daily scratchpad

(6)
I'm fairly drunk at this point. I hereby affirm that my previous posts were as truthful as I could make them. Nighty night!

(5)
I should probably mention at this point that my characterization of the American Medical System in a previous post as, 'pathetic' does not at all reflect my judgement of Kaiser Permanente. I owe my life to Kaiser Permanente. But many unfortunate Americans (about 40 percent?) do not share my medical benefits. I had them in mind. I am old and (therefore) near death. But I seem to go on and on like the Energizer Bunny. Lucky me... I guess.
So before proceeding with this story I want to thank the many KP employees who keep an old man like me alive day by day. I LOVE YOU ALL! You are beautiful people! Gloriously beautiful! More next week.

In the meantime I am very curious about WHTZSNM's apparent electromagnetic comment on my recent blog entry. Please standby while I dial 666 on the Brown Telephone. (I extended the antenna and dialed 666. G-d answered immediately.)
----------
gd: Hello?
me: Missed again, Idiot.
gd: Damn! How close?
me: Judging by the sound you were within about a half-mile.
gd. Damn! I'll get you one day...
me: I'm sure. Meanwhile I formed the conjecture that my blog and Your electromagnetic behavior were related. What do You say to that?
gd: Electro-what?
me: Magnetic. I formed the hypothesis that Your recent electromagnetic activity was related to my recent blog entries. I conjectured that You are a fan. Do You have a response?
gd: (Hangs up.)
----------

(4)
A bit of history at this point: I'd had a previous bout with Colon Cancer. Kaiser caught it in time (after I complained of blood in the potty) and it was successfully ressected. They called it a 'splenic flexure.' I became known as, 'Splenic Flexure.' For a while I thought I was going to die. No joy! (Thunder there. WHTZSNM is obviously very pissed off.) Kaiser put their surgical 'Gold Team' on my case. They did a magnificient job, in spite of the fact that I had answered, 'none' to their question, 'Religion?' (This is all in my DROG.) That was back in about 2000. Since then I have followed Kaiser's recommentations regarding colonoscopies. Those (Whoa! Near miss! Damn that was loud!) examinations yielded several polyps which were duly chopped out by the intrepid Doctor Rector (forgot his first name) and his glorious nurse. Butt after my most recent colonoscopy (2007?) Rector advised me that no polyps were found, that I was cured, and that I should return when I was 75 years old. I welcomed the news. I really hated colonoscopies, even though I got to watch the procedures on live video. Kootch got to watch too. I'd explained to Rector right at the beginning that if both Kootch and I were not allowed to watch the proceedings then there would be no colonoscopy. Rector got the message. We both watched. I recorded the proceedings on my VR - just in case. Kootch and Rector's RN (?) developed a 'relationship.'
I remember one very humerous incident: On that particular day I was wearing a pair of very hot pink nylon panties. I knew that Rector (et al) was all business and was not the least interested in my underpants. In the restroom I folded them under my shorts... or put them in the pocket of my shorts. Whatever. I then put my clothes on the lower shelf of the gurney. But before I was wheeled into (or out of) the 'procedure room' on that fine day, a nurse appeared with my panties in hand, smiling. She asked Kootch, "Do these belong to you?"
We both recognized them immediately. Kootch answered in the affirmative and the nurse said that she had found them in the hallway. I knew immediately that her story was bullshit, but Kootch assumed (as usual) that the nurse was telling the truth. She accepted the panties as if that gigantic pair of hot pink nylon panties had fallen off the gurney in the middle of the hallway and she had not noticed!. I was, of course, embarrassed (presumably so was Kootch), and chalked the incident up to a 'Gerashian joke.' I conjectured that a Gerashian mole had stolen the panties between the time I had taken them off in the rest room, and the time she had presented them to Kootch in the hallway.

(3)
I explained to Anna that her 'diagnosis' of 'prostatitis' was dead wrong. She continued to frown. I further explained to her that my problem was sudden severe lower abdominal pain just above the pubic hair area associated with peristalsis and a bladder that was about half full. It seemed to me at the time that the problem would be immediately recognized by even an idiot. And Anna was an MD. Far from an idiot. I expected a diagnosis which would include at least a recommendation for a lower endoscopy, or possibly a sigmoidoscopy. Instead, I got a 'diagnosis' of acute prostatitis! HUH?!
Anna's reaction to my bowel problems led, of course, to the dreaded rectal examination. She had me lay down on the examining table. She covered me with a giant napkin. She felt my pubic area. I reported the pain 'just above the pubic hair area.' She then advised me to pull down my shorts to about mid-thigh, and turn 90 degrees to my left. She then donned latex gloves and slathered copious amounts of lubricant all around my ass hole. She then stuck her finger up my ass and felt around. It was a typical rectal examination. I was extremely embarrassed, of course, since I am not an 'anal erotic' or anything close.
She then 'felt' my prostate. I reported a slight burning sensation in the prostate area. (Just got the 'could not contact Blogger' message at that point... problem disappeared.)
Anna then terminated the rectal examination with a smile. With a smile! I deduced from that that she had seen my 'panty lines' (reddish gusset lines women typically get from their panties after sitting in the same position for a while). I thought, 'Oh well, there goes my secret.'
She returned to the computer without offering me a napkin with which to cleanse my slathered butt. I complained. She gave me a large napkin. I de-slathered my butt, then pulled up my panties and my shorts. I threw away the slathered napkin and sat upright. That pretty much ended the interview. She left the room for about a minute, then presented me with the documention of that visit. She then left the scene of the crime without further ado. I went home with the documentation folded inside my pocket. Later, I would be shocked by reading it.
Reading the documentation later I would be outraged. Next day (Tuesday) I would make another appointment with Doctor Anna. Tuesday was her day off. I arrived at Kaiser in the afternoon. There was no 'attendant' at the admissions desk. I waited. Eventually a nurse appeared. She claimed that there was no 'secretary' on duty that day. I made an appointment for the next day. She offered me a ten AM appointment. I was ready to take it, but then inquired whether there was also an afternoon appointment. She suggested two PM. I took it, explaining that my wife had the car in the mornings. She said something humerous and laughed.

(2)
During the BP check a couple of male ambulance attendants wheeled in a gurney. A doctor (?) then related the clinical story of a woman (or girl) who needed transportation. RN then took me into Doctor Anna's room. RN got my case up on the computer, then left the room, informing me that the doctor would be in soon. After she closed the door I pulled my voice recorder out of my pocket, turned it on, then slipped it back into my pocker. It was (I think) the first time I had resorted to recording Doctor Anna. After several minutes she knocked, then entered the room. She was obviously not happy to see me again so soon.
I explained that I had some questions concerning my most recent visit two days ago. She explained that Wednesdays were always hectic for her because she was off Tuesdays, hence the delay. I explained to her that her abrupt termination of Monday's visit had left me feeling a bit confused, and that I needed clarification. I then asked her about the 'primary diagnosis' listed on the 'visit summary' section. Was 'PROSTATITUS, ACUTE' really the diagnosis of my Monday visit? She replied that it was. (The summary reads:
'PROSTATATITIS, ACUTE - primary
ABDOMINAL PAIN, LOWER
DM 2
HYPERTENSION)
I was shocked by this admission!
Under the heading, 'medications ordered' there was
(HYDROCLOROTHIAZIDE 25mg ORAL TAB
CIPROFLOXACIN 500 MG ORAL TAB)
I was curious about the HCZ 25mg oral tab. She explained that in view of the fact that my blood pressure seemed to be under control, and that I had halved my previous 50mg ATENELOL dose to 25mg, it seemed appropriate to halve the HCZ dose also. I agreed. I had wondered whether the HCZ dose was part of the CIPRO regimen. Not.
I then asked her whether she would recommend a colonoscopy. She replied in the negative! Once more I was shocked!

(1)
She was not at all happy to see me. It had been a long day for her, apparently, and her usual smile was missing, replaced by a frown.
Her RN advised me at about 1420 that she was running 30 minutes late. I waited. Various people came and went. Before long only two of us 'originals' were left. I expected the last 'original' to be called next. Wrong.
She was sitting in a spot where she could view the entire panorama: both hallways, plus the waiting area. I caught her staring at me a few times, and eventually concluded that she was a 'watcher.' I flipped her an 'ear job.' Although she remained for most of the time I was there, I would not catch her staring at me again.
Eventually a 'cougher' came in and sat very close to me. I got up immediately and said, 'Nothing personal, honey,' and moved away from her to the other side of the room. I would meet the 'cougher' ten or trenty minutes later in another hallway as I returned from exploring the local area. She was talking to some idiot in the middle of the hallway. She never reappeared in the waiting room. She coughed as I approached her. I held my breath and headed past her on my way back to the waiting area.
I waited for a while, then felt a fart bubble making its way down the sigmoid colon. I had to fart. Before long I felt the same fart bubble make its way back up the sigmoid colon, then back down again. I decided that I had better fart before seeing the doctor. I got up and headed down the halway. Once out of sight, I grabbed my left cheek and tried to pull it out of the way. Then I farted. A loud fart noise reverberated down the hallway. Oops! But nobody noticed.
After a few minutes I made my way back to the waiting area.
I watched more patients come and go.
Eventually, Doctor Anna's RN came out and rescued me. We skipped the weight check (I had got weighed two days before). BP was about 138 over 75. I said, 'White coat syndrome!' RN was not amused.

(6)
Much of the previous few posts qualify as 'inside stuff,' so if you didn't laugh very much I understand. I will continue this series next week. Fair warning.
Before closing tonight I did a superficial review of Susan Blackmore's site. Before long I found myself in a 'mystical mood.' The woman has done Acid! I... love... her! (But be aware that I love almost everybody when I'm drunk.) Aside from my two daughters (and Kootch) I have never met any female who has done Acid! The kids were kids, of course, and due to age and inexperience were not really qualified to discuss the psychological and philosophical implications of Acid. As I have said on more than one occasion, 'Acid is wasted on the young.' And not that those girls did not absolutely love the Acid Experience: they did. Only Kootch did not. In fact, even our 'supplier' (Mark - Kathy's husband) seemed to be innocent of the ultimate philosophical implications of our collective journey. I enjoyed those trips deeply, philosophically, existentially. Mark and the girls, on the other hand, enjoyed those trips only as fun sensory experiences which were very strange and very entertaining.

(5)
----------
'Jewish Defense League Headquaters (JDL, a secret location somewhere in Virginia:) "Hello."
Gerash (WG): "Hello. This is Walter Gerash, Head JDL Lizard for the Greatly Circumcised state of Colorado. I need to talk to Interstate Volunteers. High priority target."
JDL: "Standby...:
JDL: "Interstate."
WG: "I have a class one emergency request."
JDL: "Whozzis?"
WG: "Walter L Gerash."
JDL: "Who...?"
WG: "Colorado JDL. Are you new?"
JDL: "Been doin' this job 40 years. Whaddya want?"
WG: "I need volunteers to track a category IX AntiSemite from Denver Colorado to Austin Texas."
JDL: "Jesus... when?"
WG: "Not sure, but probably on the 26th or 27th."
JDL: "Lessee... that's Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas?"
WG: "Right."
JDL: "Hmmm. Oklahoma might be a problem..."
WG: "Why?"
JDL: "Low Jew density."
WG: "Ah."
JDL: "But a category nine! What a whopper! I predict a decent response... in fact, more than decent. If necessary we can cover with Jews from Kansas and Texas."
WG: "Fine. But I want same-state plates. I'll get back to you when I have a firm time schedule."
JDL: "That'll work, Mr. L. And what was your name again...?
WG: (hangs up)
----------

(4)
'... Gassing began in the car almost immediately and continued all the way to Denver.' (Error: I was actually leaving Denver heading for Austin.) 'I made (it) a point to study the pattern. I'd previously theorized that the range of the gas-on transmitter was a couple of miles or so, and that they had to be within about 2-3 miles in order to activate it by radio. I confirmed the theory. I deduced, furthermore, that they were behind me most of the time, not ahead. This meant they had the assistance of various "spotters," who could warn them to stop whenever I took a pee break. Alternatively, they had some sort of GPS transmitter in my car which gave them my position moment to moment - most likely the latter. I could tell by the latter that Gerash himself or a clone was with them: often I was gassed according to cues in the road signs which would only have had a meaning to me and (or) somebody who knew me quite well. Thus, "pilot road," Raymond," and similar associations in road signs would first produce a theory, then a coughing spell about two miles later. Olfactory cues worked also. Thus, on the way back from Salina on the first trip I was gassed unmercifully during a couple of long stretches of stench from (probably) cattle lots. Back then I thought I was going to lose control of the car and pass out, but I barely managed to stay on the road. This time there was only one stench period of about a half-mile, and I was gassed right on schedule two miles after it began. This "theory formation" (prediction) followed by observation and confirmation is the essense of the scientific method, and I enjoyed making the discoveries though not having the experiences.
'I began (on the way to Austin) to speculate on how many Jews it would take to track one Irishman from Denver to Austin; and on the way back to Denver I refined my speculations, which then took on a certain humerous cast in light of my potty stops and peed pants. I speculated that it would take a huge slew of Jews to accomplish the task (in the absense of high-tech stuff like GPS transmitters). For example:
----------

(3)
Looks like I'll have to resort to my DROG for something new tonight. So, by way of background, I hereby submit a DROG entry from January 2002. The story is entirely my concoction, and was inspired by my sudden trip to Austin, Texas to visit my circumcised brother, David. I drove Kootch's Toyota. Kootch rented a car in the interim (I paid). I had been talking on the phone to my brother David occasionally during the previous months, but it eventually dawned on me that I needed to talk to him face-to-face. I decided to take off suddenly one day in order to surprise the stalker Gerash and his Judeo-faggot minions. It worked for a while, but they caught up with me soon enough.

As it became clear to me that I was being followed I began thinking about how I could create a sort of narrative - from the Gerash point of view - of the journey. I worked on this narrative as I drove to Austin. I refined the narrative as I drove back to Denver a few days later. Once back in Denver I wrote it all out on my DROG over the next month or two. Rereading it over the last few days I found it totally hilarious. I should mention that this was not the first occasion on which I was followed - interstatewise - by Gerash's minions: a previous visit to Salina, Kansas served to alert me to the unfortunate fact that 'leaving Colorado' did not necessarily mean, 'leaving Gerash.' I was therefore prepared in the sense that I knew more or less what to expect.
Without further ado I will quote the first installment in the next blog entry.
I should mention that I was tempted to define some of the terms used, but decided against it. The readers deserve to experience the original entry as 'virgins.'

(2)
Been doing lots of DROG transfers this week and reading most of them. Very time-consuming. Also been doing a new game of C-III, which is very time-consuming. Result is that I'm not exactly prepared tonight and we will therefore be forced to accept whatever bubbles up. Standby...
Susan Blackmore.
Pet Rats.
The Marsh Chapel Experiment.
Learning about waves.
Virtual pee.
Time for the news... The usual stuff.
Okinawa has a pot-growing problem? In the spirit of 'Maui Wowi' I suggest, 'Okinawa Wowa.'

(1)

Blogger is scheduled to go down for about ten minutes in about five minutes. Meanwhile I'm drinking a bottle of Rolling Rock beer.
(later) Pretty good beer! Kootch says it tastes something like Kirin (a Japanese beer). I've finished that beer and downed a Natural Light (3.2) since then as Kootch and I watched Millionare. I'll save the five remaining Rolling Rocks for the next five blog sessions. The Rolling Rock idea came from a conversation I recently saw on MSNBC. Several well known media types were discussing the recent death of Tim Russert. They recalled a visit with Tim to the Roadkill Cafe. Tim expressed much pleasure that Rolling Rock Beer was available in such an out-of-the-way place. I deduced from that, that Tim was an RRB fan. But I must admit at this point that I am 'all Russerted out' after watching the many tributes on all of the cable news channels this week. And not that I wasn't a fan. I was a big fan. Rest in peace, Tim. I like your taste in beer. Go, Bills!

(3)
A quick visit to the LR saw a familiar meme on CNN: Michelle Obama is only recently 'proud of her country.' The implication is that she is not sufficiently patriotic to become the First Lady. Utter nonsense! I know exactly how she feels! Indeed, even I - genius that I am - am not proud of my country! I am, in fact, ashamed of my country. Furthermore I have good reason to be thus ashamed. Hard-core Republicans will not understand that attitude, but hard-core Democrats will: Americans ought to be ashamed of what the last four years of the Bush Administration have brought to America and The World. What a tragedy.
Granted, Michelle Obama may have somewhat different reasons for her emotional attitude vis America (she is not - for example - a typical sexually mutilated male) but she certainly has the right (and the duty) to express her emotional judgement.
(I got the 'could not contact Blogger' message at that point and decided to wrap it up for tonight. See you next week.)

(2)
I trust that my female readers enjoyed the previous post much more than my male readers did, and this generates feelings of guilt, since I have no comparable cunt links at the moment. Sorry. I'll try to make it up to you in the future. Stay tuned, boys: I promise you some cunt! Eventually.

I'm still in the process of transfering my DROG from OC to NC. It is a huge project, especially printwise, and rereading it generates huge emotions, not the least of which is 'embarrassment.' I am amazed by how much I had totally forgot! I take this occasion to recommend to my readers that they keep a journal. My experience is that my brain does not retain the 'trivia' of my life, but 'remembers' it when reading my journal. (I only wish that I had started my journal sooner.) This suggests to me that my brain is 'tuned to forget,' that it focuses on the NOW, while at the same time retaining a 'memory structure' which instantly recognizes 'true personal history' (or some reasonable facsimile thereof) when such data arises, if ever. Alien data is rejected immediately. That is to say that 'false memory' (from a false 'journal,' for example) would not fit within the general framework and would be rejected or would be suspect. This 'memory framework' is not enough to generate 'actual memories.' You need a journal for that. The important thing is that our 'memory framework' connects directly to our emotional brain. And the emotional brain is the ultimate decider. Hmm. This would seem to suggest a revision to my suggestion that 'emotion preceeds logic.' In light of that, here is my new conjecture: Emotion precedes logic, and follows logic.
Which brings us to The Web: Blogging is good for you.

(1)
Been getting some good exercise recently riding my bike. A plus is, lots of vitamin D from the sun. The real bike definitely beats the stationary version. I love summer in Colorado!

I'm still thinking about growing some Ganja, but haven't yet decided to do it. Meanwhile my drug interest was piqued recently by a Nightline piece on Salvia Divinorum. The piece suggested (to me, at least) that Salvia is sort of like a quickie Acid trip. Sort of... Sounds interesting. So far it's still legal, and some researchers are enthusiastic about its eventual medicinal value. On the downside, one Salvia user committed suicide after apparently taking the drug's 'insights' a bit too seriously. Seems he was a Salvia smoker who wrote messages to himself. His suicide methodology? Inhalation of CO. I give him a 'C' for consistency. Will the DEA use this incident to outlaw the drug? We shall see. Meanwhile it is still legal. Get it while you can...

I've been doing lots of research myself this week, subject: Intactivism. The Circumstitions site is a real treasure trove of circumcision information, and is organized on one page using many interlocking links. What a find! Here are some recommended sublinks:
The Chronology of Circumcision. The history of male sexual mutilation.
Pleasures of the Foreskin. "The foreskin is not the candy wrapper. It's the candy."
Class Action Lawsuit. "Circumcised? Mad as hell about it?"
Famous Dicks. A gallery of famous men and their penises.

(4)
2231L (1031 pm) and I just did my blood sugar test for the last time tonight: 83. This is the lowest I have ever seen it, and represents an actual 24 hour fast value (except for some caffine, some beer, and some whiskey). A quick look at Streaming Circumcised Media (SCM) suggests that Hillary and Obama are meeting even as I type this. Good news! A unified Democratic Party will have the best chance to defeat the Republican Party in November.
Meanwhile I am wondering: Can you actually buy real Ganja seeds online?! Really!? Oh my god! I hope so!. Naturally I will keep you informed. My lungs are feeling better and better by the minute...
It seems to me that here is an appropriate moment to listen to 'trip music.' Enjoy. (Later: I just watched and listened to the entire piece. Glorious!)

(3)
Continuing with the theme of the previous post, what would it take for me to grow some Ganja?
1. I would need to acquire some seeds. Since I have no contact with people (except Kootch) I would need to acquire those seeds over the internet. That might or might not work.
2. Presuming that worked, I would have to make room in the closet for my plants. Hmm. On the minus side there is a lot of stuff in the closet that would have to be thrown away. On the plus side there are still hooks in the closet ceiling which would support the necessary gro-lamps (I grew my last batch in that closet).
3. I don't think Kootch would object.
4. I don't think the ACSD would make it an issue (for obvious reasons).
5. My quest would make very interesting reading on my blog. Hmmm!
6. You would love it! I know you.
7. Last but not least, I would need to buy a bong. Can you buy a bong legally nowadays? I remember our last bong: it had a very large bowl which nicely matched the weak Ganja I had grown. We used to load the bong with hot water from the sink, then we would load the bowl with my weak Ganja. Then we would smoke it. The smoke would have to travel through a filter, then through the hot water. Most of the particulates would be trapped by that passage and the resulting smoke would be reasonably safe. Meanwhile, the moist air from the hot water would make it easy for 'the medicine to go down.' It was much better than simply doing a 'joint.' When I read this again over the weekend - having recovered from my hangover - I will no doubt conclude that here is a new direction (a phase transition) for my blog.
We shall see...

(2)
Kootch just walked by the door and informed me smilingly that she was about to hit the sack. I replied smilingly that I deduced from that that she would not be available for an emergency beer run later. She waved smilingly and closed the door. I won't dare wake her up, of course. Nor will I dare drive to the booze shop. In fact, I have more than enough booze to get us all through the evening. I mention this because tonight's blog is being powered by six 3.2 Natural Lights, plus one half-pint of Canadian Mist, instead of the usual 12 NLs. The idea is to reduce the liquid load. Will it work? We shall see. (If only I had some Ganja we could do these weekly meetings after only six NLs! And the meetings would probably be even shorter!)
Kootch was shocked yesterday by her blood sugar level. I was doing my BS after fasting all day except for Diet Pepsi (my usual routine). We Were about to watch Millionaire. She had just begun to eat, whereas I was finishing my last DP. After I'd finished my BS test she wanted me to do hers (mine was 114). Hers measured 174. Oops! Kootch was very disconcerted, and today she was telling me how she planned to correct the situation. She refused my offer to do another test (mine was 95 today). She plans to do one test per week, the idea being to get a dramatic reduction as reinforcement for her planned diet changes. This is very 'Kootch,' who's style is denial. I will give her the space she needs, of course, as usual.
I must admit that the idea of growing another batch of Ganja is very tempting. For one thing, I would be able to document the unique result of the Ethanol/THC 'synergy.' This blog would become quite a different blog as I attempted to translate that amazing 'high' into words. The problem is that my lungs are already overburdened given the current gassings, and in my current state I am wondering whether my eventual demise will be due to lung cancer or glioma. Nevertheless, the idea is appealing. I don't have all that long to live in any case, and why not go out with a bang?

(1)
This week's big news is that the Democrats now have a presumptive nominee: Barack Obama. (I obviously got my endorsement in just under the wire.) Meanwhile, Hillary and friends are currently in 'grief mode' but are scheduled to resolve the matter tomorrow and endorse Obama Saturday. It seems to be very clear that we are going through a phase transition in American politics!
I didn't want to let last week's subject of 'Circumcision' go with only the quoted single links, so I have organized the two most important subjects into their respective links below:
----------
Circumcision is Bullshit!
Part one.
Part two.
Part three.
----------
Functions of the Foreskin.
Part one.
Part two.
----------
These two subjects contain all the information parents need in order to make informed decisions about whether or not to circumcise their infant sons. I remember seeing this video on TODAY quite some time ago, and I remember especially that the pro-circumcision advocate was a Kaiser-Permanente physician in addition to being an influential member of the American Academy of Pediatrics Task Force on Circumcision. I see this video as proof that the American Jewish Establishment was pro-circumcision as a matter of policy, occasional feeble attempts by Jew-dominated Circumcised Media notwithstanding.