Blogwise: I've been rethinking/reconceptualizing for a bit, and have a few ideas I'll be implementing over the next several months, one of which will be a change in venue. Yes, I'll be waving buh-bye to LJ, but then for a gal of my years, a lot of times I feel like I'm crashing a junior high school slumber party, posting here at all. So this can only be a good change, yes?
Workwise: it's been another eventful month, with acts of lunacy near and far, some of which are at least partially explicable. A Few Very Special Moments From The Trenches:
The Perils of Not Being John: between you and me, I don't feel we non-Johns contemplate this state of consciousness enough, really. We just muddle on with our lives as Debras or Bobs or Yans or Esperanzas or Tanias or whathaveyou, until we are forced by the universe to confront our non-John inadequacies. Some of us do this voluntarily, as an exercise in self-awareness, as I'm sure is the case with the vast majority of my stalwart readership of 4. That's just how you roll, and I respect you for it, even if it was precipitated in some part by drinking the bong water. (Oh yes, you do. Your boyfriend told me. Don't even lie, Bob.)
In my case, however, the revelation of non-John imperfection had to be thrust upon me by a 92 year old patient with a history of dementia, a longing for her son (yes - John), and a much finer set of reflexes than one might normally attribute to a grandma-type lady. She called repeatedly from her hospital bed for him, poor thing. I went to the bedside and leaned down to offer a bit of soothing.
In a matter of seconds, she was twisting my stethescope against my throat with her left hand, while swinging the call light at my head with her right. (Hospital call lights are constructed of some person-made substance harder than either diamonds or Michelle Malkin's heart, and the thought of having Grandma go upside my head with one was a tetch alarming.) Luckily, my poised, yet professional screams for help brought a stampede of nursing support - and a night with no blunt head trauma is a good night, all in all.
Pirates of the West Wing: had a series of very engrossing conversations with another elder patient (a gent this time) who shared his surprisingly detailed plans for defending us all against an imminent onslaught of pirates. Who were apparently in cahoots with the Sioux (as they so often are), when they were not conspiring with ze Germans. Frankly, I don't believe our hospital security staff has given this matter the attention it deserves - so thank goodness *somebody* was paying attention!
Patient Gem O' the Evening:
Nurses aide: Whatcha watching on TV?
Patient: I'm watching the Food Network. This guy's making all sorts of desserts.
Nurses aide: Yeah? Is the program any good?
Patient: Oh gawd yes. It's like...porn for diabetics.
In Travel Newz: airline tickets for the next Totally Excellent Aotearoa Adventure have been procured. We fly out of SFO 27 October and return from Aux 20 November of this year. On prior visits, I've only had to worry about the logistics for two people; this time it's four, and it's blowing my mind a little bit (and the exchange rate ain't what it used to be, either). Even so, I got that little buzz when the confirmation email from Air New Zealand arrived...might have to sell the cats on eBay, sleep in ditches, eat out of dumpsters and hitchhike from Aux to Palmy to make it all happen, but at least we're going, and I'm as excited as ever about that. :)
In TV Newz: Deaaaaaath! TNT is airing a "Lord of the Rings" marathon today. Hell yeah! Also, Invercargill native Mark Simmons is more than holding his own on Bravo TV's "reality" show "Top Chef." (As a devoted viewer of this dawg of a program for the past three seasons, gotta tell you that he's one of maybe two contestants this season that hasn't resorting to behaving like a total asshat. However, next week's previews show him frolicking around in a bubble bath with the biggest asshat of the season- oh noeees, Mark! Don't let our low American ways corrupt you, little Kiwi dude! And roll those pants back down, fella. Manpris can be done, but only by a select few males, and you are not one of 'em...)
In New Music (To Me) Newz: haven't posted anything musical in a while, so I thought I'd share some love for Marina Heredia, whom I first became aware of via a great French-made documentary called "Dawn in Granada." It profiles the lives of a family of flamenco performers in Spain, particularly the relationships between two fathers (one a flamenco dancer, the other a flamenco singer) passing down the tradition to their daughters. A bit more information about the doco can be found at Link TV; meanwhile, here's Marina performing at the Flamenco Pa Tos Festival, 2007: