Racing Stripes

You know, sometimes the blogging gods smile upon you.

I was knocking around a couple of ideas at work today for a blog topic, but nothing was grabbing me much. A request blog (which I promise I'll start doing again), pictures of a clean Sherman (if I could get him all fixed up in time), a rousing edition of What Are The Boys Up To, eh, it all seemed dull to me.

Then around noon, while the boss was at lunch and I was sitting at her desk, a couple came in and asked to see her. San at the front explained she wasn't in right then, but that I could probably help them, and so back they came into the office.

They'd bought a new car and they wanted to get everything set up.

And all I wanted was a camera.

This was a couple of, oh, the man was probably in his mid-seventies, and his wife was a little younger. She was dressed nicely, with a modern haircut, very well turned out, and he - well, he was a man around five feet five inches, not slim but not stout, tanned, and he - well, he....

Any fans of "Freaks and Geeks" out there? The wonderful show of some years ago about kids trying to get along in high school? Remember the episode where geek Sam was trying desperately to fit in with the cooler kids so he bought some clothes of his own?

Well, the very nice and friendly seventy-something fellow who'd ambled into the office today was wearing an honest-to-God Parisian Nightsuit.

It was a seersucker jumpsuit, snug-fitting, and probably bought new somewhere around 1978. It was white with red pinstripes. It zipped up the front and had its own built-in belt. He looked like a tube of Pepsodent.

I got the helpless, well, I had the good sense not to get the helpless giggles, but I got the helpless "the corners of my mouth are turned up and everything I say ends in a bit of a laugh." Every time it happened, I said something funny, about not being able to read VIN numbers without old people glasses and the like, and I got through it well. I was very happy San had a customer up front so she wouldn't catch my eye, but was terribly disappointed the boss wasn't there to see it.

And since I didn't have a camera, I don't have a picture for you. However, I have one of those old naked drawings of Kim Jong-Il from a blog sometime back, so I've tried to recreate it.

























So as I said, they were such a nice little couple, and they were so excited about their new car, which was a Mini Cooper. I was telling them how cute I thought they were, and they said, "Well, you might see us around town in ours, if you do, wave! It's red, with white racing stripes."

And then my smile turned from one of snarkiness to one of endearment. Mr Client was going to pick up his red and white striped Mini in his red and white striped jumpsuit! He was all nattily attired to drive his new car around town.

And I smiled all day.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Man, do we have acrowinners! You've made me proud! The topic was, "Who's At My Door?"
- Honorable Mentions go to DeepFatFriar, with his "Department of Defense, attacking," Mr Middlebrow, with his "Delerious octogenarians dementedly ambling," and Duke, with his "Dirty, old, degenerate Acolytes."
- Runners-Up go to Mike, with his "Duh. Opportunity, dumb ass," Kellie (with an ie), with her "Dudes on divine Arabians," and LilyG, with her, "Dogs ogling dinner, aperitifs."
- And this week's winner is Marla (marlamarlamarla), with her "Daughter of Dad, actually." Because, well, with me in the reflection, I guess that is who's at my door. Good one!
- Yes, everyone's on the winners board this week, because you all had such good acros. You've all done very well!

Picture Acrochallenge

Hello, lovers of letters, lovers of pictures. Welcome to another round of acromania.

I said I'd have some pictures for you, but since I'm still working on the cleaning of Sherman I don't have his pictures for you tonight. In fact, I worked on him very little tonight, but I worked on cleaning my floor a whole lot, so here's a picture of that instead.




















And while I was taking pictures, I realized I hadn't taken a picture of my new front door! Lord have mercy, how could I have left that out of the Picture Sunday madness? Well, let's remedy that right now.

























Oh, and look. There I am in the reflection of my new door, taking the picture. Such a photographer I am.

OK, now that that's out of the way, it's acro time. This week's topic? "Who's At My Door?" Yes, I just opened my door - who did I come face to face with?

All the other rules are the same, everyone gets three entries to come up with the best acronym they can, one that matches not only the topic above but also the letters below. The letters are randomly drawn from the acrobasket. The acrobasket can't answer the door, of course, he's too short. Then tomorrow night at 10:00 est I shall be reading the entries and naming the winners.

So, the topic is "Who's At My Door?" The letters:

D O D A

So there you go - go to the door and acro.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* I dont' really have an update, but I feel bad when I don't stick one in here. Uh, I had crab for dinner tonight. There.

Pictureless Sunday

Hello, end of weekenders, and welcome to a (sadly) Pictureless Sunday. But do not fear - there could be pictures tomorrow.

I've spent the evening working on, well - my boy. Yes, I've been cleaning up Sherman. Trying to get the ink stain off his head, then cleaning up his nose and hands. I also went to work on his shirt, and am toying with the idea of working on the fading of his glasses and eyes.

It really has been a time consuming effort.

But hey, while you're here, check something out for me.

Friday after this week's Hucklebug recording, podcast-mate Stennie was gracious enough to give me my first lesson in html. It's something I wish I knew more about, and since I've been complaining about how Blogroll now uses banner ads on any page you access through them, we decided new links would be my first lesson.

So if you'll look at all my links there to the left, under "Try These Sites" (yes, I did that, too!), you'll be able to get to all those blogs and sites with no ads following you. May not look like much to you, but I'm very proud of myself. And Stennie, for being a patient teacher.

Other than that, good weekend, but I'll hold off on telling you about that.

Happy week.

OK

Hello, friends. I was supposed to blog and name acrowinners last night. I fell asleep.

It's about time. I haven't slept in so long I didn't even berate myself for taking a two-hour nap in the Comfy Chair. I'm also cutting myself some slack because I've taken back up my relationship with the exercise bike. Been back at it for almost a week, and was kind of surprised at myself for being able to go at it as long and as hard as I have been.

As I said earlier in the week, I was without a Picture Sunday this past week. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, but it did. It's a long story. It's not particularly pretty, either, but I'm far enough away from it that it now amuses as well as amazes me, so I thought you might like to hear it.

See, last weekend was the holiday weekend. I had Friday off. On Saturday I was to go to B'burg and Mr M's, where hopefully we'd see the B'burg Community Band, sans me, play a concert and then watch the fireworks. And then celebrate, because, of course, the Fourth of July is Sherman's birthday.

I did nothing on Friday. Absolutely sod-all. Left my house once, only to fill the car up with gas. Had cleaning plans, then thought, "Oh, that sucks, it's my day off, for God's sake," so I loafed around and had a nice day. Around 4pm my dad called and I told him I was doing absolutely nothing. He asked if I was still going to see the Community Band the next day, I said I hoped, and then he posed the "pool conundrum," which was to ask how upset I'd be if they didn't open the pool this year. It's a lot of work.

I understand this completely, and though I'll miss it, there was no way I could tell my dad to open the pool, and so I said it was absolutely fine and not to worry about it. We said our goodbyes and I went on with the day. Being lazy.

I got up Saturday, and just as I started, in a timely manner and everything, to get everything packed up for Mr M's, the phone rang. It was Dad. He said, "Are you still going to B'burg?" I told him I was. He then informed me that he needed me to take him to WalMart, as he needed some chemical for the pool and Mom needed some things as well.

OK. Now, I'm going to be starting a few paragraphs of this blog with "OK." Because several times during all this I sat or stood, looking askew into the air, and thought, "Ooooo Kaaaaay." So, here was the first OK. I spoke to my dad in the afternoon the day before and told him I had done nothing and was doing nothing that entire day. He knew I was going to B'burg Saturday. And yet he picked Saturday as I was getting ready to leave to say he needed to go to the store. I felt a bit leery about buying chemicals for the pool as well, but I don't know that much about its upkeep so I was willing to give Dad the benefit of the doubt on that one. There might be chemicals you put in when you're not opening it. What do I know?

So all of a sudden my on-time plans were not on time anymore, and I started rushing around like a chicken with no head trying to get everything ready. I was naked with wet hair, which I remedied quickly, then started trying to get a bag packed. Then I tried to remember that I needed to get my clarinet apart and in its case for duets. I tried to remember a chair for the band concert. I tried to remember to brush my teeth, and to get all the cartoon characters together and in a bag large enough to hold them so we could have Sherman's birthday. I tried to remember cameras. And my ipod. And a hat for the sun. And a couple of protein bars and a few diet green teas.

I had everything in a pile in the floor and was in the process of loading them into the car when the phone rang. It was my dad. He wanted to know if I was ever going to get there, and I told him to hold his tater on the cold end, that I was packing up the car and would be there shortly. I got everything loaded in and headed out. When I got there, he was standing on the porch waiting for me.

He got in the car and said, not in a snippy way, in a very dadly way, "If this is going to take too much time for you, I can call someone else."

OK. (So I thought, staring sideways.) If my dad knew I had plans to go somewhere for an event that started at a specific time, why didn't he ask someone to begin with? But I didn't say that, I said it's OK, I'm already here, let's go, because I had realized that in this world there are dumpers and dumpees, and I knew which I was, and we started out.

We got to a WalMart teeming with the tired, the poor, the wretched refuse of any July 4th, and parked. Dad handed me his list. It contained the pool chemicals, then things like potatoes, onions, potato chips, paper plates, eggs, coffee, paper towels, and hamburger and hot dog buns. I looked at the list and said "fine," perfectly happy - until! Until I was told that those items were on the list because my sister and her husband were coming over to the folks' house for a July 4th dinner.

OK. (So I thought, staring upwards and trying to keep my eyes dry.) If my dad knew I had plans and they were attending an event that started at a specific time, and my sister and her husband were coming over to dinner, why didn't he ask them to bring the dinner items? But I said nothing again, because as a dumpee, it doesn't really matter what you say, it's best to just stand at the ready and hope one miserable stinkin' time you can dodge a little to the right and missed getting dumped on, but of course that never happens.

So we got inside the WalMart, me huffing and puffing through my mouth like I'm giving birth, hoping this will keep me from having a cryfest, and I told Dad to get his pool stuff, and I'd do the grocery items, and we'd meet in the front. We split up. I headed right and went through the grocery aisles like a dose of salts. It was like I was on that old game show "Supermarket Sweep." I got everything in record time and went to the front, expecting bells and whistles and the grand prize, but instead I got - no Dad.

I headed back to the pool section. No Dad. I headed back to the front. No Dad. Then I went up and down every fucking aisle in the WalMart, knowing full well that this was the worst possible course of action, because all you're doing is moving around your target, but I did it anyway. I headed back over to the grocery section.

After about three aisles I saw my dad loping along, pool chemicals in one hand, and in the other - paper plates. I went over to him and said, "Dad, I got paper plates, they were on the list." He replied, "Well, you got the small size."

OK. (So I thought, putting both hands over my face in case I started to scream.) How would a man who was not with me when I got paper plates know what size I got? And he was wrong, because I got the right size.

We finally got to the checkout and I got Dad home and headed out to B'burg, an hour and fifteen minutes late, but still in time to go to the band concert.

However.

Remember that part above where I was mentioning rushing around to get ready? Well, I remembered most of those things, my clothes and horn, and to brush my teeth, and my chair and my hat.

However, in the mad rush, I forgot Peabody.

And Sherman.

Yes, I arrived at Sherman's birthday party, for which Mr M had made cupcakes and everything, without the birthday boy. When I realized this, I had a sinking feeling that I just don't think I can describe here.

And so that was my weekend. Well, most of it. The rest of it was that Sherman was none too pleased about being left behind on his birthday.

When I got home, I opened the door to the dennette, and was doused by a strategically placed bucket of water. As I went to put my stuff away and change into dry clothes, he'd placed his gardening hoe in the living room where I'd step on it and hit my face.

I changed clothes and went to the kitchen sink. A surprise rubber band had been put around the hand sprayer, and I was doused again. I washed my hands, only to realize I was using black soap. There was grit in my toothpaste and itching powder in my shoe.

It was an all out practical joke assault.

Finally I took Sherman aside and explained the roles of the dumper and dumpee, and told him I got his point, but that he was getting to be a big boy now and he could jump in the bag with the other cartoon characters all by himself. Or the car, or my overnight bag. He seems to get here and there all the time without me, and if he gets left behind again, he can blame himself.

And so I guess that time I was the dumper.

Anyway, Sherman missed getting his very special birthday present from Mr M. He was to be awarded a special certificate.

























Yes, Our Boy has advanced to the status Intermediate Clarinetist. He can't wait to show everyone in Sauerkraut Band.




















And that was my weekend. Fireworks galore, but not always the fun kind.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners! So, what is a fitting way to say "good riddance" to Sarah Palin?
- Honorable Mentions go to Kellie (with an ie), with her "Let Every Oomailiq Rejoice! Northwest Yippees!" and Marla (marlamarlamarla), with her "Lost Energy. Old Republicans Never Yield."
- Runner-Up goes to LilyG, with her "Leave! Enough of Republican nuttiness, you." Excellent, and winning until....
- And this week's winner goes to the DeepFatFriar, with his "Laughingly eject over Rochester, New York." Although I have to admit the idea of Palin exposed naked on rocks, yammering, is enticing.
- Thanks to all who played, you've all done very well! (and were patient to wait a day)

Acrochallenge!

Hello, lovers of letters, and welcome to another round of acromania.

I didn't do a Picture Sunday yesterday. There's a long story involved with that, which I'll tell at a later date. Probably tomorrow.

Anyway, I was sitting here bereft of an acrotopic, and Michelle the Dishy came up with one for me. And it's a good one. The topic? "Ways to Say 'Good Riddance' to Sarah Palin."

All the other rules are the same. Everyone gets three entries to come up with the best acronym they can, one that matches not only the topic above, but also the letters below. The letters are randomly drawn from the acrobasket. The acrobasket is convinced Mrs Palin drew half her speech randomly from a basket of her own. Then tomorrow night at 10:00 est I shall be reading the entries and naming the winners.

So the topic? "Ways to Say 'Good Riddance' to Sarah Palin." The letters:

L E O R N Y

Hmmm. Sounds like something she'd name one of her kids. Leorny.

So, resign yourself - to acro!

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Thanks, Dishy - and just because you came up with the topic doesn't mean you can't play!

Careful What You Wish For

I swore I wasn't going to do it.

I swore I wasn't going to do it, just like I've sworn before. And yet I still always break, do a blog on something topical I have no business blogging about, say stupid things, embarrass myself, and, well, swear I'll never do it again.

But as my TV boyfriend Keith Olbermann said, "This circus ain't leavin' town anytime soon." So let's talk a little Michael Jackson.

And to begin, let's get two things out of the way right up front. First of all, I'm sick to death of hearing about him, so if you are too and skip this blog I won't blame you in the least. I'm sick that I can't escape him, that he's invaded hard news programs, and that everyone from his family to a man who once saw him eat an ice cream cone has come out of the woodwork to tell a story.

And second, I didn't like Michael Jackson. I saw him not as a genius, the greatest entertainer of all time, or a superb "musician," which I have to say it just chafes my britches when I hear someone who stands at a microphone and sings called a "musician." He had a decent voice, could dance his pants off (which apparently he did a few times, but I'm steering fairly clear of that), and I'm sure knew his way around a production board.

And third, although I said there were only two things we needed to get out of the way but this cannot be overlooked, the man was fuckin' nuts. People who like his music but not him agree, people who like him and his music agree, and 4 out of 5 doctors agree. He was nuts.

When I was growing up I couldn't stand the Jackson Five (or the Jackson 5ive, if you will). Absolutely hated them. Of course, being a kid, I wasn't basing this on the songs or the singing, I based it on the fact that their dress sense was hideous and that one played the guitar and one played the bass, like that "meant something," when to me all it meant was that Tito and Jermaine didn't know how to dance that well and so something was shoved into their hands. It looked wrong, and the instruments should have been left to a backing band and if Tito and Jermaine couldn't dance, they should have reduced it to the Jackson Three (or the Jackson 3hree, if you will).

I have no trouble at all admitting that as an adult I came to appreciate how good those old records were. "I Want You Back," "ABC" (which Jessee Jackson has repeatedly called "The ABCs of Love" on news shows, and why is Jessee Jackson, and Al Sharpton, for that matter, enmired in all this shit?), "I'll Be There," and my own personal favorite from that time, "The Love You Save." Of course, those were the Motown years, so they had that terrific catalog of songs to choose from and the Motown production people forming their sound. Doesn't make the records any less good, but that was the case.

After the teen idol years and the quintet's inevitable decline, Michael went solo and released an album called "Off The Wall." It had some great songs on it, and for me, this was as good as Michael ever got. And it was good. He was cute and charming and could sing and dance. Then that was it for me. Michael pretty much ceased to be except to piss me off, and after "Off The Wall" he jumped the shark.

"Thriller" was terribly overrated, the music and the videos. Everything after was even worse. And then of course, "everything after" includes not only the music and videos, but all the weird shit surrounding his private life, which got much worse.

And I've said this several times before and after his death, but where he was in his life when "Thriller" came out and all that happened after it, Michael Jackson could have ruled the world forever. He seemed like a nice kid with talent who was generous and admired by his peers.

But he just had to fuck it all up.

He decided he wanted to rule the world forever, and thus set about this whole self-styled King of Pop shit. He couldn't be The King, that was Elvis, so he added "of Pop" to the end and had at it. He became a recluse. He wore masks when he went out in public. He set out to control everything that was said or released about him. He lived at an amusement park with a chimp. He laid in a coffin-like chamber and bid on the Elephant Man's remains. He decided he was Peter Pan, the magical Never Grow Old, Never Die boy.

Well, he grew old, and he died. And as he was growing old, all that weird childlike shit was very unappealing.

But here's the thing. Why didn't he ever notice that?

Well, the answer to that is easy, of course, it's because he was fuckin' nuts, and I think the fact he didn't notice it is my clear argument as to his diminished mental and emotional capacity.

Over the weekend I caught that special from 2003, you know, the famous one where Jackson extolled the virtues of sharing your bed with children. He creeped me out so much during that show it's hard to put into words. It also contained him looking the director square in the eye and telling a couple of lies.

The first was that he hadn't had any plastic surgery. He actually said that! He said it over and over, that the massive change in his appearance was simply a result of his "growing and maturing." May none of us ever grow and mature in such a manner, please Lord. Finally, he relented after continued questioning and said, OK, he'd had two procedures done on his nose. Only two, and that was to help him breathe better, which is more than laughable if you look at his original ethnically fine nose with lots of room in it and his then current nose, which barely had nostrils, which I always wanted to shove two straws up just in hopes he could get a little air.

The second was that his kids, and that was a hoot and half - well, let's go here first. He said he was so desperate to have kids that he used to walk around his house carrying a doll, which, well, I don't believe I'd have told that, but that he met the mother of his first two offspring and she gave those kids to him as a gift, but I'm going off topic here, so let's get back to the point. He said that all three of his kids were formed with his "sperm cells," as he so lovingly put it. (His kids, by the by, are Prince Michael, Paris Michael, and Prince Michael II. Who in the hell did he think he was? Oh, the King of Pop. Sorry.) He said that the mother of the third was from an anonymous surrogate, and he specified he didn't care if the mother was black, white, Asian, anything. The director asked, "But the mother is obviously white." And Michael threw in quickly, "No, she's black." Then went on to argue about it.

Now, have you seen those three kids? I mean, without the elaborate masks he always forced them to wear? The first two are supposed to be half black and the third all black. If there is one drop of black blood in any of those three kids, I'll hit Queen Elizabeth with a brick and take my rightful place on her throne. The oldest one looks like he stepped right out of the Third Reich, for God's sake.

Personally, I think that as important to the African American community as he was, Michael Jackson hated being black and wanted his kids as white as possible. My opinion, but my blog. Which I swore I wouldn't write.

Anyway, that special also touched on the whole molestation thing, and here's where I will cut Michael a modicum of slack, but not much. I mean, let's face it, the man was fuckin' nuts, but the only people who knew what went on in any of those episodes were those present, and I wasn't, so what judgment can I level. I think if he did do anything sexual, and he may have, it was - I don't know if "unintended" is the word I'm looking for - maybe "ignorantly." You know, like walking around naked in front of kids was fine, like sharing your bed with them was. I guess I can't imagine him premeditatedly preying on a kid for sex because I can't see him having the brain to do so anymore.

And so, he ended up still famous but washed-up, drug addled, surrounded by hangers-on and yes-men, and in debt. And he was planning his big comeback. Which leaves me wondering today, if he wanted to make a comeback, why didn't he get his once-talented ass in the studio, write some songs, and release a killer album? Because he couldn't. He didn't have it anymore. Whatever talent he had was long gone, the creativity had vanished, and so his only means of getting back in the public eye was to go onstage again rehashing the songs and moves from 20 years ago. Or dying, which he did, and got way more publicity than his stage shows ever would have.

To me, Jackson's death was a shock, it was unexpected, but I can't really say it was sad. His life is what was sad. He could have had it all. And he chose to mess it up so bad there was no getting it back. I wish that in time my memories would be of those Jackson Five (or Jackson 5ive, if you will) songs and the good stuff from "Off the Wall."

But I know that won't happen. Michael Jackson himself saw to it that it won't.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* RIP, Karl Malden. You had a fabulous nose, and I liked your work. And because of the above, people probably won't even remember you left us.
* Grim Reaper, you think you could go on vacation for a little while?

The Thing

We'll call it The Thing.

I'm going to do another Granny blog, but do not despair, dear readers, for it's not my complaining about Mom's condition or her emotional well-being. And this is because she's actually feeling some better, and that new medication and the wet wraps she did last week have stopped the itching and helped the redness in her skin. I'm amazed.

As was Dr SuperSkin, who I took Granny to see on her follow-up appointment yesterday.

Granny, Paw, and I headed down in the morning, and after only a small snafu in the directions department, found our way there and got to the office. After a small wait, she was called in, and I went along.

And here's the part of the story where I have to travel back to last week.

[wavy fading lines]

Last Wednesday, after the first wet wrap, I got a call from my sister. Seems my dad had called her in a panic, saying that Granny did her first wrap, then got in the shower to rinse off, and when she got out she was the proud owner of a pus-filled blister on her leg. Dad was all atwitter because the very first skin doctor she saw, all the way down in Florida back when they used to be able to travel, told her if she ever got a pus-filled blister she needed to go to the hospital immediately. My sister said she was heading over there to check it out and see what was up.

She later called me back and said, "It's nothing. It's a spot, about the size of a quarter, looks like a blood blister, and she's probably hit her leg, and it's raised, but certainly not pus-filled. They said they'd call Dr ITalkJustLikeHuckleberryHound and ask him about it."

Which they did. And then went to see Dr ITJLHH because he said he wanted to see the thing, and he pronounced it just where some water from the wrap or shower had gotten under one of the many psoriasis spots on her leg, and he wrapped it up with some gauze and said to keep it wrapped till she saw Dr SuperSkin.

[wavy fading lines]

So there we were in the little room at Dr SuperSkin's, and first a nurse came and asked if she'd done the wraps and the medicaton, Mom said yes, and when the nurse asked how that went, Mom's reply was, "Awful." And I just jumped all over that and said, "It was not! You said it really helped your itching and everything!" So she went on to say that the awful part was the process of doing it, when Paw piped up and said, "I'm the one who did it, you just sat there!"

Then the nurse was typing all this into Mom's electronic chart on the computer, and Mom mentioned this new wrinkle of the spot on her leg. So the nurse elevated her leg and took off the bandage, and, well, I can't tell you what happened to me when I saw my mom's leg.

Contrary to my sister's relaying of the spot, this place was huge. It was about three inches in diameter and looked like, well, all I could think of is that it looked like a strawberry tart that was baked too long and the top got burned.

The reason it was raised is not because it was blister-like, but because the layer of it right above the skin was a good half-inch of congealed blood. Then the top of it was black, dead, hard skin. The gauze patch it was wrapped around was bright pink, as was the liquid dripping from it. It was horribly ugly and yet the most beautiful and intriguing thing I'd ever seen. I kept wanting to touch it but was afraid to since Mom gets infections so easily. Mostly I wish I'd have had my camera.

But since I didn't, I thought I'd try to draw you a little picture. First, the front view.

























And now the side view.

























Boy, I wish I was a better artist, so I could give it its full value of stupendousness.

When Dr SuperSkin and his associate, Dr BoyAmICute, came in, they both said, "Hello, my God! What is that?" Both professed they'd never seen anything like that, and Dr SuperSkin himself said he wished he'd brought his camera phone in with him, that this would go over really well at seminars.

By the way, Dr SuperSkin and Dr BoyAmICute are both incredibly nice and friendly guys, and they were amazed that after not one week, as it took a day or two to get the prescriptions filled, but only five days, that Mom's skin had improved so much. They told her to continue with the medication, and that she could now use the salve that goes with the wet wraps but she didn't have to wrap, she could just spread it on her skin as is. (I spoke to her tonight and she did just that last night and said she didn't itch at all. Boy, I can't tell you how great that makes me feel.)

Then they looked some more at The Thing, and Dr SuperSkin said it was probably a ______ (insert some medical term I can't remember), which was a result of where - well, let's say you and I would bump our leg on the end of the bed and not think twice about it, someone with Granny's skin would do the same thing and because the layers of the skin are so thin, a hematoma will form, and that she needed to keep it very tightly wrapped it would go down slowly. They were so friendly and nice I couldn't help myself and pleaded with them to take it off so I could watch, and though they laughed at that - my mom said at that point, "This is my other daughter, by the way," and Dad chimed in, "The weird one," they said they couldn't remove it because it would be more of a hazard to start removing stuff on her skin and risking infection than to just leave it there and let it go down by itself.

And they gave her some high-powered antibiotic as a precaution, and said she was good for three weeks before she had to come back.

Mom will have to go in a few days to get the bandage changed, and now I want to go with her so I can see The Thing again. Possibly with camera in tow.

Then again, I like watching brain surgery on TV. God, that PBS show where they did an operation on some kid where they sawed a triangle in his skull and lifted it off, exposing his brain, and then lifted off the bridge of his nose and there was all kinds of goo in there....

OK, so I am the weird one.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners! So, what are some things to do in the car?
- Honorable Mention goes to Mr M, because he always wants to win acro but never plays. (and a third person didn't play this week)
- Runner-Up goes to LilyG, with her "Driving zanily, especially under Fred." (I just want to see Lily driving under Fred.)
- And this week's winner is Duke, with his "Driving zee European Union, Fraulein." Good one, Duke!
- Thanks to all who played this week, you've all done very well!