I Would Not be a Good Doctor

I Would Not be a Good Doctor

I came to the above titled conclusion while watching the TV show, “The Good Doctor.” I know what some of you are thinking,

“Crap Cranky, is that all you do, watch TV.” 

Well, pretty much yes.  I watch a lot of TV…sorry.  Probably another billion people in this country watch TV too, so yes. 

All those people who only watch the news and PBS can leave now, no need to tell me that TV is all crap, I get it, you’re better than me.

Pheew, are the TV snobs all gone now? OK, so:

“The Good Doctor” is about a talented surgeon intern who has a form of autism.  As a conservative, I could dismiss the show as another Hollywood attempt to indoctrinate the masses on the value of diversity, but I do know several people with autism who are extremely intelligent, productive citizens, so, message already received.

Anyway.

I was watching an episode the other day, and every damn thing that could go wrong in the operating room went wrong.  When an unexpected blood vessel suddenly bursts, the TV surgeon immediately jumps into action.

“Clamp…stat! give me 3 cc’s of orangatide!  No, you idiot, not me, give it to the patient, and call Dr. Glick, the patient will need a liver specialist, and a gromatologist, and get me a Junior Mint, they can be very refreshing you know.  Don’t just stand there, hurry, his life is at stake!”

Watching this episode, I realized that if I was that surgeon my response would more likely be,

“Crap the fucking blood vessel is bleeding all over the friggin place! Quick, do something to stop that bleeding and…ah…umm…stick something in him, you know that…what is it called, the orange stuff that does things and call someone…Shit, I need a drink!”

It is probably a good thing that I never went to Med School.  It would have been a waste of time and money.  I do not have the disposition to work well under stress.  That and I am lazy, only got a “C-” in biology 101, and blood freaks me out, so yeah, I would not have been a good doctor.

It is a good show though, just a few clicks to the left of PBS, and yes, I still call it clicks, don’t you?

Twelve Strings

Twelve Strings

I have been shopping lately for a twelve-string guitar.  I have enough trouble playing six strings, why would I want a twelve-string guitar?

Mrs. C loves twelve string guitars.  I don’t know what it is, but when we go to a concert and someone pulls out a twelve-string guitars she gets giddy with excitement.  Of course, she never listens to me play anyway, but it still makes me want to try.

Rick @ http://www.rickwatson-writer.com/ tells me they are not that difficult to play and they do produce a rich sound.  I tested one out tonight, and Rick is right, it was not that hard to play.  I only tried strumming chords, I think finger picking would be difficult, but I did like the feel.

So now I want one.  Do I need one? No.  Do I play well enough to use it professionally?  Not even close.  Can I play two guitars at once? No.  Then why get another guitar?

Because I want one!

I want one because just looking at one makes Mrs. C all gooey.  I want one because they are pretty.  I want one because they sound so nice and I can strum chords on it, so it would be fun to play. I want one because I don’t have many toys, I am too old to play with most toys, and even though they can be expensive…oh hell, I just want one.

The Guitar Store only had one guitar to try out.  It was a Martin and you can’t go wrong with a Martin, but I would like to try a few others for comfort and playability.  I guess I can wait and shop around a bit, but I am Jonesing for a new axe (that’s what musicians call their guitars…if you can’t play like a musician, at least talk like one.)

I do have a birthday coming in May.

A Cranky Complaint About Women

A Cranky Complaint About Women

A cranky re-run from March 2015

Don’t get all up in arms ladies; this is just a minor complaint.  It is more an observation than a complaint.

Actually it is a complaint.

Women (at least the women I have been married to, and that is a pretty good segment of the female population) will not answer a simple question from a man.  They prefer for the man to figure it out themselves.  It aggravates them that men will ask a silly question.  They will ignore, and or be evasive waiting for the man to figure out the answer themselves rather than simply saying, “yes” or “no.”

Yes or no! It hardly takes a breath; no effort, just yes or no.  Zero calories burned, no wasted time, just yes or no.  How friggin hard is that?

The other night Mrs. C was going downstairs and asked me if I wanted some water.  I said yes, preferably bottled if we had still had any.  The fridge water tastes kind of funky because we need to change the filter.

Mrs. C brought up a bottle of water.

“Is that a new bottle of water, or is it from the fridge?” Sometimes she will fill an empty bottle with water from the fridge.

“…”

“Is it from the fridge?”

“…”

“Is there any reason you can’t say yes it is from the fridge, or no it is a new bottle of water.”

“You should know.”

“I should know? How should I know, and why don’t you tell me anyway? Yes or no!  How hard is that?  This conversation could have been over minutes ago…meanwhile I still don’t know if it is from the fridge or not.”

“Because when you twist the cap, you will hear it break the seal and you will know that it is a new bottle of water and not from the fridge.”

“So we still have some bottled water?”

“Yes, a whole case of it, if you would only look!”

“Well that is 180 seconds of my life completely lost because you could just not bring yourself to say, “It is bottled water.”

“You’re a jerk!”

“Hell, it took you just as long to call me a jerk as it would have to just say “It’s bottled water!”

“…”