Vodka Drip

I came across an article published in The Associated Press. It was reported that Australian doctors plugged a poisoned Italian tourist into a vodka drip after running out of medicinal alcohol. I thought this an extremely unconventional treatment. I had no idea that pure alcohol was used to treat any sort of condition aside from a nasty hangover.

It seems the undisclosed 24-year-old Italian, had ingested a large amount of ethylene glycol. Anyone knows that ethylene glycol is a clear, colorless, slightly sweet and syrupy (yum) liquid at room temperature. It can be used to make antifreeze, de-icing solutions, polyester compounds and photographic developing solutions, hydraulic brake fluids and inks used in stamp pads. It can also be turned into a vapor by shaking it briskly. For this, you would need a cocktail shaker.

The story described his treatment in detail, but never revealed how the man had ingested the substance. Was he drunk? Ill? Did he fall asleep under a leaky car? Was he suicidal? Blind? Cold? Stupid? Playing a practical joke on himself? What? Without more information it’s difficult to say. So, if only to ease my vexation for not being given the details, I decided to fill in the blanks myself.

Prudenzio, (Latin, meaning cautious) had studied the culture and history of Australia all of his life. He was particularly sympathetic to the Aboriginal people, who had been run off their land in the late 19th century by white Europeans. He had always dreamed of going to Australia to protest their plight. After five years of working as an au pair for a mafia family in Naples, Prudenzio had finally saved enough money to carry out his vision.

After spending only three weeks among the Aborigines, Prudenzio was found at the bottom of a hundred-foot cliff, trapped under the car he had been using. Under multiple layers of gold chains, his naked chest sported hundreds of images of ink-stamped Crocodiles, presumed to make him appear to be more native-like. The polyester pants he was wearing were drenched in photographic developing solution. After being side-swiped, the car careened off the edge of a cliff, rolled down several hundred feet to crash through the roof of a 24 hour photo shop. Authorities learned that despite his many attempts, Prudenzio fell short of being able to perform the authentic dances of the Aborigines and had grown despondent. Traces of antifreeze were found at the corners of his mouth which would explain his erratic driving.

The Brisbane doctor said they quickly used all the available vials of 100 percent alcohol. The next best alternative would be vodka. Prudenzio was hooked up to a nasogastric tube and drip-fed about three standard drinks an hour for three days. The Marachino cherries must have been excruciating.

Prudenzio made a successful recovery. The incident occurred about two years ago, though the hospital just released the information on the case. I’m sure they wanted to make certain that the rehab treatment would prove successful as well.

The Evil Eye

I have a Facebook friend who suggested that I try an exercise used as a technique in actor training. It’s called, Synergenis. He explained the idea is to get your body sense memory, imagination and emotions to work together more effectively. For instance, when you’re happy, you smile. If you smile, you will automatically feel happy inside. Make sense? He instructed me to sit in front of a mirror and smile at myself for ten minutes and then post my results.

It took me well over two weeks to get up the courage to stare at myself that long…let alone smile. Ten minutes is a lot longer than you think when you’re staring at yourself and smiling, or even trying to. What finally compelled me to try the exercise was my online horoscope. It said, ‘be seductive when it comes to expressing your passion for others today, dear Leo. There is more to your glance than meets the eye. The untrained prey has no chance against your hypnotic stare’. How could I go wrong with a forecast like that? I gave it a try.

Since that fateful day, I have begun experiencing things, little things that most people wouldn’t give a second thought to. Things that might be attributed to changes in the weather or an unexpected adjustment of plans, such as a bad sinus headache or finding that the Dill Weed in my cupboard, which I intended to use in a new recipe had the expiration date of 1982. Last week, I left a message on a friend’s cell phone. After I finished recording, I was curious about the direction given by the perfunctory voice that I have heard hundreds of times. “For more options, press one.” I pressed one, but there were no more options. It was ominous. I felt an evil presence that seemed to cast an eerie shadow as from a dark cloud. It drifted above causing a chill to run through me.

I began to notice other things too. My online grocery purchases were delivered straight to my neighbor’s door. After numerous calls to the grocery store and to my neighbor, my articles were returned with several slices of the Orowheat cracked wheat bread missing from the loaf, two sleeves of crackers were absent from my Fresh Stacks Ritz crackers and what remained of an Orville Reddenbacker microwave sack with a few kernels of unpopped corn. What was causing me to experience such a sudden patch of bad luck?

I stumbled across an article on the Internet that may have solved the mystery of why things aren’t going so well. The evil eye is to blame. Yes, it’s true. According to this article, it is quite possible to inadvertently bring the evil eye, hairy eye, stink eye, whatever you want to call it, on yourself. I knew I was vulnerable to negative energies but I never dreamed that I could sabotage my circumstances with my own powerful hypnotic stare. Unfortunately, the spell won’t just go away, it must be removed by burning rare seeds or hanging a plant called, Camel’s Needle, at the front door. I could gather uzarlik to burn but I have no idea of how to get to the Khizi mountains, but I do know it is north of Baku on the road to Guba.

I started to panic. How could I remove my evil eye spell if I couldn’t get my hands on the proper remedy? My neighbor observed my agitation and after pouring out the frightening details of my dilemma to her, she said I could call her grandmother who lives in Mexico. She had the perfect remedy to protect against the evil eye.

I called her at exactly 6:48 pm as I was instructed. A feeble voice answered and with a thick accent she said, “Take the right eye of a hyena and put it in very strong vinegar for seven days. Then boil it. Take it to a remote place, where a rooster’s crow cannot be heard and bury it next to a cactus plant. Your spell will be broken.”

I think it might be easier to avoid mirrors.

A Temple in the Hood

Some are taught as children that Womanhood is sacred, life-giving, strong and wise. Huh.

When a woman can look back into her past, without resentment, for the too numerous to mention times her friends pointed out how much of an idiot she could be, but then often reminded her of how much she had improved, and learned that it was the truth that set her free, that at first had pissed her off.

When a woman can look back at her weight during pregnancy, and the all encompassing desire for Cracker Jacks and Chicken Yakatori, she can embrace the fullness of her experience, considering no one else could get their arms around her.

When a woman can look back into her past, without regret, without spotlighting the screams directed at her husband while giving birth, “You did this to me, you bastard! Oh God! This is all your fault!” She can embrace the gift of her experience or at least until she develops calluses on her nipples from breastfeeding.

When a woman can look back into her past at the ongoing unhappiness she has connected with the shape of her body, and she can then allow her personal trainer to pry the handcrafted Cinnamon Dolce Latte from one hand, and the chocolate iced vanilla pound cake from the other, she will be liberated.

When a woman can look back into her past, without hesitation or bitterness, and throw her personal trainer and caution to the wind, to build upon what she had gained, membership in a small, fat-loving civilization, she will respect herself.

When a woman can see her own divinity and recognize the divinity in other women, although some of them had cosmetic surgery to enhance the divinity, she can see her body as a temple and appreciate its form, regardless of age or stage of life she is in.

When a woman can look back and see that the temple that God had given her was being treated like a tent, she can use her experience to learn from and without faltering, choose to reposition the center pole, braid new guy lines and secure the stakes.

When a woman can look back and suddenly say to herself, “Why the hell am I looking back, we aren’t going that way,” The sooner she can move forward to express her emotions, her intellect, her talents and sing praise with the strength and beauty of a diamond that illuminates her itty-bitty, teeny-tiny, world.

Here’s to you, Womanhood.

Emotional Intellectual by Day, Basket Weaver by Night

There will always be buzz words. Without them, how would anyone toss around the Toro poo poo, especially in the corporate world? Uh-oh, I think I just used another buzz word. We’ve all heard them… words like, Six-Sigma, Paradigm, Synergy, Thought Leadership, Best Practices and Revolutionary.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I wish you would shut the hell up.” Then again, saying that wouldn’t be emotionally intelligent, would it? Do you hear a buzz buzz buzzing noise? Emotional Intelligence, the idea that one can measure emotions to determine if they are intelligent seems to be the new gauge for success. Think about it though. How many times have you wanted to say something rotten to someone, especially if you thought they deserved it, but nodded and smiled instead? If you didn’t say it, is that emotional intelligence or just being an old fashioned bootlicker? If you did say it, would that mean your emotional processing and problem solving ability was in good working order? I’m confused. I have taken IQ tests before and have a pretty good idea of where I stand on the intelligence totem pole but how can anyone test their emotions?

For instance, if you would look at pictures of my family as I was growing up, you would see smiling, happy, fun-loving people. Are you kidding? There is no earthly reason we should have been smiling. We were saying cheese or boobies or something else with an ease on the end of it. It was exhausting. If people can smile for an inanimate object that flashes and burns dark green spots on their retinas, then don’t you think they do it for other people?

Do we really fake emotions? You betcha’. Maybe a better buzz word would be emotion management. Some say the ability to explain your feelings is part of emotional intelligence. The inability to understand your feelings would prove that there is a lack of innate emotional intelligence. If you feel uncomfortable in someone’s presence and don’t know why, does it mean you are emotionally stupid, or just need to say, “you give me the friggin’ creeps!” Of course that wouldn’t be socially desirable, especially in the work place.

For the emotionally unintelligent, and you know who you are, I have invented a device that will harness emotions. It comes in black nylon, multi-colored knitted yarn or genuine leather. The collar and harness places the weight of the emotional load onto the shoulders, without any restriction on the intellect. Leather is recommended for heavy emotional hauling. The reins are used to guide the unexpressed feelings to a neutral area without impairing judgment. Once emotions have successfully been hauled to the safe zone, they are disposed of with the use of chemicals. Alcohol works best.

Harness emotions responsibly.

The Art of Delegation

I’m so very excited. The company I work for has created some new opportunities for managers to design programs for unique ways to motivate employees to step up and take on more responsibility. I have to say, I believe I have found a fabulous trend-setting method and have no doubt they will earn me an award. I think other managers will begin to see the merit of my new procedures and follow suit. Of course, having an award-winning team will possibly cause team envy within the company.

I have wrestled with delegating duties for quite some time now. Often, the decision to delegate certain duties can have a company-wide impact on morale. To eliminate conflict, I thought I would get employees in sync with my ideas by starting each morning with a group chant, “Every day in every way, I think I’m such a prize. And that is why I’m here to work or at least to improvise.” I made that up myself and I have to say, it has done wonders for team spirit.

I needed to find someone within my department who is optimistic by nature, would anticipate when something unexpected could happen, and accept the fact that just because you are in charge doesn’t necessarily mean you are…in charge that is. Resilience is crucial and the best candidate must have a knack for setting realistic goals. In order to make the best selection, I had to create a robust testing procedure to choose the right person who would assume additional duties freeing me up to focus on the bigger picture.

I began with a simple ‘Facial Feedback’ study. I had my department line up, and one by one, I stood in front of each employee and smiled, then frowned, and finally produced the most hideous grimace I could. I have to say almost all employees mirrored the smiles and frowns. However, there were two that ran away screaming at the sight of the grimace. I shouted a threat that the boogeyman would be waiting for them by their car at the end of the day. Not only did they run faster but they were also eliminated from the pool of hopefuls.

The narrowing down process had begun. Next, during the work day, I snuck up behind each of the employees and surprised them by blowing an air horn behind their head. There were only three who did not jump high enough to have both feet off the ground at the same time. I decided I would be able to delegate duties to one of these three employees, two women and one man... my finalists.

The last thing I did with a magic marker is draw a six foot by six foot box on the floor of the lunch room and request that the three competitors stand in it. I asked them mathematical questions such as what is twelve, minus one? And what is eight divided by two? History questions included when was the war of 1812? And who was the Lincoln memorial named after? Clearly, they all were equally qualified. Their answers were correct, that is, until I asked them to step across the line. They gave me blank stares when I asked them to explain the corpuscular theory of light. They were stumped when I inquired about their knowledge of the origins of Greek mathematics. I felt frustration begin to set in. Clearly, none of them could think outside of the box.

I have decided to abstain from delegating any of my duties for the time being. At least until I find a more suitable aspirant. Until then, we will continue our morning chant, “Every day in every way, I think I’m such a prize. And that is why I’m here to work or at least to improvise.”

Happy Worthday

August 8, 2010

Last week was strange to say the very least, it was a week so bizarre that if it were measured on the Richter magnitude scale, it would be deemed a 7.3, with enough destructive force to cause serious damage over larger areas. The Joule equivalent, a formula based on Newton’s law to measure the amount of energy traveling one meter would assign it 11.3 but I won’t bore you with the mathematical equations or the details.

Today is my birthday, so I thought I would find my own unique way to celebrate. No party, no parade, no merrymaking but instead, a one-of-a-kind assessment. After much introspection, I have decided to sum myself up…literally. I’m not talking about financial net worth but my human worth. To calculate that, I will have to begin at the beginning and combine the Richter/Joule formulas to examine every nuance, every quirk and cranny to determine the effect my actions have had on me and on others. To reserve Internet terabytes, you will receive the condensed version. At the end of my calculations, I will have the mathematical number that will yield my true value.

I was born with a Calcium deficiency that I was told caused me to have mild to moderate seizures until I received a Calcium injection in the superficial temporal vein, located on the side of my head. This is proof enough to me that I just wasn’t right in the head, so I will have to receive a Richter of 6.7 and Joule of 708 for damage to myself and to my mother for making her worry.

When I was two, I wandered out of the house when I was supposed to be taking a nap and was somehow able to get into our car that was parked in the driveway. After releasing the parking brake and pulling the gear shift out of park, the car began rolling down the driveway. My mother happened to be washing dishes at the time and through the kitchen window, saw what was happening. She screamed and ran from the house but was unable to get to me as I was refusing to keep my arms and legs inside the vehicle until it reached a complete stop. As a result, my right leg was caught under the front left tire and if it weren’t for my then flexible bones and the miracle of missing my pelvic bone by centimeters, I escaped being physically disabled for the rest of my life. I give myself a Richter of 7.8 and Joule of 31.6 for being disobedient, causing damage to myself and giving my mother a halo of gray hair at her hairline… and of course for making her worry.

On a beautiful spring day, when I was five, I was standing at our front door screen gazing at the beauty of the giant Sycamore tree in our front yard. A large stray dog happened by on the sidewalk. He stopped abruptly and looked directly at me before bounding toward our door. I couldn’t have imagined what happened next. He slammed though the screen door, knocking the door off its hinges while running over me. It seems he spied our cat standing on the back of the couch behind me and acted on his basic instincts. It took both of my parents to evict the dog from the premises. I have to give myself a Richter measurement of 5.5 and a Joule of 2.0 for causing damage to the door, inconveniencing my father, having screen impressions on my face for three days and of course for worrying my mother.

When I was ten, I had my tonsils removed. The medical field considers this a minor procedure however not for me. I hemorrhaged. My throat had to be packed and as a result, my Uvula healed to the back of my throat directly over my nasal passages. My nose was useless, nothing more than a face ornament. I needed a second surgery to clear my nasal passages and bring the Uvula down to normal position. I believe my surgeon resigned from surgical procedures shortly after and became a dietician. I have to give myself a Richter of 8.0 and Joule of 63.1 for ruining someone’s career, running up a large medical expense and causing my mother to worry.
So far, in the early years of my life, I had accumulated a total of 28 on the Richter scale and a whopping Joule of 804.7, numbers never before recorded in history; a destructive force needing to be reckoned with.

My teen-age and adult years have been packed with continuing drama resulting in an even larger accumulation of shocking numbers due to personal problems, divorce, financial challenges, work related issues and loss of loved ones, all of which worried my mother.

My life has slowed to a comfortable pace now, which gives me time to ponder. I am more at peace. I think the reason for this might be my willingness to go back and find that drama has served a purpose in my life and in those I have come in contact with. It did you know, all of it, and since I am a writer, I can complete the stories and imagine outcomes that explain the reasons for the need to perform these dramatic acts in this mysterious stage play called life.

I can imagine that the doctor who injected my infantile noggin went home and cried to his wife that he had to perform a ghastly procedure on a two week old infant. This display of emotion caused her to rethink her decision to divorce the man she thought was void of feelings. They went on to have three children of their own.

The neighbor that drove us to the hospital when my leg was run over, along with my mother, became more vigilant to secure the safety of her children. My Pediatrician gave me the nickname, ‘Lucky’ and had a positive tale of the miracle on Cohasset Street for the rest of his patients.

The dog that trampled me under the screen door was taken to a nearby animal shelter where he was adopted by a family with six children and no cats. His quick instincts made him a hero when he alerted the family of a fire in the laundry room during the night. He saved the entire family and caught the fire early enough to save the house.

The doctor who removed my tonsils, and as I said, went into the dietary field? Well, his wife made the worst brownies in the world. They were really bad…dry and chewy. He decided to market them as an appetite suppressant; they became so popular by his patients, and then the world, that he became a millionaire.

Someone said, marriage is grand, but divorce is fifty grand. Truer words were never spoken. My divorce and the financial difficulties resulting from it created a stronger me, and as sure as broken bones have more strength in their broken places once they are healed, my confidence has grown, my inner strength has emerged and I am blessed with the knowledge that I can rely on myself, I am resourceful, smarter and more creative than I ever imagined and from these experiences I have learned the lessons I have needed to learn. This is true.

Sad to say, my ex suffered multiple injuries in a car accident when his girlfriend at the time began swatting at a bee. She hit my ex in the face several times with a rolled up Cosmopolitan magazine before a gust of wind caught her skirt and wrapped it around the steering column, locking up the steering wheel. The red mustang convertible careened through several red lights before plowing into a gigantic pile of manure waiting to be picked up by a local landscaping company.

To end my fiscal year and sum up my accumulated Richter and Joule numbers would be impossible because, you see, there are so many lives we touch that we aren’t even aware of. The serendipity of life threads its way through our experiences, our lessons, and we all have a hand at creating the most breathtaking tapestry that remains hidden to us until we step over to the other side.

My mother passed away over twenty years ago but before she died, she had the most beautiful silver hair I have ever seen. When the sunlight danced on it, I swear it looked like she was wearing a halo. I’m glad I was able to help in creating it by making her worry so much.

And the other loved ones I’ve lost? Well, they weren’t lost at all; they were a gift to me and to the many other lives that they touched. I’m happy to have known them, to have loved them and to know they loved me. That is without measurement and is priceless.

Love the people you love. You never know the last time you will see them.

Nefarious Schmarious

I read an article from the Associated Press last week reporting that in Somerville, Mass, there is a growing popularity in competitive lockpicking. It seems this “Locksport” provides the intellectual thrill of analyzing locks and finding ways of opening them quickly without destroying them. Locksport fans compete to be the fastest lock picker and they have an even more challenging contest called, Locksport Wizard, involving a burlap sack, a set of identical locks, and a few odd tools provided to blindly pick them with. Lockpicking has become so popular that a US chapter of The Open Organization Of Lockpickers has been formed…otherwise known as TOOOL.

I have absolutely nothing against nerds. I am one. And I sometimes slip into the category of gullible, but I can’t believe that everyone who is participating in this sport is a mere puzzle solver. Is it possible that criminals are getting a free education in picking? In my day, and I never thought I would live long enough to use that phrase, if someone said their hobby was picking, I immediately assumed they played the guitar or banjo. Whatever happened to the masterly art of playing chess? Where have all the whittlers gone? Any bird watchers left? Embroidering? How about Origami or making model cars?

I say, if we are going to change up our interests in a pestilential way, let’s do it right! Why don’t we make this an Olympic sport? In fact, I think it would benefit the general population for our lawbreakers to hone their skills. I mean, how many times has an innocent bystander been injured or killed by a drive-by shooting? Bad shooting is to blame for these tragedies. Practice makes perfect. Maybe we should have an Olympic drive-by event that is judged by efficiency and accuracy. Or, how about relay purse-snatching? Weapon carving? We could develop team events like, prison break and looting. Top them all off with the, Tri-Athelimb Decapathon, involving bomb building, placement and detonation.

I admit my humor is dryer than a popcorn fart, and when I read things like this, my inner sarcasm breaks out and runs freely with the wind in its hair. That’s my hobby though, sarcasm. True, carping, salty, ornery, sardonic, smart-alecky, weisenheiming, sarcasm. Wish they would make that an Olympic event too.