Showing posts from July, 2008

And When I Say Dancing, I mean This--

Dear Neilochka,

Vis-a-vis your last posting about taking some time off from blogging ( ), I wanted to send you a little something for your mini-vacation.
Car with the windows down preferred, dancing around in your socks optional. Enjoy yourself!
For all others, wishing you hot fun in summertime. I shall be in Neuroramaville, saving bad brains--one neuron at a time.

Yours truly, Distracted by Shiny Objectsplease note: music by Jason Mraz

Musee Des Beaux Arts by W. H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters: how well they understood Its human position; how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along; How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting For the miraculous birth, there always must be Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating On a pond at the edge of the wood: They never forgot That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse Scratches its innocent behind a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, Had somewhere to get t…

This Just Makes Me Laugh

Who is she calling a loser?? Me? The guy behind her? The camera man? What's with the smirk? She is definitely smirking.

Thanks San

Found out today I am among the esteemed recipients
of the World Renowned JUST PLAIN FUN TO READ award
from, and, while it was a honor
to be nominated, it is way more fun to actually have the award and to have posters, banners, stationery and Tshirts printed with the quirky and sweet illustration.

Run on over to San's site and have a look/see. The last post (or one from this past Friday) has oodles of interesting sites to browse through and provide excellent excuses NOT to clean out the bathroom linen closet.

Like we really need a reason--we are Writers :>).

Locked Doors by Anne Sexton

For the angels who inhabit this town, although their shape constantly changes, each night we leave some cold potatoes and a bowl of milk on the windowsill. Usually they inhabit heaven where, by the way, no tears are allowed.
They push the moon around like a boiled yam. The Milky Way is their hen with her many children. When it is night the cows lie down but the moon, that big bull, stands up.

However, there is a locked room up there with an iron door that can't be opened. It has all your bad dreams in it It is hell. Some say the devil locks the door from the inside. Some say the angels lock it from the outside. The people inside have no water and are never allowed to touch. They crack like macadam. They are mute They do not cry help except inside where their hearts are covered with grubs.

I would like to unlock that door, turn the rusty key and hold each fallen one in my arms but I cannot, I cannot. I can only sit here on earth at my place at the table.

Norman Rockwell, Meet Norman Bates

Had lunch the other day at the Art Museum and across the hall from the restaurant were 5 large photographs of neighborhood scenes at twilight.
Actually, they are part of a larger exhibit, Beneath The Roses, the work of Gregory Crewdson. If it's in your town, or comes to your town, definitely worth a look.
He stages each scene; taking months to plan, and using 40 to 50 separate shots to create each composition; creepily compelling --each one making you wonder what's happened in the slightly off view you see in front of you of a familiar Americana. Seeing life as presented through this collection of photographs makes you question all kinds of assumptions starting with-- is it really twilight, or could it be dawn?
This is making the email rounds so maybe you've seen it. The kid is hilarious and dead-on with the voice.
And, bad joke of the day:

A brunette, a redhead, and a blonde walk into a human resources department to apply for a job. The brunette goes into the interview first an…

Going To See La Traviata This Evening

Wondering if anyone else remembers when the summer opera was housed at the zoo. I remember seeing Madame Butterfly there and sitting underneath a white tent with the sounds of peacocks and lions roaring in the distance. And, the heat...Quite an experience. Cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for the artists with heavy make-up and costumes. Maybe we were all just a bit hardier back in the 60's. Or, maybe it's that damn global warming. Yet another example of denying wild animals in captivity the opportunity to listen to classical music in the comfort of their own home. Go Green.

ahhhh, sanctuary at last

no couches or comets in sight...
please note: art by Winslow Homer

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary!"

Home after 14 hours of no lunch, no bathroom break, and might I say, no fun. Now that I'm in my favorite place with my favorite people I'm forced to recollect that my last patient, admitted straight from the OR, had suffered a subdural hematoma (please refer back to your notes from July 15th--"Hellboy and me") from LYING ON THE COUCH.

Yes, I know that he was prone to bleeding due to the medications he was taking for blood clots in his legs, and it would have only taken a slight bump...but the couch?? Et tu Brutus??

I love, love, love to recline on my couch. It is my sanctuary. And I believe it loves me right damn back. I cannot believe that because of this inconvenient piece of information it is no longer a haven of safety for me, a "soft place to fall" as Uncle Phil likes to say (again and again and again--enough, you crazy old coot).

Okay, I surrender. I'm going to go lay on the couch, put my feet up, and, yes, I will put on my helmet.

Take some Advil, drink some Gatorade, get off that HangoverHer couch and go see Mamma Mia

... you too can dance and jive,

and, if for no other reason
than they all look as though they're having a hoot doing this movie

OHIO by David Young

Looking across a field at a stand of trees more than a windbreak less than a forest— is pretty much all the view we have
in summer it's lush in winter it gets down to two or three tones for variety there might be an unpainted barn water patches a transmission tower
yet there's a lot to see you could sit all day on the rusty seat of a harrow with the view before you and all the sorrows this earth has seen sees now will see could pass through you like a long mad bolt of lightning leaving you drained and shaken still at dusk the field would be the same and the growing shadows of the trees would cross it toward you until you rose your heart pounding with joy and walked gladly through the weeds and toward the trees

It's merely a God given talent...


in honor of DrunkHer and the fabulous v-grrrl

Even the muses sometimes
need their beauty sleep.

please note: singing by Holly Golightly. Who knew...??

"But the moon's promises, what are they worth?"

Lots to talk about after being away in The Land of the Neurons for the past two days.

We went to the Holiday Auto-In last night for a little goonies and greased lightening action. Jillie (thank you, thank you, thank you) came in early for me so I could get up and out, home by 7:15 and on the road to Butler County by 7:30. It ended up to be only a 45 minute drive from where we live and we arrived in plenty of time for my hubby's peace of mind. One nice thing about CinCity---a short drive can get you smack dab in the middle of corn country. US 27/ "Highway to Heaven" is a beautiful piece of road.

There was a full moon rising up behind us at the drive in, the Star Spangled Banner being sung by faceless voices in the cars and honking of horns at its finale, mattresses being hoisted to the roofs of vans and kids scampering up, little ones running around with green DayGlo necklaces, cats with gleaming green eyes skulking across the gravel, and hubby saw a shooting star. Honey ha…

Another Monday in Neuroramaville and Why Can't Hellboy Be My Pod Partner

I try not to complain much about work on this blog, preferring to save it all for dinner hour and my stand -up routine with the family. Yesterday, though, was too much for a mere mortal to withstand.

Quote of the day: "Tell them to hurry up so we can visit him. We just drove down from Dayton."
Let me set the scene here.

Mr. Patient, 72, was transferred to us from an Outside Hospital (OSH) for a subdural hematoma he had suffered after a fall. Mr. P. also has a cardiac history and was on a blood thinner at home which, while helpful for the heart, is obviously not so fabulous for a brain bleed. The family had been with Mr P. at the OSH and had seen him shortly after he was admitted to our ICU.

The ICU team and 3 neurosurgeons were in the room, examining the patient, discussing whether they needed to take him to surgery right now to evacuate the blood and relieve pressure to his brain, and preparing him for impending surgery by placing an arterial line for blood pressure monitoring…

Patty's Charcoal Drive-in by Barbara Crooker

First job. In tight black shorts and a white bowling shirt, red lipstick and bouncing pony tail, I present each overflowing tray as if it were a banquet. I'm sixteen and college-bound, this job's temporary as the summer sun, but right now, it's the boundaries of my life. After the first few nights of mixed orders and missing cars, the work goes easily. I take out the silver trays and hook them to the windows, inhale the mingled smells of seared meat patties, salty ketchup, rich sweet malteds. The lure of grease drifts through the thick night air. And it's always summer at Patty's Charcoal Drive-in— carloads of blonde-and-tan girls pull up next to red convertibles,
boys in black tee shirts and slick hair. Everyone knows what they want. And I wait on them, hoping for tips, loose pieces of silverflung carelessly as the stars. Doo-wop music streams from the jukebox and each night repeats itself, faithful as a steady date. Towards 10 P.M., traffic dwindles. We police the lot, pick up wrappers…

The Rider by Naomi Shihab Nye

A boy told me if he roller-skated fast enough his loneliness couldn't catch up to him, the best reason I ever heard for trying to be a champion. What I wonder tonight pedaling hard down King William Street is if it translates to bicycles. A victory! To leave your loneliness panting behind you on some street corner while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas, pink petals that have never felt loneliness, no matter how slowly they fell.

"This Sky where we live Is no place to lose your wings."--Hafiz

Birds in Fallby Brad Kessler

This novel tells the story of a tragedy and its aftermath. I am a sucker for pieces of writing that deal with what happens after the end of your world has come, and then gone, and you also have to go on if for no other reason than your heart keeps beating and your body keeps breathing.

The symbolism and metaphores might be a bit thick, but I think the author had a lot he wanted to say and he does it well.

Quintessential sentence: "May I ask, he hesitated, do they find their way back?"

Favorite word: crepuscular

Beginning by James Wright

The moon drops one or two feathers into the fields.
The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now.There they are, the moon's young, trying Their wings. Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone Wholly, into the air. I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe Or move. I listen. The wheat leans back toward its own darkness, And I lean toward mine.

Feeling Like A No Talent, Middle-Aged Slacker Now...

Has anybody heard of these kids before?? OMG. More talent in one tiny little finger than I will ever have in all my entire life. Okay, so now I'm also morbidly depressed. At least I've got some good sounding blues to listen to at my pity party...that, and a little Maker's Mark. It ain't the blues without a little whiskey.

12 Down, 12 To Go

That kind of a day, but without Marge to talk to. All Homer. All day.

Old Timer's Day by Donald Hall

When the tall puffy
figure wearing number

nine starts
late for the fly ball,
laboring forward
like a lame truckhorse
startled by a gartersnake,
—this old fellow
whose body we remember
as sleek and nervous
as a filly's—

and barely catches it
in his glove's
tip, we rise
and applaud weeping:
On a green field
we observe the ruin
of even the bravest
body, as Odysseus
wept to glimpse
among shades the shadow
of Achilles.

After a Weekend in Neuroramaville, Thank God It's Monday

please note: art by Marc Chagall

The Northside Fourth of July Parade

The rain graciously held off for three hours and the parade was a huge success. Drums were banged, sirens wailed, horns were tooted; there was glad-handing and dancing in the streets, petitions were signed, candy was thrown and dogs barked. We wandered through Hoffner Park then found a new favorite restaurant, An Intimate Gathering, where we ate ribs, red-skinned potato salad, green beans, collard greens, and watermelon. We saw a beaten up Volvo run into the back of a black pick-up truck and watched the two beautifully tatooed drivers exchange names and numbers. All in all, an exemplary holiday spectacle.

The memory to keep however is the one of the four older gentlemen, veterans, in uniform. Three caucasian men appearing to be in their eighty's and a gentleman of asian descent, all in United States military attire, carrying the American flag. They led the parade south down Hamilton Avenue. When the clapping started up the veteran closest to me looked shyly towards the people assem…

Rain, Rain, Go Away. Lookin' For A Little Lawn Chair Drill Team Action Today.


Hey, "I Ride Shotgun"--This One's For You


Found this on, and when he was looking the other way, I up and stole it. Has anyone else heard of this group before?? They're really beautiful...
On another note, you know the drill--wear your seatbelt, put your helmet on, and keep the firecrackers AWAY from your face. Cannot over emphasize the AWAY part of that reminder, as in NOT TOWARDS your face. Got it? Good.