A mainland midwife is walking past the hospital staffroom, when she hears two Chamorro doctors talking, "I'm telling you it's wumba: W-U-M-B-A," says the first. "No. It's woombaa: W-O-O-M-B-A-A," says the second. "No, no, no. Wumba: W-U-M-B-A," says the first again. At this the nurse pops her head through the door, "I think you'll find, gentlemen, it's WOMB: W-O-M-B." The two doctors look blankly at her, until one of them says, "Madam. I doubt if you've ever even SEEN a carabao, let alone heard one fart in a mud pool."
As my date of birth quickly approaches, I been pondering some things, as you know if you've been reading my blog. Today, I wondered, will I be allergic to the flea bag my parents insist on keping in our house? According to the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma & Immunology, allergies to dogs or cats occur in approximately 15% of the population. But, the Academy also says that there are steps to take lesson my chances of an allergy:
We spend from one third to one half of our time in our bedrooms. By keeping the animals out of the bedrooms at all times, we can greatly reduce the symptoms of pet allergies. (No chance of that, that nipper has been at the foot of the bed all its life)
Install a good "HEPA" air cleaner. (Check)
Close the ducts to the bedrooms and use electric heaters. (No problems there, no heaters)
Clean and vacuum regularly. (Check)
Bathe your pet weekly. (Check and Check)
Do not allow your pet on the furniture. (No chance of this happening, the dog can jump over the couch without touching it, you can't keep her off of anything)
Do not allow your pet in your car. Or use car seat covers when your pet is in the car. (Good, I don't want to ride with drools a lot anyway)
Brush your pet daily and use an allergy-reducing spray such as Allerpet. ( Say what? Where to I find that on an isalnd that doesn't have fresh milk?)
Keep your pet's skin healthy by feeding a good multivitamin and a fatty acid supplement. (Check)
Encourage the pet to spend more time outdoors. (Yes, absolutely)
Wash your hands after handling the pet, his toys, bed, etc. (Or where gloves when handling me)
See your physician and discuss possible immunotherapy or medications. (Or, leave the dog on the other side of the island)
Of, relating to, or typical of this world; secular.
Relating to, characteristic of, or concerned with commonplaces; ordinary
You know, it's quite amazing what I can hear in here. I can hear dogs barking, people talking, children playing. But, you know, I am hearing the same things over and over again. Oh yes, I hear the occasional Wagner or a bird singing, but nothing that out of the ordinary.No shouting, shooting, swearing, nothing exciting. Which leads me to this question, is life really this mundane? If so, I'm in no hurry to greet it, unless somebody can convince me otherwise. Why do you think life is not mundane? Let me know
Monday, February 4, 2008
What do Motown and I have in common. No, not the moniker voice of a generation (not yet at least). A driving, infectious beat? No, we both have over 1000 hits. Yep, today I went over the wall of 1000 people on my blog. I think this kind of momentous day calls for some grand act on my part, so keep looking. In fact, if you haven't bookmarked or added my blog to your favorites what ya waitin' for?
I'm learning a lot about how my mind will work one day from my Mom and Dad. Wait, let me back this up a little bit. You see, for the past several days, my parents have been walking around a lot in some lame attempt to get me to come out early. I'm on to that plan, and I'm hangin' tough Opa. Anyway, they are walking a lot, mostly near the house as Mom is moving as fast as a slug in molasses in January (look at me, I'm combining similies, and at such a young age). So, lots of trips around the block, almost.
You see, our block dead ends into jungle, so you can't actually walk around the block, so see have been treading a u shape. While discussing this unusual route one night my parents began commiserating about how hard it is to teach geography to kids that have little to no idea about city blocks, street signs, etc, etc, etc (to be explained in another blog). Then, my father got off on a tangent about how he even had a hard time explaining to kids about where we live, two blocks from school and how adults here really can't comprehend those verbal directions either. Then the topic came up about water bottle delivery (also another topic for another blog) and how my Dad couldn't explain that our house was on the corner of the block, because the concept of city blocks just doesn't exist in Oceania outside of Australia and New Zealand. Then came the weird connection, he said that it should be easy to find our house because it is on the corner, and the other house on the block is on the other corner with no house in the middle of our street.
That is when my father had an ephipany. "Oh, that's what that Madness song means", he said like he had just discovered the cure for cancer or how to make an everlasting gobstopper. "They don't mean the house is literally in the middle of the street, they mean it is half way down the block. Wow, how did it take me this long to figure that out, like 25 years, did you know that?." To which my Mom responded, "Yeah, Duh, I think everybody got that but you!" Then my Dad went to to explain that he felt like it was the time when he was 18 that my Aunt Maggie had to explain that "Relax" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood was a blue song (btw, Aunt Maggie, can you e-mail me about that one, he really didn't go into details).
So you see, isn't funny how the adult mind works. Things that are somewhat random are connected in the most unusual ways. Or, maybe my father is just a little cracked, who knows? Anyway, I will let you decide for yourself, I have included the song "Our House" in a player at the end of the post, just in case you've had better things to do in the last 26 years than listen to watered down ska music from England.
It will not be too long and I will be amongst you all, so some things have been weighing heavy on my mind. Here is one of those things. As conceded as it sounds, I worry about my rep riding in my mom's car, a lame Toyota Camary. Now, if your one of the every, what, one in two people in the world who drive one of these loaves of white bread on wheels; I'm sure it's fine for you. But me, I'm a go for broke, hair on fire kind of guy. The idea of spending my first days in the latter day grocery getter gives me chills up and down my little spine. So, I was thinking, how about the motorcycle? My dad rides a dirt bike, maybe I'll ride that as well. But, as my libertarian brothers and sisters know, the Orwellian hand of government is up in all of our collective businesses and I have to spend my first years strapped into a government approved car jail. But, I think I might have found a loophole, a child bike seat! I think that my dad, with what limited mechanical skills he has, can jerry rig a bicycle seat. If not, Opa Lewis is coming and can do it for me, as I'm sure he sees the absolute brilliance of this plan. I've posted a picture of what I am talking about. Now, remember, this will be on a motorcycle much like the one shown, not the lame bicycle in the photo. By the way, if my dad starts to wear boat shoes and white socks like this joker in the bicycle picture, I'm fully expecting my Uncles Dwayne, Matt, and Aaron to come enforce to save me years of embarrassment. Now, I'm thinking that this plan to have a bicycle seat on the dirt bike is like killing two birds with one stone. One, I don't have to be subjected to the suburban express and I get to feel the wind in my hair. And, occasionally, we will take a sweet jump off a ramp, ala my new fetal idol, Evil Knievel. So, if you have any comments or suggestions on how we can make this happen, please leave a comment.
You know what I can't wait for, BACON, that's right, BACON!. You see, when you are on total life support, like me, you don't really get a choice of what you eat. Mom has made it her grand crusade to avoid anything with sodium nitrite or sodium nitrate, as they can be converted in her stomach to a powerful carcinogen. So, I get no bacon, sausage, hot dogs, pepperoni, frozen prepackaged food, or just about anything else that the miracle of refrigeration could provide. I hope I won't have to wait too long! Maybe Dad can find a nice pig fat flavored pacifier or just buy me a pig to gnaw on.
I heard this one at the clinic yesterday, enjoy:
