ORTHOPEDICS

ORTHOPEDICS

I threw out my back two weeks ago. I always figured that if this happened to me, it would be because I was doing something I shouldn’t have done. Something that seemed important at the time, but in retrospect was not. Lifting a car off an injured guy who was changing his oil, for instance. I could handle a Yugo, but you don’t need to change the oil in a Yugo- you simply wait until it leaks out. Or carrying 5 or 6 boxes of paper over to the copy machine. Which would be a wasted trip since I don’t know how to clear the paper jams. Or changing out the empty jug in the water cooler.

In reality that describes my injury exactly. As I was about to play a game of doubles tennis, I hurt my back performing what would have been a very very funny and topical imitation of Serena Williams chasing around that little Chinese lines judge at the US Open semifinal. As you remember if you saw it, the lines judge inexplicably calls a foot fault on Serena at 15-30 in the final set, which costs her the point and brings up match-point. Serena walks over to her, and says something to the effect of, “I wanna stuff this tennis ball right down your friggin throat.” And she actually shows her the tennis ball, so that she can see how big it is. The lines judge is a small Chinese woman, with a small friggin throat, and even a squash ball or a racquetball shoved down there might have killed her. So she runs over to the umpire’s chair, because Serena is friggin’ huge, and she is armed with a large tennis ball. Then Serena goes back to serve at double match-point down, thinks about it again, and walks back over to the lines judge and points her raquet at her, presumably to also shove that down her throat. The lines judge runs away again and hides under a plant. Serena returns three of four times, each time with something bigger to shove down the girl’s throat, and chases her around the umpire’s chair, or at least that’s how I remember it. Then the US Open officials come out and tell Serena that she has defaulted the point, and so the match, on the grounds of unsportsmanlike conduct and attempted murder. The next day Serena is told that she must forfeit an entire moment’s pay, never go within 50 feet of any lines judge, and not grunt so loud that it scares people. She immediately issues a heartfelt apology through her agent, saying that she is sorry she foot faulted and had to pay all that money, and that she is very passionate about her sport and might hurt anyone at any time in the future.

So my imitation would have been very important, since comedy often has a healing effect. In this case it had quite the opposite effect, since I felt like I dislocated my back. Once I located it again, it hurt like hell and I should have left it where it was. I was writhing around the ground looking like I was break dancing, and the rest of the foursome was laughing at me, marveling at how lifelike I was.

So I could hardly stand up, and everything I did for the next two weeks was extremely painful. I was walking around at about an 80 degree angle, and on the plus side I never stepped in any gum. In order to put on my pants I had to lie on the floor with one leg up, throw the pants into the air and stick my leg underneath it, hoping that the right leg would land in the right leg. There is still a pair of pants hanging from one of our overhead lights because we don’t have a ladder that tall.

So I finally went to the doctor. She poked me in the back and I went, “AAAHHHKKK!” She said, “Was that painful?” I said, “No I am ticklish there.” So she tried another place and I went, “AAAHHHKKK!” And she asked, “Is that ticklish?” And I said, “No- painful.” So she thought I should get an X-ray. I asked, “For my back?” And she said, “No, for your brain- you seem like an idiot.” She also prescribed muscle relaxants, and after two of those I resembled a large puddle, and had to be poured into bed. And then at physical therapy they made me lie on my back and move my legs in a way that if I was a girl on “Melrose Place” would be hot, but for a guy just looks embarrassingly dumb.

The moral of this story is that there isn’t anyone on the planet who doesn’t have a remedy or advice for back pain.
“Try my chiropractor! He doesn’t take insurance so just give him your ATM PIN number!”
“Go to an acupuncturist! Don’t drink any milk for a couple hours afterward!”
“Get a massage- you don’t need the happy ending, but don’t get the UN-happy ending!”
“Put heat on it!”
“Put ice on it! For god’s sake don’t use heat!”
“Lie on your side and lift your hand and leg up and down simultaneously for two minutes straight!”
“Go onto your hands and knees and make a noise like a raccoon!”
“Swallow an entire glass of water, then hold your breath until you start to get a little hungry!”
That last one might have been for the hiccups, I forget.

Even before the injury my wife was constantly badgering me. Before tennis: “Don’t forget to stretch!” I am 6’2” tall, and I think that’s tall enough. And every time I would bend down to pick something up, she would yell: “Use your legs!” I tried and tried to use my legs to pick things up, and sometimes I was able to, but often I just gave up and used my hands.

Incidentally, Astronauts in space can grow 1 ½ to 2 ½ inches, as zero gravity causes their spines to lengthen. Their noses can also grow if they lie in the spacecraft.

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MODERN ENTOMOLOGY

MODERN ENTOMOLOGY

So I was swimming around the pool naked last week and noticed about six zillion bees flying in and out of one of the planters on the deck. They were wearing what appeared to be small jackets of the color yellow. I couldn’t tell what type of bees they were, but I noticed that the horizontal stripes on their jackets made them look fat, so I scoffed at their undeveloped sense of style.

Then I realized in a panic that being naked, they could sting virtually EVERY part of my body! Making body parts swell to THREE TIMES their normal sizes! So I wandered over much closer. It turns out as I looked at their faces that nothing could disgust them more than seeing me naked, and they avoided me like the plague. They seemed very busy; they were flying in and out of that planter with a sense of purpose. I couldn’t guess what that purpose was, but they were clearly not interested in me, even though yellowjackets are reputed to be very aggressive and predatory. There were minding their own beeswax.

Still, the situation seemed dangerous, especially right by the pool. If you are not even allowed to run by the pool, think of the extra peril added by this situation: What if a small baby walked up to our house, jumped over the fence, got stung by the bees, fell into the pool and drowned? What if an adult, weakened by trying to swim in the pool less than 30 minutes after eating, was stung to death? What if they flew into and clogged up my BRAND NEW pool filter? Any of these, or even worse, all of them happening on the same day would be tragic. Clearly I needed to address the situation.

With a delicious sneer on my face, I doused the entire area with Raid Wasp & Hornet spray. Well actually, I also doused our side door and one of our lounge chairs with it, since the first minute or so the can was faced the wrong way. We have never had a bee problem on our side door or lounge chairs, and I’m fine with keeping up that perfect record. I waited 15 minutes or so, laughing diabolically, until one of the neighbors told me to shut up.

It didn’t slow the bees down one visible iota. I sprayed again and again. And again the neighbor told me to stop with the laughing. This time it was not me laughing, it was the bees.

I heard somewhere that bees don’t like smoke, and true enough I have never seen any bee smoking, so I set up my trusty Off Mosquito Coils in an ash tray right next to the nest, and lit them up. I fell asleep for about half an hour, and when I woke up, the bees were still there and the ashtray was broken into 20 pieces. This made me not a little frightened, because they seemed to have little regard for my personal property. I checked all the other ashtrays and china in the house to see if they had broken anything else.

I took to standing in the pool and spraying them individually with Raid Flying Insect Killer. I must have sprayed five hundred bees individually (It’s possible I sprayed the same one five hundred times). Not a thing. I thought I caught some of them yelling things at me on the way by. One of them called me a “drone.” One did a feint and roll, as if it were dying, then just laughed and sped away.

I considered spraying the nest with pepper spray, but the fact is I don’t want to waste it, since I keep it in the closet in case a recipe calls for hot pepper and I don’t have any on hand.

I considered befriending them, maybe even making a “beard of bees” out of them, or possibly just sideburns. They didn’t show any interest in my face at all.

I researched them online, and printed out instructions for an “Eco-Friendly Yellowjacket Trap.” You cut a two inch hole in a plastic 2-liter soda bottle, fill it with eco-friendly dishwashing liquid (bees hate doing the dishes), then smear jelly and jam around the sides of the hole. The bees are attracted to the jelly, climb into the hole, then drown in a sea of sorrows en masse. First of all, when I cut the hole in the soda bottle I got Dr. Pepper all over my pants- the soda bottle should be empty first it turns out. After I was done, not one bee flew into my trap, and it wasn’t even eco-friendly, since I got angry and threw it about a mile into the woods.

I was just ready to try to find instructions for a “bunker-buster” bomb, like the ones they kept trying to use on Saddam Hussein, but just then my wife arrived with a spray guaranteed by the guy at the hardware store. It’s called triamethylchloraflorylhydroflummoxoline, or something just like that. I doused the entire area for about a two mile radius and haven’t seen any living thing now for about a week and a half. On the plus side, I think I also might have killed Saddam Hussein.

Incidentally, every winter the entire yellowjacket bee colony dies, with the exception of the queen. If you have a nest in your closet, and you see a queen there, well, just fill in your own joke I need a nap.

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POP CULTURE

POP CULTURE:

This week {actually last week} I got in all my “brushes with fame” for the whole year. Yesterday as I walked down 53rd Street I saw a large mass of people around the stage door for the Letterman Show, as I often do. The stage manager yelled out “Any second!” so I hung around. Out popped Letterman, Andy Roddick, and for some unknown reason, Rachel Ray (she turned out to be the ballgirl). They had stretched a tennis net between two light poles on 53rd, and Letterman was going to try to return Roddick’s serve. If Andy Roddick was serving tea I don’t think Letterman could return it. He was serving at 90 mph, about 2/3 the speed of his U.S. Open best. I don’t think Letterman ever got a racket on it. I yelled out “I hope you’re wearing a cup!” but I don’t think he heard me- I was serious!

I could sense confusion on the faces of all the tourists as they tried to convert miles-per-hour to kilometers-per-hour, but before they could figure it out some guy got nailed! I caught one of the tennis balls that they lobbed into the audience, nearly killing some people who were not expecting it, but I was not able to convince my dog that this ball was “special,” so there is drool on it now, some of it from the dog.

Then the day before that I was walking next to 30 Rock and I notice a bunch of protesters picketing. I thought it was the Rainbow Room not paying their employees again, but one of the sign said, “Pages are People Too!” so I got suspicious. Sure enough, there was that goofy red-headed guy from the Tina Fey show out there looking goofy. I probably could have gotten into the scene but I didn’t want to miss my train, and besides I believe that pages are overpaid.

Then last weekend just as I was finishing my tennis match, two kids and an old guy come onto the court. I did a double-take then said to the old guy, “I don’t suppose anyone ever told you that you look exactly like Sean Connery!” He said, “Yes my mother told me that!” I told him it was nice to meet him, and left. I guess one of the players was his kid, who belongs to Saw Mill. Not as interesting as Jill Clayburgh seeing my wife naked, or the time Chevy Chase said hello to me and I barely gave him a nod (clueless as usual), but not bad.

So I was kicked off the court by James Bond, almost was an extra in “30 Rock,” and told Dave Letterman to wear a protective cup. This was one of my more productive weeks.

Incidentally, Sean Connery was filming a movie with Lana Turner in 1958, only to have her gangster boyfriend storm the set, point a gun at him and accuse him of having an affair with her. Connery disarmed him and diffused the situation. He gave the boyfriend his arm back and got him to leave, but held onto the gun.

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MUSIC

MUSIC

This Saturday marked the 40th anniversary of the "Woodstock Music & Art Fair," or in its very shortened form: "&". I kind of missed the boat on the whole Woodstock thing, being as I am so much younger than you. I am 50, which is the new 30, and the even NEWER 20. Which means I am much more interested in free beer. But I do remember I was very intrigued by the soundtrack album, and some of the great bands that were on it. And I remember thinking: “Man this SUCKS compared to the studio version!”

Yes, there was rain. Yes, there were drugs. Yes, there were inadequate toilet and dining facilities. But there was also something more. Something even bigger. And that something was: really bad parking. What a muddy friggin’ mess. I can picture me trying to parallel park on the middle of the NYS Thruway, and there are no meters or anything there, so I write one of those “notes to the cops,” hoping that they will show you some mercy: “PLEASE DON’T TOW- CAN’T GET THRU AND OUT OF ACID”

Of course I wanted to hear the Who, Jimi Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Crosby, Stills Nash & Young… But there were also so many lesser known acts there that made a big splash. For instance, a band called Canned Heat really made a name for themselves, and their lead singer, Kermit the Frog. They were an LA blues band named after Sterno.

I know it’s hip to say how GREAT Richie Havens and Joan Baez were, but jesus to me that whole first day was a snorefest. I guess I am just not a folk music guy. After Richie led off the festival, Swami Satchidananda gave an invocation. I would hate to be a Swami and try to follow the Who, so this was probably good scheduling. He did a lot of blah-blah-blahing then made the whole crowd chant “Rama Rama Rama Rama Rama Rama Rama Ram.” So it turns out he put the “ram” in the “rama-lama-ding-dong.”

Joan Baez closed the first evening with some protest songs and such. She always sings like she is driving over a REALLY bumpy road.

The next day had some good bands. Santana was reportedly high on mescaline the whole set, and he still killed. Creedence Clearwater Revival was one of the headliners at Woodstock, hugely popular at the time, but nobody knows it because they weren’t on the soundtrack or the film. They took the stage at about 3AM, pissed off at the Grateful Dead because they droned on way past their allotted time until everyone went to sleep.

Country Joe and the Fish famously offered the “Fish cheer,” where he calls on the audience to spell “FUCK” in cheerleader style. I can imagine how I would have screwed up Woodstock if I had been in the band. Since this was in the days before spellcheck, I would have spelled “FUCK” wrong, and Country Joe would have brained me over the head with a microphone stand. Hey- whatever happened to 3 days of peace and love? Or he would have yelled, ‘GIVE ME AN F!” And me, not paying attention of course, thinks he means the note, so I blare an F on my bass, obscuring the whole “Fish cheer,” and ruining Woodstock.

With my sister I attended Woodstock ’94, a cheap imitation of the original, and when I say cheap I mean we didn’t pay for our tickets, which she won in a radio contest, and we didn’t use them anyway since we snuck under the fence because it was so “establishment.” We got to the main stage and there was Melissa Etheridge singing a medley of Janis Joplin songs, and she killed. It was then that I realized we had come full circle. Meaning that we had gone the entire perimeter of the grounds and still not found the bathrooms. We saw Crosby, Stills & Nash perform the song, “Woodstock,” which of course was not written yet for the original Woodstock.

But it was fun; the intermittent rainstorms lent a sense of déjà vu to the proceedings, and also made things very wet. People were sliding around in the mud, going nuts, and you had to steer clear of the mud people or else they would push you right down the hill in the slime and soak you right down to your undies.

Incidentally, Martin Scorcese was one of the editors for the Woodstock documentary. Since the Band, Blood, Sweat & tears and the Grateful Dead were left on the cutting room floor, they are probably pretty pissed off at him.

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REGIONAL NEWS

REGIONAL NEWS

On our trip to Maine last week, since we had mistakenly put the wrong Portland into the GPS and didn’t notice until we were in Ohio, we had to actually open up a map. We have a big map book with a big map of each state in it, and even though the map is big since it’s a big map book, you can’t read any of the names of the towns without a magnifying glass and reading spectacles. And a monocle. With halogen lighting. The lighting is great in our car, but only if you are sitting in the back seat, which is great for back-seat drivers like myself. We couldn’t see a damn thing on the map except that up in margin of each page was hugely written the motto of each state. Appropriately, since we were driving to Maine and didn’t know which direction it was, the state motto is: “I Direct.” It didn’t give a phone number or anything, so we just kept driving, and it worked- we eventually got there.

New York’s motto is “Excelsior,” which means “ever upward” in Latin. And if the elevators are ever out in your building, you know exactly what they are talking about.

But as we looked into this further it’s clear that no one actually tried these state mottoes out on anyone. They should have left them all in Latin so that you can’t see how stupid they are. For instance, the Arkansas state motto is: “The People Rule!” Dude that is TOTALLY awesome! The people are stoked. However, South Dakota declares: “Under God the People Rule.” Dude now you’re bumming us out because it probably means we have to go to church.

New Hampshire’s is “Live Free or Die.” How would you like to be in that legislature session that has to raise the real estate taxes? No thanks. The state motto of Vermont looks exactly the same as New Hampshire, only upside down and to the right.

Washington’s is “By and By,” which added together is: “Bye-bye.”

Virginia chimes in with: “Thus Always to Tyrants.” Thus what? I think they were right in the middle of writing this one and the phone rang or something.

Connecticut: “He Who Transplanted Still Sustains.” This one seems grammatically awkward to begin with. Should it be “Who” or “Whom?” I can never remember, but I think in certain situations the Pete Townsend rock band when used as a predicate should be “The Whom.”

Some are quite violent-sounding. Mississippi’s is: “By Valor and Arms.” And probably not necessarily in that order. Massachusetts: “By the Sword We Seek Peace, But Peace Only Under Liberty.” If you go around seeking peace with a sword you are likely to find it eternally. Ironically, Texas’ is “Friendship.”

New Mexico: “It Grows As it Goes.” Sounds like something Billy Mays would say. HOWEVER: If you ACT NOW, we’ll throw in ANOTHER THREE, FOR FREE! Just pay shipping and handling.

Montana gets right to the point: “Gold and Silver!” Enough said there.

We held a contest for the winners of the stupidest state mottoes, and the winners were, in reverse alphabetical order: Michigan, with: “If You Seek a Pleasant Peninsula, Look About You.” (Hell that doesn’t even work for my glasses.) And Maryland, with: “Manly Deeds, Womanly Words.” I couldn’t even begin to guess what they were thinking.

Florida put the least amount of time into it I think. Theirs is, “In God We Trust.” They were trying to choose between “If You Seek a Pleasant Peninsula, Look About You,” and “Manly Deeds, Womanly Words,” and somebody said, “Flip a coin!” When they looked closely at the coin it came to them.

Incidentally, Benjamin Franklin wanted to make the turkey the national bird. Let’s face it: the guy was a big fatso, and if he could have named the national bird the turkey sandwich, he would have done so.

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NATIONAL NEWS

NATIONAL NEWS

Well, President Obama has sponsored his now-famous “beer summit,” and so much do I have my finger upon the pulse of the nation that it is almost like I was there. The conversation went EXACTLY thus:

Obama: I’d like to thank both of you for coming, and I think we can find a common thread of-
Crowley: CHUG IT!
Obama: Huh?
Gates: Chug-a-lug!
Obama: Damn that went down easy!
{four beers later}

Gates: You are the best black damn president I ever had!
Crowley: He’s just as white as he is black! He’s the best damn white president!
Gates: Hey Obama! Your mama is a llama with a lot of drama and no pajamas.
Obama: THE HELL SHE IS! Wait- What?
Crowley: That is a sissy-ass beer you drink Big-O.
Obama: I know my- staff made me choose it- it’s politically correct and tastes like piss.
Gates: That reminds me I gotta pee.
Crowley: Let’s piss out the eternal goddamn flame!
Obama: That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all goddamn day.
{another three beers}

Crowley: Big-O you are fitshaced!
Gates: Faceshitted!
Obama: Sarge is that a taser in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?
Crowley: I AM glad to see you, but this IS a taser.
Gates: Let’s nail that Secret Service guy!
Crowley: We can’t zap him without due cause.
Gates: He got an ugly tie!
Obama: FIRE!

This “diplomacy by beer” idea is going to catch on like wildfire. My guess is that from now on Obama isn’t going to sign any bills without 4 or 5 beers first. Ketel One on Air Force One? You betcha! And the bigger the diplomatic challenge, the more he is going to have to up the ante. If he administers a debate between Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell, he will need Long Island iced teas, and plenty of them. To even show up at talks with the deposed Honduras president and the newly posed president, it will take about half an ounce of pot. A summit between Hamas and Israel will warrant two or three good quality rocks of crack. But I bet they make some progress.

Incidentally, there have been many instances of drunken presidents in the past. Franklin Pierce, Martin Van Buren, and Grover Cleveland, with his big beer belly, were known tipplers. Ulysses S. Grant was a reputed alcoholic, and even looks wasted on the 50 dollar bill. Obama is by all measures a workaholic, which means he only works drunk.

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MUSIC IN THE STREET

MUSIC IN THE STREET

I was walking back to Grand Central the other day and wandered into this huge crowd in Midtown- I mistakenly thought it was the unemployment line, and even though I am employed at the moment I figured I would hang out there for awhile, and when by the time I was unemployed I would have a good spot in the line. Then all of a sudden I hear a really loud Paul McCartney song and I think, “DAMN- PAUL MCCARTNEY is out of a job!” And he probably has no marketable skills to fall back on. My dad used to cringe when I told him that I wanted to be a drummer. He wanted me to make sure I kept up my math skills so I would have something “to fall back on.” If I ever had to fall back on my math skills, I would end up squishing them, if there even is more than one of them.

But it turned out the whole thing had nothing to do with unemployment- McCartney was doing a free mini-concert for the Letterman Show on top of the “Late Night” Marquis. For an older gentleman he sounded pretty damned good. I was only close enough to make out what instrument he was playing- he still plays that Hofner Beatle Bass. I had a friend who had one once, and it’s very light, which is good, because if you’re in a band with McCartney you are going to get hit in the head with it. Why? Because he’s left handed. George Harrison always stood to his left so he wouldn’t get brained by him, and Lennon stood way to the side to avoid the whole lot of them.

Anyway, I was amazed by how fresh the music still sounded. He played “Get Back,” “Coming Up,” “Let Me Roll It To You,” “Band On The Run, “Helter Skelter” and “Back In The USSR.” Even the lyrics still seemed relevant. For instance, in “Get Back:” “Sweet Loretta Martin thought she was a woman, but she was another man.” This kind of thing still happens today, and it’s just as confusing. Loretta Martin, whoever that is, didn’t end up to be a man, but ANOTHER man. Weird, that. And okay the USSR as we know it does not exist anymore, but certainly the CCCP is probably still over there, whatever that is. There must be something over there because tennis players keep showing up with unpronounceable names. Anyway it was a good concert featuring actual music.

Incidentally, Paul McCartney is involved with charities for land mines and seal slaughtering. I’m not sure if he is for them or against them, but if you mention to him that you slaughter seals with a land mine I bet he would punch you right in the face.



TRAVEL:

I went to Maine last week and was truly impressed with what a polite state it was. Every intersection I came to, people were prepared to let me go first, especially if I was not in a car. If you come to a four way stop and you are able to read lips, the conversation goes like this:

“You first…”
“No- you go ahead.”
“That’s okay- I don’t have much planned for today.”
“Not for nothing but I don’t either- if I get through this intersection I’ll be happy.”
“I’m going to do the puzzle for a little while so you go ahead.”
“That’s a good idea- do you know a three letter word for a sea eagle?”
“Well there’s ‘erne’ but that’s four letters, although you can leave off the last ‘e’ and no one is really going mind that much.”

That goes on for a half-hour until you both go at the same time and crash into each other.

In New York, we still adhere to traditional values also, such as letting a girl exit the elevator first. Only in New York, it’s mostly because we want to check out her ass. Even if she is buried in the back of the cab behind a UPS guy with a hand truck full of boxes of paper, we will sit there and wait until everyone moves around like a Rubik’s cube so she can get out. That reminds me of something else- why does every ship captain insist that we save women and children first? Is that so the human race can continue? If the whole planet has only women and children who is going to kill all the spiders? The whole food chain will end up being readjusted with spiders on the top, and then humans, then apes, then fruits, and finally Good Humor bars. I think I might be mixing the food chain up with the food pyramid, but it seems to work out my way also.

Incidentally, according to the USDA, 2 tablespoons of peanut butter count as 1 ounce of lean meat. So if you are out at a restaurant, and you don’t want to eat red meat, instead of a 16 oz. steak, you can order a 32-tablespoon peanut butter sandwich.

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