Okay, I am suddenly locked out of my favorite poetry site, "Poetry Free-For-All." I keep that site as my home page, and I brought it up yesterday, and suddenly, I wasn't signed in. Since I keep myself "signed in" all the time, I have long ago forgotten my password. I clicked on the link that sent a message to the site managers, and got a reply via email, with a link where I could reset my password. Every time I clicked on the link, my email program froze up and I had to do the whole "end program" thing. UGH!!!
Anyway, I worked overtime yesterday and have to go back to work today, so my brain is feeling a little foggy this morning. The other day, I had a patient who asked me whether anyone has looked at me and said "Helloooo, Clarisse," like Anthony Hopkins in "Silence of the Lambs." I thought a minute, and told him that no, I couldn't recall that ever happening to me. He said that I reminded him of Jodie Foster's character in that movie, because I had a "serious air" about me that reminded me of her.
Well, I thought, it has to be her mannerisms that remind him of Jodie Foster because I can't think that I actually have a resemblence to her, other than the fact that we're both female. I especially thought of her long, perfectly straight hair, and the fact that my hair is short and curly and sometimes, by the end of a long shift, it can begin to look as though it was attacked by a pack of wild dogs.
Which reminds me of the time that the Lord of the Rings movies came out and I had several people telling me that I looked like Frodo (dark curly hair and blue eyes). I kept thinking to myself, "Yep, hobbit, that's the look I was going for..." Maybe I should sign up for that show on one of the cable channels, "What not to Wear." I can see it now: "Hi, my name is Willow, and apparently I look like a cross between an FBI agent and a hobbit. Could you please help me?"
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Great Literature, Illicit Drugs, and Ice Cream
I browsed through my neglected emails before starting to write this morning, and found that one of my friends had posted a discussion of what she was reading and watching (in the way of movies) to our writer's group. She talked about Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, and other writers. She also spoke of seeing "Sense and Sensibility" for the first time the other day. She wanted to know what the rest of us were reading/watching.
I thought of the irony of my recent selections: I already mentioned watching The A Team, but my friend's post had come at a time when the night before, I had just received my first issue of "Critical Care Nursing 2007" and was browsing through it and came across an article on crystal meth. My immediate reaction was, "Cool! an article on crystal meth! I've been wanting to learn more about this drug!" A rather far cry from Jane Austen and other great English literature, but I yam what I yam, as Popeye said.
Anyway, my interest in crystal meth was not morbid, since I work in the ICU of a large metropolitan hospital and I see a rather significant number of people who are on drugs, or who have landed themselves in the hospital for drug or alcohol-related health issues. I figured I'd better know how to care for a meth user if I came across one on my unit.
You know, I can understand addiction to a certain extent, and I won't judge anyone for medicating whatever pain they may be in by the use of alcohol or illicit drugs. Many of the addicts who I have met have managed to survive some extremely tough life experiences, and I can't honestly say that if I'd had some of their experiences, I wouldn't be prone to trying drugs or falling into a bottle, so to speak. But I truly don't understand the fascination with crystal meth. Not only does it (this is rather simplified) pretty much knock out the pleasure centers in the brain, leaving the chronic meth user in a state of depression or psychosis, but one of the components is battery acid. Another component, depending on how it is made, is anhydrous ammonia (apparently it is commonly found in fertilizer). It's as if someone went out into their garage one day, looked at all of the toxic junk stored out on his/her shelves, and thought, "I could make a drug out of this."
Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox now. One of the movies that my friend mentioned was called "Truly, Madly, Deeply," and that she wanted to see it, but it was out of print. Which reminds me of a guy that I had dated for a (mercifully) short time. I am one of those people who tries to give a guy several chances before I decide that he is really a kook/weirdo/not meant for me, etc. This was one of those guys. Now I have to say that I am 42 years old and divorced, and I have been on some dates with men that make me realize "there's a reason this guy isn't married." But I digress, a bit.
So this guy came over to my place one time, and brought what he described as his favorite movie that he wanted to share with me: "Truly, Madly, Deeply." He also brought some ice cream to share (without checking with me, since it was a flavor I couldn't stand). So anyway, we were watching what I considered to be an over-the-top, boring, sentimental love story that he was extremely enthusiastic about. At one point in the movie, I almost turned to him and said, "So when do people start getting into fistfights, and when does stuff start getting blown up?" But I decided I'd be polite and keep my opinion to myself. When the movie was over, I gave it one of those "Thanks for sharing" unenthusiastic comments, and the date ended, and the guy left--without his ice cream.
It was only a date or two later that I decided that this guy was in one of the above categories that caused me to break up with him (I will let the reader guess which category I placed him in). When I told him I didn't want to see him anymore, he actually asked for his ice cream back! Like that was the most important thing in the breakup. I think the only time I was more shocked upon hearing what someone said to me was when I received a call from a recently-fired member of the staff at the place I was working at the time: She told me that she was going for a drug test for her next job and asked me if I knew whether drinking pickle juice would cover up the drugs in her system. Looks like I made the right decision on the guy, and the managers made the right decision about the employee. Yikes.
On a more literary note, I am currently reading Mary Oliver's "Rules for the Dance," a guide to metrical poetry, and Garrison Keillor's "Good Poems." But I also got excited to hear on CNN that someone is making a movie about the Marvel Comic character, "Iron Man." He really isn't my favorite superhero, but hey, a movie about a Marvel Comic character is at least worth checking out!
I thought of the irony of my recent selections: I already mentioned watching The A Team, but my friend's post had come at a time when the night before, I had just received my first issue of "Critical Care Nursing 2007" and was browsing through it and came across an article on crystal meth. My immediate reaction was, "Cool! an article on crystal meth! I've been wanting to learn more about this drug!" A rather far cry from Jane Austen and other great English literature, but I yam what I yam, as Popeye said.
Anyway, my interest in crystal meth was not morbid, since I work in the ICU of a large metropolitan hospital and I see a rather significant number of people who are on drugs, or who have landed themselves in the hospital for drug or alcohol-related health issues. I figured I'd better know how to care for a meth user if I came across one on my unit.
You know, I can understand addiction to a certain extent, and I won't judge anyone for medicating whatever pain they may be in by the use of alcohol or illicit drugs. Many of the addicts who I have met have managed to survive some extremely tough life experiences, and I can't honestly say that if I'd had some of their experiences, I wouldn't be prone to trying drugs or falling into a bottle, so to speak. But I truly don't understand the fascination with crystal meth. Not only does it (this is rather simplified) pretty much knock out the pleasure centers in the brain, leaving the chronic meth user in a state of depression or psychosis, but one of the components is battery acid. Another component, depending on how it is made, is anhydrous ammonia (apparently it is commonly found in fertilizer). It's as if someone went out into their garage one day, looked at all of the toxic junk stored out on his/her shelves, and thought, "I could make a drug out of this."
Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox now. One of the movies that my friend mentioned was called "Truly, Madly, Deeply," and that she wanted to see it, but it was out of print. Which reminds me of a guy that I had dated for a (mercifully) short time. I am one of those people who tries to give a guy several chances before I decide that he is really a kook/weirdo/not meant for me, etc. This was one of those guys. Now I have to say that I am 42 years old and divorced, and I have been on some dates with men that make me realize "there's a reason this guy isn't married." But I digress, a bit.
So this guy came over to my place one time, and brought what he described as his favorite movie that he wanted to share with me: "Truly, Madly, Deeply." He also brought some ice cream to share (without checking with me, since it was a flavor I couldn't stand). So anyway, we were watching what I considered to be an over-the-top, boring, sentimental love story that he was extremely enthusiastic about. At one point in the movie, I almost turned to him and said, "So when do people start getting into fistfights, and when does stuff start getting blown up?" But I decided I'd be polite and keep my opinion to myself. When the movie was over, I gave it one of those "Thanks for sharing" unenthusiastic comments, and the date ended, and the guy left--without his ice cream.
It was only a date or two later that I decided that this guy was in one of the above categories that caused me to break up with him (I will let the reader guess which category I placed him in). When I told him I didn't want to see him anymore, he actually asked for his ice cream back! Like that was the most important thing in the breakup. I think the only time I was more shocked upon hearing what someone said to me was when I received a call from a recently-fired member of the staff at the place I was working at the time: She told me that she was going for a drug test for her next job and asked me if I knew whether drinking pickle juice would cover up the drugs in her system. Looks like I made the right decision on the guy, and the managers made the right decision about the employee. Yikes.
On a more literary note, I am currently reading Mary Oliver's "Rules for the Dance," a guide to metrical poetry, and Garrison Keillor's "Good Poems." But I also got excited to hear on CNN that someone is making a movie about the Marvel Comic character, "Iron Man." He really isn't my favorite superhero, but hey, a movie about a Marvel Comic character is at least worth checking out!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
With apologies, to Mom, Ice-T, and Coco
While looking in my journals and reviewing what I've published on my blog, I found that I have written quite a few pieces that include fictional characters or famous people. I decided that it probably means that either 1. I need to get out more, or 2. I missed my calling as some sort of celebrity commentator or movie reviewer. I'm not willing to dwell on theory #1, but I thought I'd share one of my (hopefully) less political commentaries. This will be a "re-run" for some of you....
One night, I saw this show called “Awesomely Bad Fashion Moments.” Among the prizewinners in this show was Ice-T’s wife, Coco. They were at some awards ceremony, and she was basically wearing a large black fishnet stocking over underpants, and shoes. No bra, nothing else to hide her body. And yes, her nipples (which were “discreetly” covered by the television show with large green blotches) were on display for all the awards shows attendees to see. Coco One and Coco Two, coming at ya! My conservative mother rose up inside of me. Oh-my-God, what would possess someone to put herself on display like that? And that platinum –blonde hair—how tacky! I was embarrassed for her, and also for Ice-T, who dared to be seen with her—to “let” his wife go out dressed like some sort of fishnet dominatrix, AND show her nipples in PUBLIC! For the record, Ice-T didn’t seem to mind the attention one bit. Anyway…
Suddenly, I remembered John Ashcroft. My mind whipped back to about four years ago, to a story that John Ashcroft actually spent $8,000 of the taxpayers’ money to have the female statues in the Hall of Justice draped: so their naked boobs didn’t show. Now, I am reluctant to admit that I share any commonality with John Ashcroft beyond the fact that we are both carbon-based life forms. So it irritated me to no end that I was having a “John Ashcroft” moment. So I told the conservative mother inside of me to shut up, and allowed the wilder, primal, and fierce part of me out of that small, tight box in which I usually kept her. That part of me kept asking, “So what if she shows off her nipples? What are you afraid of?” And I remembered moments of pure, natural body joy as I watch Coco and her green-blotched boobs on the screen:
Taking off all of my clothes after a long hike, and diving into a cold, cold lake that is so clean that I can drink the water as I swim,
Lying on a wolfskin in a spiritual journey, cheek to fur, arms and legs pressed on the body of the Mother Earth.
Running my hands through my damp hair in a Sweatlodge, feeling the hot, moist air flow across my naked skin.
And I start to wonder, what if it was perfectly okay for Coco to show her breasts in public? Now, I am not advocating that everyone strip off their clothes and show up naked at the next meeting with their boss. But Coco’s display made me think about all of the body taboos that our culture has, especially about women. From an early age, many of us are taught (even in this post “sexual revolution” time) to be sweet, kind, demure. Often, the wild, sexual energy that exists in all of us is truncated and shoved so far down inside that we don’t even know what it is. And out of all of this suppression of what is, after all, a very natural drive, comes the stories:
Only “bad girls” are sexual. Good girls are virginal, innocent.
Only bad girls show off their bodies. Nobody wants to be a bad girl, because bad girls come to bad ends.
I probably don’t need to remind anyone of these stories, or others. They are woven as deeply into the fabric of our society as the threads are woven into the cloths that drape the statues in the Hall of Justice.
But back to the boobs.
It occurs to me that Coco was a walking taboo challenge in that outfit. Ice-T said something very interesting as he stood beside her. First of all, he said, “Coco do what she do.” Then he said—I don’t remember the exact words—“Coco makes people do what they do.”
And, unintentionally or not, that was a profound statement. The mischievously humorous side of me can imagine people’s reactions:
“Honey, are those her…”
“Yes. Let’s go. It’s not polite to stare…”
But the other part of me can acknowledge the way a woman displaying her body, with no shame for all to see, can shake those of us who are willing to allow it to. It can shake us right to the core of our minds, our belief systems and yes, the sexual parts of ourselves that have no names in this culture beyond the scientific and the slang.
Okay, I lied. So it's political. Oh, well. I am sure that only a few people read this blog, but I still have the occasional nightmare about finding angry conservatives picketing my front yard.
One night, I saw this show called “Awesomely Bad Fashion Moments.” Among the prizewinners in this show was Ice-T’s wife, Coco. They were at some awards ceremony, and she was basically wearing a large black fishnet stocking over underpants, and shoes. No bra, nothing else to hide her body. And yes, her nipples (which were “discreetly” covered by the television show with large green blotches) were on display for all the awards shows attendees to see. Coco One and Coco Two, coming at ya! My conservative mother rose up inside of me. Oh-my-God, what would possess someone to put herself on display like that? And that platinum –blonde hair—how tacky! I was embarrassed for her, and also for Ice-T, who dared to be seen with her—to “let” his wife go out dressed like some sort of fishnet dominatrix, AND show her nipples in PUBLIC! For the record, Ice-T didn’t seem to mind the attention one bit. Anyway…
Suddenly, I remembered John Ashcroft. My mind whipped back to about four years ago, to a story that John Ashcroft actually spent $8,000 of the taxpayers’ money to have the female statues in the Hall of Justice draped: so their naked boobs didn’t show. Now, I am reluctant to admit that I share any commonality with John Ashcroft beyond the fact that we are both carbon-based life forms. So it irritated me to no end that I was having a “John Ashcroft” moment. So I told the conservative mother inside of me to shut up, and allowed the wilder, primal, and fierce part of me out of that small, tight box in which I usually kept her. That part of me kept asking, “So what if she shows off her nipples? What are you afraid of?” And I remembered moments of pure, natural body joy as I watch Coco and her green-blotched boobs on the screen:
Taking off all of my clothes after a long hike, and diving into a cold, cold lake that is so clean that I can drink the water as I swim,
Lying on a wolfskin in a spiritual journey, cheek to fur, arms and legs pressed on the body of the Mother Earth.
Running my hands through my damp hair in a Sweatlodge, feeling the hot, moist air flow across my naked skin.
And I start to wonder, what if it was perfectly okay for Coco to show her breasts in public? Now, I am not advocating that everyone strip off their clothes and show up naked at the next meeting with their boss. But Coco’s display made me think about all of the body taboos that our culture has, especially about women. From an early age, many of us are taught (even in this post “sexual revolution” time) to be sweet, kind, demure. Often, the wild, sexual energy that exists in all of us is truncated and shoved so far down inside that we don’t even know what it is. And out of all of this suppression of what is, after all, a very natural drive, comes the stories:
Only “bad girls” are sexual. Good girls are virginal, innocent.
Only bad girls show off their bodies. Nobody wants to be a bad girl, because bad girls come to bad ends.
I probably don’t need to remind anyone of these stories, or others. They are woven as deeply into the fabric of our society as the threads are woven into the cloths that drape the statues in the Hall of Justice.
But back to the boobs.
It occurs to me that Coco was a walking taboo challenge in that outfit. Ice-T said something very interesting as he stood beside her. First of all, he said, “Coco do what she do.” Then he said—I don’t remember the exact words—“Coco makes people do what they do.”
And, unintentionally or not, that was a profound statement. The mischievously humorous side of me can imagine people’s reactions:
“Honey, are those her…”
“Yes. Let’s go. It’s not polite to stare…”
But the other part of me can acknowledge the way a woman displaying her body, with no shame for all to see, can shake those of us who are willing to allow it to. It can shake us right to the core of our minds, our belief systems and yes, the sexual parts of ourselves that have no names in this culture beyond the scientific and the slang.
Okay, I lied. So it's political. Oh, well. I am sure that only a few people read this blog, but I still have the occasional nightmare about finding angry conservatives picketing my front yard.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Weird Fruit Dream Part Two
When I related the story of the "pummelo dream," Agatestone suggested that I eat one, as it must have some sort of significance in my life. But that got me thinking about the Greek myth of Demeter and Persephone (pardon the spelling, I didn't feel like looking the names up). Anyway, for those who are not familiar with the story, Persephone was Demeter's daughter, and Demeter was some kind of weather-goddess (okay, my Greek mythology class was a really long time ago). Anyway, Persephone somehow got lured to the Underworld, and Demeter went into this long depression, and during this time, all of the trees, crops, etc. died. Persephone then escaped from the Underworld, but somehow, she had to spend seven months there every year because she had eaten seven seeds from a pomagranate. I have no idea who made up these rules, but the story goes that that is how winter was created.
I haven't been lured to the Underworld lately, although my most recent class, Financial Management, may be the equivalent. But I was wondering, what if there was some sort of cosmic connection between the pummelo and my eating it? What if I ate it, and all of a sudden the universe changed in some way? I certainly wouldn't create winter, we already have it (sort of) in the Mitten.
Strange things could happen if I ate that pummelo. I could suddenly be transported to another universe, or send this universe through some sort of wormhole in the galaxy where we come out the other end and every thing is different: people are pink, green, and purple, trees are iridescent, and the sky is brown. I just don't know if I want to take any chances with this awsome responsibility.
On the other hand, it is just a piece of fruit that I had a dream about.
I haven't been lured to the Underworld lately, although my most recent class, Financial Management, may be the equivalent. But I was wondering, what if there was some sort of cosmic connection between the pummelo and my eating it? What if I ate it, and all of a sudden the universe changed in some way? I certainly wouldn't create winter, we already have it (sort of) in the Mitten.
Strange things could happen if I ate that pummelo. I could suddenly be transported to another universe, or send this universe through some sort of wormhole in the galaxy where we come out the other end and every thing is different: people are pink, green, and purple, trees are iridescent, and the sky is brown. I just don't know if I want to take any chances with this awsome responsibility.
On the other hand, it is just a piece of fruit that I had a dream about.
Metamorphosis
I was lying in bed one night, thinking about how depressed I was and wishing my life were different, when I suddenly came face-to-face with a fundamental truth in life: I can make my life different if I want to. I don’t have to be a Registered Nurse; I don’t have to finish my MBA degree.
I could sell my house, buy an RV, and drive around the country, picking up odd jobs to pay for food and gasoline, and I could write about everything I experience. I could move, completely relocate to another city, state, country. I could work at Starbucks, or become a stripper. Better yet, I could start a company of older strippers, and those who live in bodies that are outside the airbrushed “Hollywood norm.” We could show men who are brave enough what feminine beauty and sexuality is really all about (I’ve actually had some volunteers in case I decide to form this company)!
But anyway, I was also thinking about change, and about frogs and butterflies and other creatures for whom metamorphosis is a way of life. And I started to think, what if all creatures underwent metamorphosis? What if humans metamorphosed (is that a word)? Would we somehow create a cocoon and hibernate in the winter? What would we turn into? Actually, part of me is convinced that if I had spent my teen years in a cocoon and emerged as an adult, I would be much better off. But I digress.
What if there were no rules about metamorphosis? What if I went to sleep tonight and woke up tomorrow, as, say, a giraffe? My neck would be stiff from lying in that tiny bed and my hooves would all be stuck out on one side. The funny thing is, I wouldn’t be able to get out of my house: no opposable thumbs. I would have to hope that one of my cats turned into a human while I was becoming a giraffe. I would also have to hope that neither of my cats turned into something that preyed on giraffes!
Suddenly, my thoughts jumped to Spiderman, and how Peter Parker was bitten by a spider and began to have spider-like talents. The absurdity of this hit me as I realized that spiders actually produce their webs from what would be the equivalent of our rear ends—if there can be a human/spider anatomical equivalent in the first place. How convenient that Spiderman actually spins webs from his hand.
I suppose that if Stan Lee wanted to be “anatomically correct,” he could finesse something in his cartoons, but I doubt that people would have flocked to see movies about a guy who shoots silk from his butt.
I guess I’ll stick with the RN/ business degree thing for awhile. And anyway, if I turn into something else, I will try to find someone with opposable thumbs to let all my friends know what happened. If you happen to see a giraffe in a hospital…oh, never mind!
I could sell my house, buy an RV, and drive around the country, picking up odd jobs to pay for food and gasoline, and I could write about everything I experience. I could move, completely relocate to another city, state, country. I could work at Starbucks, or become a stripper. Better yet, I could start a company of older strippers, and those who live in bodies that are outside the airbrushed “Hollywood norm.” We could show men who are brave enough what feminine beauty and sexuality is really all about (I’ve actually had some volunteers in case I decide to form this company)!
But anyway, I was also thinking about change, and about frogs and butterflies and other creatures for whom metamorphosis is a way of life. And I started to think, what if all creatures underwent metamorphosis? What if humans metamorphosed (is that a word)? Would we somehow create a cocoon and hibernate in the winter? What would we turn into? Actually, part of me is convinced that if I had spent my teen years in a cocoon and emerged as an adult, I would be much better off. But I digress.
What if there were no rules about metamorphosis? What if I went to sleep tonight and woke up tomorrow, as, say, a giraffe? My neck would be stiff from lying in that tiny bed and my hooves would all be stuck out on one side. The funny thing is, I wouldn’t be able to get out of my house: no opposable thumbs. I would have to hope that one of my cats turned into a human while I was becoming a giraffe. I would also have to hope that neither of my cats turned into something that preyed on giraffes!
Suddenly, my thoughts jumped to Spiderman, and how Peter Parker was bitten by a spider and began to have spider-like talents. The absurdity of this hit me as I realized that spiders actually produce their webs from what would be the equivalent of our rear ends—if there can be a human/spider anatomical equivalent in the first place. How convenient that Spiderman actually spins webs from his hand.
I suppose that if Stan Lee wanted to be “anatomically correct,” he could finesse something in his cartoons, but I doubt that people would have flocked to see movies about a guy who shoots silk from his butt.
I guess I’ll stick with the RN/ business degree thing for awhile. And anyway, if I turn into something else, I will try to find someone with opposable thumbs to let all my friends know what happened. If you happen to see a giraffe in a hospital…oh, never mind!
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Another odd discovery...
While writing a conspiracy theory story for Agatestone, I had to do some research on Bill Oreilly (please don't ask). Anyway, I found that he also has a right-wing website . I thought to myself, "Wow, this is the second time in 24 hours that I actually considered registering to someone's site just so that I could be a troll." I did amuse myself by taking a test on his website that would tell me whether I am a "culture warrior" or a "secular-progressive." Of course I was revealed as a "secular progressive." Apparently that's a bad thing. Anyway, this revelation included a link to where I could order a copy of his latest book. Needless to say, I didn't click on the link. But I hope that I don't get a bunch of spam propaganda as a result of visiting that site. Okay, I'm done with political rants, sort of...for now.
On a less opinionated note, my kitchen leak was fixed today, and the repair didn't turn out to be either as difficult or expensive as I had feared. I never thought I'd be excited about the prospect of washing dishes (I don't have a dishwasher), but after almost 2 weeks of eating from disposable plates and washing the few dishes that I used in the bathroom, it is nice to have a fully working kitchen again!!
On a less opinionated note, my kitchen leak was fixed today, and the repair didn't turn out to be either as difficult or expensive as I had feared. I never thought I'd be excited about the prospect of washing dishes (I don't have a dishwasher), but after almost 2 weeks of eating from disposable plates and washing the few dishes that I used in the bathroom, it is nice to have a fully working kitchen again!!
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Guilty Pleasures, T-Shirts, and an odd discovery...
Okay, I am really going off into weirdland here. First I have a confession: I am a closet "A-Team" fan. I really don't know what the attraction is here, since basically the plot of every show is the same. But actually, I have found that since I entered nursing, I have been attracted to these mindless, action/adventure shows that are full of funny one-liners, and the more separated from my reality as an ICU nurse, and the challenging and often painful situations that I see there, the better. So there is the excuse for my guilty pleasure. The "A-Team" has absolutely nothing to do with the reality of homeless people found on the street, long-term drug users who are facing heart failure in their early 30's, people who have tried to overdose on whatever, etc. But I digress, sort of.
Anyway, my favorite character on the show is Murdock, the institutionalized, but more eccentric than mentally ill pilot of the Team. Since I have days off during the week, I have occasionally caught reruns on TV Land of "The A-Team" and must attest to the fact that they have truly been a guilty pleasure for me. After all, I could be listening to NPR, meditating, or reading the Wall Street Journal.
So anyway, they had too many nurses scheduled on my unit today, so I got cancelled early this morning. Experience has taught me that if I am cancelled in the morning, it will only take a couple of hours for the charge nurse to call me and say "Please come in, as soon as you can make it!" So there I was, at 7:00 am, waiting around for a call (after I had finished cleaning out yet another flooded section of my basement, but that's another story).
So I decided to while away my short time off at the computer, trying to find out one of my favorite "A-Team" trivia questions: What the heck were the sayings on Murdock's t-shirts? He always had some sort of saying on his t-shirt, but it was always obscured by the leather jacket that he wore.
So I checked out the usual places: TV Land, the Internet Movie Database, to no avail. However, I did find out that the actor who played Murdock has a webcast/blog: http://www.howlingmadradio.com for the morbidly interested. (I tried to link the site, but something went kerflewy every time I tried to publish it with the link. Anyone interested will have to access the site the "old fashioned way:" cut and paste. Heh).
So I thought 1. Maybe I will find out the secret of these T-shirts on his website, and 2. this could be quite entertaining.
So much for that. Apparently the actor (Dwight Schultz) is more than a bit right of center, so to speak. I listened to a couple of the webcasts sort of like the way you might look at a terrible road accident: "I can't look, I can't look away."
The first thing that I listened to was Mr. Schultz lamenting about how "we" lost both the House and the Senate during midterm elections, while he was in Spain. If this had been a live cast, I probably would have called in to ask if he had cast an absentee ballot or whether he was complaining about what everyone else did and he had no part of.
I got home from work tonight (yep, they called me in to work), and I decided to give the webcast another chance. So I tuned into a webcast that was supposed to be funny, and ended up listening to a really bad satire of the Vice President talking about how it was politically incorrect to say "Christmas" because the word contained "Christ."
I will admit that I have only listened to two of these webcasts, but it was enough to make me think I had accidentally stumbled upon Rush Limbaugh's website, or the site from Fox News Network. I know that it is unrealistic to attribute characteristics of a character to an actor, but this was absolutely the last thing I was expecting! It was something like looking forward to an interview with John McCutcheon (or Peter Gabriel if you don't know who J.M. is), only to hear him talking like Howard Stern.
Now, before anyone permanently labels me as a flaming liberal, I have to say that I have been involved in state and local politics, and I have found that the issues are much more complex than either party can convey in a three-minute sound byte. I also consider myself to be a raging independent (I think both major parties in the US are old enough to know better), and I am a notorious cross-party voter. So I may tune in again just to make sure my first impression was correct.
Oh, well, I still have "Howling Mad Murdock" and the gang and lots of stuff getting blown up on the "A-Team" on my days off.
But dangit, I still don't know what those T-shirts said.
Anyway, my favorite character on the show is Murdock, the institutionalized, but more eccentric than mentally ill pilot of the Team. Since I have days off during the week, I have occasionally caught reruns on TV Land of "The A-Team" and must attest to the fact that they have truly been a guilty pleasure for me. After all, I could be listening to NPR, meditating, or reading the Wall Street Journal.
So anyway, they had too many nurses scheduled on my unit today, so I got cancelled early this morning. Experience has taught me that if I am cancelled in the morning, it will only take a couple of hours for the charge nurse to call me and say "Please come in, as soon as you can make it!" So there I was, at 7:00 am, waiting around for a call (after I had finished cleaning out yet another flooded section of my basement, but that's another story).
So I decided to while away my short time off at the computer, trying to find out one of my favorite "A-Team" trivia questions: What the heck were the sayings on Murdock's t-shirts? He always had some sort of saying on his t-shirt, but it was always obscured by the leather jacket that he wore.
So I checked out the usual places: TV Land, the Internet Movie Database, to no avail. However, I did find out that the actor who played Murdock has a webcast/blog: http://www.howlingmadradio.com for the morbidly interested. (I tried to link the site, but something went kerflewy every time I tried to publish it with the link. Anyone interested will have to access the site the "old fashioned way:" cut and paste. Heh).
So I thought 1. Maybe I will find out the secret of these T-shirts on his website, and 2. this could be quite entertaining.
So much for that. Apparently the actor (Dwight Schultz) is more than a bit right of center, so to speak. I listened to a couple of the webcasts sort of like the way you might look at a terrible road accident: "I can't look, I can't look away."
The first thing that I listened to was Mr. Schultz lamenting about how "we" lost both the House and the Senate during midterm elections, while he was in Spain. If this had been a live cast, I probably would have called in to ask if he had cast an absentee ballot or whether he was complaining about what everyone else did and he had no part of.
I got home from work tonight (yep, they called me in to work), and I decided to give the webcast another chance. So I tuned into a webcast that was supposed to be funny, and ended up listening to a really bad satire of the Vice President talking about how it was politically incorrect to say "Christmas" because the word contained "Christ."
I will admit that I have only listened to two of these webcasts, but it was enough to make me think I had accidentally stumbled upon Rush Limbaugh's website, or the site from Fox News Network. I know that it is unrealistic to attribute characteristics of a character to an actor, but this was absolutely the last thing I was expecting! It was something like looking forward to an interview with John McCutcheon (or Peter Gabriel if you don't know who J.M. is), only to hear him talking like Howard Stern.
Now, before anyone permanently labels me as a flaming liberal, I have to say that I have been involved in state and local politics, and I have found that the issues are much more complex than either party can convey in a three-minute sound byte. I also consider myself to be a raging independent (I think both major parties in the US are old enough to know better), and I am a notorious cross-party voter. So I may tune in again just to make sure my first impression was correct.
Oh, well, I still have "Howling Mad Murdock" and the gang and lots of stuff getting blown up on the "A-Team" on my days off.
But dangit, I still don't know what those T-shirts said.
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