Assorted Nonsense

Some foods have to be right the first time you try them, or you may never properly appreciate them.  I have a friend who hates potatoes.  It’s so sad… and I know why.  It’s because when she was young her mother fed her mashed potatoes.  But not just any mashed potatoes… lumpy mashed potatoes.  A true culinary tragedy.  And now my friend cannot appreciate any potatoes.  Sadly, she will never know the glory of a baked potato baked in olive oil to perfection, and served with bacon bits, sour cream, and a smidgeon of butter.

I recall the first time I ever consumed Pad Thai.

A friend brought me to some now defunct Thai restaurant near Yonge and Eglinton.  She insisted that I try this noodle concoction called Pad Thai.  One bite in and I could not believe that I had lived to the ripe old age of twenty-six without ever tasting that TASTE! To this day I’m not exactly sure what the ingredient is that gives Pad Thai that particular perfection… coriander, maybe?  Just not educated enough in the culinary arts.  But it was (and I have never used this word to describe anything ever before) divine.

There’s an establishment where I work that serves something called Pad Thai.  Okay.  I don’t know what it is, but whatever it is it ain’t Pad Thai.  And I pity the people who try it and think, “THAT’S what all the fuss is about?”  Like my potato-deprived friend, they may never learn the delight that is true Pad Thai.

If you are prejudiced against Pad Thai and potatoes or any other food, I urge you to cast aside those prejudices and try the foods you don’t like with an open mind.  And keep trying until you get the real thing.  If you don’t like seafood, for instance (talking to you here, sis) because your salmon has always been overcooked or your mother (sorry mom) inadvertantly fed you those horrible frozen Captain Highliner disgraces, hie thee to a supermarket and pick up some fresh fish for a change.  Salmon, Rainbow Trout, or if you’re lucky, some Arctic Char, maybe.  Baste it in a nice Teriyaki sauce for half an hour first.  Don’t overcook it.  And serve it with a nice baked potato and fresh green beans.

Hmmm…. fresh green beans.

Let me know how it turns out.

No, not the Genesis tune.  (You know, the one that made Steve Hackett want to quit the band… or at least that’s what my pal Justin and I figure, after they made him play the same chord the entire tune).

Just pigeons.  And lots of them.

Flying around my head.  There must have been fifty of them, or fifty-seven, flying in a circle, describing an arc about two hundred, or three hundred and fifty-seven feet wide.  They took off from a tree across the street, the whole lot of them, swooped overhead and kept on flying, around and around and around, crazy birds.  White birds, with black specks.  I figured them for pigeons, but they might have been doves.  Not woodpeckers.  Bigger than swallows.  Smaller than crows. 

I stood there and watched them for about ten minutes.  Circle after circle, flying directly overhead, around and around for no reason that I could fathom, unless maybe to amuse themselves, or maybe it was some kind of bird joke, “hey I know, let’s fly over this guy’s head for awhile in perfect formation, freak ‘im out, make him think there’s some unfathomable mystery to our behaviour, or the universe, when actually we’re just a bunch of drunken fratbirds given to the same pointless behaviour he was twenty years ago.”

Some women walked past me on the sidewalk, never even looked up, just looked at me looking up like I was crazy.  Behind me a homeowner closed their garage doors just in case.  Just in case what?  The man standing in his driveway was nuts… or a bunch of birds flew in and ransacked the place like a scene in one of Hitchcock’s better lessons in the correct application of suspense. 

Once a lone bird got separated when the flock swooped too close to a tree.  He strove to catch up (she?) but did not struggle, didn’t even flap his wings (hers?), just swooped along as if propelled by some invisible propellant, like a little bird-jet.  And the flock didn’t slow down either, but soon enough they flew as one, following a single leader, who was probably getting off on having fifty-six other birds follow him (her?) in pointless circles around and around again and again like some, oh I dunno, movie star channelling the efforts of a cast and crew.

The flew silently, except when directly above, and I could hear the soft beating of their wings.

They changed direction once, completing one final circle in the opposite direction, then disappeared behind a roof and I never saw them again.

Silly birds.

1. Can be read in a single sitting.

2. May or may not constitute part of a fence

3. Stimulates the intellect and/or funnybone or, failing that, the sphincter

4. Bears little resemblance to this one

Warning!

From here on in this blog may contain a great deal more nonsense than it has in the past.  I will be placing less pressure on myself to craft the perfect post in favour of simply crafting ”a” post.  You’re probably thinking “Holy Cow, how can the future quality of this blog be even less than it has been in the past?”

All I can say is, you have been warned.

So after being absent from blogging for some time my stats have plummeted to a low of about eighty hits a day.  Of course, that’s probably mostly incidental traffic, spiderbots and whatnot.  I’m going to try for a post at least once every couple of days, see if I can’t get the numbers back up to a healthy eighty-six or eighty-seven hits a day.  Surely I have that many relatives willing to watch me make a fool of myself on the internet.

(And with the aforementioned assertion Joe abruptly stopped writing.) 

As some of you know we took my daughter E in for her MRI yesterday, the day after we got back from our trip to PEI and New Brunswick. The girls were extremely well behaved on our trip to and from PEI, and this little trip to Sick Kids Hospital was no exception… at first. But as you will see the girls were not to blame.

We got to Sick Kids in plenty of time for the appointment, which was at two. They wanted us there at one to be on the safe side, and even earlier if we wanted a patch for E to numb the spot where she’d be getting a needle. So we showed up at twelve noon. Unfortunately they were running behind in the MRI department and didn’t see E until about five o’clock. So we had to improvise a whole lot of entertaining for the girls as we waited. But the girls were good sports and we all managed to have a good time in the waiting room, playing silly games, reading books, talking, and playing with other kids who were also enduring long waits. The girls had their puppets Hush Puppy and Lambchop which made it a bit easier.

To prepare for sedation, E was not allowed solids past midnight the night before. In the morning she was allowed Jello, water and Apple Juice until eleven o’clock, and nothing else after that. So by five o’clock she was starting to get a bit hungry and thirsty.

Finally at five a nurse saw her, asked her a few questions (such as “Do you have any metal in your head?” a question E found most amusing), and got her to change into a hospital gown. Once she was changed, we had to wait another forty-five minutes before beginning the sedation process.

Finally at about five forty-five we began the procedure. E was fearful of the needle required for the medication she was about to receive but in the end agreed to get up on the bed and lie down. Wendy the nurse gave her the smallest needle they had, which E later named “Pipsqueak”. It was through this needle that E received the sedative required to calm her, and then the drug to actually put her to sleep. (Um, not in the sense that animals are put to sleep. Although the thought crossed my mind as she was undergoing the procedure that mistakes happen in hospitals; I hoped this wouldn’t be one of them.)

E was not keen on the sight of the needle in her arm nor the fact that it was to be a semi-permanent fixture. She did not like the idea of being forced to sleep. She did not like the feeling of dizziness that the sedative provoked. She did not like the feeling induced by the other medication. She especially did not like being held down by the two nurses and myself that were required to prevent her from falling off the table and ripping the needle out of her arm. With her eyes three quarters shut and no longer able to talk she fought us every second of the thirty minutes it took for her to go to sleep. It required a second full dose of sedative to do the job, close to the maximum medication allowed for children. Several times Wendy the nurse called E a “fighter.”

“She’s a fighter,” she kept telling me, sounding increasingly amazed by just how much of a fighter E was as the minutes ticked by.

Apparently kids can have a “parodoxical” reaction to the medication, and become increasingly agitated instead of sleepy, and I was afraid this was happening to E. I think Wendy was a bit afraid too. I wasn’t allowed to talk for the entire time this was happening for fear of keeping E awake, so I had to endure E’s panicked flailing in silence. Wendy kept reassuring me that everything was okay but it was really hard to put E through this. It must have been horrible for her, because we were removing all control from her, wrapping her tight in blankets so she couldn’t move her arms, her own father forcing her down on the table, strange nurses sticking needles in her arm, and worst of all the medication in her system making her feel weird and helpless.

Finally I couldn’t remain silent any more. I said to Wendy, “She’s going to be awfully mad at me later.”

Wendy said, “She’ll be mad at me, not you.”

(In the end she was pretty much mad at all of us.)

She finally fell asleep after the second dose of sedative. They wheeled her off to the MRI, and told me to go get a coffee and a bite to eat.

“Keep a close eye on her,” I told them.

“We will,” Wendy told me.

I knew that she would be okay and that the procedure was necessary. Still, I had found the whole experience upsetting and couldn’t eat. So I paced the halls instead. Later K helped distract me by taking me on a tour of the main floor of the hospital, where we climbed stairs and rode yellow elevators that made you feel funny as you went up and down in them.

At about six forty-five the receptionist told me E was waking up in a recovery room. I went in to find her cheerful but drunk. At least, that’s how Wendy described her and that’s how she looked and sounded to me. I helped her get dressed while Wendy found her a wheelchair. She suggested we get her a bite to eat before driving home, so Lynda, K and I brought her to the main floor where Lynda gave her some Jello and a drink. She had a hard time putting the Jello in her mouth… she kept missing her mouth with the spoon.

And as the whole experience began to come back to her she began to get upset. It drove her crazy that she couldn’t move her body properly. We tried to keep her in the wheelchair to protect herself but she hated it. I had bought a sub to give me the strength to drive home (I hadn’t eaten all day either) but my timing was extremely unfortunate… I should have eaten earlier when I had the chance. I wound up carrying E to the Parking Garage, but she hated being carried even more than she hated being confined to the wheelchair. After having been bound and drugged against her will shortly before I didn’t blame her even as she pummelled my head and face repeatedly on the way down to our van.

In the van poor Lynda had her hands full trying to calm her down as I foolishly and perhaps selfishly finished my sub before heading out. The entire drive home E cried and railed against the health system that, in her view, had treated her so unkindly. At home we fed a slightly calmer E and watched her carefully as she staggered around the living room. We sat on the couch and had a good talk with her about the whole unfortunate experience, then put her to bed.

This morning she was still slightly uncoordinated but much more charitable toward Sick Kids, Wendy the Nurse, and Pipsqueak the Needle. She realizes that everyone was just trying to help her, and has even decided that she likes needles (!), especially Pipsqueak, which she wishes she had been allowed to keep. She actually professes to be looking forward to her next trip to Sick Kids for the results of the MRI, which we should get in a few weeks. At that appointment she’ll get to take the subway, which she loves taking.

Lynda and I (and K, I expect) found the entire experience rather trying, but of course it was E who got the brunt of it.

Hopefully soon we’ll find out that the experience was not only trying but pointless too… when the results come back negative.

Knock wood.

The hiatus is officially lifted.

Unfortunately, my vacation is almost at an end as well.

Rarely have I needed a vacation so badly.  Fortunately, this one was everything I needed it to be.

Except longer.  But I’m not complaining. 

Perhaps I’ll blog about the vacation soon.  Perhaps I’ll blog about a lot of things.  Not sure exactly what I’ll blog about.  But I can tell you this:

I will blog.

Just…

…not so much today.

Too sunny out.

See ya’ll. 

I know what you’re thinking:

 Joe, thinking?

Dangerous.

I know what else you’re thinking:

Aren’t you on hiatus?

I am.

I’m also on vacation.  For the next three weeks.  And I plan to do a lot of thinking during those three weeks.  Some decisions to be made.  Some plans to make.

But one thing I’ve already decided:

I’m probably going to end the blog hiatus sometime in August.

You see, I like blogging.  I like the outlet.  I like the creativity.  I like the people.  I’m not crazy about WordPress, which can be pretty annoying at times, but I can deal with that.

I think I’m cheating myself by not blogging.  Maybe I’m cheating the three or four of you (hi Mom!) who oddly enough seem to enjoy this blog.  You deserve better than me not blogging.  Hey, it’s the least I can do for you.

I won’t be able to blog about the CBC, though.  I won’t take down the stuff I wrote when I was CMG (a member of the union Canadian Media Guild) but now that I’m a Manager I cannot responsibly comment on activities within the CBC.  Aside from promoting stuff; that I can do.  But I’ll leave any editorializing aside.

Plenty of other stuff to blog about though.  Important things.  Stupid things.  Fun things.

Horrible things.

(And a gold star to the first person to name the Star Trek episode that came from…)

See you in a month.