Archive for November 2011
Actually, hockey starts in September when we’re still in sandals. I am, at least.
Here are some video highlights from Child Three’s attendance at NDG goalie clinic this week.
He’s having a good year so far, having given up only eight goals in his five games. Our Peewee A team is improving and I really feel we can beat nearly every team in the league, although we currently have a 3-3-4 record that includes two ties and a loss against teams we should have beaten.
Ah, yes, November 1987. New Coke. Iran Contra. The Yeastie Boys.
The Yeastie Boys was what we called our intramural College Bowl team at Rice University: David Nathan, me, Brian Tagtmeier, George Webb, and our captain, Mike Yanochik. We five Weissmen sliced through our competition on the way to the intramural finals. At stake was the honour of representing Rice in the regional championship.
The late Dr. Bill Wilson was a long-time resident associate at Wiess, and his family is still going through his archives. One of the treasures that recently turned up was video of the Rice championship game in November 1987. Here it is.
Spectators and celebrants include Kyle Giacco, Tania Min, Bill Davis, and Joan Rea, Wiess College master at the time. Dr. Bill is behind the camera.
You’ll note that I was riding the pine for this match.
Doug Elliott, the star of our opponents, would join the Yeastie Boys as we scorched all opposition in the spring and earned a date at the national championships in Chicago in May or June 1988. The details are fuzzy. We were eliminated quickly and spent the rest of the weekend on alcohol, pizza, and Astros baseball in Wrigley.
The video brought some things to mind. Did I really have a mullet? Why was I wearing glasses instead of my contact lenses? Gordon Sumner, anyone? C’mon! (I bet I knew that one even then.) Speaking of then – holy crap, we were once smart and fast and thin and sported much more hair.
Today, it’s out-and-out barking.
One of the Others left the dog outside yesterday morning while I slept. Crash wouldn’t shut up, apparently. Our octogenarian neighbour called but I didn’t hear the phone. Sometime after that, she crept into our backyard and put the dog in our house.
Can you blame her?
I just gave Crash another 1 mg of Dilaudid. Let’s see if I can salvage the afternoon.
Our 13-year-old dog, Crash, while neurotic, has always been quiet except when greeting visitors.
About two weeks ago, that changed. He’s been moan/howl/bark/crying about one quarter of the time. That’s one sound. He sits or stands around and emits it.
It sounds like some sort of longing, but the only time he stops is when he’s lying in bed with me. There’s no pattern, though. If he’s downstairs with me, he whines. If he’s in bed without me, he whines.
It makes it really hard to get any work done.
Now, he’s not crying. That sounds different. He doesn’t appear to be in physical pain: he doesn’t limp or worry at a spot on his body. We let him out when he’s by the back door. He always has food and water. He gets his fair share of attention. We just can’t figure it out.
I called the vet, and they told me I could bring him in but it doesn’t sound like they could do anything. They advised waiting a few more days.
I tried waiting a few more days, but I couldn’t get anything done yesterday. I had to take action. A Google search revealed that it’s safe for dogs to take hydromorphone, a.k.a. Dilaudid, which I have a surplus of because they don’t work on my migraines. Safe dosage is 0.1-0.2 mg per kg of body mass, and that link leads to a PDF that recommends using hydromorphone for “fractious dogs”. Bingo!
Crash weighs about 20 kg and my Dilaudid comes in 1 mg (migraine prescription) and 2 mg (finger painkiller) strengths. Perfect! I wrapped a 1-mg pill in some smelly pill pockets and he downed it.
You know, it worked. I had a quiet Friday afternoon while Crash crashed on the couch. He didn’t pass out or anything, he was just his normal quiet self.
The issue remains, though. Why is he making that noise? The Dilaudid would have taken care of physical or mental issues, so I’m not sure which it soothed.
I started watching “Saxondale”. Despite stumbling into British comedy gems of the latter aughts like “The IT Crowd” and “The Inbetweeners“, I hadn’t heard of it before. That’s doubly surprising considering how much I enjoy Steve Coogan’s work.
The show lasts only 13 episodes, but it’s a hearty meal. The enjoyed the first season more than the second, although the second was funnier. Maybe it was the change in Tommy Saxondale’s hair.
Coogan is a master in the role. It may have helped that he was a co-writer of the series, but he creates a fantastic character, with body language and every nuance organic to the man. It’s quite something to watch. I could write an essay on the use of his lips alone.
The marketing of the show is odd. It focuses on the fact that Tommy was a roadie and is in anger management counseling. That’s true, but almost incidental to the show. Saxondale is an incredibly intelligent and principled man. Is there another ex-drunk/drug addict exterminator on TV who could give a speech like this?
OK, so there probably isn’t another exterminator on TV, but that’s beside the point. And so is the aviation-related rant.
(The large-figured lass in purple is Tommy’s girlfriend, the other woman is her friend, and the younger man is Tommy’s live-in employee.)
My finger – the digit. Digit-al journalism? News about my finger? Oh, forget it….
I unraveled the huge bandage, figuring that all wounds would have healed in the ten days since my finger broke. I was right. There’s still a big clot of dried blood over the split, but I washed off what I could before snapping a few photos. The yellow coloration is the remains of a bruise.
Please pardon my dirty keyboard. I’m sorry the first photo is out of focus. I didn’t realize that until I had rewrapped my finger with fresh gauze and splinted it. I’m not going to undo that for a photo.
The bottom of my finger is still swollen. The skin is tight an unyielding and the finger is about half again as deep as it should be. There’s not much lateral swelling, though. And, as it turns out, the softball didn’t rip my fingernail all the way across. The right side is intact.
The pain has mostly subsided. Every once in a while, I’ll get a sharp pain inside, and the fingernail always feels like it was cut too short. The finger tingles, as if it were in low-grade sleep.
I gotta say, it felt amazing to wash my hand this afternoon.