Pick of the Litter and a Pair of Real Dogs

"All Dogs Go to Kevin" by Dr. Jessica Vogelsang  Grand Prairie Publishing  323 pages   $26

This pick of the litter is an engaging semi-biography from a female vet in the San Diego area.  She credits her three dogs with giving her at least as much of an education as vet school did.  The Kevin in the title is a reference to one of her and her husband's best friends, who died young. 

When the family dog died, one of her little kids misunderstood that "the dog went to Heaven" for "Kevin."


"Black Man In a White Coat - a Doctor's Reflections on Race and Medicine"  by Damon Tweedy, M.D.   Picador   291 pages   $26

Of late I have been making a sincere effort to learn why there is such a distinct separation between the white and black races.  I'm not talking about the professional racists like Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and Barack Obama.  I am talking about people just like us - regardless of skin color.  Whitey bashing seems to be the new indoor activity.  #Black Lives Matter or #Oscars So White.

When I saw this book, I thought, "At last!  A considered account from a doctor that happens to be black!"  In the end I was no wiser and rather saddened at Tweedy's ability and willingness to hang onto slights other people - no matter their skin color - would undoubtedly have laughed at and then turned into an anecdote to be shared over many a convivial dinner.  .  The prime example - his freshman year as a medical student, the professor turned to him on the way out of the auditorium and asked, "Are you here about the lights?  Look how dim it is over there (pointing)."  He just said, "No" and has been stewing about it for more than 20 years.  I stand my ground!  There four references to it throughout the length of the book.

He bewails the statistics that favor white longevity over black, but has to admit that black lifestyle habits account for diabetes, bad hearts plus the fact that blacks are reluctant to change life styles.  In short, he concedes that blacks could help themselves, but refuse to do so.  But:  he wants the rest of us to take care of them despite this!  Say, what?

"Stories I Tell Myself - Growing Up with Hunter S. Thompson" by Juan F. Thompson   Alfred A. Knopf   271 pages   $26.95   

Thompson describes his father Hunter Thompson thusly:  He was an alcoholic and drug fiend, a wild, angry, passionate, sometimes dangerous, charismatic, unpredictable, irresponsible, idealistic, sensitive man with a powerful and deeply rooted sense of justice.

Let me shorten that a little (I am a writer, too)  He was a flaming ass hole. 

Juan, the poor kid, excused all of Hunter's bad behaviors in the end.  The great dramatic resolution, open arms, reconciliation was only because as Hunter aged,  weakened and was unable to write due to a 5th of whiskey daily for 40 years, he knew he needed help.  And the poor kid went for it.   

A Multitude of Choices

Trying to write a near-daily column can prove problematic when the writer has nothing to write about.  Trust me on this

Still, one's luck can change and you will have what I do right now -- we ate out twice this week so reviews on El Torito and Scardino's are in your future.  The library was generous and I have two books and a third to report on.  I saved Hunter Thompson's son Juan's account of growing up with HST as Daddy as a (dubious)  treat. 

So today I'm going to vamp with photos - meet Fred the tuxedo cat.

High Anticipation!

No, we are not sitting around smoking dope at 9 a.m. (or any other time for that matter.)

The new sofa bed is being delivered "between 9 and 11 a.m."  If they can get it through the front door - the steel security door may be a problem.   The Sofa Lady came out and measured and said it shouldn't be a problem, but then she's not a furniture mover.

We shall know all in the fullness of time. 

Later that same day ....

Well, they came, they tried, they laughed and drove away.  With the sofa bed.  Many of you who have visited here might snicker and think (or worse say)  "Poor thing - it got one look around and fled as fast as it's little wheels would carry it!"

I would remind those parvenus that it never got INTO the house.  It has no idea of the fate escaped/

Tomorrow we go pick out a smaller one.  This is La-Z-Boy's philosophy:  "if a 3/4 bed won't fit, a full will.  It's smaller."

Sunday Shorts

East Coast
Richie's brother Charlie of Huntington, Long Island, reports they had 28 in. of snow so far.  Son Bryan is out in his pick-up with the snow plow making money.  He has a contract with a big supermarket to clear their parking lot.  Whatever he's paid, it's worth it because the job starts during the middle of the night.

West Coast
My sister sent me a photo of a window and a vista of falling snow.  The caption said that it was lovely seeing the snow -- from Hawaii.  They are in Maui.


Something New for the Oscars
I have never been a fan of The Cinema so who wins what is a matter of utter disinterest to me.  Back in the day though they were a big deal to my posse (Crazy Suzanne, Patty the Lawyer, Louise the Tease et al) because we would gather, amply supplied with bottles and bottles of wine and proceed to watch avidly -- for:  who was drunk on their butt or high on drugs; who was wearing the worst dress; who needed to wash their hair ...la, the merriment was wonderful!

Now, though separated by distance, we all know a new attraction has been added to our viewing pleasure - shots of empty seats that once held black behinds, bitter statements from the likes of Quincy Jones, Jada Pickett-Smith; accusations leveled at Chris Rock for remaining as emcee of the program ...  The films themselves often disappoint, but never the attendees.

Making A Left Turn

The nerve affected is my right arm and hand which is my dominant hand.  With it trussed up like a calf after being roped, it isn't much use.

However, nothing wrong with my left hand and arm.

Things that I can't do very well  left handed:

Brush my teeth with either manual or electric toothbrush and I'm sticking to "I can't wipe the mirror off with this hand."

Use a dinner knife with any kind of grace or dignity.  Grip it like pole, teeth pointing down and saw.

Carry much of anything bulky - whatever has to have a handle like a shopping bag.

Write or print. 

Handle eye make up - safe enough with a dot of soft blue eyeliner, but attempting mascara would be begging for trouble.   Putting on lipstick in a moving car.  They really should fix some of the potholes around here.

What I can do that I couldn't before: 

Very nearly cross my fingers, a conversational tool previously.

Snap my fingers - a signal to Fred the cat to "Get down!" 

Use a lighter one-handed.

This is only post-op four days and so far so good.

My sister, age 67, uses her left hand since birth as I will be using my right again soon and I asked her how the hell does she do it?

Inside the Surgical "Suite"

I had surgery Tuesday to repair the ulnar nerve compression in my rt. arm,  This is Thursday and all seems to going quite well.  The half-cast; half dressing is beginning to itch faintly and I am hoping that is a sign of healing and not just an itchy bandage.

A nurse told me I was the only procedure that day and I thought. "Hardly worth turning on the lights."

Very often surgical prep starts with an injection of a drug called Versed which is a combo sedative-forgetter drug.  Since I have never been apprehensive prior to surgery, if given a veto, I'd use it.  I think the forgetter part is so that the surgeon can tell ribald jokes to the nurses and a patient like Sister Mary Patrick wouldn't rise up with a ruler and deal with them all.

The drug is administered in the pre-op room and the patient, now in la-la land, happy as a clam is wheeled into surgery.   I was that but also alert enough to now tell you what I saw.

"Suite" is a misnomer - the room is approx. 14x16 with a very narrow surgical table.  Fat people would make it look like it had drapes. 

The OR lights - two of them - are easily 3 ft. across.  I was interrupted in my examination and told to scootch from gurney to table.  Then a nurse came and put the world's largest blood pressure cuffs on my legs.  They stretched from ankle to just below the knee.  They're automatically inflated and deflated during surgery to discourage blood clots.  Most welcome was the warm blanket.  ORs are apparently also used by the kitchen to hang sides of beef.

I do have to  regress from cane to wheelchair as the sling puts me off-balance with the cane.  This, too, will pass.    

All is well even if the typing is not

this one-finger leftie stuff leaves a highway-sized margin for error.  And, of course i'll fall  into it!