Levi 501s

Is That a Banana in Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

They put me in a little room to remove anything that might contain metal from my body like my watch, keys, hearing aids, belt and glasses. I expected to be issued one of those backward facing blue hospital smocks but you are allowed to wear your street clothes in the MRI.

I pointed out that my jeans had metal buttons but somehow the attendant seemed okay with that. Her smile seemed to say, "What have you got to lose old dude?"

The MRI looked like an early generation Omnidroid sans tentacles. I laid on the attached mechanical sliding bed. My right knee was clamped down. I was told to stay still and was provided insulated headphones with piped in music.

The lights dimmed and the mechanical bed moved me feet first into the Omnidroid. As soon as my hips entered, the powerful magnets caused the button fly of my 501 Levis to rise up to true north.

"Sweet Jesus!"

I hadn't had this look since I was 18.

I needed to lay still for the first 35 minute session. The headphones muted the sound of the MRI. There were whirs, hums, and hammering noises, but mainly I listened to Frank Sinatra.

Thirty-five minutes is a long time to be still. My fingers became stiff. I wondered if it would be okay to wiggle them.

Images of the movie Total Recall came into my head. This seemed like the machine that would take you to your dream vacation or nightmare.

After the first session I was given permission to wiggle my fingers which by then could barely move.

My mind was active. I could write a book on all the things I thought about during those two sessions.

During the second session I began to laugh when I started thinking of some of the antics of my children. I really had to can it to stop my body from shaking.

There was a countdown clock. I watched as the seconds slowly ticked away. When it was all over, it took a few minutes for my fingers to loosen up.

On my way home I stopped at the first burger place I saw for a double burger, fries and onions rings. Laying completely still for 70 minutes made me hungry.

Monday I will visit with my orthopedist for analysis of the pictures.

Team Building - The One Hitter Goes Bong

You may have read my earlier report on medical marijuana usage. (Ski Lift Operator With Chronic Pain http://bit.ly/cHawqU)

The One Hitter (OH) was invited to a safety training session for the 31 lift operators. The coordinator of this event rented a house and recommended everyone stay the night.

After the training, one of the lift operators began to openly self-administer his medical marijuana. Not to offend anyone a hand was taken. First it was asked "How many of you smoke?" Too many medical marijuana card holders to count. A second hand was taken, "How many of you don't?" This they were able to tally.

Five non-smokers of 31. A quorum.

OH told me that the biggest pot smoking party he ever saw in his life then ensued in which he experienced three new activities.

The Shotski. Six shot glasses are glued to a ski so six people can share a shot of whiskey together.

The Keg Stand. With hand on the barrel of a keg two guys grab your legs and lift you upside down. A girl sticks the beer hose into you mouth and releases the tap. Everyone counts 1! 2! 3! 4! while you drink. Whoever stays upside down for the longest count wins the first opportunity at the Blunt.

The Blunt. The hat goes around for medical marijuana. The tobacco is removed from a cigar and refilled. The One Hitter was not going to donate any of his medical marijuana at $400/ounce to this cause but was willing to participate.

The Blunt is lit in a car with windows closed and "the most insane music you ever heard" playing. "It was just a fog in there."

Conclusion and notes

Some injuries such as a cut nose were incurred during the keg stand activity when the leg holders became distracted and let go.

According to One Hitter's boss, the 31 lift operators scored better than ever in the state safety evaluation.

Moby Dick - Paragraph One - Herman Melville

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

Climbing an Arch

In southern Utah some years back my good friend OH started climbing a huge, beautiful sandstone arch much like this one. He was climbing steps, now weather worn and smooth, carved in ancient times by the long missing Anasazi.

OH climbed up several feet before realizing his exposure. If he fell one way, he would fall 75 feet. If he fell another way, he would fall 2,000. He may have made it to the top of the arch but the steps were fading and the climbing more difficult. If he made it to the top, what would he do then?

Downclimbing rock is much more difficult than climbing up. It is an art known or studied by few. Climbing up is so much easier and fun.

When we who were watching realized the dangerous predicament OH was in our hearts stopped.

We watched or averted our eyes as OH slowly crept backward trying to find footholds.

OH finally was able to scramble to us. What a relief.

The feeling remains.

The story makes for a great analogy. A dangerous predicament of one's own making but with few options.

You've climbed up high not fully realizing the danger you were in. You may continue. You may make it to the top but you may never get down. You could turn back now, but will you make it down?

Ski Lift Attendant With Chronic Pain

Pot is not for me, but I have a good friend whose nickname is the "One Hitter".

The One Hitter's lapses in judgment are legendary, but I won't get into those now.

He called me from Colorado to tell me that he's gone legal.

"Say what?"

"I got my medical marijuana card!"

“For what!”

"Chronic pain."

I asked, how do you find a doctor to give such a prescription, and what's in it for the doctor?

It's easy he said. You wait in line. It takes about five minutes and $175.00. You leave with a big grin on your face and offer suggestions to those waiting in line, like “chronic pain.”

I asked, "I suppose you're paying for this with health insurance?"

He said he looked into that and also into using a flexible spending account but decided against it because it's still illegal at the federal level and he doesn't want to raise any flags.

He lives in a moderately sized town. There are at least 20 medical marijuana dispensaries there. He said they are like head shops of old but with jars of various types of marijuana, hash, medical marijuana brownies, marijuana oils and marijuana creams.

His dispensary is run by a guy he described as “a 23 year old stoner snowboarder dude”.

There are a lot of out of work drug sniffing dogs in Colorado now. The One Hitter said he even saw a cop sitting on a porch, rolling up a big one.

He told me that well over half of his co-workers also suffer pain. You can get a prescription for any complaint.

My friend is an out of work banker. He tells me that he is enjoying the best job and life he has ever had. He is ski-lift attendant with chronic pain.

World War I Interview

When I was a junior high school student, some many years back, my mom worked at a nursing home where a World War I veteran lived.

As a history project I interviewed him. I do not remember his first name, but his last name was Jeppeson.

This interview is some 25 minutes long and would take some patience to listen through, but it's worth it because of some of the great quotes.

For example, "There goes the guy with more blood and guts on both ends of the rifle than anyone else in the outfit."

Originally this interview was taped on a small portable reel to reel. Only recently was I able to convert it to a digital format.

Jeppeson talks about his basic training at Camp Wadsworth, the experience of being shipped across the ocean on a troop transport, trench warfare, battlefields such as the Argonne and the Vosges, rats, disease, and life and death in battle.

His concluding thoughts about warfare are pretty basic. "You gotta get the other guy before he gets you."

Chocolate Malt O'Meal

I walked into my office this morning to a strange sight and unusual smell.

Tuesday I did not have time to eat breakfast. I put some chocolate Malt o'Meal in a stainless steel thermos and added hot water. The thermos had a solid, screw-on type lid.

I threw the thermos in my pack, brought it to work and placed it on my desk. I never got around to eating the Malt o'Meal.

I am a home brewer so I am aware of what happens during the fermentation process. Perhaps I should have thought about that.

It is now four days later. This morning when I entered my office, things weren't quite the same as I'd left them.

Some time last night the lid of the stainless steel thermos, despite being screwed on, blew.

It seemed the mess was strangely isolated to only a few inches surrounding the thermos and a bit on the floor.

Now the question was, where was the lid? I looked around and did not see it.

I looked up and saw the light fixture and ceiling had been hit by a volcanic blast of chocolate Malt o'Meal.

Later I found the lid across the room. It smells like someone threw up in the office.

My co-worker was unappreciative does not find this funny.

I cleaned up what I could, but the job was too big for me. Fortunately I was in a meeting when the building maintenance people cleaned up the ceiling and light fixture. I have no idea how they removed it because it had already solidified and adhered like concrete.

Today I tip my hat to the maintenance people of the Plymouth Building.