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In an article reporting the U.S. led attack on Syria, I read the following:

 After the attack ceased and the early morning skies went dark once more, vehicles with loudspeakers roamed the streets of Damascus blaring nationalist songs.

I don’t know about you, but this is the image I was thinking:

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Mr track record with dining out at restaurants is not impressive.

I once tried to order a 99 cent Whopper at Wendy’s.  I had it in my mind–I saw the advertisement for 99 cent whoppers and had to have one–but apparently Wendy’s won’t let me have it my way.  I paid more than 99 cents for a burger that was NOT a whopper.

I ordered coconut shrimp and lobster at Outback–and ended up with an empty lobster tail.

I once paid $48 for a coke.  The drink–not the drug.

And there was a “fine dining” experience (you know, you go to a place where you can’t wear blue jeans and they require a tie) that involved bok choy, enoki mushrooms and consommé.  I still think they were making that shiitake up.

Today we were meeting my daughter at TGI Friday’s even though it is Sunday.  I’m sorry.  It throws me off balance as well.  It’s like going into Five Guys, and there are aren’t Five Guys behind the counter.  (I’m pretty sure one of them was a woman!)  But I digress.

She had given me a list of restaurant choices that she would be happy with and asked me to pick one.  I specifically picked Friday’s because they serve Kona Big Wave Golden Ale.

So when the waiter took our drink order, guess what I ordered?  Well he brought the other drinks out and said he had to get my Heaven in a glass from the bar.  Minutes later, he appears without my Golden Ale.  They are out of it.

I should have got up and left right then and there.  But I had already looked at the menu and saw a new Philly Steak Burger.  It comes with an egg roll on top!  I kid you not!  Someone asked themselves how you could make a burger even more unhealthy than it already is, and somebody came up with the idea of tacking on extra stuff outside the bun.  Brilliant!

SteakBurger

I want that!  So I ordered it.

THIS . . . is what I got.

MyBurger

Do you see an egg roll stapled to my bun?  Dude?  Where’s my egg roll?  Is this going to be like Outback all over again when the waiter argues that I already ate the lobster even though the tail shell was clearly empty!

He informs me they don’t have the egg rolls in stock.

I am so bummed I ended up drowning my sorrows in a half piece of Tennessee Whiskey Cake.

After I got home, I was still stewing over not getting my Kona beer and then not getting the sandwich that was advertised.  It was then that I wondered if perhaps I paid for the sandwich with an egg roll but did not get the egg roll?  I also thought it might have been nice if the manager would have comped my dessert in lieu of payment for an egg roll that didn’t exist.

That’s when I discovered that CORY–our waiter, bless his little heart–had actually comped me my burger without telling me.  For the record, I did tip him well–I rounded up the 20% recommendation to make the number come out round, but that was based on the adjusted bill.  After all, it wasn’t his fault the bar was out of my beer and someone in purchasing forgot to order the egg rolls.

And now I feel worse.

I should have gone to Denny’s.

Oh wait,  That didn’t work out well for me either . . .

CoffeeCup

That’s my coffee . . .but that’s NOT my lipstick!

Red Cap Society

As I was entering the surgical center where I do cataract surgery, I was greeted by a sign on the door to the locker room . . .

rules

If you follow my blog with any regularity–or my new sister blog, The Silence Dunwell Letters–you know that I am a bit of a cynic when it comes to arbitrary regulations–rules that seem to be in place only to justify someone’s job–proof that they are doing their job, even if it isn’t very well.

So apparently these rules are designed for VENDORS.  I’ve always known them as sales reps, but tomato, to-mah-to.  Vendors makes me think they’re selling hot dogs or drinks.

dr-pepper-vendor

SO CLOSE!  Red Cap, but not BOUFFANT!

Red Bouffant Cap.  I’ll come back to that.  You know that I will.

Badge clearly visible.  Good rule.  No problem with that.

Current with requirements.  I have to maintain my license.  I don’t have a problem with everyone else in the operating room maintaining their credentials.

Long sleeve warm-up jacket?  What about summer time?  Is it possible the coach may want to put you in the game, so you better keep your arm warm?  There may be a good reason to require this, but I have FAILED to come up with any remotely logical reason to make this a requirement.  Leave me a comment if you think of something.

NO UNDERSHIRTS.  Seriously?  How will you know if they are wearing one under the already mandated LONG SLEEVE WARM-UP JACKET?  Are you [bleeping] kidding me?  Who’s going to inspect for this?  Do they have to undergo strip searches for illegal under garments?  Can anyone show me a medical study that even remotely suggests that the undershirts of non-operating personnel worn underneath an official warm-up jacket have been shown to increase the surgical infection rate?  Anyone?  McFly?  We are just a few sieg heils away from regulating the type of socks and underwear we use.  Oh wait, I think they do regulate the type and color of socks and shoes of the nursing personnel.

UPMC stands for U People Must Comply.  We will wear only their scrubs and have no other scrubs before thee.  We are the Stepford Doctors.

Shoe covers?  Not a problem for me.  As long as I can wear whatever shoes I want underneath.

And no problem with requiring that visits be scheduled.  We don’t want the operating room to resemble a flea market or bazaar.

But . . .

redcap

What in the wide, wide, world of medicine prompted this fashion faux pas?  I searched high and low but couldn’t find the big red noses or the clown shoes to go with them.  What are they vending?  Happy Meals?

I will assume–always an unwise thing to do, but this is my blog dammit–that they want these “people” to be readily visible.  Mission accomplished.  You could pick them out from a satellite image.  I guess the ID badges are simply not enough.

Seriously, is this necessary?  For the record, we never had RED CAPS before, so now we are spending health care dollars on this fabulous headwear.  (Hashtag #whyamericanmedicineisgoingtohellinahandbasket)

In all my years as a surgeon, I have never had an instance where there was someone in my operating room that I did not know, or was not introduced to (such as a nursing student, inspector, repairman, etc.)  And if there was someone in my room and I do not know why they are there— I ASK WHO THEY ARE AND WHY THEY ARE THERE.

I don’t depend on the color and coordination of their outfit to satisfy my curiosity.

Because any idiot can put on a red cap.  I did.  I wore that thing all day!  I’m operating and I’m vending!  Oh, I’m vending, Jerry.  I’m vending!  And I hear that UPMC allowed a VENDOR to perform surgery!  (Psst.  It was just me.  In the red hat.  Don’t tell.)

Finding Coffee

So I was waiting in the waiting room (well, what else would you do in a waiting room?–it was done in the Waiting Room, by Colonel Mustard, with a Wrench . . .) and saw that the establishment was kind enough to offer coffee to their waiting patrons.

Alas,

Addwater

Where am I going to find water?

I turned around . . .

Aquarium

Voilà!

Alas . . .

fishinpot

The coffee looks a little weak.  I think Dory forgot something!

Not So Indoor Plumbing

Last Spring, I bought an old historic house.  This is realtor speak for “money pit.”  My house would make Tom Hanks and Shelley Long proud!  I have already blogged about my pond pool, but since then we have added a new roof–at one point all five skylights were leaking when it rained.  An old cast iron drain pipe from the upstairs bathroom needed to be replaced, but not before it leaked into the basement and created a mold problem.

Finally, winter came.  The pool is closed.  The roof is on.  The skylights no longer allow cascades of water to fall inside my house.  The pipe is fixed.  A closet and ceiling were torn to the bare bones to mediate mold.  I can now sit in front of my fire and enjoy the house I bought.

Until the master bath toilet backed up.

I tried a plunger.  That worked as well as duct tape on the skylights.

Was it just coincidence that the water was backing up when the temperatures had been in the single digits for a few days?

The master bath is huge and non-historic, having been redone back in the 1980’s.  It has two toilets–his and hers–three sinks, and a large walk-in shower and steam room.  (The steam generator does not work.  Imagine that!)

When you use any of the sinks, the water backs up in the toilet.  The shower is fine.  It has a separate drain pipe–the one we already replaced.

The plumber insisted it can’t be a frozen pipe.  Four inch pipes don’t freeze, and we have no other frozen pipes.  He thinks there is a blockage somewhere, but would need to come back later with other, presumably more expensive, equipment.

So with nothing else better to do, I decided to do some investigating.

Here is where the drain pipes come down into the basement.

Basement

The darker pipe is from the shower.   It’s cold in this room but not pipe freezing cold.

So where does that pipe go?

morepipe

Behind that cabinet?  How interesting!  There’s actually part of the cabinet cut out to access the pipe.

wallpipe

Is it going through the wall????  WTH!  The blue packing material isn’t really insulating very well.  There’s a draft here.

So I head outside into the frozen tundra to see what is going on.

The hole in the wall should come out somewhere underneath this brick patio.

Porch

So let’s take a peek . . .

Pipe

Holy Crap!  The drain pipe actually comes outside the house and then back into the basement!  No wonder it froze!  Who in the wide, wide world of sports would have thought it was a good idea to run indoor plumbing outside?  Maybe you can get away with that in Phoenix or Miami, but not here in central Pennsylvania!

And in further confirmation, once the temperature rose above freezing, the toilet and sinks worked normally again.

Did the previous owner never notice this?  I’m sure it must have been below freezing at some point in the last thirty years.

It has subsequently froze a second time.  I hope spring comes quickly!

I finally did it.

I ran a marathon.

PhillyMedal2017.jpg

Apparently, I am officially insane.

Yesterday, I ran my first marathon in Philadelphia.  For those of you who may not be runners, that is 26.2 miles.  That happens to be just about 16.2 miles too much if you ask me.

RockyStatueRun

I ran faster than this statue!

Some people question  my sanity when I run everyday, in any kind of weather–rain, sleet, snow, sub zero wind chills, etc.  After mile 18, I was questioning my own sanity.

At the half way point, I felt more tired than I usually did after a half-marathon.  I have run two half marathons a year for the past four years.

By mile 18, I was thinking I might not be able to finish.  I have never hit a wall before.  I have hit a few cars, a tree, a light post . . . but never a wall.  For the shorter races, I almost never stop to get a drink.  I can run 13 miles without water.  I’m like a damned camel without the humps.

But everything I’ve read about running a marathon stresses the importance of fueling and hydration.  So at about mile 6, I started regularly hitting the gatorade/water stops.  And this usually meant at least a stop, if not a walking pace, because I am not one of those people who can run and drink at the same time–not without wearing most of the gatorade and choking.  I can barely type and chew gum at the same time.

After mile 18, it became noticeably harder to restart running and regain the previous pace after stopping for gatorade.  I started skipping water stations just so I wouldn’t have to restart again.

tinderdate2017M

What do you mean no RUM????

Around mile 20 there was a group offering cups of beer.  I am all over that.  I would have come to a complete stop for a beer at this point.  Had they had some bar stools there, I might not have finished the race.

I started grabbing half bananas and oranges that people offered along the route.  I kept looking for donuts or Reese’s Cups, but apparently those items are frowned upon by the racing establishment.

The route of the marathon travels up along the river, does a U-turn in Manayunk, and then heads back down the river to the finish line near the Art Museum.

The U-turn brought me back to the group serving beer,  Hallelujah!  One of my prayers was answered!  I paused to gulp down a second cup.   I was praying an awful lot after mile 20.  A mile later I was regretting not taking a six pack to go.

And then an interesting thing happened.

cutebutt2017M

Not that.  But rather, I found after mile 22 it was starting to get a little easier.  I still felt like crap.  Every muscle in my legs hurt.  But I actually felt a little better overall, and I slowly realized that I just might be able to do this after all.  It had to be the beer!

I crossed the finish line after 4 hours, ten minutes and 54 seconds (a 9:34 pace.)  After the race, I slowly–painfully–made my way back to the hotel.  Just stepping up a curb was a painful ordeal.  When I got back to the hotel room, I accidentally dropped one of my gloves on the floor.  I bent over to pick it up . . .

Who lowered this floor???!!!

OMG.  Running had shortened my arms!  I couldn’t reach the glove.  My back was stiff, my glutes were in pain, and my hamstrings acted like they had looked upon the head of Medusa and turned to stone.  I did manage to pick up the glove, but resolved that anything else I dropped would have to be left behind.

After a long shower, I could hardly put my socks on.

Why do we runners do this to ourselves?

I’m going to stick with the insanity defense for now.

Running Makes You Younger

I came across this advertisement on Facebook . . .

RunOver45
Seriously?  Are we supposed to think that runner is over 45?  I’m wondering if she’s even over 25!

And by the way, I am over 45, and I can run faster than a nine minute mile (especially if I am following her!)

I guess I should get the rate I deserve on life insurance!

And if you are over 45, you should probably ask your doctor if your heart is healthy enough to have running.

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