Chicago, (not) My Kinda Town

Well, I see in the press (AFP) that a certain US city has decided to pass some laws to raise the bar where ethical food is concerned. Foie Gras, a French delicacy made from goose liver, has been banned on the grounds that the production process is inhumane. The decision to ban it means that Chicago has joined a growing number of jurisdictions, some European countries, and California, in prohibiting the stuff, made apparently by forcefeeding geese, then killing them just before their livers burst. I suppose I can see their point.

But where does it end? Pigs, for instance, start life as cute little piglets. As soon as their teeth appear, they are clipped - that's snapped off with some pliers, not filed ot extracted, mind - in a move, we're told, to stop the pig's nipples being bitten by the piglets. Goodness knows how wild pigs, or any other animal with teeth, ever managed to suckle it's young for millions of years. So that's bacon, ham, sausages, hamburgers, franks gone for starters. Ever been in a chicken farm? Baby chicks are sexed by squeezing them so hard the poop comes out of them, to look at their hineys & tell boy from girl. That's eggs and chicken out the window.

The other thing is that Chicago has lots of restaurants, but nowhere that actually makes foie gras. So what effect will the ban have on the geese? Very little, because they all live in Canada, France, or New York. At least the ones that get turned into foie gras do, anyway. That's like saying that banning cars in Central London will stop oil production in the Arab states, or China, or indeed the US.

So why the ban? Well, I think that someone has been elected to the city council, and, drunk with power, has done this to get back at all the restaurants that wouldn't accept his cry of "I'm a Councilman, put it on my tab!" The poor Chicago Public Health Department, tasked with enforcing the ban, have told restaurant owners not to worry, they won't be clamping down too hard on them. Even the Mayor has pleaded with the City to repeal the law, calling it "the silliest law they've ever passed." Good luck to him, I think he's in for a wait. The Commonwealth Of Virginia has, since the 1700's, had a law in place that makes it an offence to tickle women. I'm off to tickle El Jeffe and see if the State does anything about it.

Thought for the day - the law is an ass. Night, all.

The County Fair

Well, El Jeffe and myself went to Gloucester County Fair today. It was hot, but not so hot you couldn't go out in it. Gloucester County is fairly rural, about 10000 people live in the county but most of it is farmland and estuary. The largest town has around 3000 people, so things are usually pretty sedate here. The nice thing about the place is that you see a lot of people you know - the hospital I work at sponsored a lot of the fair's attractions, and provided the 'cool truck' which tours the fairground giving out cold water and fans to the hot and the weary.

Anyway, there were some animals there, an alpaca which I'd never seen, some sheep, goats, minature ponies, a huge turkey and a sweet little calf. I'm glad we didn't take Poppy and Tater because they would have upset the animals.
There was also a tent, in which the various competitions were being judges - the best ear of wheat, the nicest tomatoes, the largest gourd etc. You don't see stuff like that coming from a big town like I do, and I think it's a shame. I remember the local newspaper last year had the 7-year old winner of the 'Best Looking Chicken Competition' on the front page during last year's County Fair.
Here's a picture of some of this year's entries.

El Jeffe and I are not what you'd call hellraising party animals (although it has to be said that I have had my moments, and El Jeffe with a couple of Margaritas in her is a wondrous sight to behold) and perhaps that's just as well. Here's a picture of the rules of the Fair - and there was me hoping to see an authentic cussin'and spittin' contest. I mean, Profanity, well OK there are children around so I suppose we should mind our language, but just look at this sign. bare feet!! In public!! Wouldn't that just jar your Mother's preserves. Or maybe it's supposed to apply to your pets.

Anyway, all in all, a good day. Oh, I almost forgot - here's a picture of El Jeffe and myself with none other than a Congressional candidate who's name escapes me. El Jeffe says he's a Democrat anyway. But at least he had his shoes on.

Thought for the day-I been rich, and I been poor. And I tell you, folks, rich is best. Night, all.

Come, friendly sleep, and shroud me in thy purple cloak...

Well, it's been three weeks since we brought our new puppy home, and true to form he's completely rotten. We might have gotten maybe four hours of sleep last night what with peeing, biting, wriggling and barking (and that's just El Jeffe and myself) so as you can imagine we're all a little tired and cranky. I've started getting forgetful - I walked down to the Emergency room at the hospital today and had to telephone a colleague back in X-ray to ask her why I'd gone down there. El Jeffe, too, is becoming increasingly erratic due to lack of sleep. Fortunately little Tater seems to be slowly getting the idea that he has to pee & poop in the yard so we should be getting some more sleep by Labor Day, or more likely Thanksgiving. If he's still not behaving by then I'll glue some feathers on him, poke some stuffing up his hiney and serve him up with carrots and collard greens.

Something that has started to worry me - I'm due to go to Britain on the 12th of September, and what with the discovery of the terrorist plot in Britain I think I'm in for a rough trip. I'm not going to get all political, at least not in this part of the blog, but I do feel that life as we all knew it changed irrevocably on 9/11/2001. I'm not a politician, or an activist, or even particularly knowledgable about the various political situations across the globe, yet I have an uneasy, creeping feeling that the world at large needs to be on it's guard. It's not enough, apparently, to claim to be a blissfully unaware innocent. We may not be involved personally, or have ever been to any of these countries, or indeed even know anyone from them on a personal level, yet we have all become targets, pawns, somehow representative of everything that is supposedly wrong with our society, and I just think it's a shame that our children won't be able to preserve their childhood innocence in the way that we were.

I'm going to leave that subject for now. Tater has just preserved his own puppyhood for a little longer by 'assuming the position' beneath my desk. I'm going to take him out to pee. Then I'm off to buy collard greens and glue.

Thought for the day - money is just something you need in case you don't die in your sleep tonight. Night, all.

What a result!!!

Well, I received my ARRT result in the mail today. I passed with a surprisingly good 97%. I was expecting about 85 or thereabouts, so as you can imagine I'm over the moon. Now please, don't talk to me for a while, I'm feeling too smug for words. It won't last, though. Tater (see last post) produced yet another huge chairleg of a turd and I'm still gonna have to clear it up, 97% notwithstanding. But not just yet - I'm still feeling just a bit too smug to clear up dog turds.

Thought for the day - no, sorry, still too smug. Maybe tomorrow. Night, all

Enter, young Jedi

Well, I passed the Registry (see earlier post 'The Registry Looms') and that means no more school! I called the ARRT today to see why I hadn't received my result in the post, as some of my colleagues got theirs Monday. It's on it's way, but might be a few days, as it's a big packet and our post goes through Richmond, not locally through Newport News. But they were able to tell me I passed and am now 'Registered' although my actual score must remain a secret until I get it in writing. It's like joining the Masons, or indeed becoming a Jedi. Very mysterious. Kind of 'we could tell you, but then we'd have to kill you.' Anyway, the main thing is I'm home and dry. El Jeffe was as pleased as I was, bless her.

Other news: one of our dogs, Poppy, caught a groundhog over the weekend, and apparently it's died just outside our garden fence. It's been very hot the last few days, like 105 degrees hot, and humid too, and that groundhog is ripe. The stench in the back yard is enough to knock you over. I'm hoping the buzzards will come and eat it or at least fly off with it, but I doubt they could stand the smell. Poppy and Tater, of course, think it's fantastic having rotten carrion around.

Speaking of Poppy & Tater, I have some pictures of them.
















My, they're cute, ain't they? We just laugh and bill and coo when the big one (Poppy) escapes at 11am one morning and remains at large (although within sight of the house) until 5am the following morning. We found it almost loveable when the little one (Tater) peed into one of the air conditioning vents. Oh, the joys of dog ownership. But I wouldn't swap either of the for anything.

Thought for the day - No matter how little money you have or how few posessions you own, having a dog makes you rich. Attrib. Louis Sabin. Night all.

C'mon, baby, light my fire

Well, it's over. I sat the ASRT exam on Wednesday and graduated from radiography school Friday, and to be honest I'm glad it's all finished. The exam itself wasn't that hard (although I still want to see that pass-mark in writing, obviously.) I start my new job tomorrow,and I'll be in the hospital diagnostic department for a couple of weeks - my new office isn't quite ready, meaning that the X-ray equipment isn't installed, there's no lighting and the walls & ceiling need boarding out, the water isn't turned on, the floor needs screeding and there are no doors to any of the rooms except my examining room - but I'm told everything will be fine in two weeks. We'll see.

Graduation was, how shall I say, a little overdone. There was us Radiographers, the School of Professional Nursing, the Surgical Technologists and the Licensed Practical Nursing graduates, all sweating away in cap-&-gown in a local school hall. All the big cheeses from the Hospital medical training school were there, the VP, the Dean, the Director of Paper Clips and a few I didn't know, and they all had plenty to say. Then we went first, shook the hand, took the certificate, had the photo. Then we watched while everyone else did the same. The LPN awards were accompanied by some hootin' an' hollerin' and the announcer for the School of Professional Nursing was particularly snotty, but then I understand she's always been that way. Then the 'piece de resistance' - the candlelit recitation of the Oath of Professionalism. Yes, folks, one hundred or so people, in a cramped hall, in the dark, wearing billowing polyester robes and holding candles. Can you say 'conflagration?'

Fortunately, no-one fell over their robe, or set themselves or anyone else alight, so in that respect the night could be called a success. All my in-laws turned up, which I really appreciated, and El Jeffe was very proud of me. The Riverside School of Health Careers staff were genuinely sorry to see us all go. Hugs, kisses all round - even the irrepressible Mrs P managed a tear or two.

Oh, one more thing. We have a new family member, an eight-week-old Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Tater. Damn, he's cute, but Lord does he have some teeth on him. We should have called him Gator instead. He doesn't sleep much, and when he's not asleep he usually wants to bite something, and/or pee on something. He has a peculiar liking for the gusset of my underpants, and he's chewed the lining of my shorts as well, when I am using the smallest room in the house, shall we say. He's also bitten the contents of my shorts more than once, which is even less funny than it sounds. But he's still very cute.

Anyway, that's it for now. I'm off to put some Band-Aids on my cojones.

Thought for the day - you can bite the hand that feeds you - but JUST the hand. Night, all

Absolutely Hank Marvin

Well, I had a preliminary mock X-ray Registry test today, in preparation for the real thing next Wednesday (see previous post "The Registry Looms"), and it was an early start. I left home at 8am, and by the end of the test I was very hungry, or as we English would say, "Absolutely Hank Marvin" (starvin'). The Registry is a test of brain power, logical reasoning, memory, intelligence and rational thought. All these things I find very taxing, so I'd worked up a raging and fearful hunger by the end of it.

So off we went, getting to a decidedly Proletarian biker bar called Hoss's Deli about 11.40, and promptly ordered drink and food to be brought out without further ado. A glass of tea went down, no food. Another. Nothing. Waitress refilling drinks and muttering darkly about food delays. Some of my friends were drinking beer, naturally, and by 12.30 there were as many pitchers on the table as there were people around it. Things were turning ugly.

By 1pm we were getting desperate. We hadn't eaten for hours, you see, and the low blood sugar wasn't reacting well with the alcohol for some people. Unfortunately, Hoss's Deli is kind of greasy and seedy, especially Hoss himself. We briefly considered leaving in a huff, but doing a runner from Hoss's is not like haggling over the bill in IHOP. The regulars were starting to look over and gnaw on their beards.

Anyway, the food turned up, and it has to be said that it was first-rate, especially for somewhere as rough as Hoss's - I mean, there's a sign asking for patrons to refrain from gambling or touching the waitresses without paying first (I kid you not - I'd love to see the place on a Saturday night) and the menu includes both steamed and grilled hooker. I'm married, so I just went for grilled chicken and crab meat sandwich.

So all in all, quite an experience. I'd definitely go back (although I doubt El Jeffe would like it.) If you're ever looking for somewhere different to eat on the Virginia Peninsula, you could do worse than try the hot steamed hookers at Hoss's Deli, although you might want to bring a snack.

Thought for the day - wake up with a smile on your face: go to bed with a coathanger in your mouth. Night, all.

God bless the DMV

It's not been my day at all. Let me set the scene.

When I came to the USA in March 2004 I was required, quite rightly, to show a lot of documentary proof that I was who I said I was, and my move across the pond was all above board and kosher. I produced passports, birth certificate, medical records, immunization records, bank records, employment records and evidence for a lack of criminal records. I completely understand the need for this - indeed, if the government of Britain, my mother country, demanded these things of people entering from overseas, a lot of illegal immigration, poverty, homelessness, violent crime and quite possibly terrorist activity would be avoided. So please don't think that I begrudge the INS or the DHS at all. After all, the let me into this wonderful, if misunderstood country of yours, let me train for and find a good job and allowed me to marry my beloved wife, and for that I am forever grateful.

But the DMV, now there's a different matter. It took me about six months back in 2004 to get the to allow me, as a legal resident in the USA, and with a British driving license that allowed me to drive in the USA for a limited time, to apply for a Virginia driving license. They finally gave in, and I took the theory and practical tests and passed. They gave me a license, which was to be renewed in July 2006. Today, in fact.

So off I went to the DMV, with my documentary evidence clasped in my hot little hand. They looked at the documents, and nodded. They asked me to look into the box and read the letters out (I need glasses to drive), and smiled as I reeled them off. Then it happened.

"Are you ready to take your test?" chirped the desk person. I didn't quite understand, after all I'd passed my test in 2004. They repeated the question. "Not really," said I. "I thought I'd already passed it once and didn't expect to have to do it again." Not so, apparently. My original work authorization, used to obtain my original driving license, ran out in April 2006 and was returned to the INS for replacement with my current one. Apparently this meant that my driving license not only had to be renewed, they wanted me to redo the whole test. Something about having to do a parallel park before I am allowed to wheel a hospital gurney down a corridor without an adult, or somesuch nonsense.

To be fair, the desk person did consult in the back office before giving me the bad news. Apparently that DMV doesn't get many foreigners and I suppose I put them into a bit of a tizzy. But anyway, they made me redo the test, both theory and practical. I passed, and they sent me on my merry way. Hopefully that will be it for a few years, although I'm willing to bet I have to do it a third time when my chicken pox vaccine needs doing again in 2013. I'm just relieved they didn't ask me to drop trou, bend over and cough in the DMV waiting room.

Other breaking news - El Jeffe has sprained her ankle. She was walking our purebred Middle Peninsula Turd-eating Hound, Poppy, and trod in a hole. She was so grumpy after being laid flat with an icepack on her leg for 2 days, and I got her a walker to hobble around on (El Jeffe, not Poppy.) I must admit, I enjoyed poking fun at her, although I suppose I shouldn't do it too much. I hear Paul McCartney lost half his fortune to Heather Mills beacuse he poked fun at her for only having one leg. Probably he played "This Boot Was Made For Walking" or "Blue Suede Shoe" once too often. I think it was because when she called him at the office and was put on hold, the hold music was Danny & The Juniors "At The Hop."

Thought for the day - driving is a privilege, not a right. Especially if you've had the measles in the last 5 years. Night, all.

Gad, it's hot

Gad, it's hot. The heat index yesterday was a roasting 105, which is just about enough to make me cry. I was out yesterday morning mowing the lawn, dying in the broiling sun, with El Jeffe bravely following up with the weed-whacker. I then went to the dump, and burned my butt on the car seat. The wheelie-bin was so hot by the time I got there it was going soft and pliable. Even the flies at the dump were just lying there, gasping at each other.

I'm not at all acclimatized to the summers here in Virginia - I've only been in the US since March '04, and I'm used to the temperate English climate. Last summer, for instance, a friend rang me from England to tell me about the heatwave there. "It's 86 in my garden," he wailed. I scoffed indignantly, explaining that it was hotter than that at night in my garden in Virginia. He was too hot and weak to argue further, and we chatted politely (as we English are wont to do) about the weather, cricket, the weather, the Royals and the weather. I could hear him panting as he struggled to raise a cold glass of gin & tonic to his parched lips. What a pussy.

So it's 4th of July, and everyone is on vacation. Except me, it seems. I'm in the hospital, x-raying the sick, the hot, the unlucky, the clumsy. But only until 3-30. Then it's away for a quick bath, then out tonight for a slap-up meal with my brother-in-law, and then on to watch the fireworks at Yorktown Beach. That is, if I can stand the heat. Gad, it's hot.

Thought for the day - don't let your dogma get run over by your karma. Night, all.

Big Brother is watching...

Well, El Jeffe has finally managed to demonstrate her superiority by tracking my every move. She asked me to go out to the store to fetch some French bread to go with the spaghetti bolognese we were having.

So I went to the store near our house and found the bread. I waited in the queue to pay (getting angstier as I waited - I hate queueing for anything) and just as I reached the checkout the store's telephone rang. I waited some more, as the checkout person chatted on the phone, writing little things down, smiling and doing the 'wait a moment' thing by raising her index finger at me (and doesn't that just make you want to drown someone). Then she put the phone down, looked me straight in the eye, and said "You need to get some garlic as well."

Here's the thing: how did she know it was me? I mean, she didn't ask who I was, my name, or anything. She just knew. Apparently, my wife had told her what to look for. 'Short, holding some French bread' was the description I got, although it probably included 'bald, talks kinda funny' too. Whatever. The point is, El Jeffe tracked me down to the store herself, then used one of her undead minions to identify me and pass the message on.

Anyway, now we have cellphones. Or rather El Jeffe has a cellphone. I have a homing device that I can also use to make telephone calls with. Maybe she should have just fitted me with OnStar. Or LoJack.

Thought for the day - just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching you. Night, all.

All work & no play...

Well, it's been a busy week (hence no post since last Saturday) and I've had enough of X-ray for a bit. Which is unfortunate, because I'm going in from 3 to 11 today. I'm going in from 8.30am to 11pm tomorrow, too. Oh, when will it ever end? Well actually it will end in August, because I'll be done with school and the Registry exam on July 26th (see earlier post regarding Registry) and it'll be time to kick back & relax a little. I'm planning to visit Mum in Britain as she is leaving hospital for the first time in eight long months. I'm planning to go to Nag's Head with my delightful wife too, if we have time. Then it will be back to work. Only this time, I'll have a full-time job which actually involves a REDUCTION in my hours spent at that hospital - no clinical training, you see. No nights, no call, no working for nothing for 7 hours in the day, then going to work in the evening or night-time work. No bowel studies (flouro-filming barium being poured down throats and/or up butts) or voiding cysto studies (flouro-filming people peeing onto my X-ray table) hopefully, either - I'll be doing orthopedics Mon, Wed & Fri, and Emergency/Trauma cover every other weekend. A pay rise. Benefits. Sick pay. Holiday pay. 401K available. Healthcare. Oh, joy. Oh, bliss. Did I mention the pay rise? El Jeffe will be so pleased, what with her birthday coming up and all...

Thought for the day - take time to make time. Night, all

The road to recovery

Well, my mother is finally going to get to go home from hospital. It's been eight months since she went in and we're all glad it's over. What started out as backache turned out to be a meningeal cyst, needing surgery and some top-notch antibiotics to clear. Meanwhile, pneumonia, MRSA and a lingering kidney infection set in. Now Mum is pretty debilitated from lying around for so long and has to build up some strength. But she's a tough old bird and with luck she'll recover to a point where she can do most, if not all, of the things she used to do. I'm just glad that she has recovered this far-when she first became ill there was doubt that she would survive. I'll be going to Britain to visit in August or September.

Thought for the day - tomorrow never comes. Night, all.

Cruising along

Well, my wife & I had a bit of a tiff. We both need a vacation (see profile) and she has been very keen on going on a cruise to Europe, probably down the Rhine or the Danube. I'm not too keen on the idea, and I think we ought to try a cruise somewhere here in the US before we go all the way to Europe. What if I don't like it?

I must admit that I do have a rather jaundiced view of cruise vacations, which is odd, really, seeing as I've never been on one. I just keep getting these images of that Caribbean Cruise advert with the old people watching a stage show, eating in the ship restaurant and shopping for jewellery and aftershave for ten days. But she is adamant that we're going on one, and to be fair, she wants to go on one where you get off the boat and do stuff every day.

So it appears that El Jeffe has won and we're going to book one up for later this year, or possibly next Spring. She wants to go to Europe, although I quite fancy whalewatching and visiting the frozen wastes of Alaska. Or Southern Chile & Antarctica. Or maybe somewhere really remote, like the Galapagos Islands in the footsteps of Darwin, or Easter Island (now there's a thought. I've always wanted to see those giant stone heads.) And you never know, I might just get a taste for it.

Thought for the day - beatings will continue until morale improves. Night, all.

Wrestling with demons

In a move to save some cash, I've decided to do my own car maintenance for a while. I used to think that those greasemonkeys down at Bodgit Exhaust & Tyre Centre or wherever were a rip off. Having had my radiator drained and not refilled by an actual dealer shop, and had my oil drain plug chewed up and thread-stripped once too often by a supermarket lube shop I shall call Tram-Law for legal reasons, I still do think they are a rip-off. But those places that actually do real work on cars, where people with cherished classic cars might take them to be fixed, make no mistake, they are miracle workers.

I just replaced a sway bar link on my Expedition. It's a long bolt, with a nut on one end, in a plastic tube. Cost me $7.00. You unscrew the nut, pull out the bolt, put the new one on, tighten the bolt. That's it. That accursed bolt took me 2 hours to remove. That's $140 plus tax at my local expert's shop and I would have gladly paid, had I known how hard it was to replace. It's 93 degrees here today and it's humid as well. I was sweating like a pedophile at a scout jamboree just getting the thing off. In the end I broke the plastic tube into pieces and used a hub puller (yes, for those in the know, it took a tool built for separating heat-shrunk flywheels from crankshafts to get that bolt out.)

No, I'm not going to pay a grease monkey to change my oil, grease my chassis, pour tap water into my radiator and change my wiper blades for ones that don't fit. But when it comes to real work, I'm taking my car to those in the know. They might say they fix cars, but believe me, those people wrestle with demons.

Thought for the day - the older I get, the better I was. Night, all.

Not now, Kato, I am in search of ze 'Oly Grail

Well, I've just been to see The Da Vinci Code with my wife, and to be honest I'm saddlesore. It's a very long film - 2 & 1/2 hours, so if you haven't seen it and want to, take a cushion. Other than that, it wasn't bad, as such, just a little preposterous. Tom Hanks does the quiet, clever, restrained thing he does so well (see Apollo 13 and The Green Mile). His lovely co-star Audrey Tatou is very French and feminine. Ian McKellern plays Gandalf in a plaid shirt. Paul Bettany has an almost comic turn as a psychotic albino monk, and Jean Reno plays a bitter French cop. The plot is pretty much a chase across Europe in search of clues, followed by an obsessive policeman working for the Pope. Think National Treasure meets The Pink Panther. The thing is, do we care enough to really enjoy the movie ? Well, some Catholics would have Ron Howard and Dan Brown burned at the stake for the postulations of the plot (that Jesus had a wife and that his bloodline ends with Audrey Tatou) but mostly it's a complicated, uneventful but entertaining cryptic chase movie. It's just a pity we didn't get to see Audrey Tatou extending the bloodline - although perhaps not with Tom Hanks.

Thought for the day - do unto others as they would do unto you. Only make sure you do it first. Night, all

Whistlin' Dixie

I see the Dixie Chicks are at it again, making a point of not apologizing for their comments about Bush & the war in Iraq. And why should they? After all, isn't the right to voice an opinion just one of the things that the War is about? Are we not trying to nurture the seed of democracy in the stony ground of a former dictator-state? I say, let 'em rant, let 'em rave, and let 'em refuse to apologize. However, let 'em also remember that we don't HAVE to buy the new Dixie Chicks CD. I, or my wife, probably will anyway, because we like their music. But some people won't, because they don't like the Chicks' politics. Or maybe their music, either.

No, I think democracy means you can express a view, even if you are a musician. But it also means the rest of us can vote with our feet - or our wallets - and choose not to buy the CD. Let's face it, you need to play to your audience, and if the audience is conservative, they may not appreciate a liberal stance. Voice your opinions by all means, but don't be surprized if we don't all agree. If you're a politician we stop voting for you and you lose your job. If you're a musician, we stop buying your music and you lose your sales stats. Or in the inimitable style of Larry The Cable Guy, "Them's pretty girls, and they sing some nice songs, but that little fat one need to learn when to shut up." Although I happen to think she's rather cute.

Thought for the day: When your in deep, stop digging. Night, all.

Bye Bye, Saturn

Well, we sold my wife's car tonight. She has had her Saturn station wagon about 3 years and it was time for a change. Her new Solstice has become the favourite, and the Saturn had to go. She's been on for about 3 months about what a piece of junk the Saturn was, but to be fair to it, gas consumption was pretty frugal (especially compared to my beloved Expedition) and it has been very reliable. I have to admit, though, that it was just about the nastiest, most uncomfortable car I've been in. I tell a lie - we borrowed a tiny old Toyota once, from a cousin, that had a plant growing in one of the cupholders and was so dirty that a trip through the car wash cut white-and green-tiger stripes into the algae and lichen growing all over the car. And I had a car once that had a realtor's sign pop-rivetted into the floorboard, and concrete and chicken wire in the rocker panels to hold them together. So maybe the Saturn wasn't that bad . It's all relative.

So that leaves us with one gas-guzzling behemoth for me, and a totally impractical convertible for my wife. But heck, she can get 30mpg in her car and I can get the dog in mine, so we can live with it. Things will be a little tight at the palace until gas comes down in price, that's all. We might have to fire another servant.

I just got back from walking our dog in the local park, and while I was there I picked up 2 empty drinks cans and put them in the bin. No, not walked over and placed them in the bin - they were so close to it I stood there and THREW them in. What is it with some people, they wouldn't throw empty cans in their own yard, would they ? Well, maybe they would. I don't know.

Thought for the day: Never let common sense stand in the way of a good time. Night, all

The Registry looms

Well here we are, I'm coming to the end of my X-ray Tech training, and it's been, how shall I put it, a choppy ride. I'm booked in to do the American Society of Radiologic Technologists exam on July 31st, and I'm starting to get apprehensive. I mean, I know I can pass the thing, yet the exam nerves are kicking in - and it's only May ! Still, 2 years' training, 300 questions, how hard can it really be ?
On the plus side, I've been offered a good fulltime job with the local hospital, 5 minutes from home, no call, no nights, Tuesday & Thursday off, with every other weekend - and I'm not even graduating until the end of July !! Things could be worse.
On the subject of the Hospital, someone drove up to the ambulance bay doors last week, produced a pistol, and shot herself in the head. Don't let anyone say that small provincial towns are quiet.

Thought for the day - how come you can buy a shotgun in Walmart, but you can't buy a bottle of sherry ? Probably for the same reason that you can get into a nightclub with a bag of cocaine between your butt-cheeks but you can't get in wearing a shirt with no collar. Night, all.

Phew !

Well that was a trip ! It's taken me a struggle to get this blog up to this point - computer savvy is one thing I'm not. I'll post something tomorrow, when I've recovered. Night, all.