JB on the Rocks

Blowing off steam

2009-12-30T19:54:00.003-07:00

What the HELL is wrong with people?

I'm asking, because I can't figure it out.

Really, what the fuck is wrong with some people?

What the HELL would make a person think that THIS would be acceptable?

Further, how the FUCK would you justify THIS?

Some people are sick. Sick, psychopathic fucktards who simply do not deserve to be called humans.

I'm not a violent man, and I prefer to think of myself as having a measure of civility, but these two stories make me want to give these sorts of people a visit and introduce them to my trusty Remington 870.

What. The. Fuck.

And here. In Colorado. MY state. Where I live. Where everyone and their brother has a black Labrador or an Australian Cattle Dog.

Bastards. Bastards, all of them. They do not deserve to live in a civilized society if they're going to treat dogs like this.

I'd like to find the guy behind either one of these and look him straight in the eye and tell him what a cheap, lying, no good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, bloodsucking, brainless, dick-less, hopeless, heartless, fat-assed, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is.

Some people are alive only because it'd be against the law for me to shoot them.

UPDATE: Arrest made in the dog dragging case. Good. Now let's shoot him.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-24T18:06:00.003-07:00

In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it 'Christmas' and went to church; the Jews called it 'Hanukka' and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy Hanukka!' or (to the atheists) 'Look out for the wall!'

Merry Christmas, y'all.

Never underestimate

2009-12-19T11:27:00.002-07:00

The potential for human creativity.

Watch this, all the way through.

Then watch this.

I LOL'd.

You'd better watch out...

2009-12-14T20:37:00.002-07:00

You'd better not cry.

You'd better pout,

I'm telling you why...

AmbuDriver is coming to town.

I'll never watch "Wonder Years" in the same way again

2009-12-11T20:50:00.002-07:00

Winnie is all grown up.

Oh, my goodness.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Good suggestions

2009-12-11T15:54:00.003-07:00

In the event you find yourself in the back of an ambulance, here are some suggestions:

-No matter how many times you ask if you can drive, we won't let you.

-It's NOT ok to play with all the switches in the back.

-The phone mounted in the ambulance is not for you to use to call your friends and say "Hey, guess where I am right now!"

-Defibrillators hurt, even if it is just your leg, so don't make us mad.

-It is not necessary, as a bystander, to stand by the paramedics and yell, "Nothing to see here folks, move along!" as they are treating patients.

-It is unnecessary to use the phrases "10-4" and "Roger That" when talking in person to the paramedics.

-Paramedics do not think it's funny if you lie down in the gurney and zip yourself into a body bag. You won't think it's funny either when the zipper gets stuck.

A suggestion

2009-12-10T21:35:00.001-07:00

Should you find yourself having purchased a software suite that uses a database to track your EMS operations...

And should you find yourself saddled with an IT Specialist that thinks he (or she) has more knowledge than he really does...

And should you find that said IT Specialist decides to change the permissions for the assorted database log in accounts that aforementioned software uses to operate properly...

It might... MIGHT, I say... be a good idea to mention this fact should you decide to call your software vendor for technical support, lest the person providing said technical support spend 4 hours dialed in to your servers trying to determine the source of the error you get, only to discover the problem that takes 30 seconds and five mouse clicks to repair.

That is all.

Firearms, hysteria, and the Nanny State Mindset

2009-12-06T16:09:00.002-07:00

Saw a link over at Instapundit that directed me to an article in the Toronto Sun, via here.

Digging a bit more, I came across this longer piece from CTV.

There's so much here, it's hard to decide where to start. So I'll start at the start:

A Toronto designer became a participant in a real-life Flashpoint-style event when police tactical officers showed up at his workplace over a firearms call that involved a Lego gun.

"I've had numerous people either say, 'Oh my God, I thought Flashpoint was just filming,' or, 'This is totally going to be a Flashpoint episode at some point'," Jeremy Bell told ctvtoronto.ca on Thursday. "Yeah, it's pretty surreal."

Flashpoint is a CTV drama, set in Toronto, about a police "strategic response unit."

OK, so a lot of reasonable people thought this was a television show. That's understandable.

Late Wednesday afternoon, Bell -- a partner with the digital design firm Teehan+Lax, located at 460 Richmond St. W. -- was assembling a replica handgun made out of Lego that had arrived.

"It arrived yesterday and at the end of the day, I decided to put it together. I literally assembled it, handed it to a co-worker (who promptly broke it) and then put it back in the box," Bell wrote in a posting on his personal blog.

"The SWAT arrived shortly thereafter."

I shudder to think what would have happened had he been putting together a model of an F-15.

Across the street, Michael Dent was working in his third-floor loft. He saw what he thought was someone assembling a firearm, so he took some photos and called the police.

"I don't really like guns right beside me -- and then it turned out to be Lego," Dent chuckled.

He doesn't like guns, so he decided it was OK to spy on the people across the street, take their pictures, call the police, and report one of those people for doing... well, nothing at all.

Oh, and he also either gave or sold his picture to the media. If I were Mr. Bell, I'd sue for that.

None of those are a problem, apparently, to Mr. Dent. It's justified because he doesn't like guns right beside him. Or across the street, even.

But he added, "My girlfriend is moving in with her daughter and stuff, and it looks right into our loft where we sleep, so no, not cool."

Not sure how to explain this to Mr. Dent, but just because you think something is "not cool" doesn't make it illegal. Nor does it give you the right to encroach your beliefs on others.

Dent said the door of the office was shut, and it never is, so for all he knew, someone might have been laid off "and about to go postal, so that's why I called."

And here we get to the root issue: Anyone who has a firearm is "about to postal" [note: 'go postal' are the CTV's words, not Mr. Dent's. I could understand if Dent used the term, but for a media entity? Seriously? Do you not employ journalists who can craft a better turn of phrase?]

Behind this is the irrational fear of firearms that drives the anti-gun crowd... "Guns are evil, the people who own them must therefore be evil and about to commit an evil act. There is no other explanation."

It is beyond the realm of possibility that someone would be capable of owning a firearm and NOT use it to "go postal." Why, they're one promotion denial away from slinging lead into anything that moves, letting the bodies pile up in the streets, and staining the concrete a crimson red with the blood of innocent people.

Right.

I own two firearms. One pistol, one shotgun. Neither has ever once been pointed at a human. Ever. The shotgun has been pointed at a few ducks now and then, and even a couple pheasant (though, I'm sorry to report that most of the aforementioned fowl showed no signs whatsoever of the event.... maybe I need AD to give me some lessons.)

But not once has either been pointed even close to another person. Not once. Ever.

Yet, obviously, I'm an evil person with evil intentions, for I own a gun. Two, actually, which probably means I'm twice as evil.

Bell was in his office and then heard a voice yelling his name and instructing him to come into the hallway.

"At first I thought, 'who did I piss off?' I wasn't worried about my safety ... but I certainly wasn't expecting to see an armed officer," he said, adding he couldn't remember what type of firearm was pointed at him.

Bell said he knew he hadn't done anything wrong.

Sorry, Mr. Bell, but while you might not have done anything wrong, per se, you did something that is "not cool." You put together a LEGO gun. Off to Gitmo for you!

"As soon as I realized they were actual cops and this was not a joke, I was, 'What else could it be? It's got to be the stupid Lego gun I put together'," he said.

Police had him put his hands on his head and walk backwards towards them. "They cuffed me, pulled me into the stairwell and threw me against the wall. They spread my legs and checked to make sure I didn't have a weapon on me," he said.

Doesn't matter. You did something that was "not cool." That, t'would seem, is reasonable cause to slam you against the wall and cuff you.

Bell said he told them where the Lego gun was, they went to check it out and then uncuffed him. He was handcuffed for about 90 seconds.

After seeing the photos, Bell said he can understand why Dent called the cops, although to him, it's still clearly Lego.

"There's like a million pieces on the table," he said, adding, it's not like he waved it around or took it out on the street.

It's clear to anyone that has, you know, actually seen a real firearm. I'm not a betting man, but 5 will get ya 10 that Mr. Dent has never even touched one of those evil Harbingers of Doom.

[Cue dark John Williams music here.]

Const. Tony Vella of the Toronto Police Service no charges resulted from the incident, the response for which involved uniformed and tactical officers.

"We have to take all the gun calls seriously because we don't know what we're getting involved in," Vella said. "There's the potential for public risk as well as the risk to the officers' safety."

I'm betting Constable Vella wouldn't have taken such a serious view if I called and said that I can see my neighbor standing in his kitchen with a butcher knife.

On his blog, Bell wrote: "The cops clearly don't take this shit lightly."

Correct. They take it with an excessive measure of hysteria and force. Sorry you live in such a Nanny State, Mr. Bell.

Dent wondered what his phone call cost the city in taxes.

Oh, I'm SURE that's weighing heavily on his mind.

Holiday lights

2009-12-01T15:50:00.002-07:00

You can always tell when you've arrived at Ambulance Driver's house during Christmas.

:)

The weekend that was

2009-11-09T18:52:00.003-07:00

I had been on the road for work all week, and after an exhausting time on the job, I came home Saturday morning. As per the norm, Casey met me at the door with a wet tongue and a tail that could have broken a tibia, had it struck the wrong angle.

We spent the past couple days walking more miles than most people do in a month, watched a couple sunsets, took naps beside the fireplace, and ate like Kings (me: grilled brats and baked beans, washed down with beer; her: a beef femur bone and a handful of gizzards and hearts mixed in with her kibble.)

Reminded me of this:

"I talk to him when I'm lonesome like; and I'm sure he understands.
"When he looks at me so attentively, and gently licks my hands;
"Then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes, but I never say naught thereat.
"For the good Lord knows I can buy more clothes, but never a friend like that."

~ W. Dayton Wedgefarth

It's been a while

2009-10-27T19:35:00.000-07:00

But I simply haven't had time to write anything.

However, I do have a random observation to make:

If you think watching children trying to catch snowflakes on their tongue is cute, you haven't seen an mutt dog raised in the Arizona desert try to do the same thing.

That is all. For now.

For aspiring IT folks

2009-09-05T07:54:00.001-07:00

There is more to creating a back up of a SQL Database than simply copying a bunch of .ldf and .mdf files.

That method of a "back up" will only ensure great pain, frustration, and difficulty for your software vendor's rep when he comes out to install a SQL based software program. It may even drive him to drink.

That is all.

Advice to new Medics

2009-08-29T09:16:00.002-07:00

My two pals, AD and TOTWTYTR both have excellent posts up that offer sound advice to new medics. And, to be honest, I can't believe AD remembered our conversation all those years ago in Austin. I'm honored.

Frankly, there's little more I could add, but I'm going to anyway.

*****

The Good Lord gave you two ears and one mouth in that ratio for a reason.

Spend more time listening than talking.

Listen to your patients. When possible, ask them a question that can't be answered with a "Yes" or "No." Get them talking. Then listen to what they have to say. A wise Physician Assistant I once worked with told me "The patient's history and physical exam will give you the diagnosis most of the time. Fancy tests and x-rays and such just confirm it." That's a truism I've kept in my pocket over the past decade as I've worked in EMS.

Listen to the doctors. They're better educated than you, and underneath the skin of every physician is a frustrated teacher yearning to breathe free. If you get a patient that doesn't quite meet the "text book picture" of a disease or injury -- and trust me, most of your patients will fail to meet the text book picture -- get the doctor talking, and listen. You'll learn something.

Listen to the nurses. Like the NCO in the military, it's the nurse that really keeps things running in the hospital. A wise physician will listen to the nurse, and if the doctor is smart enough to do that, you should too. Nurses have a different outlook on patient care, and broadening your view will help you become a better paramedic.

No single text book contains all the knowledge you need to do your job.

I really wish those public service announcements on TV that implore parents to read to their kids would expand to include paramedic students. Read! Get your paws on every book you can find about medicine, and read. Dr. Bryan Bledsoe has a 5 volume set of texts that cover a veritable cornucopia of information about prehospital care, and even those don't cover it all. Read! Get yourself a copy of Tintinalli's or Rosen's guide to emergency medicine. Then read it. When you come to a term you don't understand, go look it up. Have a copy of Taber's on the back of the toilet tank. Find a library that has various journals -- Annals of Emergency Medicine, Prehospital Emergency Care, Journal of Trauma, Heart -- and sit down to read.

Read! Read a diverse selection. I have texts on cardiology, medical-surgical nursing, critical care paramedicine, air medical transport, wilderness and remote medicine, orthopedic trauma, renal disease, critical care nursing, pediatrics, and internal medicine. I've given away twice that many to other folks.

Read!

You always have time to think.

Despite what the television drama shows or paramedic instructors tell you, there are very few times where you must act immediately! Damn few. I can think of two calls in 10+ years where I had less than 30 seconds to make a decision, and one of those was an easy decision to make. When things don't make sense, and you're not sure what the right course of action is, your best bet is to stop, step back, and think. Obviously, some of the basic stuff is a good idea, and comforting measures go farther than you think, but overall, you should engage the gray matter 'tween your ears and think.

One of my pet peeves, and the answer I give when people ask me in interviews "What's your weakest area?" is that I have absolutely no tolerance or patience for people who don't think. You've been entrusted with the care of another person's life and health. That's not a burden to take lightly, and it requires that you think. If you stop and think, and your thinking is awry, I'm OK with that, and most experienced and quality paramedics are, too. We don't mind if you make a mistake in your thinking. That's easy to fix: Sit down with some coffee, talk it over, and find out where your thought process was flawed. Simple, takes about 45 minutes. But if you tell me "I wasn't thinking," then I don't have any use for you, and would rather you sit your rump in the front seat and stay out of my way.

When it doesn't make sense, stop and think.

It's never a bad idea to put the patient in the ambulance and go to the hospital.

Along with the thinking bit above, don't forget that your job, ultimately, is to take the patient to the big building where the doctors and nurses work. You're not curing disease out there... you're helping people feel better in the short term, providing them some peace of mind, and applying temporary care until you get them to the hospital. If you can think of nothing else to do, put the patient in the ambulance and go to the hospital. This was the first thing my paramedic instructor told us on the first day of class: "If you remember nothing else after the next 14 months, remember that it's never a bad idea to take the sick person to the Emergency Room."

Giggle*snort

2009-08-20T07:31:00.001-07:00

You've seen that picture of the squirrel that popped up in the vacation picture of the couple in Banff National Park?

It seems he's been around.

Beverage alert in effect.

Whole Foods

2009-08-16T07:00:00.003-07:00

Via Ann Althouse...

TMV has a guest post up regarding the op-ed piece by Whole Food's CEO John Mackey in the WSJ this week.

In brief:

With a single op-ed in an uber conservative national newspaper, this wholesome image has been blown to bits. In the course of writing 1,165 words, CEO Mackey has caused more potential damage to the Whole Foods corporate image than an e-coli outbreak in the meat room.

In calling for support of the boycott of Whole Foods, I’m making an educated guess that their average customer is very politically progressive in nature. And that is why, if liberals and progressives quit shopping at Whole Foods, the impact would be quickly apparent to the company’s Board of Directors. By quickly, I mean by this coming Monday morning when the weekend receipts are tallied.
I am all for freedom of speech. Mr. Mackey had every right to express his views on health care in the WSJ, even as anathema as those views might be to progressives. Similarly, we progressives have every right to decide whether or not we want to spend our food dollars in a store whose CEO clearly doesn’t support the most important progressive cause of the moment.

So, if you are a Whole Foods shopper, please consider honoring the boycott, at least for a short period of time. The impact will be very evident, and almost immediate.

There are several factors and dynamics to this, and it's kinda fun to read. I'll ignore the knee-jerk reaction of liberals to automatically label anything or anyone that disagrees with them as "uber-conservative." I'm modestly surprised they didn't call Mr. Mackey a "neo-con."

TMV's piece does call Mackey's op-ed "anti-health care," which is indicative that Mr. Blair lacks reading comprehension... the entire op-ed was giving suggestions and examples of how we can improve and increase health care for all Americans.

Further, Whole Foods pays 100% of health insurance for employees that work more than 30 hours. This is significant, since most companies require that the employee pay at least part of their premiums. Second, Whole Foods also gives their employees $1800 in donations to their Health Savings Accounts.

Keeping that in mind, can you imagine the sweet irony should the boycott by these "progressive" voices causes Whole Foods to enact layoffs, thus removing the health care benefits of laid-off employees? Whole Foods does what the liberals want everyone to do: Provide "free" health care to their employees. They should be applauded for their acts. Instead, they're going to be boycotted because their CEO has the temerity to make suggestions other than "Tax the rich, and enact a single payer system."

If you've got a Whole Foods in your neck of the words, consider dropping in and spending a couple dollars. You can also drop an e-mail of support by clicking here.

Why I prefer dogs over humans

2009-08-15T10:24:00.002-07:00

This is cool.

11 Things Every Man Should Know

2009-08-12T18:27:00.002-07:00

I've had some interesting conversations with co-workers, colleagues, friends, and casual acquaintances over the years, and in those conversations, I've culled a list of things that I, JB, believe that every man should know how to do.

These are not things that are special, unique, exotic, or crazy. They are skills that combine elements of survival, etiquette, and self-reliance. And class.

In no particular order, my list of 11 Things Every Man Should Know How To Do:

11. Start a fire without matches or a lighter: Have a means to create a spark and a means to capture that spark. A 9 volt battery and a small portion of steel wool, or a flint and steel will both cause a spark. A cotton ball with some petroleum jelly, or a handful of dry shredded bark with a dollop of alcohol based hand sanitizer will catch that spark. Add to the resultant flame with dry sticks, small at first (less than your pinky finger) and slowly increase.

10: Score a baseball game: This says it better than I can. Mind you keep track of BB, HBP, and double plays.

9: Shoot a firearm: If you don't know how, go find a local firearm dealer that offers classes and take one. Learn the differences between rifles, shotguns, and pistols. Shoot several different types, in various calibers, and practice often.

8: Find North without a compass: Assuming you know nothing about the stars, the Big Dipper, and Polaris: With a non-digital watch (i.e., one that still has hands that rotate about the watch face,) place the watch flat on the ground. Slowly rotate the watch until the hour hand points at the sun. Half-way between the hour hand and the 12 o'clok position, put a small stick flat on the ground in line with the markings of the watch. That match is aligned to the North-South Line, pointing South. Now, if your watch is one of them fancy gollywog digital types: During daylight, place a small twig in the ground, as vertical as possible. Place a small pebble at the end of the shadow. Now sit down. Wait 15 minutes or more. Preferrably more. Like 30. After 30 minutes, put another stick in the ground, again as vertical as possible. Mark the end of the shadow with a pebble. The line between the two pebbles is generally East-West.

7. Cook a GOOD meal: No, spaghetti with Ragu doesn't count. Nor does Mac-n-Cheese with Hot Dogs (good though it may be, hot dogs with mac-n-cheese will NOT impress her on the third date.) First, understand that if you can read, you can cook. If you can't read, it's doubtful you'd have made it this far into this post. Now, then. Don't skimp on ingredients. If a recipie tells you "a pound of quality Italian Sausage," then spend the money. Follow directions carefully. Slow down. Think before you act. My favorite: Eggplant Ratatoullie on Rice. Dice one eggplant, one large green pepper, one large yellow onion, and one each yellow squash and zucchini. Heat a VERY LARGE skillet over medium heat with a splash or two of oil (Extra Virgin Olive Oil is ideal,) and sautee onions until almost clear. Add the peppers and squash and zucchini, and continue to sautee. After 5 minutes or so, add the eggplant, and reduce heat to med-low. During this, cook two cups of brown rice according to package directions. After the onion/pepper/eggplant mix has cooked though, add a 14oz can of diced tomatoes in juice, salt and pepper to taste (some generic "Italian Seasoning" works well in here, too,) and heat through. Serve the ratatoullie over the rice, and pair it with a salad and a bottle of Shiraz (Yellow Tail will do.)

6. Change the oil in a car: Start the car, and let it run for a couple, two or three, minutes to warm the oil. This facilitates the old oil draining. Shut the enging off, jack the car up, using the frame, and keep in mind that you chock the rear wheels, lest it slide on you. Under the engine, locate and remove the oil pan plug, letting the old oil drain to a collection pan. Once the oil draining has slowed to a trickle, replace the plug to finger tight. Go into the house, have a cold beer. Wait. At least one beer's worth of wait time, preferrably two. Return to under the car, remove the drain plug again, and let the last bit pour out. Replace plug, tighten with a wrench, and replace all the old oil with new. The same weight oil, of course: Old 10W30 = New 10W30. Old 5W40 = New 5W40. And so forth. Most engines will take 3 quarts, some need 4. Put 3 in, then wait another beer's worth of time, and check the dipstick. Add as necessary.

5. Provide First Aid to an injured person: Take a class.

4. Make a Kick-Ass Bloody Mary: Get thyself a tall glass, some quality vodka (I like Grey Goose, YMMV,) and some fresh tomato juice. Also get thyself salt, pepper, a lime, a kosher dill, Tabasco, and Worchestershire sauce. Pour some salt and pepper onto a saucer, wet the rim of the glass, and dip into the salt/pepper mix. You're going for something akin to what bartenders do to a margarita glass. Fill the glass 3/4 with ice, add an ounce and a half of vodka, and fill almost to the top with tomato juice. Splash some Tabasco and Worchestershire, to taste (I go for more Tabasco than Worchestershire, but whatever,) and slide the pickle spear into the end result. Set a slice of lime on the edge of the glass, and serve.

3. Train a dog: Of all the things on this list, this one is the easiest one, in my opinion. Then, too, I understand dogs a hell of a lot better than I understand humans. The first step is to understand dogs. After that, to teach a dog "Sit," you take a treat, hold it in front of the dog, and slowly move the treat above and back of the dog's head. As she moves her head up to follow the treat, her rump will drop, and she will sit down. Say "SIT!" the very instant her rump hits the ground, then give her the treat and praise her as if she just built Rome in a day.

2. Replace a flat tire: When you hear that highway starting to whine, and you know that left rear tire is about to blow, here's the plan. It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway: Make damn sure you have a spare that has and will hold air. A flat spare is as useless as an unloaded gun, an empty keg, or an empty wallet at the titty bar. While the car is still on all four tires, loosen all the lug nuts, either in a cross fashion if you have four lug nuts, or in a star pattern if you have five. Jack the car, using the frame as a jacking point, until the tire is well off the ground. Remove all the lug nuts, and remove the flat tire. Put the spare tire on, replacing the lugs to finger tight in the same fashion as you took them off (Cross or Star, depending.) Lower the car to the ground, and once back on all 4 wheels, tighten the lugs as firm as you can. Hightail it to the closest tire repair shop, keeping to the speed limits of your spare, if applicable.

1. Cook a steak on the grill, Medium Rare. Look, here's the thing: When it comes to Man-Skill, there's nothing that tells folks "I am the MAN!" like being able to cook dead animal flesh over an open flame. This ranks up there with dragging a woman back to your cave by her hair, popping the clutch on a '72 'Cuda with a 454 Hemi, or killing a Kodiak Bear with nothing more than your fists and a Victorinox Swiss Army Knife. This, friends, is REAL MAN STUFF. The weak need not apply. Get a hot grill going. Lots of charcoal, or the gas on high. Scrape the grill clean early, then season the grate with a cloth soaked in oil. Let that oil burn off. During this, take yourself some quality cuts -- I'm a New York Strip guy, but if you want a Ribeye instead, knock yourself out -- and season it. Nothing crazy here, just a light coat of olive oil and some salt and pepper. Both sides, of course. When your grill is nice and hot, plop the steak down. It's going to sizzle. Don't mind that. If it flames, a quick squirt of water with a squit bottle will do, but DO NOT DROWN THE CHARCOAL! Let the steak sear. 3 or 4 minutes a side. Turn, and let sear. 3 minutes, and turn again, with a 1/4 rotation (this puts those nice square sear marks on the steak.) 3 minutes, turn again. 3 minutes, remove from heat, put on a plate and cover with foil. Serve with a loaded baked potato, steamed asparagus, and a big honkin' bottle of wine.

There ya have it, folks. 11 Essential Skills for Every Man. Know them, and perfect them, or be foreever doomed to the realm of "Wussy."

Sorry

2009-08-08T06:56:00.002-07:00

I haven't had much up recently. It's been crazy busy.

Two weeks ago was our quarterly training at work, which meant long days, short nights, and no free time to speak of.

Last week I was on the road for work in upstate New York.

This past week, I moved into my new apartment, and have been dealing with the attendant problems thereof: Finding a place for everything, ordering internet and satellite service, etc. If you're of a mind, I'll gladly accept gift cards to Crate and Barrel, Bed Bath and Beyond, or Target.

Still don't have internet in my place yet -- he comes Tuesday afternoon to install -- and the only unsecured wireless I can find has a weak signal that drops often.

I'll try to get more stuff up when I have a reliable connection, but until then, start working through the links on the left to other blogs.

Cheers, y'all.

Parents

2009-07-25T10:22:00.002-07:00

What the hell is it with parents today?

The woman that lives next door, very pleasant in most regards, has a 10 year old son. The dad is not in the kid's life much, not that that matters.

Now, get this: The kid WANTS to mow the lawn. He enjoys it. And he does a pretty decent job... I've had him mow the yard here, and for $10 he mows, sweeps the clippings from the walk, and puts the mower back in the shed. He will come over and ASK me "Do you need your yard mowed?" A budding business man, at 10 years old.

She, however, hires a lawn service to do her lawn, rather than let her kid mow it.

And her reasoning?

"I don't want him to think he's only good for manual labor. I would rather he spend his time reading, listening to different styles of music, and learning about the arts than doing menial physical labor."

*blink blink*

I mowed the lawn as a kid. It was not only encouraged, but EXPECTED. "You want dinner? Best get the lawn done, then." I didn't much care for it, and instead wanted to go play with my buddies Dean and Eddie, but what I wanted didn't factor into the equation.

Now, however, we've got warm/fuzzy feel-good loonies that don't want their children to learn anything that resembles a work ethic, and instead teach them it's more important to listen to Erykah Badu and look at "Starry Night."

Raising a generation of pansies, we are.

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot., over?

The Wisdom of Old Men

2009-07-20T18:55:00.002-07:00

Allingham, who was the world's oldest man when he died Saturday at 113, attributed his remarkable longevity to "cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women."

I wonder if I could skip the first two and specialize?

The Media is at it again

2009-07-15T14:57:00.003-07:00

From the AP story on the Iranian airliner crash:

Iranian airlines, including state-run ones, are chronically strapped for cash, and maintenance has suffered, experts say. U.S. sanctions prevent Iran from updating its 30-year-old American aircraft and make it difficult to get European spare parts or planes as well. The country has come to rely on Russian aircraft, many of them Soviet-era planes that are harder to get parts for since the Soviet Union's fall.

The Caspian Airlines Tupolev jet's impact plowed a deep, long trench into agricultural fields outside the village of Jannat Abad, and the aircraft was blasted to bits.

So, it's the USA's fault that Iran used an old Russian jet that they can't maintain...

Seriously?

Healthcare

2009-07-15T14:27:00.003-07:00

In case you're confused about the Dems plan for healthcare, you're not alone.

Here's a handy flow chart to help you navigate the issue a little bit better.

04 July 2009

2009-07-04T09:24:00.002-07:00

There's more to it than hot dogs and explosives launched into the sky. Don't forget that.

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

Happy Birthday, America. May freedom forever reign.

Inhale, Exhale.

2009-07-02T08:51:00.000-07:00

Her name was Molly.*

Doing what I'm about to do is the direct result of something wholly terrible, yet I'm thankful for the chance to be here, because I can help right a wrong, after a fashion.

For now, though, I'm just breathing. No words come to my lips, no emotion on my face. I'm focused, singly, on a slow controlled inhale, and a slow, controlled exhale. My partner is next to me, and she knows me well enough to read the thoughts behind the look on my face. She's also experienced enough to know that right now, I don't want to talk, I don't want her to talk, and if anyone asks me "You doin' OK, JB?" I'm going to knock their teeth out. Her job, at this moment, is to just be here. That's why she's the best partner I've ever had as a medic.

Inhale. Exhale.

I glance at the door, beyond which sits a monster.

He doesn't look like a monster, of course. The real monsters never do. They look like normal folks. Some tall, some short. Full hair and balding. Square jaw, rounded face. Eyes set narrow to the sun, or thick Coke-bottle eyeglasses. "Just a regular man," you'd hear.

Except he was no man. He was a monster.

I don't want to look at him, yet as your eyes are drawn to a car wreck on the other side of the highway, mine will be drawn to his face. This guy is as regular as regular gets. He's a touch beyond 200 pounds, and tissue that was once muscle has turned soft, the result of too many beers and frozen dinners in front of a T.V. His head sets squarely on his shoulders, though if he had any decency, he'd hang it in shame. The shoulders are broad, and exude a relaxed confidence, as if he knows what's coming and knows he can weather the storm. A Timex on his right wrist -- he's a lefty, apparently -- marks time, and his back is straight. He's crossed his feet as he sits, relaxed.

Inhale, JB. Now exhale. Repeat.

Yeah, relaxed. After what this monster did, he's relaxing. He's relaxed, and I'm a mess of emotions: Anger, grief, curiosity, and perplexity.

And rage. Pure, untempered, primal rage. I want to face him with that rage. To ask him the questions that have burned into my soul since the first moment the dispatch said "Medic 9, Child injured, PD en route as well, RP states father of child is the suspect."

"You think you got enough salt to try that with me? Go ahead.... do to me what you did to her.

"Go ahead. Try to hold me down and force your fat, smelly, drunk-ass body on me, with your pencil dick and smelly breath. Try to touch me in spots that I don't want you to touch. Try it. Go ahead, try. I dare you. Nay, I BEG you to try that with me.

"She was 5 years old, and might have weighed 40 pounds. She called you Daddy. A daddy wouldn't have done this to his little girl. A father would have given his own life to prevent this from happening to his little girl. You're no daddy, you're no father. You're a piece of shit.

"I'm not that small, and I prefer a slightly different term for you than 'Daddy.' Go ahead... try that with me. Let's skip all the rest of this bullshit dog and pony show and get this over with. Don't bother looking at the cops, they won't help you. That, I promise. Let's do this... you, me, and last man breathing walks out of here a free man. Please. Try me."

That's what I want to say. That's what my face, my eyes, and my body language say. But it's not what my mouth says. I want to say it, but I don't. I just breathe.

Inhale. Exhale.

Having processed all these thoughts in the two seconds it took me to open the door and enter the room and glance at him, I remember that, despite my rage, despite my anger, despite my visceral desire to exact some revenge for Molly, am a professional and I have a professional duty to do my job. I take that first step to do what I have to do.

The cop reaches toward me, holding a book, and asks me:

"Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give to this court will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

I give the monster one last glance: OK, pal, let's see you worm your way out of this one...You should have taken your chances with me, because Ordinary Decent Criminals in prison don't care much for child molesters. Have fun in there, and I hope you rot in hell.

"I do."

(*Name changed for the obvious reasons.)

I don't feel so wise anymore...

2009-06-25T08:53:00.001-07:00

"Let's take 'em out."

Those four words, spoken as I sat in the dentist’s chair, would portend of things to come, though I wasn’t to fully understand just what those things would be until later.

The wisdom teeth weren’t fully “in,” and weren’t going to get any more “in” than they were now, and since two of them were half-impacted into the soft tissue, they all had to come out. That’s what the oral surgeon said, and he’s the doctor. I can hold my own in discussions about the emergency care of asthma, acute myocardial infarctions, anaphylaxis, or traumatic injury. But I don’t know squat-all about oral surgery, and this guy worked at Emory a while back, and we have some professional colleagues in common, and he’s a Brave’s fan, and he has a 1970 Camero with an LS6 engine and Tremec T56 transmission, so I reckon he knows what he’s talking about.

So the wisdom teeth were coming out. I’d talked my good pal Kim into giving me a ride, and she came through in classic Kim style: 10 minutes late. Since the surgery was slated at 7:30 am, I had to be there at 7:15. Calculating Kim time into the equation, factoring for morning traffic, and the distance involved, we left my house at 6:45. This, of course, meant getting up at 6:00 to walk and feed the dogs. However, the conscious sedation planned for the surgery meant that I was not to eat or drink anything after midnight.

I would like to submit for discussion that requiring someone to be awake at 6:00 am sans coffee should be punishable by firing squad.

I amble back to the room, where a friendly and cheerful (I bet SHE had a cup of coffee this morning!) nurse gets things started: Blood Pressure cuff (112/72) and ECG monitor (Normal Sinus, 62/minute, no ectopy, elevation, depression, or abnormality noted,) and Pulse Oximeter (98%, room air.) Somewhat amusingly, she offers me Nitrous Oxide to “help me relax” before the doctor comes in to start an IV.

Seriously? Nitrous before an IV? You’re telling me that after all those years of wiping off the dirt, making a quick swipe with an alcohol prep, and jamming in the 16g needle while bumping down the pothole laden streets of Atlanta in a 10 year old ambulance with no shock absorbers, that I was doing it wrong?

Hmpf.

I decline the Nitrous, explain that IVs don’t hurt and that I’m a man and can take it. She rolls her eyes in that “Oh, great… another testosterone fueled macho tough guy” way, and replies with an “Oh-kaaay.”

The doc walks in. He swabs the arm, sticks the vein, and mentions “I’ve got an advantage over you… I don’t have to do it while bouncing down the pothole laden streets of Atlanta in a 10 year old ambulance with no shock absorbers.”

The nurse says to me “What is it you do?” and I reply “Now, computer software, but I was a paramedic for more years than I can remember.” She gives me one of those “OK, you score one point for that” grins, and I reply with a wink. Let’s get this over with.

Ahhh…. Fentanyl and Versed: One of the classic combos of all time. Beer and hot wings. Chips and salsa. Laurel and Hardy. Fred and Ginger. Before long, I’m out of it. I vaguely recall the right lower extraction hurting more, and clenching the arm rest of the chair in a death grip with my left hand. I also recall the doctor asking me if I wanted to keep the wisdom teeth, to which I mumbled something that must have sounded like “No, thank you, Doctor,” and slowly coming around a short time later. Kim’s there, giggling at me and my drug-induced stupor, and the nurse is giving Kim some explicit directions about making sure I kept the gauze in place for at least two hours, took my pain pills, stuck to applesauce and pudding for the next couple days, and generally rested the rest of the day. With remarkable concentration, I managed to walk straight (more or less… more less than more more) to the car, and soon enough I’m home.

Post Op Day 1: I’m taking ibuprofen and Lortab as directed, start the antibiotics as directed, and have the great fortune to enjoy a Chateau Rothschild Rinse de Saline, 2009 Vintner’s Reserve. It has a lovely nose, a nice gritty texture with hints of bat urine and a turpentine base. Finishes with tones of formaldehyde and the itch of chewed sumac. Not too expensive, either.

Post Op Day 2: Pain is down, and I can get by with just the ibuprofen. Jaw feels like it met the fat end of a pool cue in a bar fight. Not that I’d know what that felt like or anything. I’ll save the remaining Lortab for another day, or perhaps put them in my backcountry medical kit, should I be out climbing and sprain an ankle or something. Getting pretty tired of pudding and applesauce, though. Sure could go for a more substantial meal… a nice bowl of chicken broth, perhaps.

Post Op Day 3: Dear God, I know I haven’t been to church since… well, a while. I’m sorry, really. I’d offer to go more often in the future, but it wouldn’t do to lie to the Almighty. So I’m only asking that you forgive me for this, and let me eat solid food. Just today, just once. Nothing much… a chicken wing. A roast beef sandwich with havarti, mayo, and lettuce. A boiled egg. A couple pounds of bacon. Anything, anything at all, just don’t make me eat applesauce and pudding again. Amen.

Post Op Day 4: The day starts as usual… coffee, salt water rinse, and pudding, with a side of applesauce. Follow up appointment today at 4:30, and the doctor says two wonderful things: The sockets are healing well, no signs of Dry Socket, and I can eat anything that my pain threshold can tolerate. That means some sushi and Crab Rangoon, and sweeter words have never been said since Becky Valentine told me I could hold her hand in 3^rd grade.

I’ve got another follow up next week, and expect things to be fine.

Now if I could just manage to eat a pizza.