I'm new at blogging. Be patient, it's going to take some time to
ascend the learning curve. This site is simple, and it's never going
to be glossy. I just want to write. Stuff I've written before has been
arranged in roughly chronological order. See the Archives, they date
back to April 7th. I hope you like it.
If you want to comment or complain feel free, it's a free country.
It will only cost you time to e-mail me at publicserf@yahoo.com

This one is embarrassing.It's the only thing I've ever done like this. If it bothers you,
I'm sorry. Please go on to the next one where it's a little more socially acceptable.

Don't read this before, or after, eating. It's a good day to fast.

Tuesday, as I was laboring in my cubicle I couldn't help noticing that something wasn't right. My butt hurt. It was impossible not to notice. Because pain is always hard not to notice, but when you're sitting on it, even more so.

Of course my first thought was 'Uncle Al died of intestinal problems. We all die of cancer in our family. Here it goes." An outgrowth of my naturally cheerful, optimistic disposition.

Then it occurred to me that Friday we ordered pizza. When we visited the Genius's Saturday, he ordered pizza. Sunday afternoon I had leftover, you got it, pizza. So maybe it was just a serious bowel movement pending. I adjourned to the bathroom to test the more optimistic theory, and it certainly was a manly BM. One any man would have been proud of. A BM for the ages. It was glorious. And it hurt like a sunnuvabitch.

Back again to cancer thoughts. Because I'm only 46, I can't have hemorrhoids yet, can I? Better to have cancer, people don't laugh at cancer. But hemorrhoids, God, it's like you'd be on the end of every Preparation H joke ever done. Every Preparation H commercial would be like, "Hey you, yeah you, listen up. We know who you are. And you need this." Can you imagine a life where those commercials would actually become interesting? Relieves swelling AND itching? WOW! Did I get that on tape? Leave me out of it.

I tried to resume work. The BM apparently relieved pressure on the area so I thought I was doing pretty good. Didn't take long though and the pain was back. Damn. Eventually I told my boss I wouldn't be in the next day because I had to see a doctor. He said ok. He asked if everything was ok. This was the opportunity to tell him what was going on. Right. I just said I was feeling miserable, and was ineffective at my desk. Ineffective? He probably thought it was mental. Better that than Preparation H jokes though.

When I tried to go to bed that night I could only lay down for an hour. Then I thought, I'm on the web, I've got resources. So I logged on and Googled "hemorrhoids." Do that yourself and you'll be amazed at the number of sites related to that. Truly, truly I say to you, we live in an amazing age. Knowledge has greatly increased.

I expected something like, "Wear a mask over your face and yell "Unclean" to anyone near." But, unlike me, they had no shame. They were informational.

The first site I saw said a hot bath could provide relief. There ya go, ooh baby. When I had my brain tumor problems I slept many a night in a tub of hot water. Loved it. Come to Papa!

When I moved the shower curtains out of the way the metal soap dish clanged on the tub. Crap. Sure enough. In no time at all my wife the super nurse was in there asking what was going on. I told her. She said, "Let me find a flashlight and take a look." The only flashlight we could find was a big Mag-Lite. The one that uses six D-cells. Focus the beam and you could probably remove the offending tissue with a little home laser surgery.

I laid on my side. She illuminated. And declared, "Wow, these are so big I don't need a flashlight to see 'em. You've got the biggest hemorrhoids I've ever seen!" Shame to pride just that fast. But as Dad always said, "Anything worth doing is worth doing right." Dad would have been proud too. I just know.

Being the good nurse that she is she found a suitable ointment to apply and applied it. If there's a greater act of love than this I don't know what it is. And she brought me some aspirin to relieve the pain and any possible bloot clots. Then I got in the tub.

This (Wednesday) morning, Trainboy woke me up and told be to get out of the bathtub. My sleeping in the bathtub seemed to annoy him. Like he knew there are things you do, and don't do. And sleeping in a bathtub is just against the natural order of things. I got out. Though not happily. Because it had provided relief, and I do like sleeping in the bathtub.

After getting Ms. Pikachu off to school the wife asked me if I wanted to see the doctor, or if she should just call the doctor's office and ask for prescription strength Anusol. I don't know, this is a manly size problem, does it come in a manly size? Oh call the doctor. So she did, and she got me in. Wish I would have heard the phone call, or maybe not.
"My husband's got hemorrhoids and he needs relief stat!"
"Need an ambulance?"
"Only if he can lay on his stomach."

So I went to the doctor's office this morning. The wife wanted to come along, but could not. Trainboy leaves on the afternoon bus, and she didn't want to subject him to the exam. Which is not to say I wanted to be subjected to it either. But sometimes the manly thing to do is just gird your loins and bend over. Or whatever.

The nurse that ushered me back to the room was professional of course. She tried to keep it professional, but I could tell it was hard for her. Behind that poker face was an Ed McMahon wanting to laugh at everything I said. She told me to remove the clothing from the lower half of my body and handed me a drape. What, no grass skirt?

The doctor came in. She sat down with an ease that told me she did not suffer from hemorrhoids. No matter how sympathetic, she could not feel my pain, not that that was important. It's not like we'd be sharing war stories anyway, she has other things to do.

She asked me to tell her my tale. I laughed, tale, tail. Then she realized why I was laughing and she laughed also. Then I told her my tale and she laughed some more. It's not quite so humiliating if you get to make a joke of it.

I then laid on my side as instructed. And she really did feel my pain. Ouch, and that hurts. She declared, "You really do have some prize winners there." It was nice she could inject a little levity with her finger.

She inquired about what, if any, self-treatment I'd had. And what I'd received from the wife. She said it was all perfect. She gave me a slip to give to the boss so I wouldn't be sitting on them all day. Cuz no way am I sitting on one of those dougnuts all day. No way. It would be a perfect ring-target for jokes, and my butt would be the bull's eye. Hmm, bulls are manly. But I still ain't gonna do it.

And she handed me a prescription for industrial strength Anusol, just like the wife said. She's really good.

I gave the medical leave slip to my boss. The doc just wrote, "Under medical care 4/23-25." He was concerned and asked if I was ok. It was another chance to explain what the problem was, but no way was I going to talk about it. He couldn't tell what the problem was. I wasn't walking bow-legged. I wasn't bent over. And I wasn't telling.

So did I learn anything from all this? Like I needed to. Well, I'll never eat pizza three days in a row without eating a lot of fiber too. If I can't get any fiber, I'll have another piece. Because I don't just want a prize, I want the gold. USA, USA, USA!

Your Publicserf

Here's some of a reply from Ron at RonsLog, http://www.rbgilbert.com/log/ronslog.html There are years of experience displayed, much wisdom offered. Listen and learn. Truly he is a WebGod.

It's the vague glance at your body that is essential. Consciously or
not, your boss will read your body language and think you are
referring to that part of your body. You could massage the left
side of your chest with your right hand while saying "I'll be
under doctor's care," and he'll visualize a great big arterial
blockage right at your heart.

Take a deep breath, sigh, and glance downward and they'll "know"
it's lung cancer. Do not turn your head mysteriously to the
side...he'll think it's mental disease. Can you generate teary
red eyes on demand? Always effective.

Or a falsely upbeat approach could be effective. Say brightly,
"I'm sure I'll be back in on Wednesday! My whole congregation is
praying with me!" Soon your co-workers will be praying for your
vague disease.

If none of these things work, then they just don't care about you
and you ought to be counting the days until early retirement
comes to you.

I'm new to blogging. I wrote this 2/3/03. A few old things will be posted as I find them. It won't hurt you a bit.

SHOOTING CATS

We've been having problems with the neighbor's cats.

I like to feed the birds. Even have a heater in the birdbath so they always have water. The birds like it in their bird-like way- lots of them come around to eat and sing. We get bluejays, cardinals, nuthatches, chickadees, woodpeckers, and way too many sparrows. Most birds travel in flocks, sparrows travel in mobs.

Unfortunately, the neighbor's cats like the birds too. It's one of those food chain things. But I don't care about the cats' needs, I just want to watch the birds. That's hard to do when a cat sits under the bird feeder. That may weed out the seriously stupid birds in a Darwinian kind of way, but it keeps the rest away.

I had complained of this to the wife, just to complain. She told me the cats keep the local mouse population down, so there's an upside. But that doesn't get my birds back. And actually I don't even mind the mice much.

Because one night, after we got the kids asleep, we were snuggling on the couch, watching idiot box with the lights down low. And suddenly out from nowhere scurried a little mouse. It stopped between us and the TV, sat up on it's back legs and looked at each of us as if he was introducing himself to his new neighbors. Then it brushed it's whiskers as if suddenly concerned it wasn't groomed properly for proper introductions. And it dashed away as suddenly as it arrived.

I never thought I could be charmed by a mouse, but charmed I was. The next day I bought some trap-and-release traps. When I caught it, and some of its kin, I released them down the block. Where they could charm the neighbors. But I digress.

Ms. Pikachu told me the name of one of the cats was Mei-Mei, the others are... something like Ting-a-Ling, and Poofy Snoofer. Say cute names like that around some people and they'll get wide-eyed and babble like a new parent. I didn't care. Give a terrorist a name and he's just a terrorist with a name.

I have chased the cats out of the yard. They obviously didn't take me too seriously, they almost sauntered out, and they were back right away. So fast it was insulting. It wouldn't surprise me if they laughed through their cat whiskers as they went over the fence.

I had contemplated the cat problem for a long time but couldn't come up with a solution. I have tried squirt guns. But distance is a bit of a problem. And a squirt gun in winter is a cold proposition anyway. Slingshots seemed a possibility, but the neighbors wouldn't appreciate any collateral damage. The same would be true of a bb-gun. What to do, what to do. No answer came. But motivation came, big time.


The wife took the trash out the other day. When I got home she angrily informed me the back yard was looking like a litter box. She said that we don't have pets in the back yard so we shouldn't have to deal with a problem like that. She had considered picking up the droppings and throwing them in the neighbor's back yard. Did I say she was angry? She told me the cats must die. Quite a change in attitude, but one I was comfortable with. Funny what a little cat poo can do.

So death was an option.

I considered poisoning the cats. But that wouldn't be nice, and I didn't want to offend my neighbor. I didn't want them dying under my porch one stinking mess at a time anyway. Nope, poisoning really wouldn't work. So if they got to retain their nine lives something else needed to be done. Something to keep them out.

I decided I needed to strike unholy terror in the hearts of the cats. Firearms were out of the question. None of the other options tripped my trigger, so I bought a paintball gun. Since there's no gunpowder involved I am assuming it's legal to shoot it within city limits. And I'm comfortable assuming that. To get it ready for each shot you have to pump it like a shotgun, chuk-chuk. Feels downright manly in a pump-action kind of way.

Then came the hardest part- the waiting. Words cannot express my joy at finally seeing one of the little fur-bearing terrorists in the back yard. Poofy Snoofer was sitting in the door of the garage. I loaded up, and opened the back door. The garage is not attached to the house, it's at the back of the yard. The cat looked at me across the distance with it's usual contempt then pretended to ignore me. Surely it knew from experience I was too far away to be a threat.

I shouldered the instrument of wrath, and it was then I discovered the design flaw, and it must be why it was so cheap- on clearance at Wal-Mart for $15.00. The paintball feeder is in the middle of the barrel on top. So you can't sight straight down the barrel. Aiming accurately is impossible. But there was no stopping now. I was unlocked and loaded.

Chuk-chuk, pop. And with amazing speed a little orange paintball exploded high and to the left. The cat looked at me with utter contempt, like it couldn't understand why it had to live outside while I could live in, but wasn't. I could have shouted "Birds!" but it wouldn't have made a difference. Besides, the trespasser wasn't due an explanation, just retribution.

Remember to compensate for the last shot, chuk-chuk, pop. Just above kitty's head. And Snoofer got the message. It ran for the fence- not close to it but across the yard. Then it ran the length of the fence- in my direction. It was so panicked that if there was anything above the cat in the food chain nearby the cat would have suffered its own Darwinian fate.

As it ran along the fence there was a steady chuk-chuk, pop. Snow sprayed around the cat. It ran faster. And I believe that if a cat could curse there would have been a lot of it. It scrambled over the fence with no dignity whatsoever and I laughed so hard I doubled over.

I haven't seen that cat in the back yard since. But there are more of them to teach. The wife saw another of them spray the van. She's angry again. She offered to put a turkey carcass out back to lure them in. I appreciated the thought, and always remember not to get her mad. Perhaps this summer when I have time off I'll stalk the wild cats. I have a lot of paintballs.

Wear bright colors and stay low.

Originally 02/18/03
I started typing and this happened. I make no excuses, it's my fault. But be forewarned- I wrote it, it's about family. Read at your own risk.

The Wife said she wanted nothing for Valentine's Day. Yeah, right. There's a guilt trap waiting to be sprung, no matter how lovingly laid. I knew she wanted the soundtrack to 'The Majestic', but Best Buy didn't have it when we were there. After she went to work, and the snow storm had started, I went off to find one.

Went to Barnes&Noble, because they have have some odd stuff. Didn't have it. But they did have stuff by the guy named on the DVD. But seeing his CD it was obvious he's a trumpet player. TheWife wanted the piano boogie/swing stuff. The clerk recommended a CD by a local artist who used to have his own jazz club, until the local Streets Dept. put a street through it. So I bought one because I believe in supporting local artists/businesses, especially when their business is under pavement I drive on.

Then I went to Wal-Mart for Guinea pig supplies. And I thought, no harm in looking. And sure enough, they had the soundtrack. So I bought it too. Gave them both to her when she got home. She was happy. No, no. No applause please, but thank you, thank you very much.

Before Christmas we had gotten a catalog in the mail from a hobbyshop in California. Probably because I subscribe to Fine Scale Modeler and my data got rented. Not that I minded this time. The catalog not only had plastic models, but train sets also. That was of great interest and delight to Train Boy.

He noticed the "Night Before Christmas Train." He has always wanted a Christmas train to run around the Christmas tree. Mfg list was $335.00, but on Special for $169.00. I didn't even bother asking TheWife, I knew it wasn't going to happen.

But it was a nice train set. A Bachman G Scale- good, and big. A steam locomotive with an elf holding a lamp sitting on the cow-catcher, Santa Claus and a couple more elfs, operating headlight, smoke out the stack, speed-synchronized sound, and a 5'x4' track oval that would be just fine for running under a tree. A train that would make a Train Boy happy for many years. But at $169 it wasn't going to happen.

But Saturday I needed to do something with Trainboy. Thinking they might have something more reasonably priced in a smaller scale available, we checked out their web site. Train Boy had a good time scoping out a lot more trains. And then, there it was. The Christmas Train. On seasonal close-out for $99. Train Boy was excited, so was I. But I told him we had to talk to his Mom first, because it was still a lot. And I told him I'd save it to "Favorites" so we could go right back to it.

Sunday after church he told Mommy he had something to show her on the internet. We got on-line, and he said, "Alright Dad, go to Favorites." Two clicks, and there it was again. Mommy said, "Nice train, but that's still a lot of money." End of discussion. But not the end of it.

Today I went back on-line and ordered that thing. I told TheWife later, she didn't mind. We agreed it will make a wonderful present for a Train Boy's birthday coming up. He'll be happy, and she still loves me.

But I haven't mentioned Ms. Pikachu yet. This is family, and no one gets left out. It's that Lilo & Stich "Ohanna" thing.


Since today was a legal holiday I was home, of course. We went to Ryan's for lunch. Eventually, Pikachu the Blonde needed to amuse herself. She put her mood ring on a string. Swinging it back and forth in front of my eyes she intoned, "you are getting sleepy, sleepy. You will win the lottery and give the money to me."

I sternly informed her I was becoming something, but I wouldn't describe it as as sleepy.

Again the ring was swung before me, this time with the dramatic command, "you are becomming irritated, irritated." What can I say, it didn't work again, I was laughing. She can always get me to laugh.

On days like today I feel embarrassingly rich.

I was mad and it shows, if you want more humor, keep going.
originally 9/25/02
Talk about insanity. I watched "Blackhawk Down" last night. Technically it was fine. It won two Academy Awards. But it was disturbing, really ruined a night's sleep. It was too graphically violent for me. I don't need to see the last living moments of a guy blown in half. I know war is hell, you don't have to rub my face in it. And I wanted to scream at the General on screen, "You idiot, don't you have a backup plan if it all goes to hell? How can you assume you're going to inject troops into an urban civil war and everything is going to go like clockwork? This isn't a video game, it's war!"

Everybody thinks it's going to be easy. They don't bring enough ammo, don't bring enough water, don't bring enough medical supplies, don't bring enough of anything. Isn't there anybody in this unit who has any combat experience and knows that the God of War is really named Murphy? But even if the troops are green their leaders should know better, supposedly they've got experience. They should be checking to make sure everything is done right.

Fairly early in the film the responsible General moans that the politico's in DC won't let him have a Spectre gunship. Sure that'd be nice. But it's not like he didn't have alternatives, a couple miles down the road was an outfit with tanks. Hey, those might be useful when the shooting starts! But no, he sent them into a war zone in Hummers and trucks. Sure they've got machine guns on top, but they have all the armor of a Chevy. There are more bad guys than good guys and they have machine guns too, and rocket propelled grenades, oh my! Good guys die, big surprise.

The officer in charge on the scene is a Colonel in a helicopter. He keeps sending the convoy down roads that can't get them to their destinations due to roadblocks. Obviously the guy is flying so high he can't see a thing but the road grid because he doesn't want anybody to shoot at him. But then he can't see the roadblocks and is worse than useless by sending them on wild goose chases. You want to scream "Get your butt down there where you can see something and help your men find their way! They don't need a map reader, they need a guide! Aaaaahhhhh!" If fingers could get hoarse mine would be.

And a tank would be really fine for dealing with the roadblocks.

I have nothing but respect for guys who put their lives on the line, especially when they get run through a grinder when their superiors don't think straight, or refuse to put themselves at risk if that's what it takes to save their men's lives. Then you want to cry for the dead, and the survivors, and all their families.



You have to give credit to the soldiers though. For a total loss of nineteen killed they supposedly killed about a thousand. That's kicking butt big time.

The whole operation seemed unnecessary though. Considering they wanted Aidid out of the way. It would have made more sense to just bomb the damn building and not risk all the troops. Nothing like a tactical airstrike to put the fear of God into the unfriendlies anyway. Everybody runs when the fast movers come in. Nothing inspires fear like overwhelming air power.

But it was like Viet Nam all over again- limiting rules of engagement that only encouraged the unfriendlies and then you had to start taking a beating before you could do anything. And poor planning and execution. It was so depressing I turned the sound off to reduce the trauma and read the captions. A fine movie, and I hated it. Don't we ever learn?

Sorry, that wasn't so much a movie review as a cry of outrage... such as it were.

I haven't been so pissed at a movie since Titanic. "Blackhawk" was about an awfull event. Titanic was just an awfull movie. Don't get me started, I still feel the pain of that one. And only recently have I regained all feeling in my buttocks.