was never shaved. I mean it. I had to rip the sensor off on Sunday, because it wasn't making good contact. It made a noise like somebody was tearing duct tape. I held up what looked like a carpet sample, and showed it to the nurse. She said "Damn." I showed the hole to Linda and Doreen when we got home, and I thought they were going to poop in the floor.

My Desk. A statement on the 21st century.

This may appear to be an ordinary desk, and I am sure that many desks look just as cluttered. But as a person of age, it is also a statement. Many thanks to those of you who just thought "oh, you're not that old." But I am a true baby-boomer, born almost smack-dab in the middle of the whole thing, and therefore can claim the age title, if only so a rant can have more credibility.

In the photo, I have a digital camera, a rechargeable battery charger, the batteries, a digital watch, a charger for my new cellphone, the new cell phone, the earbuds for my mp3 player, the new case for my mp3 player, a digital glucose meter that gives under-eight-second-results, a remote control for a stereo, the base charger for my 2.4 GHz portable phone, with digital answering machine, the speaker from the set connected to the computer, and the printer connected to the computer. How did I get this photo, when my digital camera was the first thing listed? I used my other digital camera, silly.

I was a sci-fi geek in school, back when we didn't have geeks. I was good in science and math, and jumped right on the computer bandwagon when they started to become available, although I admit to getting my own very much later. I studied them in college. The computer on my desk, which is five years old, can do more now that the mainframe that I used in college, and that one took up an entire room. I have a small garbage can in a closet, full of old photographs. I also have an extra 80-gig hard drive on my computer that I added just to hold photographs, and it already has about a garbage-can-full on it, and will hold many, many more. I digress. I sat here this morning amazed at the amount of electronics available to me, as an ordinary citizen of the planet. I realized that I never imagined all this would be here, so many years ago. I don't feel overwhelmed or awe-struck or anything. I just realize I may have been thinking small.

RollerBallroom

Two days from now, I start BallRoomDancing. Yes, it's true. For Christmas, I gave my wife lessons and my company every Monday for six weeks. We'll be challenging Jerry Rice himself in the next few days, I bet. I'm more than a little apprehensive, but not because I can't dance. The handicaps: 48, fat, bad knees, bad back, fat. The assets: not dead, have rhythm, can spell rhythm, willing to participate, can be expressive (which means that I can pull a George Hamilton and ham the judges), was once decently athletic. Did I mention I was fat? Here's what I hope to gain out of this: 1) Learn a little dancing 2) Show Linda a good time 3) Get us both up off the couch 4) Maybe open up an avenue for us to have a different interest we can share. See? I AM giving and caring. And, I get to look at the hot chicks in the skimpy outfits. Bonus!