Saturday, October 13, 2007
DUNK
Can you spot the 7,500 things wrong with the picture at left? Send entries to John.Goodman.The.Roseanne.Dad.Possibly.Alcoholic.But.That.Was.TipToed.Around.On.The.Show@gmail.com
1) The woman's hand is not merely disappearing into the cat's chest fur, it's actually disappearing completely. Is this a result of RADIOHEAD'S innovative new e-commerce with their latest release IN RAINBOWS or is this instead a commentary on the vanishing nature of subsidized and/or affordable pet health care in the lower 48 United States? (Any asshole with half a brain knows that in Alaska and Hawaii a swift kick into the tundra or clear waters, respectively, is the best solution to cat or dog illness.)
2) Upon first glance at this photo, I remarked to myself, 'oh gee, another full-sleeve tattooed Veterinary Technician.' This isn't a surprise. I once took my ailing cat to a suburban veterinary hospital for treatment of an undisclosed medical matter. The attending Vet Tech was tatted up like a Rollin' 60s crip at a hot dog eating contest. She remarked favorably upon sight of my Blood Brothers t-shirt. I tittered nervously, as is my wont when women with any degree of body art or modification so much as say a word to me. It's not my fault. The cat remained petrified, claws extended.
3) It occurred to me upon further viewing (it took a while, I was quite drunk) that said Vet Tech merely was wearing a long-sleeved, patterned shirt, possibly made of cotton, but more likely some sort of cotton blend. I sighed relief and opened another bottle of scotch.
4) LET IT NEVER BE SAID that I have anything less than the eyesight of a bald eagle in its prime. My parents used to marvel when I was a child; seemingly engrossed in my Game Boy in the backseat, my father would curse, wondering where the Springfield exit was, as green sign after green sign flew by announcing Dumfries or Manassas or Base Quantico. I would glance up at the infinitely stretching highway ahead and murmur, "Springfield is three signs away. Or 7100 Newington, which is the fourth sign, and actually puts us closer to Jerry's house." Boy did I get a beating for that, as impressive and helpful as it was. The point is, LOOK AT THE VET TECH'S WRISTS. She is indeed, in fact, tattooed. Some sort of floral pattern around the wrists. There must be something about tattoos and working with sick animals. It does make sense though, if you think about it and drink 9-12 scotches with little ice. Animals are rather anti-conformist in their own right.
5) My best friend's brother, an internist, was playing poker with us and when a reference to hot nurses was made, commented that Radiography Technicians were actually much hotter than the average nurse, on a scale of what he would imagine was 5 to 1. I commented that Dental Assistants also have a simply heroic average in terms of hotness, to which there was general agreement. Let's now add Veterinary Technicians, as I've seen quite a few (including the ones that tended to my discreetly sick cat) who were blaze as fuck. And come on, check this little lady out. Say word you wouldn't smash. Holla.
6) I hate the television program Scrubs but for a brief period in my teenage years I wore the medical garments on a frequent basis. They are insanely comfortable, and back then in the mid 1990s it was acceptable to wear quirky shit to school like aqua blue scrub pants and a Jawbox t-shirt. I even had a beeper. I remember buying that beeper at Service Merchandise and there was a Bill Cosby advertisement for the jewelry section stuck on loop on the store's PA. All the expired bacon in the world wouldn't allow me to dream up some of the shit that went on back in those days. The point is, my friend who's a nurse told me that the scrub catalogs sent to medical professionals now carry camoflauge Betty Boop surgical aparrel, which is sadly the choice garment for neurosurgeons and the like. Also, apparently Yale med school alum all dress in pink scrubs as a rule, so they can feel more like gang members when they've got their fingers in the brain of a shot gang member in some underfunded E.R. late at night. Isn't this such a happy, carefree blog post?!
7) That cat looks just like the fat alcoholic that accused me of destroying the swingset at the local park when I was 9 years old. I repeatedly told him I was innocent, that it was the local hoods who smoked weed by the benches late at night and had little or no use for playground equipment. He slurred something about telling my parents and I stormed off in a huff. Later that week whilst my father was driving my friend and I back from Baskin-Robbins, we decided we'd get him good. Seeing the drunkard standing by the corner bus stop, we rolled down the back window of the car and shouted "lousy drunkard!" Backfire. My dad slammed on the brakes and pulled to the curb and demanded that we both go and apologize. I don't even know how I'd handle that at age 26, and I sure as hell don't remember how I did when I was 9. These are the memories you drink away once you attend university.
8) But these are the little things that you try to block out, right? The pretty girl with the roller suitcase looking lost who smiles at you on Broadway as you walk by in oblivion, only to realize the beauty of the opportunity later; the woman beating and cursing out her seven year old in K-Mart who you fail to admonish, the sobbing redhead on the subway whose boyfriend sits adjacent, burrowed into his Nintendo DS, ignoring her; the homeless fellow shaking and obviously in need of basic healthcare. It's just those little things that you don't want to get involved with, or can't. Such is life. Right?
9) My housemates and I keep debating getting a cat. But I have these cats that fornicate in my backyard every spring. They wake me up like clockwork. Seriously, Sony should invest, because that cheap plastic clock radio shit I got at Target blows ass, am I right? I also have raccoons that pay me visits in the warmer months. Oh, and that squirrel who chirps at me around dawn on the fire escape when I leave my window open.
7,500) He's cool.
Can you spot the 7,500 things wrong with the picture at left? Send entries to John.Goodman.The.Roseanne.Dad.Possibly.Alcoholic.But.That.Was.TipToed.Around.On.The.Show@gmail.com1) The woman's hand is not merely disappearing into the cat's chest fur, it's actually disappearing completely. Is this a result of RADIOHEAD'S innovative new e-commerce with their latest release IN RAINBOWS or is this instead a commentary on the vanishing nature of subsidized and/or affordable pet health care in the lower 48 United States? (Any asshole with half a brain knows that in Alaska and Hawaii a swift kick into the tundra or clear waters, respectively, is the best solution to cat or dog illness.)
2) Upon first glance at this photo, I remarked to myself, 'oh gee, another full-sleeve tattooed Veterinary Technician.' This isn't a surprise. I once took my ailing cat to a suburban veterinary hospital for treatment of an undisclosed medical matter. The attending Vet Tech was tatted up like a Rollin' 60s crip at a hot dog eating contest. She remarked favorably upon sight of my Blood Brothers t-shirt. I tittered nervously, as is my wont when women with any degree of body art or modification so much as say a word to me. It's not my fault. The cat remained petrified, claws extended.
3) It occurred to me upon further viewing (it took a while, I was quite drunk) that said Vet Tech merely was wearing a long-sleeved, patterned shirt, possibly made of cotton, but more likely some sort of cotton blend. I sighed relief and opened another bottle of scotch.
4) LET IT NEVER BE SAID that I have anything less than the eyesight of a bald eagle in its prime. My parents used to marvel when I was a child; seemingly engrossed in my Game Boy in the backseat, my father would curse, wondering where the Springfield exit was, as green sign after green sign flew by announcing Dumfries or Manassas or Base Quantico. I would glance up at the infinitely stretching highway ahead and murmur, "Springfield is three signs away. Or 7100 Newington, which is the fourth sign, and actually puts us closer to Jerry's house." Boy did I get a beating for that, as impressive and helpful as it was. The point is, LOOK AT THE VET TECH'S WRISTS. She is indeed, in fact, tattooed. Some sort of floral pattern around the wrists. There must be something about tattoos and working with sick animals. It does make sense though, if you think about it and drink 9-12 scotches with little ice. Animals are rather anti-conformist in their own right.
5) My best friend's brother, an internist, was playing poker with us and when a reference to hot nurses was made, commented that Radiography Technicians were actually much hotter than the average nurse, on a scale of what he would imagine was 5 to 1. I commented that Dental Assistants also have a simply heroic average in terms of hotness, to which there was general agreement. Let's now add Veterinary Technicians, as I've seen quite a few (including the ones that tended to my discreetly sick cat) who were blaze as fuck. And come on, check this little lady out. Say word you wouldn't smash. Holla.
6) I hate the television program Scrubs but for a brief period in my teenage years I wore the medical garments on a frequent basis. They are insanely comfortable, and back then in the mid 1990s it was acceptable to wear quirky shit to school like aqua blue scrub pants and a Jawbox t-shirt. I even had a beeper. I remember buying that beeper at Service Merchandise and there was a Bill Cosby advertisement for the jewelry section stuck on loop on the store's PA. All the expired bacon in the world wouldn't allow me to dream up some of the shit that went on back in those days. The point is, my friend who's a nurse told me that the scrub catalogs sent to medical professionals now carry camoflauge Betty Boop surgical aparrel, which is sadly the choice garment for neurosurgeons and the like. Also, apparently Yale med school alum all dress in pink scrubs as a rule, so they can feel more like gang members when they've got their fingers in the brain of a shot gang member in some underfunded E.R. late at night. Isn't this such a happy, carefree blog post?!
7) That cat looks just like the fat alcoholic that accused me of destroying the swingset at the local park when I was 9 years old. I repeatedly told him I was innocent, that it was the local hoods who smoked weed by the benches late at night and had little or no use for playground equipment. He slurred something about telling my parents and I stormed off in a huff. Later that week whilst my father was driving my friend and I back from Baskin-Robbins, we decided we'd get him good. Seeing the drunkard standing by the corner bus stop, we rolled down the back window of the car and shouted "lousy drunkard!" Backfire. My dad slammed on the brakes and pulled to the curb and demanded that we both go and apologize. I don't even know how I'd handle that at age 26, and I sure as hell don't remember how I did when I was 9. These are the memories you drink away once you attend university.
8) But these are the little things that you try to block out, right? The pretty girl with the roller suitcase looking lost who smiles at you on Broadway as you walk by in oblivion, only to realize the beauty of the opportunity later; the woman beating and cursing out her seven year old in K-Mart who you fail to admonish, the sobbing redhead on the subway whose boyfriend sits adjacent, burrowed into his Nintendo DS, ignoring her; the homeless fellow shaking and obviously in need of basic healthcare. It's just those little things that you don't want to get involved with, or can't. Such is life. Right?
9) My housemates and I keep debating getting a cat. But I have these cats that fornicate in my backyard every spring. They wake me up like clockwork. Seriously, Sony should invest, because that cheap plastic clock radio shit I got at Target blows ass, am I right? I also have raccoons that pay me visits in the warmer months. Oh, and that squirrel who chirps at me around dawn on the fire escape when I leave my window open.
7,500) He's cool.
