babe ruth lives in my car Well, the Red Sox won the World Series and the well-publicized "Curse of the Bambino" has finally been lifted. And that's great, I'm really happy for them, but why did the curse have to land on my car? I owned my last car for six years, and the only weird thing that happened was that it drowned in the San Antonio Flood of 2002. Well, okay, I guess that's pretty weird.

But I've only had the Saab for 4 months, and I'm already on my third weird thing. Based on my calculations, that puts me about 17 1/2 years ahead in my weird thing schedule. The first week I noticed a mysterious slice in the leather in the passenger seat. Then about a month ago I found a mysterious chip in the windshield. And yesterday I found a mysterious large dent in the left rear fender. I have no idea how any one of these things happened. I don't ride around in my passenger seat with a knife in my pocket (some of my passengers might, they're a seedy bunch). I don't recall getting hit in the windshield with anything. I certainly don't go kicking my car for no reason (I kick my cat when I'm mad, not my car).

I'm pretty sure Babe Ruth is responsible for all of this. I guess he got bored haunting Fenway Park and decided that he would take his curse elsewhere. And what better place than some guy's Saab in Texas? Yes, I'm a Sox fan, but so what? A lot of people are. Why me? Shouldn't you be haunting Pedro Martinez's car instead? He probably has a better car than I do anyway.

The other potential explanation is that these incidents are being perpetrated by GM thugs. Sort of a "discount parity clause." It was probably buried deep in the contract, and I wasn't able to read it because I was too busy trying to keep Carter from driving off in a Hummer H2. "Purchaser entitles General Motors to inflict retribution against vehicle at unexpected moments for the duration of ownership of said vehicle. Signed _________"

Whatever the case, I don't like it. Babe Ruth, get out of my car. There's a guy down the street with a Lexus. Wouldn't that be a better place for your tormented soul? I think it's even got satellite radio. Or better yet, there's a nice place called Yankee Stadium up in the Bronx. Hell, it's the house that you built. And maybe the Yankees would like to know what it's like to not win a Championship for 86 years. I really don't care where you go, Babe. Just please get out of my car...
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/28/2004 1 comments

  a scary thought for sox fans Uh oh. I just thought of something scary. The "curse" might be over. The Sox might actually win the Series. After 86 years. And that's great news to Sox fans, right? Hell, yeah, it's good news.

But it's bad news, too. Red Sox fans are a strange breed. We've become accustomed to failure. We expect disappointment. Our favorite phrases include "wait 'til next year." Unfortunate as it sounds, losing defines the Red Sox. Yes, I agree that changing your definition from "loser" to "winner" is a change for the better. But at least when they're losing, you know that a Red Sox fan is a true loyalist. We love our team unconditionally. Who else but a true fan could love a team like this? No matter that we have 86 years of history with no World Series trophy to show for it. The fact that we end every season vowing that next year will be the year is a true testament to the resilience and desire of this team. Championships? Negative. Perseverance? You betcha.

I'm afraid of what the 21st Century Red Sox fan is going to look like. There have been so many teams that have been great for some period of time. And every time one of them comes along, millions of people jump on the bandwagon. Then as soon as the team starts to not win championships these fans disappear. Case in point: Dallas Cowboys of the early to mid 1990's. This team couldn't lose. They were America's team. Everybody loved 'em. Why? Because Americans want to be associated with a winner. But only while they are winning. Where are all those Dallas Cowboys fans now? Most of them are wearing Patriots jerseys these days. I do not want to see this happen to the Red Sox. Maybe you should have to have some kind of membership card ("member since 1976"), or sign an affidavit that says "I, __(name)__, newly christened Boston Red Sox fan, do hereby promise to remain a fan through thick and thin. I promise to love the Red Sox even if they go another 86 years without a World Series Championship, and even if they lose to the Yankees next year and every year thereafter. Signed _____________" You may now enter Red Sox Nation. Welcome to the club.

I liken this phenomenon to the husbands of contestants on The Swan. The pre-Swan contestant has nothing going for her. She's ugly, depressed, wrinkled, and flabby (I know, this sounds harsh, but they're the ones who blab about it for an hour). But darn it, they have a loving husband standing by them every step of the way (at least some of them do). These guys don't care that their wife has stretch marks or a big nose. But then the pre-Swan goes through this radical transformation. Now they have large fake boobs, nice hair, big teeth, and every inch of skin has been stretched and tucked. Now they probably get noticed by regular guys walking down the street. Before they probably didn't. But who's the one that counts? The guy they go home to. Of course he probably likes the fact that she is more of a knockout than before. It's good that they are now a Swan, but hey, this guy loved her even before all that. He's a true fan. Guys now stare when she walks down the street, but in some way wasn't it better when you were the only one that noticed her, for her inner beauty? You saw something that the other guys didn't see or didn't understand.

I loved the Sox when they were the ugly duckling. I'll still love them as the swan. I welcome you to join the club, but please sign the affidavit first.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/27/2004 1 comments

  my political rant Raise your hand if you too are absolutely sick of this election nonsense. Okay, now put your hand down, you look pretty darn silly. Seriously, I really don't understand why things are so heated and divided when it comes to this election. As far as I'm concerned, it might as well be Barney Fife vs. Gomer Pyle. Yes, I think most of us agree that Bush does not exactly have a stellar record. But then again, Kerry has been a Senator for something like 20 years, and his only legacy is...uh, I can't think of even a single thing.

I know, I know, I need to do my civic duty and "go out and vote." I'm well aware that all of the celebrities, including but not limited to P. Diddy, think I should vote. And Michael Moore will not give me any free underwear if I don't. So before you come down here and chew my ear off for not doing my "civic duty," let me tell you that I do intend to vote for one of these guys. Although I don't see why it's any better if I flip a coin and vote. Is that really the best thing for our country? For everybody to vote, no matter how ignorant or indifferent they are? Perhaps not voting is my way of saying that I don't want either one of them. Or maybe instead of holding an election, we should just have one big official coin flip for all the marbles. You know that the 49.999% who don't get the guy they want will be calling "shenanigans" anyway.

My problem is that I have no real passion one way or the other. The best I can say about the guy I'm going to vote for is that I think he's the lesser of two evils. Sure, I know he's probably not going to go down as the best President ever, but I think he's probably going to be better than the other guy. How can anybody out there really have a stronger opinion than this? Nothing that either candidate has said or done has made me feel any more confident that he knows what he's talking about.

How can someone feel true passion for Bush when he's sent so many troops to fight in Iraq under the presumption that there were weapons of mass destruction, only to find that there were none? Just like the weapons inspectors kept trying to tell us. And when he took a perfectly good budget surplus and turned it into a huge budget deficit?

On the other hand, how can you be passionate about Kerry when the only thing he seems to have going for him is that his name is not spelled B-U-S-H? Or when he states that he has "deep religious convictions," but he says that it's not going to affect his decisions in any way? You can't have it both ways!

But so many people seem willing to come to blows about one guy or the other. Why? The way I see it is that one guy definitely sucks at being President, the other guy sucks at being Senator and will probably suck at being President. I just don't see how there are so many people so passionate about either one of these guys. Here's my take: people are passionate because it's a close race. It's a close race because they're both poor candidates. People are not passionate because these candidates are strong or competent. Maybe it's more of a fear that the "other" guy wins than confidence in their own guy.

I've really tried to make this an apolitical blog. And I think it is. I have not gone on any political rants. I'm not even going to tell you who I'm voting for. That's my business. And the coin's. I'm no political expert, just a regular guy who watches the news when I'm too lazy to change the channel after the Simpsons. And I will be happy when it's all over.

I'm monger187 and I approve this message.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/26/2004 1 comments

  fun with the yahoo buzz index Well, it's been alive for just a few short weeks, but mindless drivel has made it onto the search engines! Now if I can only get people to actually search for my wonderful site! I realize that I don't have any "nude" "pictures" of "Paris Hilton," "Britney Spears," or "Jessica Simpson." However, I do have some great posts with references to "George Bush" and "John Kerry," plus by now you should all be aware of my affinity for the "Boston Red Sox" and my hatred for the "New York Yankees." In fact, I'll shout "Whoa, 'Nelly'!" after the Sox win the "MLB" "World Series"! I promise to have lots of "jo jo" jokes (excuse me for stuttering) and maybe even directions on how to tie a "slipknot." Mostly it's just a bunch of "jibjab," (?) so munch on an "Eminem" or two and bookmark mindless drivel (that way you won't "just lose it"). It'll be a "Green Day" in "Iraq" before you find a more informative blog. So let's "usher" in "Halloween" this year with a visit to my site! "Wwe" really appreciate it. Thank you, please enjoy the rest of the blog.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/22/2004 1 comments

  parking woes It seems that every day I fail to make it to work on time. Is it because I don't wake up on time? Because I missed the light with the four-minute cycle? Because someone had to change a tire on the other side of the freeway, and everyone on both sides had to stop and look? Because that moron in the Geo Prizm would only go 28 in the 30 mph zone? Yes to all of the above. But mainly it's because of the parking garage.

The building I work in is some 42 stories tall. Yep, we gots big buildings here in Texas. Yee-haw! Of course, big buildings require big parking garages, and the one I park in goes 8 floors below the ground, has three sections, and three or four separate entrances.

The people that work in my building have things pretty well figured out. We have a little card that you stick on the windshield. You pull up to the gate, gate goes up, you drive through, gate goes down. A three second process at most.

The people that cause the problems are the ones who don't work here. The people that are here for interviews, conferences, meetings, whatever. These people have a much more complicated procedure, involving many confusing steps. 1) Press button, 2) Take ticket, 3) Wait for gate to open. I realize this is completely different from all other parking garages in the world. And the big flashing button that says "PUSH BUTTON AND TAKE TICKET" is poorly worded and highly confusing. Even with all of the confusion that people must feel when pulling up to the intimidating flashing button, surely they can figure out this process in, oh, say a minute or less. Imagine waiting behind 27 or so of these people, each one as confused as the one before, nobody thinking to look ahead to the guy in front of them to see how they managed to beat the system.

Yeah, I know things could be worse. At least my company provides a place for me to park. And it's attached to the building, so I really don't have far to travel to get from parked car to parked butt. But where would this blog be if I didn't complain about stuff? I ask you that!
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/22/2004 1 comments

  none of this is real Isn't it odd how music triggers memory? Like when I hear Metallica, Alice in Chains or Jane's Addiction I can't help but think of high school. Maybe that's why I don't listen to them anymore.

Recently I stumbled upon an CD of mine by Infected Mushroom with a song called "None Of This Is Real" (sample can be heard here). Infected Mushroom is basically a couple of guys in Israel with some keyboards and sampling equipment. I hadn't listened to the song in a while, but I was instantly returned to September 11, 2001. It seems that I had been listening to these guys quite a bit at the time. Only now do I realize that this song just happens to be a perfect soundtrack to the feelings I get when I remember this tragedy. The song's only words are a sampled voice frantically saying, "This isn't real...none of this is real." I've never been able to accurately describe music in words (Maybe that's why I work at a mortgage company, and not Rolling Stone), but the two words that come to mind every time I hear this song are "haunting" and "beautiful." Haunting, just like the pit we all had in our stomachs upon hearing of the evil that hit our world that day. Beautiful, like the acts of the rescue workers who sacrificed their own lives for the sake of others, and the way Americans (even Democrats and Republicans!) united under a common mission. And the words: "This isn't real." How many of us felt like the whole thing was just a bad dream, and that we would soon wake up and things would be back to normal? How perfect...

I know that after 9/11 happened we Americans vowed "We will never forget." But I think many of us have forgotten. The country is as divided as ever. We seem more concerned with getting to the "truth" about George W. Bush's National Guard service in 1972 than locating Osama Bin Laden and bringing him to justice. The memory of hearing hundreds of members of Congress on the Capitol steps sing "God Bless America" has been supplanted by news of lawsuits to remove "One Nation, Under God" from our Pledge of Allegiance. The day we listened to President Bush pledge to fight terrorism, as tears welled up in our eyes, is a distant memory. I have my own personal reminder in my CD player, and, much like the event itself, it is both haunting and beautiful.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/21/2004 0 comments

  speechless Sorry, I'm too excited about the Red Sox' victorious rout of the Yankees to blog right now. For now, keep yourself busy with this.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/21/2004 2 comments

  gearing up for the big showdown Like most true Americans, I'm anxiously awaiting the outcome of our country's heated race, when Americans must choose sides. Both sides have strong leadership, unwavering supporters, and staunch critics. There are even a few Americans who are indifferent to the whole matter. Eventually one side will emerge victorious and the other will be sent home in bitter defeat. No, I'm not talking about Bush vs. Kerry. I'm talking Red Sox vs. Yankees, man!

I've been a Red Sox fan my entire life. I was born in Greenfield, Massachusetts and spent the first eight years of my life in the home state of one of the presidential candidates (it's Kerry, right?). When you grow up in New England, being a Red Sox fan is not a choice, it's a God given right, a requirement, a responsibility. Like a bad relationship, no matter how many times they break your heart, you just can't stop coming back. Maybe it's because, even though they never quite make it all the way, they always give it 110%. You just have to respect a team that can come so close to winning it all almost every year (but don't) and still return to claw their way back the following year. They never lose hope, never give up, never stop dreaming. To me, that defines a champion more than the number of trophies in the trophy case. And let's not forget that it's done with a fraction of the payroll of that team from New York ($183 million vs. $125 million at last count).

This year's American League Championship Series, regardless of the outcome of tonight's deciding game, will go down as one of the great series in baseball history. Hands down. After falling behind 3-0, no Major League team has ever come back to win the next three games. The Red Sox are going for their fourth. So all you Red Sox faithful out there, let's "Reverse the Curse!"
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/20/2004 1 comments

  more microsoft bashing For some reason, my company felt the need to upgrade from Windows 2000 to Windows XP. Apparently someone told one of the IT guys that 2000 was four years ago. And what year is it now? Why, it's the year XP, of course! I think Microsoft removed the dates from its Windows line so people would no longer be ashamed of running the old system. "You're running Windows 95? Please don't talk to me, I only hang out with Windows 98 or higher people." So they have gone the route of the car manufacturers, proving that there is no longer one ounce of creativity left in product marketing. Remember when cars had really cool names, like Supra, Stingray, and Grand Vitara? Well, now they all sound more like the latest model of robot than any car you would want to drive. A4, RX330, CL55AMG. How boring! So Microsoft is undoubtedly going to call its next product another futuristic combination of letters and/or numbers like KD3874BG.

Of course the latest version of Office is no longer Office XP, it's Office 2003. So maybe the conclusion is just that Microsoft is a company that does things that make no sense.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/19/2004 1 comments

  ice cream of the future I went to the zoo this past weekend, and I noticed a familiar sight. No, I'm not referring to the familiar monkey exhibit sight. That's more like a familiar smell. I'm talking about Dippin' Dots, the overpriced ice cream-like product that, for some reason, is formed into little tiny spheres. So instead of actually getting a bowl of ice cream, you get about half ice cream and half air. "But look! The ice cream is spherical!" When I first saw this stuff years ago it looked pretty darn cool. "It's ice cream, but it's formed into little tiny spheres! Wow!" And when I noticed that it was called "The Ice Cream of the Future," well that just sealed the deal. I had to have it.

When this stuff came out 15 or 20 years ago, I could understand why it was called "The Ice Cream of the Future." We were into parachute pants, the space program, and Reaganomics. But let's face it, the future is here, kids don't want to be astronauts anymore, and we eat ice cream the same way we did 100 years ago. Apparently Dippin' Dots didn't revolutionize the ice cream world the way they thought it was going to. Ice cream eaters of the world have spoken, and we do not place a high premium on products that are formed into tiny spheres.

But here's the disturbing part. Dippin' Dots is still referring to its product as "The Ice Cream of the Future"! At what point will Dippin' Dots admit failure? "Shareholders, it pains me to do so, but I must make a disappointing announcement. We were wrong about the future. The future is now upon us, and there is no place in this future for spherical ice cream. We are now changing our slogan to 'Gimmicky Overpriced Ice Cream That They Only Sell at Amusement Parks and Zoos.'"

So the Dippin' Dots marketers were wrong. So what? People have been wrong before. Marketers have been wrong before. Plenty of cool-sounding ideas have come along. Take the "flying car" idea. What better way to beat traffic than to just take flight and soar away? But it never took root. We're still driving on roads. The way people drive, it's probably for the best that we don't expand these problems into the third dimension. The flying car is no longer the car of the future, it's the futuristic car of the past.

And so it goes with the Dippin' Dots. Now if we could only do something about the monkeys.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/18/2004 1 comments

  stop saying dude, dude Has anyone else noticed how much people are saying "dude" these days? I'm not talking about on dude ranches, although I've never actually been to one, nor can I say with complete certainty that they even exist outside of Billy Crystal movies. But if they do, I will give them a free pass and allow them to say "dude" as much as they want to. "Go rustle up some cows, dude."

Nor am I talking about the 1990's term for any member of the male persuasion. "Hey, dude. Check out my new Sony Discman. You can play Milli Vanilli CDs on it! I love those dudes..."

The "dude" I'm referring to is the expression of disbelief. How did this word make it back into mainstream lingo? Dude, that is insane!

I think it must have all begun with Dude, Where's My Car? the highly influential theatrical debut (I think) of one Ashton Kutcher. You know, the scene with the tattoos. "What's mine say?" "Dude! What's mine say?" "Sweet! What's mine say?" "Dude!!!" etc., etc., etc., and everyone has a good laugh. The latest dude guy I've noticed is the, shall we say, large, guy with the funny hair on the show Lost. Every other word out of that guy's mouth is "dude"!

I think if everyone is going to start using the same word every time something interesting, unexpected, or weird happens, let's use a word that hasn't already gone through the "fad-word" phase, possibly something Ashton Kutcher wouldn't say. Like "pancakes." You almost get hit by a car? "Pancakes, man, that was close!" You see a really large bird? "Pancakes! That's a huge bird!" Or how about if you're really hungry? "Let's get some pancakes, dude!" Yeah, I guess we can still use "dude" in the proper context.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/14/2004 0 comments

  the 10 dorkiest cars Okay, as a fan of a) lists, b) cars, and c) making fun of people, I decided to compile a list of the top ten dorkiest of automobiles.

Your car says a lot about who you are. Yes, I know that many of you are shouting, "No it doesn't, you moron, it's just a way to get from here to there!" Calm down, stop shouting, I can't hear you from where you are anyway. Besides, it is obvious that someone with this attitude drives a Toyota Camry, a Ford Taurus, or a Pontiac Grand Am, an appliance automobile, if you will. These cars will get you where you need to go, they're pretty cheap, they don't use up too much gas, and, at least in the case of the Toyota, they won't break very often. Driving one of these cars says that you are practical and not too flashy. Nothing too bad. Now if you can just work on that temper...

But what if your car says something worse? What if your car tells people that you are a total dork? Well, that's why I'm here, to spare you from that disgrace. There's still time to sell your car. Now go check out Automobile Magazine's list of the 100 Coolest Cars. Pick One. Enjoy.

Now I don't intend this list to pick on people who can't afford a really good car. I'm poor, and drowning in student loan debt, just like the rest of you. I drive a Saab 9-3, which I can only afford because I got a crazy big GM employee discount. I would never fill the list with Kias and Geo Metros or other cheap cars, because these are just cheap cars that don't say anything particularly bad about their owners, other than that they can't or don't want to spend a lot of money on a car. No big deal. I will also spare vehicles like the Pontiac Aztek, because, well, it's been done. If you drive a Pontiac Aztek, it's not news to you that people say things about you behind your back. You obviously don't care, you just like spontaneous camping. Fine.

What baffles me is that people spend gobs of money just to proudly proclaim to the world that they have no taste. Therein lies the target dork vehicle. As always, I welcome feedback, positive or negative, and I figure this might be a good way to generate some, so here goes...

10) Nissan XTerra
Xtreme sports, XGames, XTerra...Name three things that start with X that haven't been cool since 1999.

9) Porsche Cayenne
I realize that Porsche likes easy money as much as the rest of us, but please don't cheapen your brand by stooping to this level again.

8) Saab 9-7x
Here's a new vehicle that screams, "We wanted an SUV so bad that we were willing to slap the proud Saab name on a Chevy TrailBlazer to get one!" The Americanization of Scandinavia has begun.

7) Mitsubishi Endeavor
Not much to say here, this thing is just plain ugly.

6) Hummer H2
Hummers were cool when Arnold Schwarzenegger was the only civilian driving one. Then they came out with the smaller, Chevy Tahoe-based H2. And it was still kind of cool. Then every rich soccer mom this side of Kalamazoo got one. And it was cool no more.

5) Buick Terraza/Pontiac Montana SV6
This is the new thing from GM. "I'm an SUV! No, I'm a minivan!" No one cares what it is, just put this eyesore out of its misery.

4) Toyota Echo/Suzuki Aerio
This is a tie, because I'm fairly certain they are the same car. 10 inch wheels - check. No power - check. Really tall, narrow, goofy styling - check. Please spend your $11,000 elsewhere.

3) Jaguar X-Type
It seems to me that there was a day that owning a Jaguar used to say something about you. Well, I suppose it still says something about you: "I spent $40,000 on a Ford Contour."

2) Chrysler PT Cruiser Convertible
Take one cartoonish caricature of a 1930's era gangster car, shrink it down to 3/4th scale, and chop off the top, and you get the PT Cruiser Convertible. Decorate with Tweety Bird or Winnie the Pooh decals accordingly.

1) Chevrolet SSR
Introducing the dorkiest vehicle of them all, the Chevy SSR. What better way to spend $50,000 than on an ugly, heavy, underpowered, convertible, quasi-retro truck thing? The saddest part about this is that the midlife crisis sufferers who buy this thing actually think they are buying instant street cred. So sad...
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/12/2004 4 comments

  a watched blog never boils I realize the above statement is true, yet this doesn't stop me from checking my counter every five minutes. I'm so excited to see that there are 83 people out there who have looked at my site. Granted, 78 or so of those are me reading my own stuff. But still, I have potentially influenced five people out there (okay, probably a few more than five).

I really enjoy writing my blog (even though I don't particularly like the word "blog"). I do it mostly for myself, because I love to write, and it helps me stay positive and alert. It reminds me that I need to stop and look at things, that I shouldn't take anything for granted because it could potentially be an amusing anecdote.

But I also like to think that I am providing something for others out there, some insight into the world we see every day. The other day I got my first ever comment. I was so excited! To think, I made a complete stranger in another part of the world roll on the floor laughing. I am so proud to have had that effect on someone. I like to think that the other four people also had some sort of physical experience while reading my blog. Yet without feedback, these floor-rolling episodes go completely undocumented. How boring!

So, maybe the first four visitors are a lost cause (or maybe you're back for more!), but for all you new viewers, please take a minute to leave a comment, or drop me a line via my email link (to the right), bookmark me, post a link to my page from somewhere out there in Internet-land. Let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, how you got here, what you think I've stolen from you, why you were or were not offended. And tell your friends! Don't you think we all deserve to read a few minutes of mindless drivel every day?

Thank you for your time, you may now continue your blogging.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/11/2004 1 comments

  stop stealing my ideas, moen Every once in a while, I have a vision of sorts, an invention or idea that will change the world. The problem is that I never know what to do with my ideas. I do have an MBA, which you might think would equip me for presenting these great ideas to some company or someone else who might know what to do with it. You'd be wrong, though. Although the MBA potentially increases my odds of appearing on The Apprentice, it's done very little to aid in my understanding of Patent Law. I usually just get all excited about an idea for half a day, then forget about it.

Well, this time I'm not forgetting. That's right, Moen, I'm talking to you.

One of my best ideas came to me while I was doing the dishes. It occurred to me that it took a lot of time to get the water just right - hot enough to scald off those pesky globs of tomato sauce without having to touch them, cool enough to avoid third degree burns, and at the right pressure that I didn't splash water all over myself. But then every time I had to stop scalding for a minute to scrub the pots and pans, I'd have to a) waste water by leaving the faucet running, or b) turn off the water completely and start all over when it was time to rinse. So, I came up with the idea of...(drum roll, please)...the faucet pause button.

The way it works is simple. You hit the pause button and the water stops. But then when you unpause, it's just how you left it when you were using it before - same temperature, same pressure. We have similar technology on garden hoses, what's to stop us from translating that to the kitchen? It was brilliant!

Imagine my disbelief when I saw my pause button on a Moen commercial many months later! They claim: "Its beautiful simplicity unclutters the countertop yet has room for smart functions, such as a Patented Pause Button to interrupt water flow and a toggle to quickly switch from steady stream to aerated spray." (note: I make no claim to having invented either the "toggle to quickly switch from steady stream to aerated spray" or the thing about the beautiful simplicity.)

"Patented"?! How did this happen?! How did Moen manage to steal my idea? I never told them about it. How did they get this information from my head without my knowing it? Was it a probe of some kind? Did it happen in my sleep? I've seen The Manchurian Candidate and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - I know this kind of thing is possible. I just want to know who let them in.

Currently, there are some pretty grand ideas in my mind: a music-sharing system even the RIAA would love, and a credit card that tracks your Subway SubClub points and your frequent flyer miles. But do you think I'm telling anyone this time? No way! Well, not on purpose anyway. Hold on, there's someone at the door...
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/11/2004 1 comments

  first in golf I actually saw this on a license plate from South Carolina the other day. I think this officially signifies that the "get people to pay extra money to the DMV" campaign is in full force.

I have several problems with this license plate.

First, is South Carolina really "first in golf"? What makes them think they can get away with making a claim like this? As far as I know, golf was invented in Scotland like 600 years ago. I suppose there may have been some guys in South Carolina before that who wore funny clothes and spiky shoes. Maybe they somehow influenced the Scots. But the proof of such will be hard to document. And I'm fairly certain that the people at the South Carolina DMV do not have said documentation.

Second, who cares? Okay, I realize that South Carolina is engaged in a heated rivalry with a certain similarly-named rival to the north. And I also realize that this certain rival has already laid claim to "First in Flight." Fine, this is a legitimate claim (but don't tell the people of Ohio, whose license plates claim their state as "Birthplace of Aviation." I'm wondering how far this is going to go. "Texas - Birthplace of American Airlines Layover."). But to falsely imply that someone in your state invented golf? Even if it were true, it would be lame. To my knowledge, this is the only license plate to commemorate the invention of any sport. We don't see Massachusetts people bragging about being "First in Basketball," and that would actually be true.

Third, does South Carolina even have any good golf courses? I'm no golf expert (is that an understatement!), but the ones I've always heard of are Pebble Beach, Augusta, St. Andrews, that one that Donald Trump owns. I'm pretty sure these are not in South Carolina. I've never heard anyone extolling the virtues of the Beech Creek Golf Club in Sumter.

Fourth, South Carolina has so many other wonderful things to offer. Why brag about being First in Golf when your state is home to "South of the Border"? How about "First in Strange, Outlandish, and Sometimes Disturbing Roadside Attractions"? Let's get our priorities straight here.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/08/2004 1 comments

  30 days post laser zapping I really have very little to report here, but it has been 30 days since I got my eyes zapped with lasers, so I need to give everyone an update. Gotta keep 'em coming back for more, right? My eyes have still been, shall we say, inconsistent. It's funny, there are days when my eyesight is really not all that good, especially in the right eye. I'd guess around 20/30 or 20/40. And days they are so dry it feels like I've spent a few hours in a tanning bed with my eyes open. And there are days when my eyesight is excellent, crisp. These are the days that I go to the eye doctor. I don't know how they always manage to schedule my appointments for the days when I have no problems. I think they might put something in the air at the doctor's office. Maybe the hot air balloon has something to do with it.

Night vision is still a little weird, although it is different from one day to the next, too. One day I'll swear that it's getting better and will be all gone soon. Then the next night I'll go out for a drive and it will be like I'm driving through crazy hazy starburst carnival land. Weird. But the days that are good make me confident that my eyes/brain really do have the capability to see pretty well with these newly vaporized corneas. And I'm sure they'll fight the good fight and eventually defeat the crazy carnival light inducing bad stuff. I'll keep waiting.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/08/2004 1 comments

  where are you from? "Where are you from?" Seems like a simple enough question, right? But I never know how to answer that question. Yes, yes, I know, my blog tagline is "observations from a guy in Texas with too much free time." Or something like that. And yes, I am from Texas. Sort of. I wasn't born here. I haven't lived here my whole life. I live here now. Most of the people who ask me this are also in Texas. I can't answer their question "I'm from Texas." So I fumble around with a lengthy response about how I just moved here from A, but I lived in B before that, and I was born in C, but I also lived in D, E, and F, with a short stint in G. And that's the truth. Well, okay, the places I lived have real names, not letters, but let's not give anything away too early. I realize that nobody really cares where you are from. It's just an ice-breaking question intended to have a one word answer. That's how this system works.

Person A: Where are you from?

Person B: Pittsburgh

Person A: Oh really? My great-aunt's next door neighbor once had a layover in Pittsburgh!

Person B: Oh yeah, what part?

Person A: The part with the airport I think.

And bla, bla, bla, the conversation goes on and eventually ends up with great laughs, fun, and broken ice, whether it stays in Pittsburgh or not.

I know what you're all thinking, "just pick a place, say you're from there and quit whining, you pathetic little cry-baby." You are all very mean people. Besides, it's not that simple. I want to make sure I get my story straight. What if, before I decided to pick a place, I told someone that I was from Greenfield, Massachusetts, then that person hears me tell someone else I'm from Enterprise, Alabama? It would be utter chaos. I'd be called out and exposed as a fraud.

The hardest part is when someone where I live now asks me this question. If someone from somewhere else asks me where I'm from, it's simple: "Dallas, Texas." But when someone in Dallas asks, that's a different story. Can I just say I'm from Dallas? Why not? I live here, too! How long do I have to live here to be "from" here? Is "where I'm from" the last place I lived? But I was there for less than a year. Is it the place I was born? I haven't been there since I was 8. Is it the place I went to high school? Am I doomed to be "from" El Paso my entire life just because I spent a few years there in the early 90's?

Sometimes I think I should move away from Texas so I could just say "I'm from Texas" and that would be the end of it. When you're in Chicago and you say you're from Texas, nobody ever asks questions. Because to people outside of Texas, it doesn't make a difference. It's all cowboys, lassoes, and tumbleweeds anyway, right? But then this sometimes leads to an even more annoying conversation: the pop vs. soda conversation. I hate this conversation. Yet, for some reason, this topic comes up every single time you have a gathering of any kind where two people live in different places. "What do you call it down there, 'sodie pop'?" I don't know, what difference does it make? But this is very important to some people. We must mock the people who say it wrong. "You say 'pop.' That sounds so stupid! Let's all laugh at the 'pop' guy!" Millions of starving children in the world, and we're sitting here talking about carbonated beverages. Just drop it already!
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/07/2004 0 comments

  a tale of two mortgage company guys I work for a mortgage company. I know what you're thinking. "Oooh, this is getting suspenseful. First monger187 won't divulge the name of his employer, now he's giving us something to go on, some morsel, a tidbit, that tells something about just who this mysterious man is. How exciting!"

There are two types of mortgage guys in the world, let's call them Mortgage Company Guy A and Mortgage Company Guy B. When most people think of the mortgage company guy, they probably think, "Remember that nice mortgage company guy who helped us get our home loan?" Or perhaps, "Remember that incompetent mortgage company guy who screwed up our closing?" One way or the other, the mortgage company guy is usually associated with an exciting and eventful point in your life. You forgive his mistakes and failures because, darn it, this guy wants to help me get a home. This is Mortgage Company Guy A. Mortgage Company Guy A is there to give you money you didn't earn, to get you into a home you probably can't afford, to set you up on a mortgage with an interest rate that stays nice and low for a few years to buy him time to retire or change his name. He does things that make you feel good. No one forces you to visit Mortgage Company Guy A. We don't have some government official knocking on apartment doors and making you buy homes. "I'm sorry, monger187, you've used up your lifetime allowance of apartments. It's been 10 years, you've lived in 15 apartments, enough is enough. You're coming with me." People choose to buy a home because they want something bigger, better, and further into the suburbs for themselves and their families. In short, people like Mortgage Company Guy A. He's associated with a time in your life that is positive and good.

But there is an uglier, more sinister group of mortgage company guys. This is Mortgage Company Guy B. These are the guys who show up when things are not so bright and optimistic, when you are at your absolute lowest point in life, you can't pay your bills, your home is in foreclosure, and your life is a chaotic mess. This is when Mortgage Company Guy B emerges. Much like the suicide counselor, Mortgage Company Guy B only talks to people whose lives are at an all time low, people who have hit rock bottom. Mortgage Company Guy B does his best to make good out of a bad situation. He really wants you to keep your home. He'll cut your interest rate, forgive late fees, let you spread out your debt, whatever it takes to keep the flippin' thing from going to foreclosure. Believe me, the mortgage company wants your house less than you think it does. But despite his best efforts, Mortgage Company Guy B is still associated with tragedy and despair. His voice, no matter how calming and comforting, is forever burned in your memory in connection with the worst part of your whole life. Nobody likes to talk to Mortgage Company Guy B. Guess what kind of mortgage company guy monger187 is!

One of my favorite quotes from Office Space is: "Every day you see me is the worst day of my life." But in my case: "Every day you see me is the worst day of your life." So if you are ever down on your luck, get divorced, lose a family member, go to the hospital, lose a job, or file bankruptcy, you just may get a call from good 'ol monger187. I bet you can't wait!
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/05/2004 1 comments

  traffic conditions and the drivers who create them Call me crazy, but I am fascinated with traffic. Granted, not so much so that I hang out in traffic in my free time, at least not by choice. But I spend enough time with it that it's become sort of a dear friend. It's not that I enjoy traffic. In fact, I can't imagine a more torturous way to spend two hours every day. But if you have to do it, you might as well at least try to enjoy it. And watching the various road people is the best way to do so.

There are the "phone-talkers." These are the people you see with one hand on the wheel and one hand firmly smooshed up against their face. It's far too difficult for them to turn their head to check their blind spot when changing lanes, when they have their left hand wrapped all the way around their face and on their right ear. So these people just give that real quick glance sort of in the area of the other cars and just come right over. As long as they don't hear any loud crunching sounds, they seem content with their successful lane change. Phone talkers usually drive a Ford Expedition or Hummer H2, as these vehicles will surely inflict the most damage should things not work out. The response by the non-phone-talker is usually the "both hands thrown up in the air in disgust" move. But why waste the energy to raise your hands? The phone-talker is not looking.

Then there are the "rockers." These people seem to have mistaken their car for a Motley Crue concert. They usually have all of the windows open and T-tops off so that everyone can enjoy their Whitesnake tapes. Thanks! They bang on their steering wheels almost in time with the beat, play air guitar, sing with amazing gusto, and dance as much as the confines of their '78 Firebird will allow. You don't want to spend very much time next to the rockers. It's nearly impossible not to stare, and getting a return glance creates quite the awkward moment.

Next is what I affectionately call the "wimps." These people have no business being on the road at all. These are the people that come to a complete stop at every entrance ramp. You see them with their necks craned backward, waiting for that perfect moment to take a leap of faith and release some of the pressure on the brake (not all, mind you - these people drive with both feet and ride their brakes incessantly) and gently apply the accelerator. There are ten or twelve people behind them, fuming. These are the same people that get to the stop sign first, but still insist on letting you go ahead of them in the interest of being courteous. Never mind that ten seconds have passed while they try to communicate to you that they would rather sit in front of a stop sign for twenty minutes than proceed with their trip to the counselor.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is the "road rager." It's best to avoid these people at all costs, lest you get on their bad side. Anything can set them off. And if it does, stand back. You will surely feel the wrath. You'll get flipped off, cut off, tail-gated, and stalked. The road-rager drives with reckless abandon. Their main point is to let you know that you have somehow wronged them. Just wave and smile. They'll get the idea.

One of the most annoying drivers is the "tail-gater." These people hide amongst the regular folk in bumper-to-bumper traffic. But when things start moving, look out, the tail gater emerges. The tail-gater has absolutely no intention of passing you, he just really likes to look at your back window. "Yes, that there is some mighty fine rear-window glass. I think I need to take me a closer look." I guarantee, my back window is no more impressive than anybody else's. Please stop looking at it so closely. I find that there are two ways to shake the tail-gater: 1) put on the brakes and watch them panic, and 2) slow down to a near stand-still. Yes, these actions might cause the tail gater to change into the "road-rager," but it's still fun to see how long it takes the tail-gater to pass when you slow down to 20 while everyone else is doing 60. You see, the tail-gater is a parasite. It can only survive when attached to another host. When the tail-gater is detached from the host vehicle, it only knows to find the closest available host and attach itself. "Ahhh, that was close...whoa, check out that rear window!"

And there are the "stuck-up snobs." I take a toll road to work every day. For some reason, many people seem to think that because they pay to drive on a road, it makes them somehow superior to the other non-paying travelers. So for this reason, I see a lot of stuck-up snobs in my daily commute. The superiority oozes through the tightly closed windows of their Mercedes-Benz SL500. These people don't share the road, they own it. The rest of us get out of the way when we see them coming.

So which category do I fit into? I'm sorry to say that I'm a rocker. My style is more KMFDM than KISS, but I must admit I enjoy opening up the windows and the sunroof (they don't offer T-tops on Saabs), cranking up the ultra-heavy beat and banging away on that poor steering wheel...
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/04/2004 1 comments

  big tex is a big sellout Am I the only one out there who has noticed that the entire world is run by advertisers these days? It's like there's this mastermind who rules over all things, a sort of real-world Dr. Evil. But instead of inserting nuclear weapons into giant drills or killing people with sharks with "frickin' lasers," this evil mastermind decides to take over the world in a much more mundane way. And he funds all of this evil by getting all of us to line up and sign up for American Online and eat at Taco Bell. He has come up with the most creative ways imaginable to spread his evil. Of course he invades our airwaves and TV screens. And yes, he sends us spam and pop-ups to get to us while we're online. But he also sponsors the halftime show of NFL football games. He sponsors the instant replays in NFL football games. He sponsors the kickoffs at NFL football games. Even the unsportsmanlike conduct penalties have been brought to you by one of his products.

But now things have gone too far. The last bastion of all things good has succumbed to his evil desires. Of course I'm talking about Big Tex. For those of you who have either been under a rock for the past 50 years, or perhaps live more than one inch outside the Texas state line, Big Tex is the humongous paper mache-looking, completely disproportionate guy in a Texas flag shirt, cowboy hat and boots, and blue jeans who greets visitors to the Texas State Fair. And by "greets," I mean literally greets. He turns his gigantic head, holds his hand in a way that showcases his dislocated wrist, and, in a perfect Texas drawl, proclaims, "Howdy folks!" and various other Texas-sounding catch phrases. But that's not all he's saying. That's right, Big Tex is also a tool of the evil advertising madman. What do you think is on Big Tex's belt? A set of 10 foot longhorns? The state-of-Texas shape? Oh, no, he has a humongous Dickies symbol. And those 20 foot tall boots he wears? Well, of course he got them from Boot Town. We can all tell from the 19 1/2 foot logo.

What's next, the state slogan is going to go from "The Lone Star State" to "The Old Navy State"? Why not just change the name to Starbuxas? I am so fuming I can't even write. I think the only thing that can calm me down is a delicious, refreshing can of Pepsi-Cola. Now if you'll excuse me...
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/02/2004 1 comments

 
big tex
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/02/2004 0 comments

  welcome to my world...i mean, my blog At first, this blog was going to be simply a place for me to put my LASIK testimonial. I thought I could help out the one or two people who did as much "at work" internet searching as I did when they noticed weird things happening to their eyesight after being zapped with lasers. I mean, there just aren't too many searches that come up under keywords "hot air balloon lasik bug-eye-man."

Then I decided maybe I'd use it to keep up with friends and family. What better way to avoid phone calls than the good 'ol non-personal world wide web??? But then I had an epiphany. I can write stuff even if I have absolutely nothing to say! And when I have nothing to say, who better to victimize with witty banter than friends and family? So rather then posting a "look how big Carter is getting" post every month or so, this is going to be an outlet for the various things that go through my mind that might not go through other people's minds. Until they read it here. Then it will go into their minds, hang out for a few minutes in short term memory, and go away, probably forever. Oh well, at least I was there for a few minutes...

The epiphany was mostly inspired by the Cynical Tyrant, who has one of the funniest blogs out there. Go check it out if you want to risk laughing out loud at work and having to pretend you're really just laughing at that paper-clip guy that helps you when you press F1 in Microsoft Excel.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/01/2004 1 comments

  they zapped me with lasers My decision to get lasik was, in many ways, made for me. Both of my brothers were blessed with perfect vision. I wasn't. I always knew there was an "E" on the eye chart, but I could never really see it (isn't it funny how it's always an "E"? I wonder if any eye chart makers ever considered using a different letter to throw people off?). So my parents decided that they wanted to get me the gift of vision, maybe to try to make things right between my brothers and me. The idea had been one that I had tossed around for a few years, but my contacts never bothered me enough for me to actually save up the money and get it done myself, not that saving that kind of money was even a remote possibility for someone in my situation. I honestly don't think I would have ever gotten around to doing it if I'd had to pay for it myself. The contacts were a small nuisance. I had really good vision with them, but from time to time they would cause some irritation and I had to take them out after a long day. And of course, there are the typical things that all lasik people say: 1) I hated having to put my glasses on to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, 2) I couldn't even see the alarm clock when I woke up in the morning, 3) I forgot what it was like to be able to open my eyes underwater, 4) etc., etc., etc... These are all reasonable excuses, but enough to spend thousands of dollars to go under the proverbial knife and take the chance of changing one's vision irreversibly?

Summer 2004 - I began looking around for a good lasik surgeon. I was new to the Dallas area, so I knew nobody who'd had the surgery here. The only thing I knew was that all sorts of minor local celebrities seemed to like to hawk the procedure at Dr. B's office in Plano. He says he has performed 50,000 procedures. Dr. B puts out full page ads in the newspaper, on the radio, on TV during Jeopardy. He even gets Sean Hannity to endorse him. All of this is fine and good, but really turned me off of his practice. I mean, this is surgery after all. I rarely, if ever, see TV ads for heart surgeons bragging about how many celebrities they have operated on. I decided also to scan the internet to try to find at least one other reputable surgeon. Through numerous searches and much reading, mostly done at work, I decided to also go to see Dr. G. I had read that he was well-known and respected by his peers for cornea transplants and other complicated-sounding procedures, in addition to doing about 10 lasik surgeries a week.

I saw Dr. B first. When I went in, it turned out exactly as I had imagined. Dr. B's office is in an early 80's looking strip mall-type of place in an older area of Plano (yes, 20 years old is "older" in Plano standards). There were about 30 people waiting in a room, all faced toward a TV with the same celebrities saying how wonderful Dr. B is. I couldn't help but wonder how much these people had been paid to say this, especially now that I've seen that Mike Piazza was paid $20,000 to brush his teeth on the Apprentice. Yes, I realize that Dat Nguyen's wife probably doesn't command the same kind of premium as Mike Piazza, but still...When I was finally called in to see the "doctor," I of course never actually saw the doctor. This was only the free initial screening. Seeing the doctor was reserved for the paying customers only. A guy in scrubs made me look at a hot air balloon in a machine, then did a quick eye dominance test (I'm right-eye dominant - go righties!), then declared me a perfect lasik candidate. Then it was back to the waiting room. The video was thrilling the first few times, but by this time it was just annoying. After another 30 minutes or so I was called in to see a "consultant," whose job was obviously to "sell" me the procedure. Once again, my cynicism caused my mind to wonder exactly what his commission split looked like. Was he getting paid to get me zapped by hell or high water? Probably. Turned out that I just happened to come in while there was a "summer special" and they were taking $600 off the price to get everyone done with Intralase and CustomVue. Yeah! Can you believe my luck?! The whole experience felt the same way you feel at a car dealership. "What do I have to do to get you into these eyes today?" That sort of thing. So, anyway, the entire procedure was $3390. I told them I would think about it. They sent me home with a piece of paper with the cost scribbled on it and rushed me out a back door.

My appointment with Dr. G was about a week later. The experience was much different. The whole place looked more like a hospital than a strip mall. The waiting area was also more like a hospital's. The TV was on Jeopardy, not on celebrity endorsements. Better be careful, Dr. B ads might come on, and I might be swayed to go to him instead! I was put through a series of tests, including the hot air balloon one (what is it with these hot air balloons? Don't you think I have better things to look at with my laser-vision?). They even did the custom mapping thing for CustomVue to test for "higher order aberrations." I'm not sure what these are, but I don't think I like them. I did get to meet Dr. G on this visit. He is a smallish guy in his 50's or so, with a mustache. Who has a mustache these days?! Anyway, he seemed like a nice guy who cared about me, and this left me with a very good feeling. At this point, I did go to see another "consultant," but it was more to answer any questions I had than to sell me on anything. The cost for a similar procedure was $4800. They left me with a packet of information about the procedure and the risks and sent me on my way.

When it came to my decision between the two doctors, it seemed pretty easy, except for that pesky matter of $1410. I probably shouldn't mention this out of respect for Dr. G, but what the heck. I negotiated the price down by $300 by telling Dr. G's office that I really wanted to go to him but I was having a hard time justifying the premium. That negotiations class I took for my MBA is really paying off. So now it was only $1110. Still a lot though, and I felt bad spending my parents' money if I couldn't justify the difference.

I had a really hard time making the decision about who to go to. It wasn't so much a matter of whether to go to Dr. B or Dr. G, more of whether to go to Dr. G or to not get lasik at all. In the end, though, my dad ended up talking to an ophthalmologist friend of his who recommended a doctor at the same office, so now I had his blessing to go to Dr. G, and I was ready to proceed. Yay!

I scheduled three appointments, one the day before for the final measurements, one for the procedure itself, and one the day after for follow-up. Since this all took place the week of Labor Day, I decided to go ahead and take the whole week off from work.

August 15, 2004 - I removed my contact lenses for the last time. "So long, little buddies. We've had a nice run." In the trash you go. Not that big a deal, really, they are disposable. I had no idea that going back to glasses for three weeks would be such a pain, but it was. Every time I got in my car I was blinded by the sun. My glasses are about 9 years old, so the prescription is less than stellar, plus there are scratches on every surface, including the painted part, which is chipped right in the middle between the eyes. The scratches cause this weird kaleidoscope effect whenever I look at a light. It's annoying. And of course, there are the teeth marks from where Bailey bit them while they were on my nightstand. Stupid cat. So I was now looking forward to my procedure for a whole new reason, to get out of these darn glasses.

September 7, 2004 - the day before surgery. I went in for my final tests. Things were much like the initial tests, the main difference being that these ones counted. So I made every effort to do things just like they said. I blinked when they said blink, didn't blink when they said don't blink, all that crap. Then came the fun part, where I had my eyes dilated. I've only had this done once before, and it freaks me out looking in the mirror and seeing those crazy big pupils. Hey, I look just like "Lady" from Thomas the Tank Engine! Also, I paid for the surgery in two very large credit card drafts (my parents paid me back!). I also spent a little more time with Dr. G, who convinced me to go with the old-fashioned microkeratome for the cutting of the corneal flap, instead of the new-fangled Intralase procedure. He said he wasn't completely comfortable with the amount of study done on the new procedure, and he had never had any problems whatsoever with the microkeratome. And hey, another $300! Plus, I have to say, I really respect the guy for getting me to go for the cheaper procedure. How un-carsalesman-like.

September 8, 2004 - the day of the surgery. Rachel dropped me off at the doctor's office, and I went to the surgery floor. Oddly enough, I had very little anxiety about the whole thing. Still, I decided to go with the valium. I figured I wouldn't have to really know what was going on. But somewhere along the line, no one ever actually remembered to give me the valium. So I went in fully alert. Whatever, no big deal. Like I said, I was pretty relaxed about it. They put a really cool blue shower cap on my head, put some drops in my eyes, slapped on a tag with my name and procedure, and sent me in to an examination room where Dr. G took one last look at my eyes and poked them with a stick a few times. I think he was marking them for some reason with a pencil of some sort. Whatever, he knows what he's doing, and at this point I'm already starting to become detached from the procedure. It's amazing the kind of weird things you'll put up at the doctor's office! Then it was on to the surgery room. They put me in this big dentist chair thing and asked me if I needed a blanket. I said no (let's just get this going already!). My eyes were completely numbed by the drops, so I didn't feel any pain from anything, but I could still "feel" what they were doing. He taped my eyelashes out of the way, then put in the speculum to keep my eyelids open. I'm sure everyone has heard about this part, it is so A Clockwork Orange. Then comes the weirdest part, the microkeratome. At this point, he tells me to focus on the blinking red light, which is a lot closer to my eye than I expected. He sticks this cylinder shaped thing on my eye, about the size of a bottle of liquid paper, it puts enough pressure on my eye to make my vision go out completely (this is completely "normal" and I was fully expecting this). Then there's this mechanical sound, which I can't see of course, but I know that it's my cornea being sliced. Just roll with the punches, I tell myself. And "keep looking at the light" (he told me to do this about 50 times, almost like a chant or mantra). It's harder than it sounds to look at the light. Things are in various stages of blurriness/blindness. The light is so close that it seems like you could look in any direction and the light would be there. I tried my hardest to keep looking at the light, and I think I did fine. Nobody ever told me I didn't. Then the clicking laser sound. Again, I expected this, and it wasn't a big deal. I guess the actual laser was invisible, because I had no idea that it was happening, save for the clicking. How disappointing. I was expecting it to look like the warp speed thing from Star Trek or something. I figure for this kind of money you deserve some entertainment along the way. Anyway, it was over soon, and Dr. G put the flap back in place. The oddest part was when he took this brush thing and brushed over my eyeball with some kind of liquid to seal the flap (Liquid Paper???). I couldn't help but laugh at the weird feeling. I could feel that he was brushing my eyeball, but it seemed like it was at least half an inch away. How bizarre! And yes, I'm sure I didn't take the valium. Now comes the most painful part, peeling off the stickers that held my eyelashes out of the way. I was actually shocked to discover that I still had all of my eyelashes! Then the whole thing again with the left eye. I guess here is where I'm supposed to say,"I couldn't believe it, I could actually see the clock on the wall, and without my glasses I couldn't even tell there was a clock." Seems like every lasik testimonial I've ever read has these exact words, like there is some kind of handbook for writing these, and it gives specific instructions for this part. ("Rule # 19: And don't forget, mention the clock. Mention...the...clock!") The truth is I don't even know if there was a clock. I didn't see it before or after. I was able to see stuff, although it was pretty blurry because of all the drops and stuff in my eyes. I did notice a funny smell, and I couldn't help wonder why it smelled so funny in there. A few minutes later I remembered that people reported a funny smell during the procedure, like burning hair. The doctor's website reassuringly tells you that "the burning smell is simply the odor of vaporized tissue from the cornea." How reassuring - "not to worry, it's just your corneas being vaporized." Dr. G took me back to the examination room and looked me over. He was happy enough with the results to send me on my way. Then they slapped some really cool tinted goggles on me and sent me home to go to sleep. Rachel and Carter were waiting for me in the waiting room. I told them I could see but I was supposed to keep my eyes closed. I still peeked out a few times to check things out. I could indeed see, but still kind of fuzzy and really hazy. I went home and really tried to take a nap. I had slept like 10 hours the night before and I was not the least bit tired, but, amazingly, I was able to fall asleep for about an hour. I woke up, and things still looked about the same -kind of clear, but hazy. I didn't experience any of the pain or discomfort that I had heard about from other testimonials. I definitely don't doubt that some people felt pain, I was just one of the lucky ones who did not. But here's the real miracle. Later that evening, I drove myself to Sonic to get ice cream! Everyone always says "I drove the next day!" Oh yeah, well I drove the same day, so there! Sonic is about 1/2 a mile away from home, so it's not like I competed in the Indy 500 or something, but still... Oh yeah, one other cool thing - Dr. G called me at home around 9:30 that night. I'm pretty sure he called me from home, too. This is something I never expected from my lasik surgeon. Turns out that I did have a concern that I was going to wait until the next day to ask, but now I had my chance to ask without having to worry overnight. I had a big ugly red contusion thing on my right eye - just a spot that looked really bloodshot. Dr. G assured me that this was very normal, was caused by the pressure from the microkeratome, and would go away in a week or two. My surgeon called me at home - how cool is that?! Now it was time to go to sleep, and I have to sleep with the cool goggles for a week.

September 9, 2004 - the day after the surgery. As I was already a seasoned post-lasik driver, it was not a big deal that I drove myself to this appointment. Well I did, but no one's impressed after the Sonic experience. I waited in the waiting room for like an hour, but it's cool. Dr. G is a busy man. When I did go in, the appointment was non-eventful. He checked out my healing and said everything looked normal. They did an eye chart test, during which I was able to read the 20/20 line. It was not clear, and I could definitely tell my vision was not as good as it had been with contacts, but impressive nonetheless. Plus I still had the haziness. After the appointment, we headed to Salado to visit my parents (again, I drove!). It's about a 3 hour drive from Plano. As exciting as it is to drive without glasses (and with sunglasses, thank God!), this drive is really boring, today or any day. That night we went out to Chuy's in Round Rock with some friends. The scary part is when I got back in the car to drive back to my parents'. Everywhere I looked, all the lights had these crazy starbursts coming out of them! I was really freaked out. I had no idea that this might be a side effect (yes, I realize now that it is a very common side effect, but somehow I had missed this before). I was even afraid to tell Rachel about it. I was pretty scared that I would be living with this the rest of my life. What had I done to myself?!

Over the weekend, I did some reading on the subject and found that these halos/starbursts are fairly common. Most of the experts say they go away after a few weeks or months, but a lot of the testimonials say that theirs never went away. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Another side effect is that my eyes are constantly fluctuating. One minute I'll be able to see fine, then the next thing I know my vision is blurry (that's blurry in post-lasik terms, nothing like pre-lasik, "can't see my toes" blurry). It's not so sudden that I can "see" it happening, but I notice that it has changed from the last time I checked. This side effect I was expecting, and I expect this to calm down over the next few weeks.

September 13 - my first day back at work. This was a very difficult day, not because of my eyes per se, but because I had to go back to work! I hate my job, and coming back after a week off was not fun. But this is about my surgery so I'll complain about my job at another time. I probably wouldn't recommend spending nine straight hours in front of a computer five days after getting lasik. Of course I wouldn't recommend doing that ever. Then again I wouldn't recommend working where I work (I guess I'll leave the name of my company out of this for now - they do pay my bills, you know. Well, they sort of pay my bills). I had a headache after looking at the monitor so long. Plus I think this probably exacerbates the dry eyes.

September 15 - one week after surgery. I noticed today that I have had some really bad headaches. Now I know that work can do this sometimes, especially when you have a job like mine. But I didn't have these before. I figure it's from staring at a computer screen all day, but I decide to call the doctor just to clear it up. I also wanted to ask about the starbursts and about whether I need to be using eye drops to keep my eyes from getting dry (it hasn't been a problem, but I've heard it aids healing). When I call, Dr. G is out of the office, but my "consultant" is pretty knowledgeable, and I feel comfortable that she knows what she's talking about. She isn't sure about the headaches, but says they might be caused by dry eyes, and Refresh Plus or Biontears are some good drops to use. She says what I was expecting about the starbursts, that they "will diminish with time." I also decided to ask about the vision fluctuation, which I asked about only because my eyes were fluctuating at different rates. My right eye tends to be blurrier than my left, which is very sharp and crisp, possibly at the level of pre-surgery contacts. I really wish I had done some baseline tests about what I could see before surgery. You know, like "I can read where it says 'bee happy, bee healthy' on the Honey Nut Cheerios box when it's on top of the refrigerator and I am on the couch. I can't read the word 'Toshiba' on the DVD player while sitting at the kitchen table." Now I can't even remember what my vision was like with contacts before. There is a sign at work that I've been using to track my progress since surgery. I can read "mail out, mail in" while sitting at my desk with my left eye, but not quite with my right. On another note, I can finally stop sleeping with the goggles. Now I can't freak out Rachel by being bug-eye-man in the middle of the night. I'll miss those things...

September 22, 2004 - two weeks since surgery. Things are starting to settle down with my eyes. I no longer experience nearly as much fluctuation with my vision. However, my right eye still lags behind my left. Plus, something I've noticed, mostly in my right eye, is that my vision starts out pretty sharp but gets blurrier over the course of the day. It's not a huge difference, nothing near what I was like pre-lasik, but still worth asking about. I think it may be due to dry eyes. My eyes don't feel dry, but I think you can experience the effects of dry eyes without them feeling dry. I decide to ask at my follow-up. Also, the starbursts are still there, but I think they might be getting better. This might just be wishful thinking, or maybe I'm getting used to them. Regardless, they don't come up unless it's really dark. No problems at dusk or daybreak. I decide that I could probably live with them and not feel too bad about lasik. I decide to describe the starbursts as "annoying, but not debilitating." I feel like this is a good attitude to have if I have to live with them, should that be the case. I would still be much happier without them. I'll keep waiting patiently.

September 23, 2004 - follow-up appointment scheduled. This was the day of my follow-up appointment, but I absent-mindedly scheduled it for the same day as Rachel's appointment with the baby doctor. So I rescheduled for September 30. We saw the baby, who is now 10 weeks along. I can't believe that you can really see a little baby moving around in there already! We didn't have this kind of technology even 3 years ago when Carter was at this stage. Okay, okay, I don't doubt that the technology was around, but they certainly didn't have it at the University Hospital in San Antonio. Now we're at a private hospital in Plano, where nothing but the best is good enough. Whatever, it was pretty cool.

September 29, 2004 - three weeks since surgery. I think the one thing that is bothering me the most is not being able to rub my eyes. I was told "not to rub my eyes vigorously for two months." So of course I am skirting the rules by rubbing below my eyes, or that corner area next to your nose where gunk sometimes builds up when you sleep. The whole point is not to rub the cornea area, so I've been avoiding that. It may just be all in my head, but I feel like my eyes are itchier than they've ever been and rubbing my eyes would feel better than anything else in the world right now. I'll ask.

September 30, 2004 - follow-up appointment. Today is the day I wrote everything up to this point. It's all from memory, written in retrospect. After reading so many lasik testimonials from various people and finding them very useful in coping with the various weird experiences of doctor-choosing and post-lasik healing, I decided to write my own, but I haven't gotten around to starting until today. So everything from this point on is unknown: a dark, winding road like at the end of Terminator 2. Where it leads I don't know, but the fact that I may not be destined to a future of fighting robots in a post-nuclear wasteland is reassuring. My appointment is this afternoon at 1:15.

Well, I just got back from my appointment. My eyes are even better than I thought! I was able to read the 20/15 line pretty clearly, and the refraction came up with no correction left. So my eyes are as corrected as they can get. And perhaps even better news is that the hot air balloon test made yet another appearance. That thing rules. Dr. G says the starburst/halo/glow thing will go away or at least get a lot better over the next couple of months. And he says not to worry about the right eye getting slightly worse over the course of the day. He says that this is probably caused by dry eyes, as I had suspected. Plus I got me some more free drops. Cha-ching! So now I don't have another appointment until November 30. I guess until then I will have to buy my own drops.
  ¶ monger187 wrote this on 10/01/2004 1 comments