So I was sitting in my pre-op curtained cubicle, having already been gowned, IV’d and dilated. My time in the OR was still an hour away, and I asked for a magazine. The nurse returned with four, and I was working my way through Oprah, HGTV, Family Circle and one I can’t recall, but it wasn’t drowning out the chatter on either side.
To my right, a lawyer sat with his wife, who was having some sort of orthopedic procedure. He was bitching about an upcoming case, and the flaunting of the rules on discovery. Then he took a break, and resumed bitching, this time about the fact everything was running behind. “I make it a point not to keep people waiting at my office,” he said.
On the other side, a woman with an old-lady voice and an old-lady medical history — hysterectomy, joint replacement, heart valves, the whole nine. She was chirpy and sweet, and her husband joined her, too, and they discussed the stock market. It was down, she said. That’s to be expected this time of year, he replied. They both quoted some authority named Rush, which chilled my blood. Is Rush Limbaugh offering investment advice? Then something chilled it even more: It’s possible their investment counselor is named Rush, and was so christened due to his parents’ devotion to the famous one — he’s been on the air that long. What a depressing idea. What a depressing place to work every day, I thought, so when my own doctor appeared to make a mark on my forehead to indicate which eye he was planning to work on, I said, “What do you mean, eye? I’m here for vaginal rejuvenation surgery.” I was hoping to bring a smile to his face amid all this talk of deep-vein thrombosis and evidentiary rules, and he did smile, but then the people on both sides got very quiet, so hey — win-win!
They have ads for vaginal rejuvenation surgery in a magazine I used to freelance for. The art for the ad was a cameo-type photo of an apparently nude, very lithe gymnast doing a difficult back bend. I guess this is supposed to suggest the new suppleness that will infuse your previously tired old hoo-hah. Vaginal surgery, I’m told, is most popular among certain ethnic groups where virginity is a condition of betrothal, and proof is expected in the form of wedding-bed bloodstains. Hence, the revirginization procedure. I read a story about this in a newspaper a few years ago. A woman gave it to her husband for their 10th anniversary; it cost $6,000. A reader left this comment: She should have spent that money on a really great big-screen TV, so he could enjoy it more than once.
If this sounds like the mental ramblings of a woman enjoying the twilight-sleep form of anesthesia, it should. Man, that stuff is some kind of nod. You lie there thinking someone is poking something into my eye, and I don’t even care! Keep that sweet drip coming. I was released as soon as I was safely ambulatory and coherent, and Alan took me out for pancakes, begging me to let him snip the FALL RISK bracelet off my wrist, but I refused. Then we went home, and I took a one-hour nap. It was wonderful. I never sleep like that during the day anymore.
And now, if you missed it yesterday, I have the eyesight of a Terminator. It’s quite something.
So we come to the end of the week, and slide into the holidays. I don’t know how much posting will be happening through New Year’s; I’m thinking maybe pictures, links, not much else unless the spirit moves me. I hope I’m moved, but I may not be. But there will be fresh threads here from time to time for y’all to discuss things, and who knows? Perhaps there will be big news.
Which brings us to the bloggage, which starts with Dan Savage’s takedown of Sarah Palin’s stupid new book. Taking her down, I suppose, is sort of like shooting a big dumb fish in a very small barrel, but it’s still fun to read:
Page 5: Here I learn something I didn’t know and, if I were Sarah Palin, something I wouldn’t want anyone to know. But Sarah hustles this fact to the front of the book because she sure as hell wants us to know it: Sarah surprised Todd with a “nice, needed, powerful gun” for Christmas in 2012. It was a “small act of civil disobedience,” Palin writes, prompted by “the anti-gun chatter coming from Washington.”
What was inspiring that anti-gun chatter in Washington in December of 2012? Oh, right: Twenty children and six teachers were shot dead in their classrooms by a deranged asshole with a “powerful gun.” And before the grieving mothers and fathers of Newtown, Connecticut, could put their dead children in the ground, Sarah Palin ran out gun shopping. Buying Todd a gun in the wake of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary was “fun,” Palin writes—and, again, an act of “civil disobedience.” Because gun nuts are a persecuted minority.
This paragraph about gun shopping in December of 2012—one first grader at Sandy Hook was shot 11 times—ends with Palin bragging about her tits. I’m not kidding.
Best long read I haven’t finished yet, but will eventually: The incredible true story of Linda Taylor, welfare queen.
Alex Pareene’s 2013 Hack List in Salon is a thing of beauty, each piece written in the style of the hack him/herself.
Noted yesterday in comments, but noted again here: Al Goldstein is dead. He was a filthy man in a filthy business, and twits like Rod Dreher feel very smug calling his life “wasted,” and let them if they must. I will recall an observation made by filmmaker Milos Forman, at the time he made “The People vs. Larry Flynt.” I can’t look it up now, but he said something to the effect that it’s easy to go after pornographers. No one likes them, their work is repellant, and who really cares if they’re driven into illegality? Well, I care. I think the Supreme Court argument scene in that film is one of the very best presented, and do keep in mind this was a case that Flynt won unanimously. Flynt was fighting for the right to run a repulsive parody about Jerry Falwell; Goldstein fought to make his mail-order magazine legal to buy anywhere in the country. Flynt had the better case, and both are (were) nasty men, but that’s who makes the big laws at that level:
Happy holidays to all, even you, Sarah Palin. I’ll be around, and I hope all of you will be, too.