Sonicrusk Blog

My friend Adam sent me taped episodes of Sopranos season six, so I am all caught up. More on that later. Some spoilers in this post so be aware.

In one scene, possibly in episode five, Tony Soprano is walking along in a hospital corridor with his IV, trying to recuperate after being shot in the gut by his uncle. A nurse comes up to him and lets him know he has a phone call from a doctor or an associate. It is a very short scene lasting only a few seconds. The thing is that the nurse in this short scene was a guy and he informed Soprano in just about the most effeminate way possible. I really thought it was the blonde guy from Queer Eye playing this character. Later, they show another guy nurse in the background wearing some flowered shirt.

I remember a commercial a couple of years ago that took place in an operating room. They were trying to resuscitate a piece of pizza or something. It had a guy nurse character again wearing a flowered shirt.  He was trying to put the defibrillator pads onto the piece of pizza or whatever it was that was on the table. Apparently, it was too much for him because he fainted, eyes rolling into the back of his head, a hefty sigh, and arms flailing in dramatic fashion.

First off, I almost never see a guy nurse wearing a flowered scrub top.  Second, male nurses aren’t a bunch of sissies. I’ve known quite a few guy RNs in the hospital. A few were gay/effeminate, but the great majority were just regular guys doing a job. They had wives and kids. Some were hounds like you would find anywhere. Some take care of kids or even pregnant women. They weren’t sissies.

There are six guys in my nursing class ranging in ages from mid 40’s to early 20’s. A couple are married and none are sissies. I have friends that go back several classes and all were just regular guys that didn’t fan their faces to thwart a fainting spell when the going got tough.

There are effeminate male nurses out there. I say, to each their own. I support people however they are within reason. I’m a pretty liberal guy. But to label such a large group is wrong. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m Jewish or Egyptian. Why? Not that I have anything against Jews or Egyptians, but I am not in one of those groups. Don’t put me in them erroneously.

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Anyone here have TiVo? If so, I am curious as to what your season pass manager looks like. No important reason, just ravenous curiousity. Here is mine:

1. Medium (NBC)

2. NOW (PBS)

3. Lost (ABC)

4. McLaughlin Group (PBS)

5. Law and Order: Criminal Intent (NBC)

6. CSI (CBS)

I also have a bunch of re-run showings of CSI and L+O:CI to round out the top ten.

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This morning off of Comanche Drive, while on the way to some weekly business in Arvin, with a clunk and puttering loss of power, my truck broke down for the first time in nine years.

I bought my truck in 1997 when it had only 42 miles on it. At the time, I was frightened of the responsibility of monthly car payments. I had a five-year loan but thanks to the army checkbook, I was able to pay it off in three.

I have never had any problems with it. I’ve bought some tires every few years, and had to replace the clutch three years ago as well as fix the heater in February. Besides that, I have been blessed with no automotive or transportation problems.

I knew this day was coming. A few months ago, my truck passed over 100,000 miles. It’s like the milestone age of 65 in people – you can make it much longer but 65 means you’re a senior. I feel pretty lucky that I got nine years out of the thing with virtually no worry. I do think it smacks of some bad luck that I was almost in Arvin when it broke down. I had to call people there and cancel last minute and then pay $70 for the tow, even with an AAA card. I also need a car for school more than any other term. If I don’t have my own vehicle, I literally will not pass one of my classes. Still, it brought back memories of all of the car problems I had as a teenager, the uncertainty and helplessness.

So, my truck sits at Jim Burke Ford right now, presumably waiting for a diagnosis. I can hear the cash registers ringing from here, but if it is under a grand, I’ll be happy. When I told the tow truck driver the symptoms, he predicted it was the fuel pump. My boss told me a similar thing happened to her just last week. Her truck stopped working in the middle of the road. It was the fuel pump in her case and it cost $800.

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Stacy Keibler from the dancing show and wrestlin’.

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On a steno pad there is a scribbled list that says I am supposed to talk about The Long Nap. I think this goes back to a week or two ago when I fell prey to its subtle treachery.

I have a very delicate sleep rhythm. I can’t sleep when it is too loud, or too light. Sometimes my mind races a bit with what I have done during the day, or what it is that I need to do the next. I have a tendency to stay up too late. If I am off the next day, I sleep in, sometimes until ONE IN THE AFTERNOON. This especially happens when I am on vacation. Then, I get into trouble when I have to return to the responsibility of waking up in the morning. I end up staying up until four in the morning, waking up at six, and sleepwalking through the entire day.

That’s where The Long Nap comes in and undermines my good intentions. I get through the day feeling like I am going to die. I come home and lay on the couch. I fall asleep for four hours, waking up at 9PM. Jesus! So then I stay up until 3-4 in the morning again, and wake up at six. Rinse, repeat. It never really cures itself. When the weekend finally arrives, I will sleep in until 9-10 in the morning. Sometimes, I’ll get a heavy feeling that envelopes me, telling me that I need to go to sleep at nine at night. If I’m lucky, I will then sleep until early the next morning, and then have some stable periods where I go to bed and arise at what most people would call normal. Alas, I am usually not that lucky. The last time that happened, I got up a couple of times to piss and then had to wake up at 0330 anyway for work. The other time, I woke up at 12:01 AM, and was awake for three hours before, you got it, having to wake up at 0600.

The only productive uses for long naps are if you plan on partying  or driving all night.

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I didn’t fly on an airplane until I was 20-years-old. Then, I flew like a madman while I was in the army. They sent me all over the place. Lucky me.

I have only purchased four plane tickets my entire life, and as far as I can remember, every time through Travelocity. All have been to the New England area to see my buddy Chris. The first ticket went unused as it was for a January flight. I was to fly out of LAX but the Grapevine was closed that morning due to snow and inclement weather. I ate the plane ticket.

A few months later, I took a trip out to see the guy for the first time in four years. I went to a Red Sox game and saw one of the worst movies ever. A couple of years later, I flew out to meet his wife. This June, I am scheduled to fly out to see his new twin boys.

Last time I flew, I bought a flight with a ridiculous itinerary, presumably to save some money. The flight was to have two layovers in Minneapolis (the only two times I’ve been in Minnesota have been at the airport) and San Francisco. The flight was to originate out of Bakersfield. It did – four hours late. I had to run my ass off to the ticket counter in SF to snag a connecting flight out of Detroit. I had to keep calling Chris on my cell phone from all over the country with changes to my arrival time in Boston.

This time around, I again bought a plane ticket through Travelocity. Almost immediately after confirming my order, they started messing around with the itinerary. I was willing to pay more for less layovers this time around, but Travelocity sent me an email saying that Delta Airlines had to add a layover destination. So regardless of my effort, I now have two layovers for my next flight to Massachusetts: Salt Lake City and Columbus, Ohio of all places.

In a flurry of emails from Travelocity pleading with me to call their toll free number, I complied and reached a lady with an Indian accent. She was full of ultimatums and requiring me to make decisions on the spot concerning the flight. It was basically a matter of take what they (Delta) were serving up. It tasted like yakisoba.

I don’t buy enough plane tickets to learn my lesson, but tickets bought through Travelocity always seem to involve flights departing at the crack of dawn, multiple layovers, and arrival times late at night. Delta – what can you say about Delta? Just another poorly run American airline.

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A Texan nurse and recent commenter on the old blog. He makes sense.

Mother hen: An overly neurotic wife or mother who wants to know every little detail of every little treatment.

Keeps a list: Some patients in the hospital keep logs of every person that comes into the room and every medication, blood pressure, or whatnot. The implication is that they are looking for a lawsuit to happen, even though they may be keeping a log for other reasons (ie, in case they have a side effect, they want to be able to trace it back to something. Or, it gives them a feeling of control over their situation.)

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Welcome to the new site! If you have anything nice to say, or feel like venting your frazzled nerves, you may do so here. As for me, I am going to unwind and drink some beers.

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I’d love to write a more substantive post, but it is 4:57 AM and I have to head to work in a little bit. Some people like to start work an hour or two early, surmising that they can then enjoy that extra time in the early evening or late afternoon. To me, it doesn’t make that much of a difference. One thing I did learn today, this morning in fact is that strange people still walk in front of my house at 0430 causing dogs to bark.

Be aware that this weekend, the format of this blog will change. I think it looks much better. This was already discussed in an earlier post, so regular readers are already aware. There should be one of those automatic re-navigation screens that take you to the new site, but it will be down for a short period. Don’t fret; most people aren’t regular blog readers on the weekend as it is, instead choosing to enjoy their weekends outside. Anyway, I’ll do my best to get everyone the new address. That along with the re-navigation page should work.

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Are you a good listener? I’ve recently pondered how far does the responsibility of listening go.

Listening as a whole, and its individual parts, involves a type of scale or spectrum. The crappiest of listeners wont even let a person get a word out. Instead they drone on and on with their own banality. Then there are those that just wait for you to shut up so they can start talking again. The greatest of listeners, the enlightened ones, are those that can extract meaning from tone of voice and can form a story around what you just said. They remember details.

Listening can be taxing. Sometimes, you have something to say. You get tired of sitting around and hearing someone else talk. You want to be the talker. Sometimes the speaker will never want to hear what you have to say and only desires your presence to listen to his or her diatribe. You, the listener, are being taken advantage of by the other party.

As far as the responsibility of the listener to the speaker, when do you finally call them out for not problem solving? For instance, someone goes on and on about how lousy his or her mate is, or how someone keeps dicking them over. You hear variations of the story over a long duration. There’s an old axiom of “You talk yourself well,” but when do you say, “Shit man, do something about it and quit complaining!”

When does it go from compassion to enabling? Jumping in with immediate advice is a no-no and almost never appreciated, but what about the speaker that can’t figure out his or her own solution?

These are just things that I’ve wondered about because I am almost always the listener. That’s fine, I enjoy it for the most part. Some people tell a great story or have great stories that are their lives. I have a good memory and am pretty good at understanding the subtext of a monologue. But, as the perpetual listener, I have had to metaphorically slap someone and tell him or her to get over it. They overstayed their welcome.

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