A Pot to Piss In

At least three times yesterday I heard some variation of the phrase, "doesn't have a pot to piss in." I noticed it more than would normally be the case because, as it happpens, I do have a pot to piss in. Well, a bucket. A jug. A plastic container.

My visit to the doctor on Thursday resulted in, among other things, my taking home a large orange plastic "piss jug," which I was directed to use to capture and store all of my urine output during a twenty-four hour period that ends at 8:30 this morning. You wouldn't think a requirement to capture one's piss in an orange piss jug would crimp one's style. Well, it does. I can only imagine how much more of an inconvenience it must be for a woman. I mean, if I chose to do so, I could lug my jug about with me and make deposits on the sly. Not so with a woman. How do they deal with such dictates?

At any rate, my impending freedom from being chained to an orange piss jug is making me giddy. I woke up early, again, and had enormous amounts of energy moderately more stamina than usual. I washed dishes, made coffee, made a couple of deposits into my jug, and roamed the Internet for a bit.

Now, what to do? I suppose I'll wait around until my doctor's office opens and giddily throw open the doors and ask with a broad smile, "Where shall I deposit my pot to piss in?"

Do Not Tear Out Ceramic Tile While Drinking Tequila

Here I sit, having just had pork roast, corn, lima beans, and a nice slice of tomato (I know, it's not barbeque or fried chicken, but it's today's traditional Fourth of July meal for my wife and me).

Aside from my earlier over the top patriotic post, we did very little today that would have given away that today's the Fourth of July. Because the doctor told me to piss into a plastic container from this morning until tomorrow morning (when I'll deliver the overflowing jug to the doc's office), we couldn't stray far from home. But we did do a bit of wandering in my car. And we stopped at Half Price Books, where I could easily spend all my money and my time. And we went grocery shopping.

I started watching (and listening to) an Independence Day celebration on PBS, but I lost interest fast. So, I poured a little more white sipping tequila and tried to remember how to type. So far, so good.

I'm getting sleepy. Tequila at 5:00 pm tends to do that to me by 8:45 pm. I feel a little like painting something or tearing out some ceramic tile, but I've always believed doing either after a few shots of tequila is against the laws of man and nature.

Patriotic Musings

For all my loathing of the "patriots" who believe that patriotism means loving one's country, right or wrong...for all my disgust at the massive faults that plague not only this nation's politicians, but its people...for all my embarrassment that Americans have collectively allowed our names and our legacies to be used in ruinous ways that put our very existence at risk...for all of that, I am and I shall always be a patriot. I love the principles upon which the the United States of America were founded. I love the fact that this country can be, indeed has been, a beacon of hope for more than two centuries. I love the idea that, if we insist on it, the United States can continue to be an imperfect but striving model of how human beings can come together for their common good, overlooking their disputes and disagreements.

Today, I listened to a moving reading of the Declaration of Independence. If we, as a people, would just take the time to listen to what that amazing document says and reflect on what it means, I think we cannot help but be proud. I know, none of us contributed to the words, but we are all contributing to its intent with every breath we take in support of the principles so eloquently espoused by that magnificent document.

While I believe deeply that George Bush and his administration should be removed from office and tried for crimes against humanity, I do not lay all the blame on the American people and I most certainly do not lay blame on the American system of government. I hold all of us accountable for allowing the man to take and keep office; I hold accountable all the people who have allowed this administration to lie and fabricate and manipulate events to enable their theft of power. I am upset and angry at everyone who continues to allow Bush to embarrass us and present to the world an image of America that is not us. But I am in awe of the radical experiment that has become the United States of America and I am committed to allowing a wonderful idea to eventually reaching fruition. It will be long after I am gone, but if we collectively correct our mistakes, admit our flaws, acknowledge our guilt, and rectify every wrong, the vision of America will be realized.

When that happens, it will have happened around the world. Because until all people, everywhere, have achieved the same "inalienable rights" that we achieve, our experiment will still be just an experiment. When we achieve the goals we set forth in the Declaration of Independence, so will the world.

Happy? Birthday

Today is the day we celebrate our nation's birthday. We have been part of a noble experiment that, for all its ups and downs, has brought us to unparalleled prosperity. Good things can go bad. If this nation and the principles upon which it was founded are to survive, we have to reach back and remember what it is our forefathers fought for. We have to acknowledge our mistakes and our abuses...correct them and move forward. Otherwise, all of the time since the "real" birthday of this nation will have passed by without any meaning, without any real progress. Watch these videos to see just some of the things we must correct. But be careful...the courts have ruled that the identity of viewers of YouTube.com must be revealed...

Would You Like to Hear About My Bile Ducts, Too?

I was planning on a carefree holiday weekend. It will probably be pretty laid back, but carefree will be hard.

I mentioned a "bad" thing yesterday, i.e., being told by my cardiologist's office to quickly make an appointment with my family doctor because of alarming lab results that suggested "worsening kidney function." I'd already made an appointment with the family doc for next week for a checkup, so I figured I'd wait until then.

But today my family doctor's office called. He's on vacation, but apparently saw the results that my cardiologist had faxed to him and told his staff to call me to tell me to go right away to see a nephrologist. "I have an appointment to see the doctor next week; can't it wait?" I asked. "No, he wants you to see someone today." The nurse said she'd try to get me an appointment and call me back. She called back. She couldn't get me an appointment until the end of July, so she wanted me to come in to see another doctor at the family medical center, just to check me out..."we wouldn't want anything to happen over a long weekend," she said. She made an appointment for me at 1:00 pm and told me to bring in all medications I'm taking, prescription or not.

So, I went to see the stand-in doctor, a young woman who has seen me before when I've needed to get to a doctor while mine has been enjoying the fruits of his enormous wealth. I actually much prefer her. She's direct but pleasant and there's not a hint of accusatory tone coming out of her mouth.

Anyway, the doctor asked me lots of questions and advised me that one of the drugs I'm taking (an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory for arthritis) could cause problems so I should stop it. From there, I gave them a gift of a little urine and more blood and was given a plastic container the size of a tanker truck in which I was advised to collect all my urine output for 24 hours and bring it in for a huge party at the doctor's office on Saturday. OK, the party thing is stretching it. But, my god, I'd have to drink a couple of cases of see-through lager to be able to even partially fill the tanker truck.

The blood test and urinalysis should tell them something, she said, but she wants me to have a renal sonograph done...that, too, will have to wait until the end of the month.

While she didn't make light of the lab tests and said, indeed, that they could be signs of some very serious stuff, she calmed my nerves by allowing that the elevated urea level could have been caused by my "fasting" before my lab tests. The elevated creatinine, on the other hand, was of more concern. I, of course, don't have a fucking clue what either of them mean, except that they make me nervous.

God, I've done it. I've written an entire blog post about health issues. Shit, I'm getting old. Very, very old. And, at 54, I'm way too young for that.

I just want to be a curmudgeonly geezer. I do not want to be an old curmudgeonly geezer!

P.S. My old insurance shut down 6/30/08. My new insurance, after I select it and fill out the forms, will commence 7/1/08. In the meantime, everything goes on the credit card for reimbursement. Let's all hear it for "universal health care!"

Good and Bad

Good: I have a fully-executed copy of our lease for our new office space in hand.

Good: We picked out carpet and paint colors today for the new space.

Bad: It's going to cost $310 for the door sign and building directory signs for our clients.

Bad: I'm not sure I can count on a Voice Over Internet Protocol (VOIP) phone system to meet our needs, for various reasons.

Good: My wife and I had Thai food for lunch.

Bad: My cardiologist's office called, urging me to make an immediate appointment with my family doctor due to the fact that my recent lab work revealed "worsening renal function" that commands my family doctor's immediate attention. No other explanation.


Good: Tomorrow (July 3) is a "Friday-equivalent," so we'll all dress casually at the office.

Good: I have two proposals I have to finish ASAP for what could be very good business contracts...but no assurances.

Something There Is That Doesn't Love a Wall, That Wants it Down...

On rare occasion I am confronted with something so upsetting that I cannot find it in me to write about it, at least not for awhile. So it was Sunday.

During a meeting with some neighbors about how to deal with "the wall" (a sculptured concrete wall around parts of our neighborhood...a wall that is about to fall down), I learned of a death in the neighborhood.

A woman in her late 50s inherited her mother's home about 2 blocks from me a year or two ago. I did not know her mother, nor did I know her. Both were described to me by my visiting neighbors as "reclusive."

Within the past two weeks, one of the neighbors who lived next door to the reclusive neighbor complained to the president of the homeowners' association (HOA) that the yard had been neglected and mail hadn't been picked up and flyers were left unattended at the door. A notice from the Post Office, from December, was an alert to the recipient that no more mail would be delivered until the mail box was emptied and the peron came to call at the Post Office. The notice was dated from December, just before Christmas. The HOA president asked if the neighbors had tried to call or knock on the door to see if anyone was home. "No." Have you called the police, since the neighbor might be ill or hurt? "No."

To make a long story short, the complaining neighbor finally called the police and insisted they take a close look to see whether anyone was there. They found the woman dead in her car, in the garage, along with a suicide note, dated in late November. She had been dead for about seven months.

I know nothing about the dead woman other than what I've been told. I find it heartbreaking that the poor woman was so alone that no one cared enough to try to find her after she went missing in November. I don't know whether she worked, but I'd have to assume not. I don't know whether she knew any of her neighbors, but I have to assume not. She must have been completely and uttlerly alone. No one knew her well enough to even notice that she was not around. It was her yard and her mailbox and the commercial flyers that caught someone's attention, not the woman's absence.

How can we not miss someone's presence, even someone who may have been a recluse? How could her next-door neighbors not notice long ago that something was out of place? I wonder if I had lived next door whether I would have cared enough to try to find out if something was wrong.

I suppose what upset me as much as anything was the fact that the people who told me about this seemed so unmoved by it. The telling was a juicy bit of gossip, not a tale of tragedy. I felt myself physically withdraw from the other four people in the room when the story was told and I saw their reactions; not horror or terror or sadness, but distaste and excitement. That made me feel a little closer to the lady I never met who decided to end her life, perhaps because she was so alone in this world. I don't know what the suicide note said, but I can't help but think that isolation may have played a role in a terrible, irreversible decision.