Jonathan Coulton

Wow, I have not written in almost a year. That's very sad, but I've not had much to say. Well, I have, but I have this idea that every blog must be a fully formed idea. Often my musings resemble pieces of a Springbok puzzle; their irregular patterns require tolerance to assemble.

I declare my personal funk over, and though many will not read this entry, I am writing it for myself -to reclaim my mission statement: Muse, chuckle, and fart.

I love the music of Jonathan Coulton. His songs feed the wacky in me. I've known of his work for years and today, I finally looked into his online presence. He's got a website and a twitter. I signed up to demand a New York Concert. Go me!

My friends scoff when I play "Skullcrusher Mountain" the story of an evil genius vying for the love of his imprisoned damsel. They grouse when I cue up "Code Monkey," an anthem for the put upon computer geek. My personal favorite as well as my portal into the tunes of Mr. Coulton, "Re: Your Brains" spoofs interoffice communication while expressing the desires of gray matter eating zombies.

On twitter, I find that most of my favorite actors and singer(weird Al) follow him. I have the same humor as artists I admire. Validation! I have good taste.

Music that parodies popular culture always leaves me with an insight into my own life. Every morning I turn on Pandora radio to the Coulton channel and listen to "Weird Al," Cake, Barenaked Ladies, and Mr. Coulton. Just the right mix of to get my lazy bottom out of bed.

Am I Smiling with my Wrinkled Eyes

Today I made an age-related clothing choice which was a first for me. I've rifled through my closet to avoid looking too fat, too sloppy, or too mannish I engaged in a daily moment of self-deprecation because I'm not 100% behind my 'pretty' but I never once looked at the mirror and said, "I look old." Until today, Oct 20, 2009 5 months and 5 days away from my 39th birthday. Excuse me I need a shot of tequila.

I was on my way to a free panel for unpublished writers. Not knowing who I might

meet I wanted to look good which-when I put on make-up-I do. Maybe it's my new short hair, or maybe it's just the neckline of the sweater I had on first. It's a nice sweater, I got

it at the thrift shop for 5 bucks. Should I burn it? It's possible that the fold-over off the shoulder look should be reserved for supermodels and women who scoff at aging. Maybe it's the hat? No! I love this 3 dollar thrift store hat. My bad posture? I just wasn't feeling this look, I ripped it off and...

went with the blazer, Ann Taylor Loft, she's for young wom-

en right?

I felt younger and sexier. Check out that pose. Am I doing Tyra Banks proud by smiling with my wrinkled eyes.

I have no need to look like I'm twenty, but I refuse to age myself with clothing. I promise that I wont wear a leather mini-skirt or Hollister. Thirty-five forever, baby. Such a great age.

Employee of the Month

Yes, that's me. I am September's EOM for my workplace. While I do believe I deserve the honor in terms of my super-compassionate nursing care, I am not the most well-rounded employee. I lack any desire to participate in committees and I am often late to meetings. I've always considered myself a 'pit' person. Tripping over poop and blood in the trenches is where I belong.

But to be fair to myself, if the judgement comes solely about how I take care of my patients, I hit that ball over Fenway's Big Green Monster. After 16+ years in the health care biz, I can say with confidence that I am one awesome nurse. I have never said or will ever say any of the following:

"Oh you have to pee." Cock's head and pouts. "Let me get the aide for you."

"Both your arms are casted and you want me to feed you." Wags finger. "I can see thumb poking out of that."

"You're having pain...And you wonder why?" Clasps hands together in front of body. "You've just had you abdomen sliced open, that's why sweetie."

"Nurses don't give back-rubs anymore honey." Delivers toe pat/squeeze of false comfort." Do you see a gigantic hat on my head? This aint the dark ages."

The sad part is I am not just trying to be funny, I have heard these statements made by nurses. Many are overworked, yes, but many of them just don't care very much. I'll take my EOM and run, because despite my lack of administrative drive, since 1993 I've earned it.

The Power of Barry Manilow

My father raised me on one album, Barry Manilow Live.
Barry released the album in 1977, I was six. My father put it on the turntable every sunday and danced around the living room with me. The love I developed for Barry never released it's hold, often to the detriment of my mid-eighties teenaged social life. Now, I have over 5 hours of Barry Manilow in my Ipod, all the hits and all the new stuff. I am listening to him right now.

Ooh Baby, I love that Spandex.

This weekend I visited friends at their house in upstate New York. Their backyard opens up on 20 acres of woodland and swamp. On Sunday starting at noon we heard gunshots. Not just a pistol. Not like I know the specifics of gunfire, but I can tell the difference between a shotgun-sounds like a sonic boom- and an automatic-sounds like me after beans. Between noon and four I identified four unique weapon discharges. I was freaked out; I desired not to be felled by a stray bullet. My friends had complained to authorities about the violent intrusion on to their lazy 'wish our children and dogs could play in the backyard' weekends before. After four hours something had to be done.

My friends husband plays in a band, therefore he has amplifying equipment at his disposal. He thought about blaring Culture Club, or Skid Row into the woods.

"No," I said, "they might like that. I've got 5 hours of Barry Manilow at the ready."

We hooked it up to two speakers, wrapped my pod in plastic, pressed play and went inside. We play dirty, baby.

After thirty minutes of angst filled, melodic, 150 decibel Manilow, a woman appeared from the woods. She claimed they were having a skeet shooting party and were unaware of my friend's proximity. Success. Truce declared.

What can we learn from this incident? How can Barry Manilow music achieve world peace? Unfortunately, for the Fanilows out there, I think we know.

Fuming...at the Pro-life

Pardon this post and any grammatical errors it may contain. I just turned off NBC nightly news after watching a little girl, no more that 6 or 7 years-old, holding up a sign that read, "Obama Lies, Grandma Dies" First of the parent that put that sign in her hand should be shot along with the PETA Person who scared a little boy so much that never wants to eat Chicken McNuggets again.

Back to the little girl: She has no idea what the words she hoists so proudly mean. She may as well be holding a Che Guevara sign. Her parents must have told her that Big Bad Obama wants to deny her oatmeal-cookie making grandma health care simply because she is old. The Karma you send out tonight may bite you and your parents in the behind little girl. However, I pray that your grandma will pass quickly in her sleep, not to be found until morning so she will not have to suffer the pain and indignity of ICU care. I pray that you never see her with a tube shoved into her throat forcing oxygen into her lungs. The tube will make her lips dry out, chap and bleed. The ventilator will make her chest rise and fall making you believe she is alive. She'll need a feeding tube to eat, a bladder tube to pee, and a rectal tube to prevent diarrhea from burning her bottom. The doctor will cut her neck to place a large IV with three separate openings for continuous cardiac medicine which constitutes a 24-hour code blue. With this therapy, she'll linger in the ICU for months before her frail body gives out. She'll be immobile, dependent on the nurse, or your mom, to moisturize her skin, swab her mouth, and change her position to prevent a crater forming in her ass.

Not many have seen what I, and my fellow nurses, have seen. Not many have caused the pain that I, and my fellow nurses, have caused. Not many have wished they could give an overdose or morphine which I, and my fellow nurses, have wished. Not even the family or the physician can appreciate the torment people feel at the end of their lives. Family and doctors visit for ten minutes at a time. The nurse holds a 24 hour vigil at the beside.

Obama wants Americans to do now, what we should have done 20 years ago during the boom of life-prolonging technology: Talk about our wishes. To be counseled on end-of-life care. He wants healthcare to honor the patient's living will, even when the children on the other side of the country disagree. When one fill out the health care proxy or the living will they think they are safe from barbaric heroic measures. Not the case. One dissension among your next-of-kin and they will lubricate the tracheal tube. And you'll be the little girl's grandma: trapped in your head, unable to scream.

Obama's plan does not mean one will be denied heroic measures if they want everything pound of medical care. The plan wants us to be informed and make our own decisions without our family's input should that be our choice. If you want everything done come on down; I'll get my tubes ready. The extra money will come from the millions not spent on those who'd rather slip away in peace.

America's Got Talent (Not)

Tonight's regularly scheduled blog about my Greyhound bus trip will be replaced by an analysis of tonight's AGT.

I got sucked into this show, but my roommate's obsession with reality TV. I've seen Jillian vacillate between Ed and Kipton, celebrities and athletes duke it out on Superstars, and shallow people "Date in the Dark." Thanks J, I'll be getting a new tv next week.

OK, here's my Analysis:

GrtSkate: This group rocks, great song, great synchronicity and costumes. I'd vote for them and they'd make a perfect Vegas show. I'm so jealous of their skating. I've been skating for years and all I can do is stop and go backwards.

Thia Megia-- Lea Salonga, Miley Cyrus, and every Broadway Diva called they wants their sound back. I jest, but I don't see pop star. If she develops her acting ability she'd have a great career in Musical Theatre.

The Platt Brothers--They rocked. And I agree with the judges-not focused. Plus they made the Hoff look constipated.

Diva Girls...Guys--Go to the East Village for a lip syncing, mobility challenged Tranny in 5 inch Stilletos. Nuff Said. Actually I can go 4 blocks away at Suite

Manuela Horn- WTF?

Grandma Lee--I want to take her home, put her in a rocking chair and listen to her all day. LOVE HER! Voted for her.

Mosaic-- Yea.. well.. Rockapella and the Groove Society do it better. Way better.

Acrodunk-- It's like the Harlem Globetrotters on Flubber. Everyone loved it, but I thought it lacked something. Could they put together an interesting hour and a half show in Vegas?

Arcadian-- Bite me Piers, a virtuoso pianist plus amazing dancer would make a great act. And he had a theme. This boy was born for Vegas, and L.A, and Broadway, and London's West End. Awesome, Awesome.! Love him.

Drew Thomas Magic--Kinda cool. And he's kinda cute. Vegas has tons of magicians though.

Kevin Skinner--Stop crying! Go to Nashville.

Lake Houston Dance--Prepubescent girls who can pirouette in unison. Yippee. To quote my roommate, "they were on speed." Is David on Crack?

Overall, a few gems. And most of them have some talent.

Arcadian and the Granny for the final.

The 1000 dollar Cockroach Killer

Meet Giles. Giles has Feline Immunodeficiency Virus. Giles is allergic to something that makes him scratch and lick himself to scabby bald mess. Giles nudges my face at 4 in the morning. Giles is a pain in the ass. But he stalks and kills an insect like the Orkin Man. Good Kitty, now get off my head.

Last summer my pre-war-the first one-railroad apartment became infested with rats and mice.

I learned alot about rodents that summer from Juan, my butt crack displaying exterminator. Like rats and mice don't get along and one will trump the other...usually. However, my abode is long and narrow with two separate piping systems. Lucky me! After phone calls and letter to the management office plus three visits from Juan. I was instructed on how to fix the problem. I called in sick to work and with the help of Abbey, my neighbor afflicted with back problems, I moved all my furniture and found every crevice in the baseboards. My phillips head screwdriver served me well that day as I shoved steel wool into every opening.

Later that night, Jon, a cat rescuer, carted three felines in from Brooklyn. Imagine sitting next to that guy on the subway. There was a slim orange short haired cat who wanted nothing to do with me and hissed at the Sebastian, a tiny tiger who paced at the window and Biggie, a white and grey long-haired who climbed in my lap. Biggie also displayed calm when nose to nose with a Basset Hound back at the rescue. How the heck is this this sloth going to kill a rat. Since the new cat's major criterion was getting along with a shepherd mix, Biggie got the nod. You can see how that relationship worked out.

Giles had Giardia when he first came to me and he suffered a massive diarrhea attack. That's 200 dollars at the vet for fluids and medicine. Then Sebastian had to be put on anti-parasite when I cause him snacking on the litter box. It took a month for our home to be parasite free. Then came the hair loss and open sores. The cat had to be put on a special low allergen diet: Dick Van Patten's Natural Balance Duck and Green Pea. I'll have the spinach, Sebastian will have the by-products, and the cat will have the duck. No, not the pheasant, the duck. And a glass of your finest Merlot, please.

Three months later he's better but still chewing, and licking, and gnawing. At night, he sounds like he's sanding grandmother's old hope chest. We went to a DERMATOLOGIST. Yes, the cat has a dermatologist. He's infected, he's itchy. If this round of antibiotic doesn't work out, he will most likely need allergy testing and shots which can cost a 1000 dollars.

With all the antibiotics and food allergies he has earned the nickname, Sir Shits Alot.

But I keep him, because I've fallen in love with him and because he can kill a cockroach in 5 seconds.

Good Kitty, now stop kneading my stomach, I'm not pizza dough.