So I made it to the doctor yesterday. He poked and prodded me less than expected before deciding I’ve got strep, or some other bacterial throat problem, and prescribed me some pills from his sample cabinet. More on that in a bit, but the pills are of a size that would have given Linda Lovelace pause, and I’m supposed to choke down two of them twice a day (with food). Christ on a crutch, if I could swallow pills that big, I wouldn’t be coming in for a sore throat!
The other thing that kinda bothers me about visiting the doctor is that they all have the forms you fill out before you see anyone in a white lab coat. On one of these forms, I get to proudly proclaim that rather than having some large corporation pay for my visit, I’m going to be a cash customer. But doing so invariably means a difference in the treatment. Rather than run a test to make sure I had strep, the doctor saved me a few bucks
and eschewed the test. And then rather than writing a prescription, he dug in the sample cabinet for these veritable gob-stoppers of the antibiotic world. Perhaps it is the best medicine for the job, but I wonder…
And what the hell is it with the childhood ailments? In the past month I’ve had an ear infection and strep throat. I got tested for mono, but somehow dodged that bullet. What’s next? Chicken pox (I’m pretty sure I’ve had those)? Time to get my tonsils out? Hell, maybe I’ll erupt in a full-blown case of zits and have my voice go all squeaky when I try to talk to a cute gal. Who knows, maybe that would improve my dating prospects.
Oh well, at least it gives me something to gripe about beyond the 30 I got on the clean sweep assessment that Joey got a 70 on. Then again, I didn’t check the boxes for things that will never be true for you
, and doing so takes me all the way up into the nineties. Things may not be perfect, but I yam what I yam, and I’m (depending on how charitable you want to be) either well-adapted to my situation, or hopelessly stuck in a rut.
- From this month’s Southeast Angle, Close City Quarters Breed Cozy Nosiness. That’s a feeling I know pretty well, both from living in Marcy-Holmes, as well as living here in SE Como (while having a Northeast address). I still haven’t gotten at all active in my new neighborhood association, but that’s okay by me. I have gotten to know a number of the neighbors, at least to nod to on the sidewalk or wave to as one of us is driving down the alley. I like living in a real neighborhood.
- I wanna know more about this: Intriguing the Physicists, Radio Buff Shrinks an Antenna. He’s made 160-metre-band antennas that are about a third as big as conventional wisdom says is the minimum. Instead of a 140 foot antenna, his is 46 feet tall. Doc’s interested in radio, and has more. [nyt]
- Sad. Ray Charles, Who Reshaped American Music, Dies at 73 yesterday. RIP, Ray. All the articles and TV news have been talking about things like his rendition of America the Beautiful, but I thought immediately of You are My Sunshine. [nyt]
- Here’s a little Reminder: I-94 stretch closed this weekend. I don’t think it will be a huge deal for those who drive around here regularly, but there’s going to be folks in
the big city
for the weekend who are going to be mightily confused by it. I imagine I’ll still find a way to make it over to Midway Stadium, even though it’s supposed to rain on us tonight. At least tomorrow and Sunday look like decent weather. [strib]