Brother, Can You Spare A , um, Like, Some Money, Dude?

I've been walking the dog some more.

Last night, just after the evening twilight, I walk the dog up to a corner, and two skateboarders scrape by.

"Excuse me, sir?" the black-haired one yelled at me from across the street.

"Yeah?"

"Can I have a dollar?"

This kid is a product of our poor public school system. Our state's kids are growing up without a clue how to properly beg. No panache. No wheedling. Not even a grovel to tug some guilt-and a couple bucks-out of me. They panhandle just like the state. Essentially: Here's a new skateboarder tax: Give me a dollar.

I'm glad there are some private schools to teach some more fortunate kids this valuable skill. Valuable especially in this economy! I mean, how many times have you been at the gas station, without your debit card, no cash, and you just need a couple bucks for gas to make it home? In fact, some kids learn to beg before they can walk! Some even learn to beg instead of walking!

So, for all you folks who've been through Florida Public Schools, and need an appreciation for the sport of scrounge, here are some lines that just may get the job done for you.

*-*-*

I'm from The Immaculate Perception. Around the corner. We see you drive by Sunday mornings. I'd like to explain to you why you need to give me a tenth of what's in your wallet, or burn for all eternity.

I'm collecting donations to buy supplies for my charity car wash to raise money for uniforms for my school's band to wear while they sell cookie dough to fund their trip to Washington, D.C. to play a benefit concert to help starving kids in South America sell popcorn to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

My dog needs an operation I can't afford, and it's her birthday today. Could you spare a couple bucks so I could get her something special for her last meal?

Give me a dollar, or I'll have a wardrobe malfunction.

I ran into Samuel L. Jackson, and he said you're not as cheap as everyone says you are.

I know this guy in this apartment building that can turn your ten dollars into fifty. He's really shy, so give me your ten, and I'll be right back.

Mommy! Mommy! --What? You're not my real mommy? Y'know, this deep, personal pain you've caused me could be smoothed over with just a few bucks.

I'm passing the hat here! C'mon, don't cheap out! I had to pawn my ventriloquist's dummy just to buy the hat!

Help! Help! My two-year-old baby wandered out of the house last night, and made it clear across town! I need to send her cab fare.

My job moved to India. Can you spare some dough so I can go chase after it?

Say, stop feeding Africa! I'm hungry and standing right in front of you.

I just gave my last fiver to a hungry skateboarder. Could you spare some change so I can make it home?

*-*-*

There's plenty more, you can bet. I'll be looking for you and your hook. I don't have any cash to give you, you understand. I'm a little light in the wallet this payday. Business has still not stimulated in my neck of the woods, and blogging about idiots don't pay squat, so, um, if you could shoot me a little something-something, you'd make my day. I take Paypal.

Not the first time around the block

What have I been doing instead of blogging? Walking my dog.

A musty dawn broke on our second time around the block. We stopped a full suburban yard away from a white German shepherd nosing the grass. The owner of the grass pulled his extra-wide Buick out of his garage, missed the dog, and pulled into a different driveway in the cul-de-sac. He must have expected the German shepherd to close the garage door.

Chloe tugged me around the block some more, and the neighbor in the Buick pulled up. "Have you seen a white German shepherd?"

"Yes. He was standing in your yard."

"Really? I think he was headed this way. He's my neighbor's dog, and when he gets out, he just takes off. He just doesn't listen. Just a dumb dog."

The Buick pulled up to the German shepherd at the next corner. The driver didn't get out of the car. The dog sat and watched the car back up a little, turn a little, move forward, turn a little, back up a little, etc. until the Buick had made a U-turn. The dog walked away toward another smell.

"See," the driver said, "the dog is stupid."

What was he telling the dog? Get in the car, and drive? Anyone who watches the Dog Whisperer knows German shepherds can't drive. It is the Welsh Cabbies which are bred for their superior chauffeuring traits. Although, they're hard to train to use their turn signals.

Who's That Twit?

So, I do the Facebook (FB) thing. Played a little FB backgammon, some Bejeweled Blitz, and Farm Town. I've learned I'd make an excellent Clone Trooper, and I'm more of a Rachel from Friends. I've told cyberspace my favorite supermodel is Trish Goff, and I love Marvel Comics' Storm. And, I can hardly get enough of the Dog Whisperer show. But, really, I just like to see what my FB friends are up to.

Then, there is Twitter. I've Twittered off and on. I found a celebrity I really like to follow. I loved Samantha Who? and her appearance in this video during the writers' strike was hilarious! I found Christina Applegate's Twitter ID through FB or her web site. It turns out, she loves the NYT crossword puzzle, and slow music, and Lee National Denim Day. It's just kinda nifty to follow her for awhile.

I've also followed Alicia Keys, and seen her new shoe purchases.

I've read about how Kelly Ripa is really tired, but on the plane home.

Then, I became addicted to finding celebrities. I'm following 19 Twits now, most of them celebrities. Alyssa Milano is on her honeymoon, and reposts news stories and tweets about favorite causes. Rose McGowan loves her dogs, and found a Dustbuster isn't the best way to clean up exploded overcooked eggs.
John Cleese is selling t-shirts, and Paula Abdul went to bed early. Kristen Bell did NOT fall asleep cooking eggs, but DID fall asleep in a car wash recliner.

Just a few people follow me on Twitter. I'm no Carrie Ann Inaba, but every now and then, I find my Twitter Followers number jumps to 6. It's usually some aspiring porn actress needing attention. You can usually tell because their Twitter name has vulgar words in it. Or, all her posts are about her tawdry movie links. Or, she doesn't have a tweet at all.

Last night, another complete stranger started following me. It was someone I've never heard of. Amandabeeson9 is her id. I've tried very hard to find a dirty word in her name. She has normal posts about taking her mom and sister to lunch. Her GlamourShot pic looks a little like Jamie Presley, but not overtly alluring.

So, now I'm following this COMPLETE stranger. I don't know why this should feel weird to me. I mean, all these celebrities I'm following are strangers to me. So far, all I've learned about Amandabeeson9 is she has a mom, and by googling her tweet "Upscale Waffle: Aloe," I've discovered she probably lives with her roommate in New York City. But, at the first sign of "buy my new sexy DVD," I am soooo blocking her.

Long Lost

Sit on it

If this is just too long for one sitting:

Day 2
Adjustment
Comfort Zone

A few weeks ago, I got this ache just to the right of my lower spine, and it only happened while sitting. Bad for a knitter. Standing is fine. Walking is fine. Getting up off the floor after cleaning up dog mess, not so fine.

My wife had a different back ache, and suggested we try a chiropractor. I've never been.

I don't know why she chose the one she did-- maybe they had a late opening. It used to be a hair and nail salon, but there wasn't a trace of acetone in the air when I walked in.

I filled out documents, chose not to put a lien on my house (really!?!), pointed out on the computer where it hurt, with a 4 on the Pain-in-the-Sphincter scale.

I sat in the little x-ray room (facials used to be in this room, I think), and looked at the anatomy charts. I love anatomical charts, and drawings. I read Gray's Anatomy, but only got through the the first section: the spine! before stopping to look at all the pictures. By reading the chiropractic charts, I figured out one of my lower lumbar vertebrae might be pinching my sciatic nerve.

Dr. P entered, and had me sit and lift each leg while his hand was on my back. My left leg caused a normal back movement, but the right leg lift caused none whatsoever. He said, "One of your lower vertebra may be pinching your sciatic nerve."

I emptied my pockets, and got a front and side x-ray of my pelvis. Then, after laying face-down while electrodes thumped my lower back under a hot pad, and laying face-up on a bread kneading machine, I was asked to come back for the x-ray results.

*** DAY 2 ***

The next day, Dr. P wasn't in, so Dr. D saw me in the ex-foot massage room. He decided to introduce me to the magic of chiropractic.

Dr D asked, "What is the most important part of the body?"

"The heart," I said.

"The brain. Everyone knows that."

"Well, without the heart pumping oxygen to the brain, it would starve and die."

"Yes, but without the brain, the heart wouldn't know to beat."

"Ah, but cells of the heart can actually beat by themselves! I saw it on Discovery, I think. But, this is a cyclical tangent. Let's just suppose the brain is most important," I said.

Dr. D went on. "Well, the brain is connected to nerves spreading out everywhere in your body. So, when an organ has a problem, it sends a signal to the brain it's in trouble, and your innate intelligence sets about to heal it."

"Through a different system, like the lymph nodes?"

"Well, suppose we take an organ?"

"Like the heart?"

"A different one."

"The lung?"

"Sure," he said, "If the lung gets sick, it sends a signal to the brain, through the spinal cord, and the brain sends help. But, if the lung keeps sending the sick signal too much, this causes a vertebra to twist, and pinch off the nerve, and cause greater illness!"

I thought about my back pain, and where it was located-- near my most favoritest, and funnest male organ. Maybe it was having too much fun and it wasn't getting the brain's message to knock it off.

"So, if I breathe in an irritant, it disturbs a lung-nerve. The nerve twists a back bone out of joint?"

"Yep. I can show you where all smokers have an arch in their back."

"A nerve is not a muscle, right? So, you're saying an electrical or chemical impulse traveling down a healthy nerve makes the nerve bulge out of shape, and knock a backbone out of joint? A bone that is held in place like a puzzle piece by many different muscles attached to it."

"Um, no. Not like that," Dr. D said.

"What causes the nerve to twist the vertebrae," I asked.

"Um, I should know that. I know that it does, but I haven't had to explain it for awhile."

"I get that way explaining additive and subtractive color, and color gamuts."

Dr. D showed me my x-rays. "See, here's your back from the back side. See how the pelvis is shifted at an angle? This hip joint is higher than the other, and could indicate a misalignment."

"Or, it could mean I had most my weight on my left leg," I suggested, falling back on my study of artistic anatomy.

Dr. D figured that could very well be, and said I should have stood with even weight distribution. Then, he showed me the side-view x-ray. "See, this bottom end curve of your spine is too shallow. Now that you're older, there are no arteries going into this part of the spine any more. The back, like a spring, flexes when you walk, expelling waste. But, your spine doesn't curve enough down here."

"Expelling waste, how?" Never mind what kind of waste, nor to where.

"By... by... It's called... When something floats through to fill an empty space, kind of."

"Osmosis?"

"That's it." Dr. D stopped. "At work, do you sit leaning forward? Don't, because your brain stem can slip gradually into your C1."

"The axis, right?"

"Hey, that's right! And, this will shorten your life." After an inspiring story of an anonymous spinal adjustment relieving some diabetic symptoms, he said, "Anyway, we'll need to adjust your spine over quite a few visits, so your back can operate properly. Let's get started."

*** Adjustment ***

So, he led me out of the ex-foot massage room, into a room that had never been used by the salon, I reckon. It was designed for torture. The walls were gray and had a bare cement floor so the blood and tears could be hosed off. Sanitary is a very high priority in any medical field. There was a small green half-bench. It looked like a weight bench for an eight-year-old. There was a hole in the main horizontal pad through which I could scream through. Well, at least I didn't have to get undressed.

I laid on my belly. Dr. D pushed on my lumbar a good three times, then went to my upper back.

ker-RACK!

I snapped up off that bench. "YeOW, man!"

"That was gas escap--"

"That was hurt!"

"It hurt?" Dr. D asked?

"You didn't break it, but it hurt. I guess I'm just not used to this whole chiropractic thing."

He sent me on to the electrodes and kneading machines.

That night, I talked to a lady who had a different chiropractor. He was a chiropractor to the stars-- sports stars. He made her do exercises. Now, that made sense. stretch the muscles. Make them more flexible and stronger. Hmm. I bet with a good muscle relaxant...

So, I Googled, and I Wikied, and learned a load of chiropractic tidbits. It turns out, I'm not the only one who questions whether seemingly unrelated diseases can shift vertebrae. I searched the web, sitting straight up, mind you. At Wikipedia, B J Palmer said about the same thing as Dr. D said about lung disease. B J Palmer, son of the guy who invented Chiropractic in c. 1890, and the guy who gave Ronald Reagan his first broadcasting job, said he could show the same vertebra out of place in small pox patients, realign the spine, and then: no more small pox. Like the whole germ-thing causing illness is a sham. And, though many physicians believe the body has an ability to help heal itself, using the phrase, "innate intelligence" is a uniquely, and now quirky, chiropractic term.


*** Comfort Zone ***

I eventually went to my family MD. She said, yes, yoga would be good for my back, and she prescribed a muscle relaxant. She also discovered a little pebble-hardness at my pain site. I had forgot to mention it to anyone before. No idea what it is. And, she says my pain has more to do with my sacrum area, than with the vertebrae above it.

I'll get to my yoga soon. Really. I've a new goal. I want to do a seated spinal twist. I think it is the most beautiful of all yoga positions. Maybe I should draw it first. That's safer.

Downside, I can't have my Guinness since I'm taking muscle relaxants. I wonder how much Guinness I have to drink to have the same effect?

Well, thanks for reading. If you made it through this post in one sitting, I'm betting your sacrum is pretty sore by now, too.

Nightstand Strata

I could not find my newest pair of glasses. They were not on my side of the dresser, nor in my catch-all dresser drawer. They were not in my bag. They were not on my face, either. Though, I have found them there before.

So, I needed to excavate my nightstand to see if they slipped in there some how.

I do this every now and then.

On my nightstand:
Phone, lamp, clock-radio, a box of Kleenex, a Tinker Bell mug of water on a coaster.

My aunt Carol's address.

Receipts for: a Lily Allen CD, a coffee, two for art supplies, and one for a surgical procedure.

A dime, a little bit of rubbery plastic.

A Tinker Bell pin, a stuffed fairy named Snow, two pairs of hand-knit socks--one pair has never been worn.

Two pens, my blue-framed glasses (not the ones I was looking for), my half-rimmed glasses (the ones I WAS looking for!)

Scraps of yarn, a Tinker Bell bucket of yarn including three skeins of Politically Incorrect yarn.

A framed wallet-sized picture of my goddaughter from about 5 years ago.

Then, the stack of books:
There's Nothing Funny About Design, by David Barringer
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Century 1910
Complete Dracula, issue 1
Grimm Fairy Tales, issues 36-8 (unread)
Strangers in Paradise comics, Vol 1 Is. 3; Vol 3, Is. 2, 3, 51-3, 61, 76.

Two birthday cards.

Marvel Adventures: Spider-man #27 (my boy's)
Echo, # 1-12, plus a second copy of #2. (All mine.)
Astonishing X-Men #29

Interweave Knits Summer 2009
Tao, The Watercourse Way, Alan Watts
Parabola, sp 2009
Pad of translucent vellum
Naked, by David Sedaris (Not as amusing as I had thought)
Small book of grid paper
How to Draw Celtic Knotwork
Celtic Knotwork Designs
Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Is. 2009
Interweave Knits Sp 2009

Prey Elsewhere

"[A vampire] may not enter anywhere on the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come."
--Dracula, Bram Stoker

So, there's this knock on my door yesterday morning. I tore myself from the latest Facebook app, and with a kid at my elbow, and a puppy at his feet, I opened the door.

Two gray ladies, one two steps behind the other, looked at the puppy, then the boy in his jammie shorts, then my head poked around the door.

"Hello," the first septuagenarian said, "I wondered if we might share a piece of scripture with you today."

"No. Thank you." I brushed my boy back, and closed the door.

As my door shut in her face, she said, "I noticed your sign--" She was pointing to the homey "Peace To All Who Enter" tile hanging in the window. Yeah, well, the old demon hadn't gotten even a toe across my threshold. No peace for her.

"Who was that," my boy asked.

"Just someone selling something we didn't need."

Yeah, I used to tell the godsellers I worshiped a goat, or their god didn't exist as much as mine. But, that takes too much time, and I would have to pretend to care. Now days, I have a kid to protect from their holier-than-thou grasp.

I'm tired of playing their psyche-sucking game. They knock on your door. All they need you to do is answer. Cause, if you greet them amiably, they take encouragement from you they are doing their imaginary master's bidding, then bug your neighbors. Maybe even use your name. But, if you say they are wasting their time, they may steel themselves to stand in your yard and chant a few words to their imaginary master about you, then may even come back for a second helping next month. Woe is you if they bite you. You'll become one of their pack, enter their den of lies, of guilt and ignorance, with pious backbiting. Woe, woe, woe.

So, to all avid proselytizing succubi: Behold, you stand at the door and knock. At my No Soliciting sign.