I’m Four Hours Behind

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We are at last back from the hospital (pre-op testing, no scalpels today) and the supermarket… and I’m four hours behind in my work.

They wouldn’t let me wait in the lobby at Pre-Admission. I don’t know why. My choices were to go back and sit in the car for two hours, or go to a waiting room in another part of the hospital… where my wife would never find me. So it was back to the parking lot, which was only about half as big as it needed to be.

I was indoors long enough to see a few minutes of TV. It’s been several years since I’ve seen any daytime TV. Today it was practically all blacks. No Asians. Just a couple of white people. There is probably a reason for this kind of programming. I wonder what it is.

I heard more radio than was good for me. The overall tone of WOR’s commercials and promos (there isn’t that much actual content) is… well, frantic. A lot of the background music sounds like an orchestra falling down a long flight of stairs. With people screaming.

I want my cigar. I want some peace and quiet. Please excuse me while I take a sanity break. I will try to return with more for you to read.

Back Again (Yeah, Again) from the Doctor’s

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My wife was to have an additional mammogram or something this afternoon, and I was set to go to Keyport to get us some nice seafood. She got me to take her to the hospital. “We have lots of time,” she said. “What they want to do only takes a few minutes.”

Ninety minutes later… Well, at least they didn’t find anything wrong with her. I was wondering just what was going on back there. Finally I went to the desk and asked if my wife had been carted off or something–at which point she magically appeared.

In the interval, the guy I was talking to fell asleep and I resorted to the magazines. Entertainment Something-or-Other. I can’t even guess who would find any of this stuff entertaining.

On the TV, a lot of rather obese people were going wild over a couple of celebrities I never heard of. The celebrities looked like they would’ve been more at home on some of those posters you see in the post office. One of them had a very small and kind of pointy head.

I got an idea for a really dumb movie. Crocodile Dundee Goes to Australia. Surprisingly, it wasn’t being hyped in this misbegotten magazine. For those too young to know about Crocodile Dundee movies, Mr. Dundee lived in Australia so he wouldn’t need to go there.

Anyway, that’s how come I didn’t blog this afternoon…

‘Do You Love Daytime TV?’ (2015)

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I have to go to the laundromat today, and again The View will be on TV–they just have to have a television set in the laundromat, in case you want to watch something other than the clothes going round and round inside the dryer. I think I prefer the dryer.


Trying to get everything written, two hours gets torn out of my day.

BTW, I’m convinced it’s true about daytime TV killing flies.

‘What’s Worse Than Pulling Teeth?’ (2013)

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Daytime TV: that’s what’s worse than pulling teeth. Whether it’s the gabbling harpies of “The View” or the unbridled drooling lust displayed on any game show, this is pain for which there is no Novocain.


Gee, I just realized that when I go to the laundromat in a few minutes, I’ll be subjecting myself to daytime television.

I’m Back (Finally)

If there’s anything likely to slay me on the spot, it’s a long spell in a doctor’s waiting room–and believe me, you wait in a waiting room: nothing was ever more aptly named–with daytime TV on the television set. I mean, really, why do they have to have TV in a doctor’s waiting room?

It is a mystery to me, how they contrive to make daytime TV so frightfully awful. The shows are all the same: maniacal worship of celebrities, frantic praise and applause for every little thing done by a celebrity, with here and there a quiet moment for the dispensing of some tiny tidbits of conventional PC poppycock. Like, “I’m with Madonna on this one–it’s time for the oppression of women to stop.” Yeah, Madonna is one of the oppressed.

But the low point, truly, was the sneak preview of a clip from J. Lo’s hot new music video, I Ain’t Yo Momma. You would’ve thought it was the cure for cancer, the way they carried on about it. I had to keep telling myself, “Really, this is not as bad as a toothache.” It only seemed as bad as a toothache.

I can’t help it: this is something that drives me positively bats, plays the devil with my blood pressure, is surely bad for me, and I just can’t seem to avoid it anymore. I hate going to the doctor.

Ah, well–post another hymn, Lee, and try to calm down.


Do You Love Daytime TV?


Do you see that picture of dead flies? They were killed by exposure to daytime television.

I came close to joining them today, stranded as I was in a doctor’s waiting room. But I got out just as my toenails and fingernails started to get brittle and fall off.

At least I was too early for any of the soap operas. Those, I think, are produced on other planets. Someday they’re going to give themselves away. For example, Brittony makes goo-goo eyes at Podsol, but suddenly changes the subject.

“Probably you have been wondering,” she says, “why I behave like a completely talent-less person who has never done any acting before, and also very near-sighted, trying to read cue cards with my lines on them–lines that sound as if they were written by not-very-bright teenagers who do a lot of drugs…” And then she turns into The Blob and engulfs poor Podsol before he can get away.

No soaps for me today. I had to make do with annoying shows devoted to the ecstatic worship of celebrities I never heard of. (Fame ain’t so famous anymore.) Then Rachel Ray. Then, horror of horrors, The View. Poe or Lovecraft never thought up anything half as awful as The View. It hadn’t been on for 30 seconds before the flies started falling off the windowpanes.

Again I ask, and yet again: if this is the stuff we pump into our minds every day, by way of popular culture, what long-term effects will it have on us? It has already given us Obama. Where will it end? Can a people nurtured on pure mindlessness even survive?

Take a last look at those flies, killed by The View.

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