Bachelor Party

I just returned from my 50th Monmouth College (Illinois) reunion (Class of 1973).  In the 'tell us about yourself' stuff was a question:  'What was your most memorable moment while at Monmouth?'  For me, it was my bachelor party. 

I got married a few months before graduating - about the time of Spring Break.  My bride was a 'townie' who grew up in the town of Monmouth - while we're no longer married, she continues to be a good friend.  

The bachelor party was at my fraternity - the ZBT house – then across from the College Administration building at 701 E. Broadway in Monmouth Illinois. Monmouth is a small town - population 10,000 (when college is in session).  From the air, it is more or less a square and has two primary streets dividing the town into four quadrants:  Main Street (go figure) and Broadway.

In those days there were “traditions” when guys moved to the ‘next step’ of their relationship such as pinning or becoming engaged.  The traditions involved alcohol (in those days what college tradition didn’t?) and the guy usually ended up naked, tied in a sheet, and deposited at the door to the girl’s dorm for her to come out and untie him.  I did not endure those ‘traditions’ as the events occurred.

True to form, the bachelor party did involve a modest amount of alcohol. Well, modest if one compares it to the daily production of Jack Daniel’s distillery.

My beloved fraternity brothers decided that the missed traditions must be upheld – at least somewhat.  found I found myself defrocked. Totally.  Since (a) my betrothed lived on the other side of town and (b) said brothers realized that driving a car by any of them at that time wasn’t a good idea, they simply threw me outside on the front porch, which was in the veranda style of wrap around porch.  In my glory.

My roommate and best man then retrieved his “SunGun” movie camera attachment.  This thing had enough lumen power to illuminate two flies mating at the other end of a football field. He proceeded to shine it through the window, about 3.7 feet away from my very shiny white posterior, which seemed to glow.

Unfortunately, being on Broadway, one of Monmouth’s finest chose that moment to drive by the house.

He called for reinforcements; the entire force showed up.

Andy - the ZBT President - didn’t want to explain to my betrothed (or my father) that I wasn’t at the wedding because I was in a 'public accommodation' awaiting to appear before some guy in a black robe. So I was let back in the house and told to get the heck upstairs.  It was (and is) an old house and had two stairs upstairs – a very public stair at the front, visible through the glass door from the street, and a ‘back stair’ hidden from view.  Yep, I ran in my birthday suit up the front stairs.

The police knocked on the door; Andy, who claimed to have sobered up faster than any other time in his life, answered the door.  The police said ‘Some of your members are running around sans clothing.  Andy replied 'It’s not several, officer, just one' and explained the reason for the celebration.

After admonishing Andy to keep me inside, the police left.

A gift and a memory . . .

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Just received a gift from a good friend and colleague - essentials for these COVID-19 daze.  A bottle of wine and a roll of toilet paper. Both welcome.

It reminded me of something 51 years ago - I graduated high school in 1969 and went on one of those 'educational school tours' in Great Britain (Wales, actually). For two weeks we stayed at a dorm at Bangor University, Bangor Wales, went to classes and toured the area.

But what my friend's gift reminded me of was the toilet paper they had in the dorm. Worst Toilet Paper EVER. A page from the old Sears catalog compared favorably to that stuff. And it was 'medicated', whatever that means. After a day or so everyone went to town and bought their own and took it with them when they went to the restroom.

Not only was it bad stuff, but it was insulting . . . on the bottom of each sheet was printed in red "Now wash your hands, please".

Of course these days that's great advice. 
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he knew more than a lawyer . . . NOT

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As part of my elderlaw practice I wrote a deed from parents to their disabled son - a permissible transfer as one of the few exceptions under Medicaid laws. His siblings had the deed recorded at the courthouse (not really necessary but that's for another essay).
Son tells siblings he doesn't think it's a valid deed. They tell me - I tell them to have the idiot call me.
Today he does. The reason he doesn't think it's valid is because the internet says there should be two witnesses to the signatures.
My response was a full, clearly enunciated, eight letter word that refers to a bovine by-product. *
I told him I've been doing this for 45 years, have written thousands of deeds, and he now owns the property. Other states may want a witness, but not Virginia.
And told him he confused an internet search with my law degree.
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*bovine by-product = B.S.

Government Logic . . .

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A heading like that is an oxymoron - contradictory terms within the phrase.  And in this instance, I don't mean it in any sort of flattering manner. (for classic oxymorons, look at these ) 
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As any regular reader knows, I'm court appointed guardian for a number of people, most of whom have dementia and no clue as to the current century, much less anything else around them. And just about all of them get "Medicaid" long term care benefits. Medicaid is notified that I'm the guardian and as such I am to get all notices that affect their benefits; there's an appropriate place in the Medicaid database for my contact information and, to my knowledge, I'm in there for all my wards.
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Virginia has embarked on a test project for health care called Commonwealth Coordinated Care ("CCC").  The ins and outs of the program are beyond the scope of this blog entry, but frankly it sounds good IN CONCEPT.  The roll out rivals the ACA Website roll out in incompetency, in my opinion, and from what I've seen I have refused to allow my wards to join it. Again, that's not the point here.
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Health care is a paramount concern for anyone, especially the vulnerable elderly Medicaid population. Virginia is spending great dollars mailing information to people about the 'benefits' of CCC.  So, logically, as guardian I should be getting a bunch of letters about CCC for my wards.
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Wrong. 
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DMAS (the agency that runs Medicaid in Virginia) sends it to the individual in the nursing home.  The same individual a court has declared legally incompetent. The same individual who is reliving the 1950's in their mind. The same individual who is in diapers.  A year ago I complained about this to Virginia's Governor; Dr. William Hazel, Secretary of Virginia's Department of Health and Human Resources, wrote back saying that the fault was a "limitation of our system and mailing processes . . . "
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That's Bullshit. And by profession I'm a bullshitter so I know it when I, uh, smell it/hear it/see it..  Dr. Hazel was trying to bullshit a bullshitter.
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The data is in the system.  People control what data is retrieved for which purpose. I see absolutely no reason the system data could not be used to send the legal representative - with sole authority to decide on care for an individual - the information about CCC or any other program.
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I had to write the Governor, again, about DMAS' idiocy and asked that he tell them to show common sense and fix it so the right people get the notice. And I got another bureaucratic bullshit response.
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Nah, I won't turn it loose - I'll continue to give them hell.

Voice to text . . .

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I've installed voice-to-text software -- the one advertised on TV.  I had tried it in the past but computer power and the software both left a lot to be desired. 

Given my new computer (I had an XP machine that is now obsolete, so got a Windows 7 thing) I thought I'd try it again.  It does do a lot better and it is fairly fast.

However, the accuracy rate is still at 95% -- that means one in twenty words is wrong and you have to take the time to correct it.  Given that lawyers use a LOT of words, that's a lot of corrections.

I just looked at something I 'dictated' into the computer.  Visions of instructions for electronic devices from Asia, written by a non-English-as-first-language person came to mind.  I'll have to be careful.
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Spam FAIL

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We all get 'em.  The messages from sonovabitch's in Africa (or elsewhere) that they've got a thousand million dollars unclaimed and want our help in getting it out of the country.  Got one today in my spamfilter, purporting to be from Spain.  It's below, between the =$=$ lines;  I'll point out the 'FAIL' part afterwards:

=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$

Dear Friend,
My name is Mr. Aaron Bradley, the financial controller at Caixa Bank (Main Branch) in Madrid, Spain, and I am getting in touch with you regarding a business deal worth €92,000,000.00 Million Euro in my control which will be executed under a legitimate arrangement.
I am contacting you independently and will intimate you more about myself and details of the project if and when I receive your response. Kindly get back to me if you are interested in partnering with me on this project with your mobile number.
Sincerely,
Mr. Aaron Bradley
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This message has been scanned for viruses and dangerous content by MailScanner, and is believed to be clean.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
UNIVERSITY OF NAIROBI IS ISO CERTIFIED
The University of Nairobi is committed to providing quality services to all its clients. The University will monitor and review its quality performance from time to time through an effective implementation of the Quality Management System based on ISO 9001:2008 standard.
University of Nairobi Website: http://www.uonbi.ac.ke/
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=$=

FAIL:  Since when does the Ciaxa Bank in Madrid Spain use email through the University of Nairobi  (Kenya) servers? Too transparent.


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Countin' noses

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It's time for the census. Something our forefathers decided would be a good idea when they wrote the Constitution lo these many years ago. Counting noses has been around for a long time before that document was written. Of course, counting noses was primarily for taxation purposes -- e.g. Joseph & Mary wandering into Bethlehem, or the Domesday Book that Willie da Conqueror had done in England.

It's a lot simpler this year than 10 years ago. Of course, they still want to know my race. And here I feel discriminated against. Our Hispanic folks have a lot of choices about WHO they are. So do the Asian group. The Native Americans (i.e. them who watched the Pilgrims get off the boat) get to enter their tribe. But 'white' and 'black' folk just get 'black' or 'white'. Africa is full of tribes -- Zulu, Tonga, and a whole lot more. And us white folk aren't homogenous, either. Scandinavian; Anglo-Saxon; Franks; Teutonic. And no category at all for those of middle east ancestry.

The good news is there's a checkbox for "Some Other Race" and a blank at the end of Question 9. I'm entering "Celtic" for my Scottish ancestry. Remember, in an earlier blog I claimed descent from Rob Roy McGregor, who pissed off the English Crown so much that simply to use the name McGregor was punishable by death for over 70 years.

Now THAT's being 'rossiferous'
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Stuff - redux

My office desk had reached critical mass. You know, that state where the piles are so bad even you can't find stuff. So I decided to 'tidy' it. Susan came to help.

What I had envisioned as an hour or so chore turned into a major 4+ hour project. 8 'billable' hours later (two lawyers!) my desk and workspace are much different and better.

I don't have a before picture -- imagine a pile of paper several inches tall; here's 'after'.

The big question is how long will it last? . . .

Procedure - epilog

Today in the mail I got the report from the doctor. Of course, since all my mail is directed to the office that's where they went. And Donna, my assistant, opens my mail to make sure that I don't mis-file anything.

So I'm working and she walks in with my personal mail and a grin. The report is on top. With today's digital photography, the report includes pictures. Don't worry -- even I have enough decorum to NOT post them!

Of course, "Clean as a Whistle" probably isn't the best description to use . . .

My "Procedure"

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Friday the 13th; Great day for a 'procedure'. It's been five years since my last colonoscopy, so my good doctor decided I needed another. Besides, she thought I should have a gastroenterologist check out the fact I've got gallstones (see 'ballast')


So I get scheduled for the 'procedure'. And get the instruction sheet. There's good news and bad news: Good news is that the prep isn't as bad as it was five years ago. At least not quite. Bad news is it's still unpleasant.


I was given a sheet of instructions. Don't eat/drink anything 'red' for a few days before. Stop any blood thinners (e.g. aspirin) a week before. Get some laxative pills for the day before; get some 'goop' to drink from the pharmacy. Only "clear liquids" (carefully described) the night before the procedure; after much review it appears that Beer qualifies as a clear liquid. The only thing they don't tell you is make sure you've got PLENTY of toilet paper before you start. And get the softest you can find. Trust me on this. It's important.


The details of the prep would be called "too much information". Even I have a modicum of discretion.


On Friday, Susan came to pick me up and take me to where I was getting 'scoped. I arrived and was almost immediately taken back and given one of those wonderful hospital gowns. I put it on and waited my turn. And durn near fell asleep. Finally the anesthetist came to talk to me, and I was taken back to the procedure room and signed the final paperwork. From this point I don't remember a heck of a lot. I'll let Susan describe what happened from here.

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There were two of us sitting in the waiting area -- another woman knitting a loooong scarf. The layout of the place had the recovery rooms fairly near the waiting area, and the walls were as thin as a cheap hourly motel. Pretty soon we heard hiccups. They "belonged" to the knitter's significant other. When the snoring started, I knew it was Ross. It continued for a while, then the door opened and the nurse had me move the car to the back door. As I pulled up, another man hurried out the door, crossed the parking lot and got into his car; just then a nurse came out "Stop Him . . . " and chased the car. Finally the man stopped, rolled down his window, and the nurse said "Can he leave now?" "Yes" was the reply. Turns out the man was Ross' doctor.


So I went in and was led back to the cubicle with Ross; of course I could hear him from the back door. I asked how long the snoring was going on, and told about 45 minutes. She said that when Ross woke up he could get dressed and leave. After a while the nurse returned, made Ross sit up and yanked out the IV which helped him wake some more. What a sight -- Ross in that half-gown medical thing, feet dangling over the edge of the gurney still woozy and swaying back and forth. At least he stopped snoring. She then left me to get him dressed -- a challenge on a good day -- I had to keep him from falling over while getting an undershirt over his head and his arms thru it, then get his shorts and jeans on, and socks, all the while pushing him back upright with either a free hand or using my head butting him in the chest. A You-Tube video would have been a hit.


The nurse came back as he got dressed and she on one side and me on the other hauled him to the car, poured him into the passenger seat and we left for home. Within 3 minutes he was snoring again.


When we got home, shortly after 3:30, Ross kind of stumbled into the house, peeled off his clothes and literally fell into bed. Since he hadn't eaten for 24 hours, I asked if he wanted anything; he asked me to make a simple cheese sandwich with mayo on white squishy bread, wolfed it down and was out for the next four hours.


I thought the "fun part" was over, but then there was Sunday night.

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I 'woke up' around 7 or so, with vague, if any, recollections of the stuff Susan wrote. Not that I was full of energy, but I felt OK.


Sunday: after dinner we were watching a movie and I began to feel a pain in the upper central part of my abdomen. Near the gall bladder. I sort of bore with it to see if it would pass, but finally around 11:30 I woke Susan to tell her I thought my gallstones might be acting up. She went from a beautiful, peaceful sleep to wide awake in a half second. She gently probed my belly for tenderness (ouch) and about 12:30 we decided I ought to go to the ER. We went, and it was somewhat uneventful, although it was interesting to learn that the CT scan they did of my gall bladder was "interpreted" in Australia. Anyhow, the doctor determined that it 'must have been a digestive problem', gave me some Prilosec (tm) and sent me home where we arrived just as the alarm clock went off.


Good thing I was planning to take the day off.

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Rolling over some more

I just got a new toy. An iPhone. And my daughter Allyson got a new phone also. One of my oldest and dearest female friends commented about both on her blog. http://herbansprawl.com/HerbanSprawl/archives/218

ODFF is astute and her commentaries are worthwhile, well written and entertaining. Once in a while my perspective is different from hers; this is one.

It turns out ODFF and I have the same carrier – ATT. I’ve been with what is now ATT since the day Suncom turned on the switch in Roanoke. My contract was up for renewal. Given what I do, being able to schedule something whenever/wherever I am is essential. Setting a hearing while in court, setting a future meeting date, whatever, I don’t want to be double booking accidentally and then having to fix it.

My calendar software is a program called Time&Chaos (actually, I use T&C with an email module called !ntellect) available from www.Chaossoftware.com. It’s a fantastic program and recently got the ability to synchronize with various smart-phones including the iPhone. The iPhone can also get my emails so I can respond to clients and do other business while waiting for my hearing. So my purchase of the iPhone was a business thing, not really a toy thing. However, in spirit of full disclosure, I freely admit that its play capability is a plus.

Allyson has wanted texting for some time. Given her disability she has a very hard time staying in touch with friends, many of whom only text. (Grammatical purists groan at the thought of a noun – text – being used as a verb) So for her it was a natural upgrade. She got a phone with a QWERTY keyboard, not one of those ersatz press the 7 key 3 times to get an “R” thing.

I have to agree that texting is NOT conducive to ‘good spelling’. And that Allyson has a problem with spelling. Allyson has made wonderful progress working with ODFF in reading and it’s natural spin-offs, spelling and writing. “Texting” is controversial as a means of communication, with some scholars applauding it and others not. I’m leaning towards the good side – particularly as some of the text exchanges she’s had with me show writing skills she didn’t have a year ago (again, thanks to ODFF)

At any rate, Allyson’s 21 and can make up her own mind. She wanted to text, she helped pay for the change, so she can do it. Part of my job as a dad is to let her make her own decisions.

Stuff

The word "Tidy" has never been part of descriptors used of me. Never.

I can hear the guffaws now.

George Carlin called it "Stuff". I've got a lot of Stuff. And I don't put my stuff where it should be all the time.

I like to think I'm better than I used to be - about putting stuff away, that is. I think it's an age defense thing; it's getting harder to remember where I left stuff so in self defense for the future it gets closer to where it belongs.

Sunday I was looking for something in my workshop (talk about the opposite of tidy!) and I KNOW it's in there. Somewhere.

Growing up, I marveled at my father's collection of stuff in his workshop. Stuff he had no use for, but might need it someday. And my (then) wife's grandfather died and we were going through his workshop and a lot of the same type of stuff was there. You know, old parts from electric fixtures; old plumbing faucets and so forth, parts from things broken that "might be useful someday".

Now that I'm in the middle-age 'plus' group I'm afraid I've got both of them beat.

And have a hard time finding any of it.

Ballast

A week before Thanksgiving I awoke around 5 AM to a pain. I thought it was indigestion or something.

But it got worse. Around 7 or so Allyson wanted to know where I was; I told her I felt bad – something hurt. Allyson called Shannon; Shannon later came over and ended up taking me to the Carilion ER.

After a bunch of poking and prodding, and a few x-ray pictures, we figured out it was a kidney stone.

It wasn’t my first kidney stone – I’d had one “two wives ago” as I told the ER Doc. Um, make that about 25 years ago. That first one was excruciating. Incredible. This one, on the other hand, was merely painful as hell. It went away – partly with simple Tylenol™

So the ‘imaging’ showed I’ve got kidney stones. Enough for a small parking lot. It also showed Gallstones. Ouch.

I went on home, made appointment with my urologist, primary doc, and started reading up on the durn things.

One Sunday evening about ten days later I told Allyson I felt another stone coming on and helped her get to bed early, just in case. It came; was painful but I toughed it out, and it dissipated about 2 so I could get some sleep. At 3 AM it’s brother decided to come out. Susan came over and took me to the ER this time and Shannon came to help Allyson. I ended up having Lithotripsy about 10 days after that to break up the stone hanging in my ureter (the tube between kidney and bladder). The remaining stones will have to be taken out a hard way (there are several methods) as they’re too big to ‘pass’.

At church Sunday I was talking to a friend (with whom I share initials) who had his gallbladder taken out a few weeks ago. We were discussing respective ailments, and were joined by other midlife-plus folks. After a few minutes I commented, to universal agreement, “Hey, we’re getting to be old farts. We aren’t discussing girls, sports, cars, children or grandchildren. We’re discussing ailments and the doctors we see. This is ridiculous!”

Let’s see now: Kidney Stones. Gallstones. Rocks in my head. I feel like Ballast.

Gee, being ‘stoned’ has taken on a different meaning than in my youth.

A blog, huh?

"You need to write a blog"

Yeah, right. As if I have time.

I resisted for a long time and enjoyed reading the blog of one of my best friends. One day I found myself at a "Create your own blog" site. Here.

So away we go.

My fiance and love of my life came up with the perfect name. I was telling her about some corporate idiot I was talking to that didn't understand my client's problem or my authority (backed up with a court order) and that I had to 'educate' said idiot.

Her response was "Oh, were you being "Rossiferous"?

OK; I have a reputation (deserved and cultivated) for saying what's on my mind and not worrying too much about being politically correct. I like being to the point and injecting an off the wall humor into it. If I feel my client is not getting fair treatment then I'm vocal about it. If I feel that the customer-no-service telephone representative doesn't understand, I've been known to say "let me talk to your supervisor -- you're too stupid to talk to me". Great way to make friends, huh?

Anyhow, a word was created and I own that word.

So, with some trepidation, and an opportunity presenting itself, here we go. I have no idea how often I'll post, or what I'll post. When I do, I will try to keep it interesting.

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