Yesterday the lack of updates to my website of late was brought to my attention. Outside of the week we just spent in Mexico it turns out I’ve really been busy lately. Most of the time has been spent lamenting the lack of double-checking and ability to properly add and subtract. But that is neither here nor there.

Last night I decided to watch "SuperSize Me", a documentary on how quickly McDonald’s food can destroy the human body, with my good friends Mark and Tara.

It was decided we should get a bite to eat before hand. Tara suggested a Japanese place called Zen. Usually I try to stay away from any food from the Asian continent, but Tara was able to persuade me otherwise. After she so eloquently stated it wasn’t real Japanese food, just steamed rice and meat, I could hardly say no. Surprisingly the meal was quite good and economical, with nary a hint of any ethnic flavoring.

Soon we were off to the theater for the movie. The show was entertaining as well as eye opening. I was surprised at the magnitude of change that one month’s worth of McDonald’s could bring upon an otherwise healthy individual. When I get old and tired of life, I’ll have Janet feed me McDonald’s every day. Hopefully she won’t run afoul of any assisted suicide laws as she shoves one last Big Mac through my feeding tube.

I think the only thing that would have improved the film would be if we had a weekly update on the quality of his fecal material. Surely at some point there were some consistency issues or color changes that would have made for interesting viewing. There was nothing about this on the website either. I’ve always said the colon is the trap door for the soul. Grudgingly I’ll admit it was worth the price of admission, even though I only paid that price since I forgot to seek out the free passes Janet gets from work.

It all started when the finance department at Roger Beasley Mazda defended the price of their extended warranty by pointing out my car model has a poor service record as they grow older. I suppose it’s better than calling the car a steaming pile of dog shit, but it’s not a great way to build brand loyalty. So we decided to look at Accords instead. They seem to believe in their products or at least they are at minimum willing to lie about it.

The salesman at the first Honda dealer I went to must have learned his sales technique from “Stereotypical Car Salesmen for Dummies”. He even came complete with gelled hair and a white shirt. After I found a car I was interested in purchasing we went for a test drive. I really enjoyed the car and was very interested in buying it.

First I needed to know what my current car would bring in trade. Unfortunately I didn’t know the payoff and the kind folks refused to give me a trade in value before knowing what the payoff was. Clearly I was knee deep in the shyster world of car sales. Before I left they gave me a word of warning because they were looking out for my best interests. I was told not to dilly dally because the car might not even be available later on in the day. Why? Well kids walk over from the high school next door all the time and magically appear later on with their parent’s in tow. Daddy writes a check and boom the car is gone.

Also after looking at an appointment book, which may or may not have had anything written in it, I was also informed that two other people were scheduled to test drive the exact car I was interested in later on that day. Gosh, I must be the unluckiest guy in the world. For a second I thought I oughta just buy the car right then and there because if I missed out on that Accord I may not be able to find another one I liked. After all it’s not as if there are hundreds of thousands of Accords produced every year. I still remember the great Accord shortage of 1982 like it was yesterday and felt chills in my spine.

I struggled mightily with the decision. High school kids be damned, I was going to walk out. After dealing with the run around, I decided I wasn’t going to buy a car from them. I couldn’t compete with the high school kids and daddy’s checkbook anyway.

Later that week I visited Howdy Honda in south Austin. The experience was the antithesis of my first try and it was quite refreshing. In less than an hour I had a great deal worked out with my salesman Steve. Best of all I never had to deal with the sales manager/closer. Is it possible that there are relatively honest and straightforward car salesman out there? I kept wondering when he was going to try to screw us, but it never happened (to my knowledge). I suppose that as long as he’s selling Honda’s I’ll be buying them from him, even though I try to avoid south Austin and anything remotely associated with I35 like the plague.

Yeah NBA

Luckily we had plenty to do yesterday so I did not have to suffer the beginning of the NBA playoffs. As the NBA continues the devolution of the game of basketball. I find it hard to believe anyone can watch the playoffs with any sort of vested interest. The difference between the long and drawn out process of crowning an NBA champion and the efficiency and excitement of March Madness is staggering.

I did catch the second half of the Rockets/Lakers game. At halftime the score was 40-34 Lakers and after second half flurry finished with a 72-71 Lakers victory. I kept hitting the info button on the remote control to make sure I wasn’t watching reruns of the state high school championships or the WNBA.

Steve Francis’ interpretation of what a point guard should be was particularly interesting to me. I haven’t seen a point guard as incapable of getting a team into some semblance of an offense since I saw Jimmy lead our high school team in the Special Olympics. Unlike Francis though, Jimmy wasn’t a turnover waiting to happen.

Both teams suffered from lack of even decent shot selection and at times it was difficult to tell if either team really cared. I suppose it was fitting that the game ended on a Shaq dunk of a Kobe Bryant air ball. Fitting because if the shot had been anywhere close to the rim it would have bounced away harmlessly securing a Rocket victory. Like they say sometimes it’s better to be flat out awful than just merely bad.

I Was Robbed

The consequences of my NBA watching reached further than I expected. Due to the ultimate boredom that ensued I found myself asleep before I was able to take in a late night episode of Boy Meets World and a double shot of Wings. It’s low rent reruns like these that keep me going. Damn the NBA and their poor product.

Everyone Needs A Hug

If I hadn’t watched so much daytime TV I wouldn’t think any of it were true. Here’s a place for anonymous confessions ("Don’t click if you can’t handle foul language or imagery") I liked hitting the random button and seeing what I could come up with. I submitted my own confession. If it makes the cut and gets posted I wonder if anyone will be able to figure out which one it is. I'll post when and if my confession gets posted. I see that Mark already has visited the site. One piece of friendly advice Mark, its spelled cause not cuase.

There are many internet travelers that are seemingly drawn to my website like sailors to the Siren’s song. Search engines like Google, MSN, and Yahoo serenade them in with assurances that the answers to their queries can be found somewhere in the mass of verbiage found on entermybrain.com.

While perusing the search terms I started thinking about which surfer suffered the greatest disappointment when they actually got to my website. For instance did the woman searching for “how much weight does a fetus gain between 36 and 40 weeks” gain much from her short time here. I wish I knew her e-mail so I could tell her it really does matter since either way it’s gonna hurt like a bitch when it comes out.

Apparently at least five different people have come here in search of finding information on selling at least one of their testicles for money. I’m not even sure that’s possible in this country in the first place. Furthermore I would ask why anyone would sell their testicle when sperm donations pay decently well, with virtually no limit on how much can be sold. Maybe these are men who are having sex changes so they figure they might as well sell the extra body parts. Maybe they should try the dog food factory, school cafeteria, or even the hot dog factory.

One of the stranger search terms leading to my website was “pooping pants in class -sexy -porn -fettish.” These words really don’t seem to fit together when you try to put it all together. Still if I’d known who this was I could have introduced him to our client Mrs. Poopy pants with the Great Dane. Perhaps some sort of flame could have been awakened in both them and she could live her “golden years” with new found vitality.

Following these and many other search terms innocent internet travelers became unwitting participants in my web games. Ok, the truth is none have been back and most likely didn’t stay too long in the first place. Does that mean they are all equally dissappointed? Who knows and who really cares (please disregard the title of this entry at this time)? As it turns out I could have helped many of these travelers in their pursuits if only they had left a calling card. The search term visitors should realize the answers they want, while possibly not on my website, may be contained within the confines of my brain. Could answers be only a comment away? How will you know if you don’t entermybrain(.com)?

Janet looked at her Grape-Nuts with an odd expression on her face. My worst fears floated to the forefront of my mind. I flashed back nearly 30 minutes before. I decided to have a bowl of oatmeal and raisins before cooking fajitas for myself.

Some of the raisins singed a bit in the microwave. I assumed the occasional charred taste was leached from these crispy raisins. Now a half hour later I began to doubt my assumptions. I asked Janet if the milk was spoiled. She assured me it wasn’t, but she had no explanation for why her Grape-Nuts put that sour look on her face. She set out to solve the mystery following strict scientific procedure.

First she cleansed her palate with some almonds. Then she tasted the Grape-Nuts. Nope, those were good. Well they at least tasted like they were supposed to. Then she pulled out the new half gallon of milk we paid twice as much for today at Randall’s than we would have at HEB (why did HEB have to close on Easter, well I already know the answer). It was good also.

Then she took a swig of the old (but not yet out of date milk) and just as soon as she took it in her mouth she spat it in the sink. I knew then that somehow the spoiled milk led to the occasional charred taste in my oatmeal. It was too late to purge so I had no choice but to wait.

It is now roughly two hours later and still no sign of rumblings in my stomach. There has been no unusual flatulence. More importantly my small intestines feel healthy and my colon continues to resorb just the right amount of water from my feces. Hopefully this isn’t just the calm before the storm. Hopefully the microwaving of the milk rendered it benign and its diarrhea causing agents inert. Hopefully this won’t be karmic retribution for the humor I found in our clients poopy smell.

Who Is It?

Today Janet and I saw The Passion of The Christ (somehow I missed the fact that the whole thing was subtitled). At the exact moment of Jesus’ death on the cross, a cell phone began to ring. I wondered if instead of through miracles, Jesus has decided to talk to people in a way we can all understand. I wonder who caller ID will say is calling.

Dumbass

Yesterday someone got to my website by using the search term "weight of a ton of cash." I can only assume his next query will be to help him figure out if ten pounds of feathers weighs more or less than ten pounds of stones.

Since the time we moved into our house we’ve suffered through the most fickle garage door opener ever known to man. A simple click of the button on the remote may get the door to open or may produce nothing but silence. There were weeks when it worked seamlessly and many more where it hardly worked at all.

Finally this weekend we decided something needed to be done. The mechanical part of the garage door opener appeared to be rock solid. There was never a problem with the physical act of getting the door to open. Rather there seemed to be a disconnect between the remote and the receiver on the wall.

At Lowe’s I asked a worker bee where I could find the garage door openers. She consulted with another worker bee and walked us down to aisle 27. On the way there she asked what we were looking for. I told her instead of buying a brand new garage door opener we were going to first attempt to try a new receiver.

Apparently this isn’t something a lot of people try to do. She gave a quick glance over their products and then told me to wait there while she called for help. While she was gone they only had one product that seemed to have even the slightest possibility of helping. As I read the product information she made her way back. Apparently “The Specialist” was on his way.

At first I wondered how they managed to find a garage door opener specialist. I also pondered what qualifications a person needed to be a garage door opener specialist. It all seemed a bit far fetched, but all the big stores say they only hire people that actually know what their doing. Who was I to judge?

Clearly this is a guy that would know what he’s doing. The Specialist solves even the most difficult of problems as easily as the average student solved the questions on former Georgia basketball coach Jim Harrick’s Jr.’s final exam. The Specialist has been there and done that more times than you can count and if The Specialist cannot give you the answer than there is no answer to be given.

I’m quite sure I expected to see some sort of aura emanating from The Specialist as he walked up and greeted us. He was an older gentleman with gray hair. His face was appropriately weathered relative to his age, but he spoke and moved with a certain peace and easiness. Obviously he was in his element.

We told him of our garage door opener troubles sure he had the solution tucked somewhere inside his head. Then we showed him the product we picked out and asked if he thought it would solve our problems. He careful took in the information we presented and began to formulate his answer.

With the garage door openers and garage door accessories as his backdrop I eagerly awaited the words of The Specialist. Soon our garage door frustration would be over. The Specialist opened began to open to his mouth and my ears were eager to soak up his words. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention as The Specialist uttered his response.

He said, “I don’t know what you should do.” Then he said, “we just got that product in and I haven’t had the chance to study it much.” After a jab at Sears and another admission of ignorance he just kind of meandered away uncomfortably. There was nothing else he could do, as he was now The Specialist who was not even able to offer the slightest bit of help to what seemingly was an uncomplicated problem. He could see the dissappointment in our eyes and we could see the shame in his.

Crushed, disappointed, and maybe even disenchanted described how I felt at that very moment. Was there some type of Garage Door Opener Specialist Licensing Board he needed to be reported to? How could this man sully the name of all the other hard working Garage Door Opener Specialists out there? This was nothing short of an outrage.

Soon we were on our way home, our confidence bruised, but not defeated. When we got home we unscrewed the receiver box from the wall. As I peered inside I noticed the antenna wasn’t properly seated within it connector on the circuit board. Outside of feeling really stupid for not having solved the problem sooner, I actually felt a sense of relief.

Janet gave a quick squeeze with some needle nose pliers and the problem was solved. Whereas in the past the garage door remote sometimes didn’t work at point blank range, it now was reliable even as I crossed the street. It seems the problem was actually very simple to solve. It also seems that I may have a bright future as a specialist in the field of garage door openers and their accessories.

Crap It Stopped Dancing.

Every vet I worked for warned that if I did enough surgeries one would eventually die from some unknown anesthetic complication. I’m not sure if yesterday counts. I had four procedures scheduled, all of which were fairly routine, and all four animals appeared to be young and healthy.

The neuter began quite simply, but surely didn’t end that way. Everything was moving along well. I clamped the blood vessels and other various chords that attach the testicle to the rest of the body. Every time this happens the testicle shimmies and writhes a bit due to its sudden lack of blood flow and from the clamping itself. I noticed this during the first neuter I ever did, and it stuck in my head because the testicle looks like it’s dancing.

Whenever I clamp a testicle “the testicle dance” song that I made up in vet school runs through my head and some days it may even slip out through my mouth. It’s a simple tune that goes something like this: “Testicle dance, Testicle dance. Everyone come see my testicle dance.” Then repeat.

So this testicle jukes and jives normally and I began to ligate the blood vessels and other various attachments. Then it happened. In the span of about 2 seconds the little pulse that always present in the blood vessels just stopped and the testicle turned frighteningly pale.

My patient was dead. I usually joke about turning surgeries into ER scenes but this time it was for real. Fortunately I stay much more calm and composed during animals emergencies than human emergencies. I immediately began compressions while one tech was breathing for the dog. Then another doctor came in to help out and we pumped drugs into the dogs heart to help it start back up and to help the dog start breathing on its own.

In less than 60 seconds from the time that testicle pulse stopped the heart was beating stronger than ever. The dog started breathing on his own as well. His ECG was normal as was his oxygen saturation. Over the next few minutes and hours we poured in different drugs and fluids to help bring this guy around. One tech whispered gently in his ear “move away from the light” over and over again.

Soon enough we were able to pull the tube from his trachea. We were at the stage where we had done just about everything we could do and now we just had to wait. Fortunately this dog was no CPA or rocket scientist. We’re all fairly convinced with most dogs even moderate brain damage will go unnoticed unless they start pooping and peeing in the house. Hopefully there was going to be nothing to worry about on that end of things.

Over the course of the day we kept his temperature up and he stayed very stable. Every once in awhile he would make some kind of movement, but we couldn’t tell if he meant to or if his brain was fried to the extent his body was just doing whatever it damn well felt like.

Sometime around 9pm he just got up and started walking around. He could see and he could move. So far, so good. Luckily he was tough little guy and this morning he was jumping around, tugging on his leash, and trying to play with other dogs. Even though I’m not sure if yesterday counts as my unexpected anesthetic death. Technically the dog was dead before we revived him. The more I think about it the more I think it does count. I sure hope it does.

The owner of the dog thanked me for everything I did and I thanked her in return for not flying off the handle at me as well. She was, of course, concerned and sad, but fortunately she understood that sometimes these things happen. If she turned into a raging bitch it wouldn’t have changed a thing, but it sure is nice to deal with reasonable people once in a while.

Crap It Stopped Dancing.

Every vet I worked for warned that if I did enough surgeries one would eventually die from some unknown anesthetic complication. I’m not sure if yesterday counts. I had four procedures scheduled, all of which were fairly routine, and all four animals appeared to be young and healthy.

The neuter began quite simply, but surely didn’t end that way. Everything was moving along well. I clamped the blood vessels and other various chords that attach the testicle to the rest of the body. Every time this happens the testicle shimmies and writhes a bit due to its sudden lack of blood flow and from the clamping itself. I noticed this during the first neuter I ever did, and it stuck in my head because the testicle looks like it’s dancing.

Whenever I clamp a testicle “the testicle dance” song that I made up in vet school runs through my head and some days it may even slip out through my mouth. It’s a simple tune that goes something like this: “Testicle dance, Testicle dance. Everyone come see my testicle dance.” Then repeat.

So this testicle jukes and jives normally and I began to ligate the blood vessels and other various attachments. Then it happened. In the span of about 2 seconds the little pulse that always present in the blood vessels just stopped and the testicle turned frighteningly pale.

My patient was dead. I usually joke about turning surgeries into ER scenes but this time it was for real. Fortunately I stay much more calm and composed during animals emergencies than human emergencies. I immediately began compressions while one tech was breathing for the dog. Then another doctor came in to help out and we pumped drugs into the dogs heart to help it start back up and to help the dog start breathing on its own.

In less than 60 seconds from the time that testicle pulse stopped the heart was beating stronger than ever. The dog started breathing on his own as well. His ECG was normal as was his oxygen saturation. Over the next few minutes and hours we poured in different drugs and fluids to help bring this guy around. One tech whispered gently in his ear “move away from the light” over and over again.

Soon enough we were able to pull the tube from his trachea. We were at the stage where we had done just about everything we could do and now we just had to wait. Fortunately this dog was no CPA or rocket scientist. We’re all fairly convinced with most dogs even moderate brain damage will go unnoticed unless they start pooping and peeing in the house. Hopefully there was going to be nothing to worry about on that end of things.

Over the course of the day we kept his temperature up and he stayed very stable. Every once in awhile he would make some kind of movement, but we couldn’t tell if he meant to or if his brain was fried to the extent his body was just doing whatever it damn well felt like.

Sometime around 9pm he just got up and started walking around. He could see and he could move. So far, so good. Luckily he was tough little guy and this morning he was jumping around, tugging on his leash, and trying to play with other dogs. Even though I’m not sure if yesterday counts as my unexpected anesthetic death. Technically the dog was dead before we revived him. The more I think about it the more I think it does count. I sure hope it does.

The owner of the dog thanked me for everything I did and I thanked her in return for not flying off the handle at me as well. She was, of course, concerned and sad, but fortunately she understood that sometimes these things happen. If she turned into a raging bitch it wouldn’t have changed a thing, but it sure is nice to deal with reasonable people once in a while.

Begin Public Service Announcement

From time to time I like to write about topics that may prove useful or helpful to others even if not pertinent to myself. I find this helps me keep my government funding intact due to the educational nature of the postings.

In almost every public venue, grumblings from women tend to appear due to the long lines ever present at women’s restrooms. Although the phenomenon is not necessarily well understood it is universal across the country. A woman taking longer in the bathroom is a fundamental truth in our society, but does it have to be that way?

Many want to increase the number of women’s bathrooms in public places. While that may work in the short term surely our population growth will eventually catch up to the number of facilities available. No I think any successful solution will have to address the problem at its source.

Most women describe their facilities in far more glowing terms than the men’s bathrooms I’ve visited. Clearly one of the bottlenecks in the women’s bathrooms comes from the desire to keep the area clean. If they cared less about flushing, hand washing, and where specifically their waste ends up I think things could move much faster.

In most men’s rooms it is clear these factors are far from priorities. Sure there are downsides to this approach. The bathroom becomes a foul smelling cesspool. Opening a stall door is a sort of bizarre lottery where winners are rewarded with flushed toilets and seemingly dry toilet seats. Losers are greeted with the type of primordial soup that could possibly create life forms unimagined by any of us. No one wants to touch anything at all, especially anything associated with the toilet.

Admittedly it's not pleasant and no one feels more sorry for the poor sap (hopefully prisoners) that must clean these places, but the environment doesn’t beg anyone to dawdle. There is but one goal. Get in and out as fast as possible. The foul surfaces and fetid air create efficiency unseen in many sectors of life and business.

So women of the web you must ask yourself if you want less wait in the bathroom line. If the answer is yes than you know what you must do. As part of this public service I have scouted out a product that will no doubt speed the process of elimination when it really counts (Make Sure To Watch The Animation). For those who don’t feel comfortable with the Magic Cone please reference this website (Please pay special attention to the reader comments at the bottom of the page).

The ball is in your court. Please save your thank you notes, as sizable donations will be much more appreciated.

End Public Service Announcement .