Blog #132

St. Louis is getting a professional soccer team.  The city is excited, but in a quandary.  What should we name the new team?  In 2017, the Supreme Court, in a unanimous decision, decided a group could not be penalized on the grounds that its name was offensive.  The case involved an Asian-American band who called themselves The Slants.  I did not make that up.

But, even so, today’s PC mania makes it almost impossible to find an acceptable name, and most existing teams are under pressure to change theirs.  The Angels, the Saints and the Cardinals are too religious.  The Redskins, the Indians and the Chiefs are offensive to Native Americans.  (Do we still have Native Americans?)  And some team names are just too scary, like the Lions and Tigers and Bears. Oh my!  The Seahawks are an endangered species, and the Pistons?  Do we even need to talk about carbon pollution?  I think we have reached the sad circumstance where any conceivable name is objectionable to someone.

We must have a name to play ball

But we seem to have hit a brick wall

Each name we select

Is so incorrect

We’ll call ourselves NOTHING AT ALL.

I like it, the St. Louis Nothing-At-All.  It’s catchy.  Hi there, and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling catchy today as well as healthy, wealthy and wise.  I bet you can’t wait to hear all about my surgery.  Not yet.  Be patient.  A few news items first.

·        Item:  Local schools were closed today, following a report of a cow fart in the area.  What a world!

·        Item:  Your memory’s going.

·         Item:  Google Maps has completed a planet-wide study and have determined that almost everything is somewhere else.

·         Item:  Your memory’s going.

Oh, and I have to tell you about a restaurant I went to a few weeks ago.  I like fish.  Tilapia, sea bass, halibut, salmon – I like all of those.  But under the heading of Seafood, was “Fillet of John Dory with peppered grapes”.  First of all, peppered grapes?  That just sounded nasty.  And who is, or should I say was, John Dory?  Are they actually serving people on the menu?  Is this Bernie’s way of reducing the population?  Am I going to find Rack of Rush and Trump Tartare?  I’ve heard there’s an Italian place in Chicago that serves the remains of Mafia gangsters.  It’s called Red Mobster.

I was just trying to make you chuckle a bit before getting to the horror, bleeding, gore and suffering that is about to come.  Are you ready?  Wait, I haven’t told you about the dessert.  It was a chocolate something with tobacco.  Now I’m totally serious here about the John Dory and the peppered grapes and the chocolate something with tobacco.  Tobacco?  In my dessert?  It was a tough decision – the Tobacco Chip Cookies, the Carcinogenic Custard or the Roundup Sorbet.

I ordered a piece of cake, which is exactly what my operation was – a piece of cake. Doctor Hip was wonderful.  Well, he was in the top 49% of his class!  I say that in jest because I read some snide comment that said, “49 % of doctors were in the bottom half of their class.”  Now, what manner of mathematical moron, what nature of numerical numbskull, what denizen of the depths of digital dumbness thinks that the bottom half is 49%?  If the bottom half is 49%, then the top half is 49% and that adds up to 98%.  Where are the other 2% of the class, in Congress?

I got to the hospital last Friday at 5:15 in the morning. I did not get a general anesthetic, just an epidural, so when I awoke, I was not groggy or nauseous or constipated.  Within a few hours I was walking the halls with a walker and very little pain.  But here’s the best news – they had a Special Jewish Recovery Dinner, Chicken Soup and Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches.  Now that was yummy.

Carol was at the hospital when they explained all the steps included in my recovery, so we all had to pay attention.  But learning how to take care of me wasn’t challenging enough to occupy all the tentacles of her multi-faceted anatomy.  So, in between learning how to make Michael comfortable and learning about Michael’s exercises – she bought some tops on-line from Nordstrom’s.  One was a Donna Intensive Karan and one an Anesthesia Klein.  She still managed to memorize everything I needed to “render Hell more tolerable” when I got home.  That quote was from Paradise Lost.  It’s amazing how much you think of Hell, Satan and torture when a doctor is slicing into your body.

Maybe Carol missed a little of the instructions because the first time she handed me my walker, she gave it to me backwards.  When she turned it around, she rammed it into my knee.  Other than that, she waits on me hip and foot and is the best caregiver -- and the fastest, and the cutest.  In summary, the doctor was great, the food was great and I’m recovering like a champ.  No complaints.  Well, maybe a couple of little ones:

• ·        Cold.  If you’re worried about the glaciers melting, take them to an operating room.
• ·        I’m not a big fan of hospital gowns.  I really do not like when my rear is clear, my butt isn’t shut, my derriere is in the air and my caboose is loose.  You get the picture.  Sorry!
• ·       And catheters, God?  Seriously?   Please, the next time You’re in a creative mood, try making a world without catheters, mosquitoes, kale and Presidential Debates.  You’ll thank me for that.  But keep the Cherry Jell-O.  One of Your best things.

I received so many messages from you wishing me good luck on my operation. Thank you.  Aren’t you special! You are a loyal, if easily pleased, group, and I have truly appreciated your warmth and concern.  I guess if you’re going to be that nice to me, I’ll have to keep doing this, so stay well and count your blessings.  One of my blessings has been the opportunity to visit with you every week.  Thanks, and come back next Thursday.  I’ll think of something to say.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com