THINGS FORBIDDEN BY ME

Blog number 155                                               March 12, 2008

I just this moment found out that I won't let Teresa buy jam for her toast.  I heard it from the victim herself, so it must be so. 

I sure hope I don't have to go to harrassment training. 

If it ain't one thing it's another.  When O when will I ever get straightened out? 

I WANT to be a productive member of society, but it doen't seem to be in the works for me. 

At least as things stand now.

Maybe when we get a new president.

TIMES TWO

Blog number 154                                               March 06, 2008

Still on this brain surgeon's book, she's talking about a tool that drills through the skull but stops when it hits the soft surface of the brain.  She says, because of the tool's construction, that if you stop before you get all the way through the skull, it's impossible to get the thing to cutting again. 

She then goes on to say, " with this glitch in mind, whoever is teaching the intern to use the perforator is tempted to yell, 'Don't stop!' above the loud drone of the drill.  I have seen, on more than one occasion, the driller stop drilling in order to clarify what is being yelled to him."

This reminded me of a story in a book about the Vietnam war where some troops were spending the night in a hut by a river and the guy telling the story was assigned the night goggles to watch for infiltrators on a dark night. 

He thought he saw a face pop up over the bank of the stream and he instinctively took the goggles from his eyes in order to see better, although he had been warned to never do this.  When he replaced the goggles, the face was gone, and although he watched carefully the rest of the night, he never saw anything again.  He worried all night long about warning the rest of the troops, balancing this against a false alarm.  Did he see a face or not?  He never knew for sure.

EVERY PERSON'S LIFE AN UNWRITTEN NOVEL

Blog number 154                                               March 3, 2008

I'm reading this book about and by a woman neurosurgeon.  It's called, Another Day In the Frontal Lobe.  Fascinating.

She tells in one place about how the different surgeons handle stress.  Some good, some not so good.  She has seen nurses "flee the room, scared to return." 

She has seen foot stomping and equipment flung to the floor in temper tantrums.  And then she goes on to relate:

These days, in this era of political correctness, the worst offenders can actually be threatened with forced time off and sensitivity training.  This fate befell one foreign-born surgeon who yelled at a nurse in awkward English: "I cut your face!"

Hah!  I love humans. 
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Did you know that one Cincinnati surgeon named Robert White actually performed a head transplant on a Primate in 1970 - back in the old days when you could still smoke in hospital rooms and school classrooms?  Enlightenment coexisting with the Dark Ages.

He called it, though, a "body transplant" and that seems more accurate, yes?  Also, since the spinal cord could not be attached, the primate became a quadriplegic.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Blog number 153                                               March 3, 2008

I once commented to my youngest son - Derek, that I didn't like to hang out with most old people because they talked trivia. 

He says, "What do you mean!  You talk trivia more than any other person I know."

I told him, "I do not!"

As proof, notice that this that follows is NOT trivia, although it may appear to be, to the uninitiated.
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Item in newspaper about bees reports that "experts warn to use caution around bees." 

Thank Jehovah we have experts to assist us as we go about our daily life in this confusing existence, huh?

A few years back, a swarm of bees ensconced themselves by Kavi's front door.  Kavi stuck his hand into the swarm, and following his lead, I stuck my hand in too.  It felt like sticking your hand into a living warm quivering body.  Awesome! 

Scary, too.

I'm glad I had that experience.  Something one experiences very rarely, I'm told.

Kavi stuck his arm in as far as he could reach, but I, using my psychic precognition abilities and thus forewarned of the experts' warning, refused to do so.  I tried to force myself to stick my arm all the way in, but I kept thinking of how the bees might be able to smell my fear, causing them to proceed to do what bees do.
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Now wasn't that fascinating?