Friday, February 27, 2015

Dropping Acid vs. Cataract Surgery

1. The typical acid trip lasts about 12 hours. Cataracts are forever.
2. When you drop acid, both your eyeballs twirl around in your head. With cataract surgery, just the eye that was operated on twirls. No telling for how long, but still going strong on the second day post-op.
3. With acid, all colors are electric and fluorescent. With cataract surgery, browns turn purple and stainless steel undulates.
4. On acid you think you can do anything. After cataract surgery you truly believe you can do nothing. In both cases you are sort of right.
5. According to the Internet the current rate for a tab of acid is about $5.00, whereas cataract surgery starts at $2,500 per eye.
6. Acid makes you eat weird things like an entire bag of M&Ms. Cataract surgery makes you lose your appetite and thus is better for weight loss.
7. LSD inspired the Woodstock Generation to create groundbreaking music, art and literature. Cataract surgery helps that same generation read the directions on their medications.
8. On acid you think you have a third eye. With cataract surgery, you wish you did.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

It's Not Called "Pizzaland"

              Gordon Studer
It has recently been brought to my attention just how bad the lion's share of pizza here in Maine really is. A friend of mine who lives here but is from "away" called seeking commiseration, shocked that he had been led astray by his coworkers, all Maine natives, to a place that allegedly made the best in all of Portland. Instead, to his utter dismay, and I quote, "It was the worst pizza of my life--worse than elementary school cafeteria pizza. It's crazy. It's insane!"

The poor Mainers, innocents all. Pity them, do not scorn them! They have never been to Brooklyn, that Mecca of the cheese pie where even a plain slice, dripping with oil, reaches as far down as your elbow before you fold it in half and cram it into your mouth, its rich tomato sauce and tangy mozzarella, adorned with a sprinkling of Parmesan and a smattering of crushed red peppers, defining the very dish. They know nothing of this, so they accept the doughy, pasty round circles piled high with irrelevant morsels of pineapple and bacon and turkey and cauliflower as "pizza."

Who among us is surprised? After all, Maine is not Italy. Nor is it even New York, Chicago or D.C. There is no neighborhood anywhere in Maine called "Little Italy." And while there are people here of Italian descent --there must be-- I have never met any. So when you come to Maine, America's "Vacationland," order lobster. It's best to stick with what they know.

The Day After

What you read on the Internet about almost anythung is oft a crock. take, for example, how you will feel after cataract surgery, which I had yesterday, excalty 24 gours ago tp be exact.

I cannot do anyhitng today. I can't drive. I can'r read, and i certainly cannot go out for a walk unless I want to walk into traffic. The operated eye is still very dilated, so is extremekmly light sensitive. The un-operated eye is still foggy from the cataract and my natural nearsigthedness, but i can;t wear my glasses vecause the opearted eye is no loger thT PRESCRIOTION AND IT;S ALL SCREWED UP QWHEN I PUT ON THE OLD GLASSE. I HAVE TO USE THREE DIFFERET KINDS OF DROPS IN MYEYES FOR THE NECT FIVE WEEKS, AND THEY SORT OF STING WHEN YOU PUT THEM IN AND OF COUARS ADD TO THE BLUFFRRINESS.

IT SICKCS. THE OPERATED EYE IS CLEARER and no longer nearsighted, but it;s no use tyo me until I get theother one done. And this is how itlooks wghen you try to write a blog post.

My advice is if your cataract is making you blid, fix it. if it is just mildley ablurry from time to time, leave it alo e, somethujng else willl kill you fisrt.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

The Truth About Cataract Surgery

First of all, having cataract surgery does not hurt. Not even a little. In fact, the whole experience was sort of fun, at least with the team of doctors I had. It felt like I had been abducted by aliens and brought aboard their spaceship for observation and study. That may have had to do with the enormous quantities of sedatives, tranquilizers and anesthetics being dumped, pumped and injected into my body through a variety of tubes, drips and needles. Whatever it was, it made me laugh.

It was quick, taking only about 15 minutes for the actual surgical procedure. Including all the preparations beforehand and recovery after, from start to finish I was in and out in an hour and a half, ready for a hearty breakfast at Denny's. (Okay so they are racists, but there it was and I hadn't eaten since last night, sue me.)

Two or three hours post-op is a different story. Your eye is slammed shut, still sleeping from all the drugs, they told me. It oozes ointment. You're woozy and sort of headachey. When your eye finally starts to open, things get even weirder. It's been super-dilated so things are blurry, and you have double or maybe triple vision and colors are just wrong, there's no other word for it.

I am excited to see how things look when my eye calms down and the new lens which was installed after the cloudy lens was removed starts functioning properly. The word on the street is that I will no longer need glasses, which I have worn since I was in 7th grade. This I gotta see.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

New Gloves

Last night I dreamed that my husband was sitting at the dining room table and opened the newspaper, which came wrapped in a plastic bag with a rubber band around it, threw the bag and the rubber band on the floor and glibly started reading the paper. I was pretty pissed off and said, "Where do you think you are, the Greyhound bus station?" Then he got mad at me and abruptly left the room, which was not really a room at all but merely a space inside my brain.

So when I woke up to minus 13 degrees I was already in a bad mood and concluded that Maine does not support life and I have to leave. Of course if you live where it's warm it gets really hot in the summer and that's pretty terrible too. Besides, yesterday I bought a pair of gloves that seem better than my last pair which offered almost no protection in severe temperatures despite being fleece-lined and suede on the outside and costing $100. The new ones are a cross between gloves and mittens -- I think of them as "glittens"-- and they seem to do the job.

Besides good gloves, eating oatmeal for breakfast is about the best thing you can do in this weather as it really does stick to your ribs and warm your insides for several hours.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Guest Blogger: C.S. LEWIS


"Hell begins with a grumbling mood, always complaining, always blaming others... but you are still distinct from it. You may even criticize it in yourself and wish you could stop it. 

"But there may come a day when you can no longer. Then there will be no you left to criticize the mood or even to enjoy it, but just the grumble itself, going on forever like a machine. 

"It is not a question of God "sending us" to hell. In each of us there is something growing, which will be hell unless it is nipped in the bud. " 

–"The Great Divorce," 1945

Undies at the Oscars

Oscar Host Neil Patrick Harris and friend.
Judging from my Facebook news stream today, I am not the only highly intelligent person who sank to street level and watched last night's Oscar awards show. In my defense I will say that I had the remote within reach at all times and when necessary hit the mute button, like for most of the acceptance speeches and all of the musical numbers, and changed the channel during commercials and whenever the proceedings became unbearably embarrassing. This happened quite often, causing me to split my time between the Oscars and another debacle, "My 600-lb. Life." Both were disturbing for vastly different reasons, but only one of them made me want to puke. (Not telling which.)

Note to producers: I don't care whose designer dresses all those fake boobs are falling out of, just tell me who won. The show is too damn long and also ridiculously irrelevant to anyone but the people in the audience. It needs a complete overhaul, starting with the elimination of the "presenters," that parade of egos who strut out and do nothing but display their beautiful selves and read some silly lines from a teleprompter.

As for the host, who knew that Neil Patrick Harris had such a big one? I would have figured him for a teeny-weeny peeny, if one at all. Anyway, yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay Birdman!!!!!