My wife, Michele, was invited to be a panelist on The Dr. Oz Show where the topic would be Alzheimer's Disease. Her father, and my best friend, Salvatore, is in the late stages of the disease and, as a result, has stopped complaining about the lumpy oatmeal served in the Claire Bridge cafeteria in Naples, Florida. Now, he just thinks they're soft golf balls and washes them down with a glass of the gravy from the peach sorbet.
Michele was told the segment on the show would be about twelve to fifteen minutes long which is just long enough to make some salient points but not long enough to plotz your drawers after you suddenly realize you're sitting next to Dr. frickin' Oz!
The panelists that were scheduled to appear were positioned in the bleachers next to the stage. They have a tiered seating arrangement in the studio. The people who either haven't bathed in a week or thought they were attending a taping of Password sat waaaay in the back and, obviously, had no shot of ever being seen on television. The group in the middle section were told to clap and smile at pretty much everything the doctor pontificated on, including explosive diarrhea and the dreaded crooked penis syndrome. These people also had no shot of ever actually speaking to the doctor.
It's the first group, the bleacher people, who were front and center. They're the ones that the pre-production group and the make-up people were fawning over to insure that they looked interested, alive and cute. They had to be the perfect little group.
Michele's friend, Beverly, went down for the taping to lend moral support and was one of the lucky ones to sit up front. I need to mention here that Beverly has, um, ample attributes. I believe the proper medical term is, "big boobs." When the person in charge of warming up the audience came out and explained what was going to be happening, he neglected to mention that cleavage would not be tolerated. It was on their final sweep through the bleacher creatures that some astute staff member noticed Beverly. The stage personnel huddled together in perplexed unison much like Nasa scientists do when they learn that the International Space Station has ran out Charmin. This was The Dr. Oz Show, damnit, and there was no way Beverly's boobs were going to take center stage! These people were completely stumped leaving many in the audience to wonder aloud just how many years they spent in I.T. before making the switch to production assistants. My God, hadn't any of them ever seen a well endowed woman before? Were they going to put her in the last section where all the people who haven't bathed sit? Maybe they could give her a pair of scrubs or a sweatshirt to wear. Possibly the good doctor could perform a quick reduction procedure. Heck, there had to be a scalpel close by, right?
They finally settled on lifting the top part of the dress a scosh. But how? Keep in mind that this is a multi-million dollar production and only the finest tools are used. That's right: Duct Tape! A little piece on the inside between the fabric and the skin is all it took. Perfect. They told Beverly to sit still and definitely not to try and adjust anything. After all, they wouldn't want any viewers to think that an attractive female who looked like she may have, at one point, had close ties to someone on the PGA tour in the audience, would they?
The taping, although late in starting due to the 'wardrobe malfunction,' went well. It was a great day for raising the awareness of Alzheimer's Disease and Michele did, in fact, get to ask a question of Dr. Oz. I believe the question she asked was, "What's the proper treatment for a rash caused by excessive exposure to duct tape on the chest?"
Monday, December 14, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
WANT A DATE? BREAK A LEG!
Eileen, a close friend of ours, made an errant turn while playing Twister and after a six day wait in the emergency room, it was determined that she had, indeed, broken her foot. She would like to remind everyone to exercise extreme caution while playing Twister, especially while naked and alone.
Eileen is now wearing what they call a walking air boot which comes with its own odometer. The first five miles she walks are free and after that it's going to cost her ten dollars a mile. But the health care system is this country is not broken. Nothing to worry about.
Eileen learned something about this walking air boot: it draws wimpy men out of their pathetic little shells. She now believes a broken bone is far better than walking a puppy in the park when it comes to the grabbing the attention of the opposite sex and it probably even surpasses winning a zillion dollars in the lottery. She swears she can't go anywhere without men offering to help her. At Stop N' Shop, they're falling all over themselves to put food in her cart. Interestingly enough, these are the same disingenuous guys who wouldn't give her the time of day before the Twister fiasco. Now, they're asking her out to movies, dinner, happy hours. Heck, she went to Home Depot to buy a door knob and one drooling construction worker started chatting her up and volunteered to build her a deck! Guys, Please...take a cold shower. Pretend your sitting next to a naked John Goodman in the sauna or if that doesn't cool you off, pretend Susan Boyle is your waitress at Hooters. Jeez!
That gym rat whose best friend is a mirror was way too cool to acknowledge her existence before, but all of a sudden, he's grunting, groaning and sweating within inches of Eileen. She can tell he's just dying to start a meaningful conversation but all he's been able to come up with so far is, "Hey, you've got a really nice ra....I mean, um, how's that tibia healing, anyway?"
What is wrong with you people? Eileen was the ideal date long before she broke her foot. Why did it take a compound fracture for you guys to develop a pulse? Were you intimidated by her? Was it because you thought she made more money than you? Maybe it's because you thought (correctly) that she runs ten miles a day all while texting her stockbroker and composing Op Ed pieces for the NY Times? But now that she's 'flawed,' she's somehow more approachable? Can you really be that insecure?
How about that overzealous stud at the liquor store? His tongue hanging down to his knees and pushing a shopping cart full of Jim Beam and Jack Daniel's, he asked her if she needed help carrying her purchase to her car. I'm sure it would have meant more to her if she had bought more than ONE BOTTLE of Merlot! Guys, control yourself, please. Eileen confided in me that although she thinks you are all acting like pre-pubescent fourth graders, she does kind of like the attention, but was quick to point out that you really have to step up your game.
The doctors say the walking boot will come off in two weeks but she's seriously considering taking a ball peen hammer to her other foot just so she can keep it a little longer. It's either that or she'll just buy a puppy.
Eileen is now wearing what they call a walking air boot which comes with its own odometer. The first five miles she walks are free and after that it's going to cost her ten dollars a mile. But the health care system is this country is not broken. Nothing to worry about.
Eileen learned something about this walking air boot: it draws wimpy men out of their pathetic little shells. She now believes a broken bone is far better than walking a puppy in the park when it comes to the grabbing the attention of the opposite sex and it probably even surpasses winning a zillion dollars in the lottery. She swears she can't go anywhere without men offering to help her. At Stop N' Shop, they're falling all over themselves to put food in her cart. Interestingly enough, these are the same disingenuous guys who wouldn't give her the time of day before the Twister fiasco. Now, they're asking her out to movies, dinner, happy hours. Heck, she went to Home Depot to buy a door knob and one drooling construction worker started chatting her up and volunteered to build her a deck! Guys, Please...take a cold shower. Pretend your sitting next to a naked John Goodman in the sauna or if that doesn't cool you off, pretend Susan Boyle is your waitress at Hooters. Jeez!
That gym rat whose best friend is a mirror was way too cool to acknowledge her existence before, but all of a sudden, he's grunting, groaning and sweating within inches of Eileen. She can tell he's just dying to start a meaningful conversation but all he's been able to come up with so far is, "Hey, you've got a really nice ra....I mean, um, how's that tibia healing, anyway?"
What is wrong with you people? Eileen was the ideal date long before she broke her foot. Why did it take a compound fracture for you guys to develop a pulse? Were you intimidated by her? Was it because you thought she made more money than you? Maybe it's because you thought (correctly) that she runs ten miles a day all while texting her stockbroker and composing Op Ed pieces for the NY Times? But now that she's 'flawed,' she's somehow more approachable? Can you really be that insecure?
How about that overzealous stud at the liquor store? His tongue hanging down to his knees and pushing a shopping cart full of Jim Beam and Jack Daniel's, he asked her if she needed help carrying her purchase to her car. I'm sure it would have meant more to her if she had bought more than ONE BOTTLE of Merlot! Guys, control yourself, please. Eileen confided in me that although she thinks you are all acting like pre-pubescent fourth graders, she does kind of like the attention, but was quick to point out that you really have to step up your game.
The doctors say the walking boot will come off in two weeks but she's seriously considering taking a ball peen hammer to her other foot just so she can keep it a little longer. It's either that or she'll just buy a puppy.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
SAL, HERE WE COME
Michele and I are leaving to pay Salvatore, my dear father-in-law, a quick pre-holiday visit. Will he recognize us? Probably not, but, as we well know, in life there are things we have to do and this is one of them. Honestly though, this little bonding excursion couldn't come at a worse time. We're facing some major rental property hassles which just might cause me to start smoking again. By the way, if any of you are entertaining the thought of becoming a landlord, I beg of you, please wait until my new book comes out entitled, What are you, Friggin Nuts? In addition to that, I have no idea where my Chicago Cubs brief's are and one of our beloved felines lost a canine tooth. Just try to explain to a cat that when the the economy is heading for the canvas, it affects everyone, including the tooth fairy. They want no part of that. Trust me.
So, we hope to find Sal in good spirits, but, as I wrote earlier, Annie, his girlfriend of many months, recently passed away. In typical Sal fashion, we're pretty sure he didn't notice until it dawned on him that he had a little more room in the bed. That's when he started asking questions. At least we think he was asking about her. What he said exactly was, "Hey, what the Hell?" That's pretty good for Sal.
Hopefully, we'll see you at the Poughkeepsie Galleria on Friday, November 27th. We'll be on the air starting at 5AM. If this is your first Black Friday experience, you're sure to see some of the most dedicated and aggressive shoppers on this or any other planet. Seriously, just how badly do you need to pick up that prized Zhu Zhu pet anyway? Robotic hamsters all the rage. Who knew?
Happy Thanksgiving!
So, we hope to find Sal in good spirits, but, as I wrote earlier, Annie, his girlfriend of many months, recently passed away. In typical Sal fashion, we're pretty sure he didn't notice until it dawned on him that he had a little more room in the bed. That's when he started asking questions. At least we think he was asking about her. What he said exactly was, "Hey, what the Hell?" That's pretty good for Sal.
Hopefully, we'll see you at the Poughkeepsie Galleria on Friday, November 27th. We'll be on the air starting at 5AM. If this is your first Black Friday experience, you're sure to see some of the most dedicated and aggressive shoppers on this or any other planet. Seriously, just how badly do you need to pick up that prized Zhu Zhu pet anyway? Robotic hamsters all the rage. Who knew?
Happy Thanksgiving!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
REMEMBERING ANNIE
Annie was a special person. She was strong but quiet. She didn't have to say anything for you to know exactly how she felt about most things. She was always there to lend a friendly ear or to breakout a napkin in case somebody spit up on themselves. She was my father-in-law's long time gal pal at Merrill Gardens in Naples, Florida and she will be missed.
I suppose you could say that Annie was a cougar. She fell just a little shy of the goal line for her ninety-fifth birthday while Sal checks in at a mere ninety-two. People were always curious about how they met and the truth is they accidentally rolled into each other while going for the last piece of peach cobbler in the cafeteria. But because that lacks any romantic feel, I like to spice it up by saying that they were taking a pottery class together when all of a sudden a Righteous Brothers song started to play in the background and before you knew it, they had wet clay all over each other's bodies.
When we were forced to move Sal to a more secure Alzheimer's facility due to an increase of his exasperating Alzheimer's behavior like eating plastic flower centerpieces, brushing his teeth with an emory board and rooting for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Annie absolutely had to come with him. These two were inseparable. To drive that point home, even for the brief few minutes when Annie would be taken for her monthly bath, Sal would practically break out in hives. There was just something about her. Maybe it was those tantalizing stockings that went almost all the way up to her knees or those boobs that hung down around her waist. There was clearly something about her that revved Sal's engine. She was, without a doubt, the cats meow.
I will never forget the time we got a call from the nurse Phillips at Merrill Gardens informing us that Sal had just shuffled in demanding some Viagra pills saying that Annie had sent him down there for what she called a 'boner pill.' Ms. Phillips ended up giving him a couple of aspirin tablets and he left with huge smile on his face. Placebos can be wonderful things. Although we never broached the subject with dad, we learned a short time later that Annie had expressed a strong interest in pole dancing.
The one thing Sal treasures more than anything else in this world is his police badge from his days as an Ossining, NY cop. Several times while shopping, I clearly recall him flashing it to the salesperson with the hope of getting a discount. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. So when we found out that he gave his precious badge to Annie to wear around her neck as a pendant, we knew she had to have some magical powers. Unfortunately, it must have gone to her head because she then started 'arresting' other residents for rolling too fast in the hallways but she said she was only trying to keep everyone safe. That was Annie.
So, how is Sal taking Annie's passing? Well, actually he's dating again. We don't know her name but we're pretty sure he doesn't either. When one has advanced Alzheimer's disease, the grieving process doesn't last long. What we know for sure is that there will never be another Annie. She made some of Sal's most miserable days tolerable and by miserable I mean days when he accidentally flushed his teeth down the toilet or the Yankees lost. If Sal got into an argument with another resident, Annie would be the first to smash creamed corn in their face. She was a very special person that we all will miss very much and, if for some reason, my father-in-law ever has a lucid moment and wonders where his police badge is, we'll lightly take his hand, look him in the eyes and just tell him that it went home with Annie.
I suppose you could say that Annie was a cougar. She fell just a little shy of the goal line for her ninety-fifth birthday while Sal checks in at a mere ninety-two. People were always curious about how they met and the truth is they accidentally rolled into each other while going for the last piece of peach cobbler in the cafeteria. But because that lacks any romantic feel, I like to spice it up by saying that they were taking a pottery class together when all of a sudden a Righteous Brothers song started to play in the background and before you knew it, they had wet clay all over each other's bodies.
When we were forced to move Sal to a more secure Alzheimer's facility due to an increase of his exasperating Alzheimer's behavior like eating plastic flower centerpieces, brushing his teeth with an emory board and rooting for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Annie absolutely had to come with him. These two were inseparable. To drive that point home, even for the brief few minutes when Annie would be taken for her monthly bath, Sal would practically break out in hives. There was just something about her. Maybe it was those tantalizing stockings that went almost all the way up to her knees or those boobs that hung down around her waist. There was clearly something about her that revved Sal's engine. She was, without a doubt, the cats meow.
I will never forget the time we got a call from the nurse Phillips at Merrill Gardens informing us that Sal had just shuffled in demanding some Viagra pills saying that Annie had sent him down there for what she called a 'boner pill.' Ms. Phillips ended up giving him a couple of aspirin tablets and he left with huge smile on his face. Placebos can be wonderful things. Although we never broached the subject with dad, we learned a short time later that Annie had expressed a strong interest in pole dancing.
The one thing Sal treasures more than anything else in this world is his police badge from his days as an Ossining, NY cop. Several times while shopping, I clearly recall him flashing it to the salesperson with the hope of getting a discount. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. So when we found out that he gave his precious badge to Annie to wear around her neck as a pendant, we knew she had to have some magical powers. Unfortunately, it must have gone to her head because she then started 'arresting' other residents for rolling too fast in the hallways but she said she was only trying to keep everyone safe. That was Annie.
So, how is Sal taking Annie's passing? Well, actually he's dating again. We don't know her name but we're pretty sure he doesn't either. When one has advanced Alzheimer's disease, the grieving process doesn't last long. What we know for sure is that there will never be another Annie. She made some of Sal's most miserable days tolerable and by miserable I mean days when he accidentally flushed his teeth down the toilet or the Yankees lost. If Sal got into an argument with another resident, Annie would be the first to smash creamed corn in their face. She was a very special person that we all will miss very much and, if for some reason, my father-in-law ever has a lucid moment and wonders where his police badge is, we'll lightly take his hand, look him in the eyes and just tell him that it went home with Annie.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
NEW HALLOWEEN RULES
So another Halloween has come and gone and all I can say is, "Holy Musketeers, Batman, thank God!" Was there a full moon? Half moon? The ghost of Rod Serling hiding in the bushes, maybe? That was weird.
Due to the total lack of decorum I witnessed by revelers at my door this year, I have been left with no choice but to initiate the NEW RULES FOR HALLOWEEN.
Rule #1:
SHOW ME SOMETHING
Creativity was severely lacking for many kids this year. From now on, anyone showing up in jeans and a tee shirt and holding out a pillow case or a Price Chopper bag will receive broccoli florets which I will shove down their baggy and sagging jeans! Along the same lines, four girls (way to old to be trick or treating...see Rule #2) rang my bell and were all wearing their school backpacks in front and already unzipped for easy stashing of their ill gotten booty. This, by the way, is on the same level as the pillow case or the Price Chopper bag. You can't do better than that? Here, have a broccoli floret.
Rule #2:
KNOW WHEN YOU'RE TOO OLD
Pay attention here. If you are old enough to shave, if you've reached puberty or threw a party the last time the Dow reached 12,000, you're too old to be begging for Snickers bars. Leave now. Go home and brush your teeth.
Rule #3:
BE NICE TO THE KEEPER OF THE CANDY
From this point on, no trick or treater is allowed to criticize the choice of candy when ringing the door bell. If any one does, the keepers of the candy may reach in his bag and confiscate ten pieces at will.
I can't remember ever criticizing someone's choice of cavity inducing sugar snacks when I used to go out way back in the olden days when the Presidents biggest concern was the amount of ashtrays on Air Force One. Heck, we were happy to get any candy at all. Please allow me to share some of the wonderful comments I received from these demon seeds this year after I made the drop in their bags.
"I don't like Reeses Pieces. What else do you have?"
"I've got eggs in my pocket, so you better make it good."
"Give me the whole bag. My brothers are home sick and my dad's 401K is in the
toilet."
It is my fervent hope that all of these future juvenile delinquents will, someday, lose all of their teeth to an incurable gum disease and have to sit on the street corner with a sign that reads, Will hum for food.
Rule #3 1/2:
NO JERKY PARENTS EITHER
The only reason parents are there for on Halloween night is to make sure that their precious spawn is treated well and nobody tries to stiff them with some bad stuff like marshmallows or cottage cheese balls. Effective immediately, parents will behave like adults. It's not our fault that you dressed your child up in a fur costume from head to toe, making it impossible for us to determine the gender. I figured I had a 50/50 shot so I asked, "How are you tonight, little boy?" Mom shot back, "That's my daughter, damnit!" Ooh, sounds like someone needs a time out. Here mom, have a broccoli floret, and if you hurry down to the street, you still have time to get pureed by that big bus barreling on by.
Rule #4:
NO LIGHTS; NO CANDY
When the lights are off, please do not ring the bell. That's our strong message to you that we have most assuredly surpassed our 'fun quotient' for the evening, and that the sight of one more Miley Cyrus, President Obama or a David Letterman intern would surely make us hurl.
RULE #5:
NO COSTUME CHANGES
Although some may give points for creativity, nobody should like candy that much that they come back three times as three different characters. One sugar rushing scoundrel managed to change costumes three times from Harry Potter to Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz to Flipper. I caught him when he was careless enough to leave the ruby slippers on the dolphin! At that point he owned up to being Harry Potter as well. I told him that if he spent half as much time and effort on his school work as he did his candy consumption, he might someday be able to captivate the country, much like Glenn Beck or the balloon boy. Here kid, have a broccoli floret.
Due to the total lack of decorum I witnessed by revelers at my door this year, I have been left with no choice but to initiate the NEW RULES FOR HALLOWEEN.
Rule #1:
SHOW ME SOMETHING
Creativity was severely lacking for many kids this year. From now on, anyone showing up in jeans and a tee shirt and holding out a pillow case or a Price Chopper bag will receive broccoli florets which I will shove down their baggy and sagging jeans! Along the same lines, four girls (way to old to be trick or treating...see Rule #2) rang my bell and were all wearing their school backpacks in front and already unzipped for easy stashing of their ill gotten booty. This, by the way, is on the same level as the pillow case or the Price Chopper bag. You can't do better than that? Here, have a broccoli floret.
Rule #2:
KNOW WHEN YOU'RE TOO OLD
Pay attention here. If you are old enough to shave, if you've reached puberty or threw a party the last time the Dow reached 12,000, you're too old to be begging for Snickers bars. Leave now. Go home and brush your teeth.
Rule #3:
BE NICE TO THE KEEPER OF THE CANDY
From this point on, no trick or treater is allowed to criticize the choice of candy when ringing the door bell. If any one does, the keepers of the candy may reach in his bag and confiscate ten pieces at will.
I can't remember ever criticizing someone's choice of cavity inducing sugar snacks when I used to go out way back in the olden days when the Presidents biggest concern was the amount of ashtrays on Air Force One. Heck, we were happy to get any candy at all. Please allow me to share some of the wonderful comments I received from these demon seeds this year after I made the drop in their bags.
"I don't like Reeses Pieces. What else do you have?"
"I've got eggs in my pocket, so you better make it good."
"Give me the whole bag. My brothers are home sick and my dad's 401K is in the
toilet."
It is my fervent hope that all of these future juvenile delinquents will, someday, lose all of their teeth to an incurable gum disease and have to sit on the street corner with a sign that reads, Will hum for food.
Rule #3 1/2:
NO JERKY PARENTS EITHER
The only reason parents are there for on Halloween night is to make sure that their precious spawn is treated well and nobody tries to stiff them with some bad stuff like marshmallows or cottage cheese balls. Effective immediately, parents will behave like adults. It's not our fault that you dressed your child up in a fur costume from head to toe, making it impossible for us to determine the gender. I figured I had a 50/50 shot so I asked, "How are you tonight, little boy?" Mom shot back, "That's my daughter, damnit!" Ooh, sounds like someone needs a time out. Here mom, have a broccoli floret, and if you hurry down to the street, you still have time to get pureed by that big bus barreling on by.
Rule #4:
NO LIGHTS; NO CANDY
When the lights are off, please do not ring the bell. That's our strong message to you that we have most assuredly surpassed our 'fun quotient' for the evening, and that the sight of one more Miley Cyrus, President Obama or a David Letterman intern would surely make us hurl.
RULE #5:
NO COSTUME CHANGES
Although some may give points for creativity, nobody should like candy that much that they come back three times as three different characters. One sugar rushing scoundrel managed to change costumes three times from Harry Potter to Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz to Flipper. I caught him when he was careless enough to leave the ruby slippers on the dolphin! At that point he owned up to being Harry Potter as well. I told him that if he spent half as much time and effort on his school work as he did his candy consumption, he might someday be able to captivate the country, much like Glenn Beck or the balloon boy. Here kid, have a broccoli floret.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
MORE THAN JUST A NAME CHANGE
I’ve had several requests to write a column on a subject that I’m sure has affected most of us at one point in 0ur lives and, of course, you know I’m talking about trans-gendered roommates. Changing from Rick to Ricki, Lou to Lucy and in my case, from Mark to Marcia can be a difficult thing for all concerned.
Mark was a great roommate I had in Manhattan. He was an “actor,” so, obviously, much of his waking hours was spent piloting taxi’s into fire hydrants and bartending in establishments where the dress code included mandatory cowboy hats and chaps. In the five years we roomed together, he never once gave me or anyone else any indication that he was planning the old switcheroo. After the shock wore off, I was happy for him but even more so for me because of the wonderful stories I could tell, all with a glint of truth.
I was thrilled that Mark had finally found him…um, herself but I did, however, feel it prudent to MOVE OUT approximately 4 seconds after he mentioned the proposed change from ballplayer to ballerina. I haven’t seen Mark, now Marcia, in a few years but I do think about him every now and then whenever I see a masculine looking man with chain tattoos circling his biceps, a handlebar mustache and donning a lovely little sundress.
I have complied a list of questions that I think would be helpful to you in the roommate screening process. Keep in mind that this is the person that you’ll be sharing quarters with for a prolonged period of time. It’s best to leave no stones unturned. For instance:
Do you throw loud parties?
Do I have to label my corned beef hash to prevent you from stealing it?
Do you wash your socks in the dishwasher?
Are you planning on having a sex change operation?
“Hey, Bob, why are most gender transformations from men to women?” That’s an excellent question and for each particular column I write, I do so under the tutelage of a professional in that particular field. In this case, I’ve asked Jim the plumber to ride shotgun. He tells me very simply that, “It’s a lot easier to remove a pipe than to try and weld another one on.” Seriously, who can argue with logic like that?
In some cases, upon hearing the news of a roommate considering ‘switching restrooms,’ one might actually begin to feel that he’s responsible for his friend’s change in sexual desires? Believe it or not, some delusional men are so out of touch with reality that they would race to a mirror, stop and strike a pose while saying, “God, I’m so hot I made my male roommate want to change sex just so he could have sex with me!” If you have any of these male friends, please pass along my one word suggestion for them: T-H-E-R-A-P-Y! As I have learned, changing sex from a man to a woman is not at all about the actual act of having intercourse; it’s about really, really, really hating football.
Mark (Marcia) eventually found love in the arms of a fireman, interestingly enough. If I ran into him today, I honestly don’t now what I’d say. Maybe:
“Gee, you look great. Those hormones really kicked in nicely, huh?” or maybe, “C’mon. Let’s get one of those drinks with a lime, a lemon and a parasol sticking out of the
top.”
Well Marcia, it’s all about life choices. You were a great roomie and I wish you nothing but happiness and please give my best to everyone down there at Engine Co.#6.
Mark was a great roommate I had in Manhattan. He was an “actor,” so, obviously, much of his waking hours was spent piloting taxi’s into fire hydrants and bartending in establishments where the dress code included mandatory cowboy hats and chaps. In the five years we roomed together, he never once gave me or anyone else any indication that he was planning the old switcheroo. After the shock wore off, I was happy for him but even more so for me because of the wonderful stories I could tell, all with a glint of truth.
I was thrilled that Mark had finally found him…um, herself but I did, however, feel it prudent to MOVE OUT approximately 4 seconds after he mentioned the proposed change from ballplayer to ballerina. I haven’t seen Mark, now Marcia, in a few years but I do think about him every now and then whenever I see a masculine looking man with chain tattoos circling his biceps, a handlebar mustache and donning a lovely little sundress.
I have complied a list of questions that I think would be helpful to you in the roommate screening process. Keep in mind that this is the person that you’ll be sharing quarters with for a prolonged period of time. It’s best to leave no stones unturned. For instance:
Do you throw loud parties?
Do I have to label my corned beef hash to prevent you from stealing it?
Do you wash your socks in the dishwasher?
Are you planning on having a sex change operation?
“Hey, Bob, why are most gender transformations from men to women?” That’s an excellent question and for each particular column I write, I do so under the tutelage of a professional in that particular field. In this case, I’ve asked Jim the plumber to ride shotgun. He tells me very simply that, “It’s a lot easier to remove a pipe than to try and weld another one on.” Seriously, who can argue with logic like that?
In some cases, upon hearing the news of a roommate considering ‘switching restrooms,’ one might actually begin to feel that he’s responsible for his friend’s change in sexual desires? Believe it or not, some delusional men are so out of touch with reality that they would race to a mirror, stop and strike a pose while saying, “God, I’m so hot I made my male roommate want to change sex just so he could have sex with me!” If you have any of these male friends, please pass along my one word suggestion for them: T-H-E-R-A-P-Y! As I have learned, changing sex from a man to a woman is not at all about the actual act of having intercourse; it’s about really, really, really hating football.
Mark (Marcia) eventually found love in the arms of a fireman, interestingly enough. If I ran into him today, I honestly don’t now what I’d say. Maybe:
“Gee, you look great. Those hormones really kicked in nicely, huh?” or maybe, “C’mon. Let’s get one of those drinks with a lime, a lemon and a parasol sticking out of the
top.”
Well Marcia, it’s all about life choices. You were a great roomie and I wish you nothing but happiness and please give my best to everyone down there at Engine Co.#6.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
SAL BEHAVING BADLY
Getting a call from your father-in-law's retirement home is similar to a parent getting a call from his son's 4th grade teacher. It's probably not going to end well. She's never calling just to mention that, "Bobby really plays well with others." No this is not a 'Sal is terrific' type of call. It's more of a "Sal's on a short leash and if he doesn't stop eating the centerpieces from the dinner table and hitting the nurses, he's out of here," kind of call. Kevin, at the front desk told us they were showing The Titanic last Wednesday in the game room and Sal shouted out 'it sinks!' and ruined it for everybody.
Keep in mind that Sal has mid-stage Alzheimer's disease and even though a ninety-two year old man isn't likely to do much damage, it's still a concern to the fine staff at Merrill Gardens and Sal's aggressive behavior needs to stop before he hits someone with something potentially lethal, like a sausage from the cafeteria! If you ask him why he's hitting people all the time, he'll likely respond, "No kidding. Are they in first place?"
The search was underway for Sal's new Florida home. First stop: Esther's Retirement Home and Canary Sanctuary. We informed them that Sal would be needing their highest level of care as the concepts of showering and toileting have, unfortunately, left his brain forever. We inquired about how that might affect the price and was told by Bo, the combination front desk manager and light bulb changer that they can wash the bedsheets every other day and diaper him three times a week. Bo said (with a straight face) "We'll just go easy on the beans and stuff and he should be fine." As we backed away very slowly with our jaws wide open, we thanked him for his help and then ran for our lives.
Alzheimer's Haven of Naples was next on the list. Our grand tour was conducted by a nice young gentleman named Howie who told us that, unfortunately, he had just been fired from his bartender job of four years at Burp & Brew, and he just happened to notice the Help Wanted sign in the front entrance of Alzheimer's Haven and got the job. Believe me when I say that words can not accurately express how comforted we were by the fact that a man who's been pouring beer and serving pretzels for the last four years was now looking after dementia patients. We mentioned Sal's incontinence issues and Howie said, "A lot of the people here have problems with peeing their pants. In a way, it's kind of like I never left Burp & Brew but we figured out a way to handle it, though. We just give each one a whistle, free of charge, of course, and when they think they've soiled themselves, they blow the hell out of it and just as soon as our break is over, someone stops by to help them out." "Gosh, Howie, that's, um...really...wow...great. Yeah. We'll call you, okay?"
Next up: Arnie's Senior Salvation Shanty (Motto: Money's not important in Heaven but THIS ain't Heaven). "The lord says we need to care for and nurture Salvatore and we will do that with all the love and compassion in our humanly bodies. But, love, caring and nurturing does not come cheap...Praise God..can I get an amen and a checking account routing number please?"
We moved up the road to The Forget Me Not Senior Residence. Jebediah, (his name tag gave him away) who was busily trimming the bushes stopped and told us that it's really a great place and that most of the time they have aides on duty as much as five days a week. As we sighed and turned to walk away, he was quick to add that on weekends, they show the Nascar races on the big screen in the library. "Well gosh, Jebediah, that sounds like too much excitement for someone like Sal. We're afraid the prospect of watching drivers make left turns for three straight hours would probably be too much for his old ticker, but thanks."
At Memories R Us, the negotiations got a little hot and heavy. "Well," Margaret, the General Manager said, scratching her head, "We'll change his diaper five days a week and give him an extra roll of toilet paper as well as a flatscreen TV in his room." That started the wheels turning in my own shriveled up brain and I shot back with, "How about a diaper change SIX days a week, extra spumoni at night, forget the flatscreen." With that, Michele grabbed a nearby umbrella and proceeded to beat me mercilessly about the head and neck. Margaret then informed us that they like to have all of their residents play games to help with their cognitive thinking and memory. "One thing we do," she said, "is give each person a copy of the NY Times Sunday Crossword puzzle and a pen. We tell them they have one hour to finish. If they can't complete it in that time, they don't get any dessert that night." Oh my God," Michele asked, "When was the last time you served dessert?" Margaret remembered the exact date: October 12th,1972. It helps us keep kitchen costs down, you know."
So, the search for Sal's new home continues, but, I'm rooting for this guy so hard I ache. I actually sat down with him and had a son-in-law to father-in-law chat with dear ol' Sal. I told him that he really needed to be nice to the staff and the other residents and to try as hard as he possibly could to stop eating the plastic flower centerpieces from the dining room tables. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I wanted so much for him to comprehend the importance of what I was saying. At that point, he looked me in the eyes, put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, "How about those Yankees, huh?"
Keep in mind that Sal has mid-stage Alzheimer's disease and even though a ninety-two year old man isn't likely to do much damage, it's still a concern to the fine staff at Merrill Gardens and Sal's aggressive behavior needs to stop before he hits someone with something potentially lethal, like a sausage from the cafeteria! If you ask him why he's hitting people all the time, he'll likely respond, "No kidding. Are they in first place?"
The search was underway for Sal's new Florida home. First stop: Esther's Retirement Home and Canary Sanctuary. We informed them that Sal would be needing their highest level of care as the concepts of showering and toileting have, unfortunately, left his brain forever. We inquired about how that might affect the price and was told by Bo, the combination front desk manager and light bulb changer that they can wash the bedsheets every other day and diaper him three times a week. Bo said (with a straight face) "We'll just go easy on the beans and stuff and he should be fine." As we backed away very slowly with our jaws wide open, we thanked him for his help and then ran for our lives.
Alzheimer's Haven of Naples was next on the list. Our grand tour was conducted by a nice young gentleman named Howie who told us that, unfortunately, he had just been fired from his bartender job of four years at Burp & Brew, and he just happened to notice the Help Wanted sign in the front entrance of Alzheimer's Haven and got the job. Believe me when I say that words can not accurately express how comforted we were by the fact that a man who's been pouring beer and serving pretzels for the last four years was now looking after dementia patients. We mentioned Sal's incontinence issues and Howie said, "A lot of the people here have problems with peeing their pants. In a way, it's kind of like I never left Burp & Brew but we figured out a way to handle it, though. We just give each one a whistle, free of charge, of course, and when they think they've soiled themselves, they blow the hell out of it and just as soon as our break is over, someone stops by to help them out." "Gosh, Howie, that's, um...really...wow...great. Yeah. We'll call you, okay?"
Next up: Arnie's Senior Salvation Shanty (Motto: Money's not important in Heaven but THIS ain't Heaven). "The lord says we need to care for and nurture Salvatore and we will do that with all the love and compassion in our humanly bodies. But, love, caring and nurturing does not come cheap...Praise God..can I get an amen and a checking account routing number please?"
We moved up the road to The Forget Me Not Senior Residence. Jebediah, (his name tag gave him away) who was busily trimming the bushes stopped and told us that it's really a great place and that most of the time they have aides on duty as much as five days a week. As we sighed and turned to walk away, he was quick to add that on weekends, they show the Nascar races on the big screen in the library. "Well gosh, Jebediah, that sounds like too much excitement for someone like Sal. We're afraid the prospect of watching drivers make left turns for three straight hours would probably be too much for his old ticker, but thanks."
At Memories R Us, the negotiations got a little hot and heavy. "Well," Margaret, the General Manager said, scratching her head, "We'll change his diaper five days a week and give him an extra roll of toilet paper as well as a flatscreen TV in his room." That started the wheels turning in my own shriveled up brain and I shot back with, "How about a diaper change SIX days a week, extra spumoni at night, forget the flatscreen." With that, Michele grabbed a nearby umbrella and proceeded to beat me mercilessly about the head and neck. Margaret then informed us that they like to have all of their residents play games to help with their cognitive thinking and memory. "One thing we do," she said, "is give each person a copy of the NY Times Sunday Crossword puzzle and a pen. We tell them they have one hour to finish. If they can't complete it in that time, they don't get any dessert that night." Oh my God," Michele asked, "When was the last time you served dessert?" Margaret remembered the exact date: October 12th,1972. It helps us keep kitchen costs down, you know."
So, the search for Sal's new home continues, but, I'm rooting for this guy so hard I ache. I actually sat down with him and had a son-in-law to father-in-law chat with dear ol' Sal. I told him that he really needed to be nice to the staff and the other residents and to try as hard as he possibly could to stop eating the plastic flower centerpieces from the dining room tables. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I wanted so much for him to comprehend the importance of what I was saying. At that point, he looked me in the eyes, put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, "How about those Yankees, huh?"
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