Little one's surgery at Legacy Emanuel Hospital

Our tiny one, little miss R., went into surgery this morning for minor work to repair a duct that never opened between her left eye and nose. Essentially they surgically insert a temporary tube between her eye and nose to create the connection, and then after 2-3 months of healing, they will remove it.

In 8 words: Today was the surgery, and it went fine.

In 3 words: It went Fine.

The doctor, a young, nice-looking pediatric ophthalmologist with very hairy arms (as have I), assured us that it is a routine operation that he does often, and one which he has done several hundred times in recent years. He is as I mentioned, young (of course any surgeon not over 50 looks young when your kids are on the line), but very confident in his ability, and is quick with very definitive answers. We liked him, and felt he was not only up front with us, but was steady of hand (maybe its the folicular abundance that keeps the hand properly weighted, as it does mine) and with my extensive background check I determined that he is easy on the vodka tonics (at least, he did not wreak of anything alcoholic when I did a spot check this morning and his DNA mapping came out clean).

As you might imagine, even with all of that reassurance, we were still a collective bundle of nerves. The surgery isn't too worrisome to me; its the general anesthesia of a 16.5 lb baby that puts me in a fundamental state of uneasiness. I don't think any parent relishes the idea of having their little one put under general anesthesia, no matter how surgically seasoned they are.

But, let me reiterate: It Went Fine.

Surgery day went something like this:
12 AM: No more food or water for the baby (which really means no nursing to put her back to bed)
1-4 AM: Baby was tossing and turning, as were we. I suspect she picked up on our nerves.
4:03 AM: Baby was wide awake, sitting up, clapping to try to get her mother's attention. Time to change venue from the bedroom and let Mama sleep even if only for an hour.
5:15 AM: Baby still awake, playing on the living room floor and watching the news of northwest floods with Dad. Time to wake Mom up.
5:48 AM: In the car headed for the hospital
6:34 AM: Late check in, then up to the room to wait. Weigh in, under the arm temp, and we're on deck. Baby is busy, happy to be playing with the rails of the bed and smiling at the other children in the room. So innocent...so oblivious to her parents' plan. It's for her own good. Really.
7:11 AM: Move to Pre-Op in a loud room with 8 other anxious children and their overwrought detail of parents, grandparents, and siblings. Assistant guiding us there refers to R. as "Ginger - oh isn't that a beautiful name!"to everyone she sees on the way risking dismemberment from our baby's loving mother... Pre-Op is rather zoo-like, and somewhat disconcerting (the nurse on duty suggests as much, and says she'll get her out of here as quickly as possible). I made an off-hand joke about the doctor being able to play 8 games of chess at once. Nerves, I suppose.
7:15 AM: Meet with the anesthesiologist, surgeon, and nurse/assistant (didn't catch which credentials he had). Doctor verifies with us that it is indeed the "Left" eye, yes? We sign a paper that agrees. Glad we cleared that up.
7:32 AM: The band of three practitioners carry our baby away, to the operating room. Momentary Internal Parental Panic Syndrome (MIPPS) overtakes us both for a few seconds. "She is our beautiful baby; how can we give her into the hands of another, hell bent on putting her under the influence of chemicals and drilling holes in her tear ducts?"
7:33 AM: Let the waiting begin. We read a magazine on Movies to distract. We eavesdrop on two other couples discussing moving to various counties in Washington from their former homes in California. Is everyone in the Northwest from California?
8:15 AM: Doctor returns to waiting room in scrubs, and delivers the good news that all is well.
8:30 AM: Baby is awake from anesthesia, and Mom is invited in to calm and sooth.
8:40 AM: Baby and familial troop are moved to recovery.
9:30 AM: Time to go home.

Meanwhile, our firstborn, Dr. J. Jr., stayed home in the morning with our good friend J.V. She is like his aunt, and he knows her well. Our friend J.V. told us that young master J woke up promptly at 7:30, ready to go to school and enthusiastic. We had prepared him well so that he would not be scared when he woke up and we were not there, so all went well. He got dressed, ate breakfast, and they were off to school without event.

All of this really does make you think about things, no matter how cliche that might be. You stand in the sterile environment of a hospital, observing the faces and movements of other parents, wondering what everyone else is in for, but scared to know for sure. You'd rather bear your own burdens on mornings like this. In a waiting room, everyone is a tortured soul. You hate to feel like you are the least tortured of all, but secretly everyone hopes that they have the least to worry about of anyone in the room.

OH how thankful we are for healthy children. Our beautiful baby girl's surgery was incredibly minor compared to some, and yet terribly scary nonetheless. I am thankful for my son. I am thankful for my daughter. I am thankful for my wife.

One more time: It Went Fine.

Time for a nap. I am exhausted.

Bacon Fat blogging - Or -Why Portland is famous in Malta

I've been writing MetroKnow for about six months or so, and along with the steady-as-she-goes increase of my weight from limiting my exercise to excessive typing and scrollwheel calisthenics, the sizzle of the typewritten bacon fat that I'm cooking seems to be picking up a little.

Like me, I'm guessing that most bloggers do the following: my self-absorbed, egocentric side compels me to watch my little site meter 18 hours a day to try to find out as much as I can about how people end up spending 0:00 seconds (or, heaven help me, more) on my blog. And then write more about that. And that little bugger, my increasingly visible alternate persona, who I was tempted to name before remembering that it is one of the worst writing faux pas that there is (to name part of yourself and write it down - read into that what you will), is dominating my thoughts into states of massive non-productivity and undiagnosed mild dementia.

So, Portland friends (and my posse of literati in Tuvalu - that's a shout out to my "peeps"), I need some help. Here are some fascinating little tidbits of frivolous data that I am looking for answers on. To be truthful, I guess I don't really need help with it, so much as I'm using the request as another excuse to write about myself and see it permanently engraved on a blogger-hosted hard drive, accessible to millions. That, friend, I may need help with, but I doubt that too many licensed professionals are reading this, so it looks like I'm going with this plan for now.

Example 1: WordCrap. Its not just for dinner.
I recently wrote a couple of entries in a new series that I am affectionately calling, "WordCrap." Nothing revolutionary here; basically just attempts at semi-humorous diatribes on words and phrases that irritate me. An example: I do not care for the word, "cornucopia." Why? Bad experience with a wicker basket? Trouble at the Molalla bingo hall? Dunno - I'll need some self-medicated hypnotherapy to figure that out. But I am sure that there is something funny in a word that has the sounds, Corn, Cop, and U*Pee in it. Or, maybe it truly is, just me.

But here's the point: I keep getting pageviews from people in obscure places that are searching Google for the made-up word, "wordcrap," to the tune of several hundred hits this week. Now even in this blog-induced stooper of self-absorption, I am not so deluded as to think that my witticisms are making me a star in Gaberone. Hell, I don't even translate into English half the time, much less Setswanan (yes, thank you Google - As a product of the Public Schools system, I thought Gaberone was a female Portuguese tennis star). So, to savor the suspense, I am preventing myself from exhaustive searching in favor of asking the brilliant minds of PDX: Why, Portland, Why? Answers? Theories? Quips? Witticisms?

Example 2: Curtains? At this club, that's gonna cost extra.
Getting back to the data, my favorite search term so far? From a place named Leaside in Ontario, Canada (put your hands together for the Leaside Flames! Go Flames!), someone performed a search on Google for "funky curtain valences," and clicked my way. I just Googled it myself, and from this region, MetroKnow is on the second page for funky curtain valences - number 18 in the results. Not bad, considering I never wrote about curtains (mental note...). Of course, it turns out that it is referencing an old entry on my newish Subaru (digression: as I recall, they told me at the Clackamas Express DMV that I had to drive at least one Subaru and own a single-speed commuter bike to qualify to take the written test) where I talk about side-impact curtains, "top-impact valences and sconces," and used the word, "funky," to describe Portland (now that is a word association that hasn't been overused in this noble township).

So, At this point, I don't have a lot of answers on the why's of Google's algorithms generously pointing readers to me, but I must confess I am enjoying the exercise.

For now, until I get an answer from someone that says WordCrap means, "Hey lady! Have you been tested?" in Maltese, I think I'm gonna' be writing just a few more articles in the WordCrap series. And maybe one on the curtains of Portland (hey its my idea pal - back off. And for the love of god, please do not tell Chuck Palahniuk. He could write me back into my little wet paper bag on that idea if he wanted to). In fact, I think I'm going to create a new blog about it, in hopes of furthering my loyal fanbase of 0:00's to Tromelin Island.

After all, who, really, can resist the smell of bacon?

Chris Rock

So I normally don't post quotes like this, but I couldn't pass this one up.

"You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy,the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of arrogance, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the three most powerful men in America are named Bush, Dick, and Colon." --Comedian Chris Rock

I knew there was a reason I should've learned to rollerblade

check this out:

A brief look at our afternoon avec dog

Jonah has taken to calling Cleo "Otis."

ymJ: No Otis!
Cleo: [Rhaggy?]
ymJ: Otis bad girl!
Cleo: [frmarff...rericious butter!]
ymJ: Mama, where's Otis?
Mama: Otis is in the big city chewing up his daddy's hatchback, sweetheart.
ymJ: Otis not here?
Mama: No, Otis is not here.
ymJ: Otis eat poopoo!
Mama: Otis no! I mean, Cleo!

Otis - I mean Cleo, is here. We are here. But Otis, is not here.

Stanley Kubrick ain't got nothin' on this

So this is one of the coolest techy things I've seen in a while. Just leave your laptop at home, or the plate in your head, or your pacemaker, and you should be fine.

Of course, if you buy this bed, somehow I don't think a pacemaker is part of your life...

http://www.goldarths.com/Regulars/Current_Affairs/Magnetic_Floating_Bed/

Just a quick entry. Notes on our LA trip forthcoming.

Oh holy, holy day

No, this is not an article about the passing of Jerry Falwell. It is much more significant news. MUCH more.
-------

Scientists find genetic key that could lead to a cure for baldness

Mark Henderson, Science Editor [timesonline.co.uk]

Hippocrates recommended a blend of pigeon droppings, cumin, horseradish and beet-root, and the Ancient Egyptian remedy included toes of a dog and hoof of an ass.

Now the prospect of a baldness cure that actually works has moved closer after scientists proved for the first time that it is possible to create entirely new follicles from which hairs grow. [...more]

Ask Aunt Bahbra: 90% of my brain is a barren wasteland?

[This is a new feature that I am trying out here to see if I get any response. It will be republished on Bedarkened.com as soon as I get the site reformatting finished. More about the good Aunt Bahbra to come.]

Ask Aunt Bahbra
just another clever nibblet from bedarkened.com



Dear Aunt Bahbra,

I have heard that we only use 10% of our brain, and in other contexts that we only use 1/10th of 1 percent of our brain. That doesn't seem like very much. Are either of these ideas true?

- Mel, Tuscon AZ

Well Dahlings, that all depends on whether you were re-elected in 2004.

Actually, it turns out that in most cases it is simply not true. It is not entirely clear how this notion became pop-fiction-pseudo-science, as we know that it predates the search for weapons of mass destruction, the concept of Smurf dolls being possessed of secret hidden powers, and the idea that maintaining a girlish figure can be done in 5 minutes a day (Heavens no. Here, have another scone, Deary). In truth, the source of this fabrication remains a mystery. For the majority of us, we actually use 100% of our brain, despite the abundance of evidence to the contrary on C-Span. We think that there are a few exceptions like Bobcat Goldthwait, Paris Hilton, and John Wayne Bobbitt, but that is unconfirmed. And we have no desire to do so.

Look at it this way, Sweetie. If you used only 1/10 of 1% of your brain, then theoretically you could just toss the other 99.9% of the tissue that you're not using (and we don't mean Charmin) and still function in the same manner to which you have become accustomed. Not entirely reasonable, is it, Lovie? No, I'm afraid you have not a square, not a square to spare.

Lovingly,
Auntie B

Send your questions, puzzled inquiries, and otherwise interesting conundrums to: clever@bedarkened.com with the word, "Aunt" somewhere in the subject line.

Time for sunscreen, Umpqua's last resort, and Bend

In case you can't read that, its the forecast for the next two weeks - sunny, upper 60's to low 70's. And its been this way since last week. It was a little warmer yesterday (upper 70's here). The evenings are still sweater-ish, which is perfect.I've read many posts (and written some) about the frustration/depression of being stuck in the Northwest during the winter months, so I definitely know what its like to be wallowing in the doldrums of darkness. When its bad its bad. . .But when its good, I can think of few places I'd rather be. Don't get me wrong; I like tropical, warm water vacation-like weather too (if Santa Barbara weren't multi-million dollar prices it would be a toss-up), but 70's and sunny is perfect everyday summer weather for me. Even though there are ton of things I miss from our old home, I can say that on days like these I don't miss 90-120 degree heat in the foothills of the San Gabriels.We spent the weekend in southern and central Oregon, vagabonding around the highways from Roseburg to Bend, and points between. After a successful art opening for April's mom (and Jonah chasing a cat that April swears is the reincarnated Duster, her cat from long ago), we spent time at Dustin's campground (Umpqua's Last Resort), where his brother and sister-in-law are managing and improving the park. It has really started to take shape, complete with rock walls, remodeled bathrooms and showers, and newly graded and formed sites for RVs and campers.
We also spent time on a short hike to the falls that adjoin his property, which seemed to us so perfect that it was like a staged set. Mossy rocks, clear, clean air, shadows and sunlight dancing on the water, the whole bit. Jonah had a blast too throwing sticks and rocks into the water, and just generally exploring wherever he saw fit. It was also really great to get some family time over roasted pork, potato salad, gespacho, and a blazing bonfire. The only downside was Rima got a little sunburned on her cheeks, which we are guessing was not her favorite part of the trip.


The next day we headed over to Bend to visit with our friends Rick, Noelle, and Corbin, and had a really enjoyable (albeit too short) visit in their new location. They absolutely love it in Bend, and we could see why. The weather there is much more polar than where we are, with colder snowy winters and hotter, high-desert summers, providing opportunities for just about any kind of outdoor activity you can think of. Rick is particularly enjoying the fly fishing that is abundant, the bouldering, as well as the mountain bike trails and local brew pubs. All of those activities are literally 10 minutes or less from their front door. Their home is also easily twice the size of their previous apartment in Pasadena and in the same price range, complete with an oversized garage, outside storage, a gourmet kitchen, a gas fireplace, a loft space, and a large deck and yard.. We were really happy for them - and they seemed genuinely happy with their new spot, which was really great.

Our drive back on Monday morning took us over the mountains on a road we'd never traveled before, going through Sisters and hundreds of acres of national forest, and eventually into Salem. It was quite a stunning drive for much of the way, and we couldn't help but notice how clean and uncrowded everything is. No noticeable litter, very clear, blue skies, and flowing water in streams and waterfalls for nearly the entire trip. The road was very easy to drive compared to some of the north Cascades roads that get a little hairy, so it was not an exhausting trip home.Finishing up, I'm a little befuddled by the weather thing. . .Its so hard to be objective knowing how I felt a month ago. But it sure does make a difference when you have weeks on end of sun and light clouds with clean air and water, friendly people, and all of the farmer's markets getting into gear. I am sure I'll be bellyaching about the weather again when we get rain in the fall, but I can tell you that for now, this makes the winter depression a little easier to handle.

Paris, Andrew Bird, and La Blogotheque

Just a quick post, but more later.

This video absolutely kills me...Not only is it Andrew Bird playing one of his best songs (Spare-Ohs), but it is video of one of the most historically colorful parts of Paris, Montmartre. If you have any affinity at all for good music and all things Parisian, you have to watch this. But be warned, if it hooks you, la Blogotheque's videos will cost you a lot of productivity...

Thanks to Z at Birdsfall for the tip.

Ah, Paris.....

James Bond's license plate spinner would be really useful here

As a state, Oregon has a reputation for keeping to itself, doing its own thing, and making the state lines clear particularly when it comes to their southern bordering neighbor. Californians are generally blamed for the poor condition of pretty much everything in the state, from outrageous housing prices to Starbucks (Washington has been given statewide amnesty until 2013), so if you choose to reveal your CA-origin, your reception will likely be a little cooler, a little less, "Wow we're so glad to see you!"

You especially notice the distinction when you go from California license plates to Oregon license plates. With California plates, you don't really notice aggressive, edgy drivers pointing their vehicles at or away from your Hester Prynne stamp from the California DMV, because in much of California, that's pretty much an every day driving experience. But when you change to Oregon plates, the freeways, highways, and side streets suddenly become vastly different.

For example, If you are merging onto the freeway as a California-plated driver, Oregonian vehicles are inexplicably forced to either a) slow down to 30 to "assist you," leading to a chain reaction of slowness also called the Molalla Molasses effect, or b) speed up to try to innocently yet unsuccessfully save you from their freeways (which, again, if you're from LA, is just par for the course on the 10, 60, 210, and 405 at all times of day (can I get a, "WhatEverrrr???"). The 101 too, but it is so overcrowded with tourists that local aggressive drivers are the least of your concerns.). But when you don an Oregon plate, the cars seem to grow from their fenders a pair of open, white-gloved arms as if to say, "Welcome to our clean, reasonable Freeway, the way of the Free, the Free of way that delicately unites our glorious green state. We love you for even noticing how Free this wonder of pavement is, and we will gladly do anything possible to make your travels more footloose, fancy free, and just gall durn pleasant!" Its like Radiator Springs with more moss.

You will also notice that drivers smile and wave to fellow Oregon-plated motorists much more so than to their California-branded counterparts. "Hello, Friend!" their waves seem to signal to their kindred Ducks. Although to be truthful, some noble and courageous Oregonians will extend themselves to your heathen breed as if to say, "You poor, bureaucratically beaten-down smog-wearied soul. Come my child. It is better here. Let us partake of this peace together in the form of a shared thoroughfare, and perhaps we shall keep doing this in remembrance of this day. Breathe deeply. No no, its safe to do that here, little one." As a general rule though, you will be lucky to get so much as a virtual, "hmmphh."

In fact, the state Driver's License test does include this question:

42. When driving on a 4-lane highway through the towns of Boring or Wanker's Corner, and a Californian is inconsiderate enough (as usual) to attempt to change lanes or pass legally, you should:
a) Ignore them and speed up like you would a panhandler asking for crack-money
b) Ignore them like a cancerous mole that you should have gotten checked out months ago
c) Ignore them and hoist your, "NRA for Nader - Can't we all just get along?" flag
d) Pretend that there is no log truck speeding along in the oncoming lane, and wave them innocently into said lane
e) Pretend to sneeze and "accidentally" hit the gas, turn on your flashers and wipers, and generally act like Britney Spears throwing babies at the paparazzi (we're pretty sure she's from there too) in a vain attempt to scare them back to their hole
f) Any or preferably All of the above

My advice? By the power of Grey Skull, change your plates before you do anything else. Do not attempt to find a place to live. Do not attempt to find a library or farmer's market or a Peet's coffee or Powell Books. Of course, if you can swing it, James Bond-style rotating plates would be best, because when you go back to California, you will be expected to drive 15 miles slower per hour than everyone else, smiling and waving, unaware that you are infuriating every other driver who has someplace to go, right NOW. I think that's on the DMV test too.

Joost-mania, Ketchup, and, Hometown Buffet

So I spent a little bit of time last night checking out the buzz on Joost (and trying so far, unsuccessfully, to get an invite). My hope is that maybe, just maybe, this will be the solution that many of us in the television viewing public have been waiting for. And I love the fact that it is coming from the guys who invented Skype.

When it comes to television, I think April and I are not alone in wanting one major but simple change to how things work - if you pay for a cable or satellite service, you should be able to choose the channels you want to pay for, and choose the channels you do not want to pay for. Why does no one in charge of these companies fully understand this from a purely dollars and cents perspective? Why is it that the market-savvy MBAs who run the companies can't see that if they could simply solve that problem with an enticement to buy what we want, that they would vastly increase customer satisfaction and new subscribers (and money, as I would gladly pay per channel. I would pay several dollars a month per channel I liked plus a "free local channels package" if it were offered. Just off the top of my head, that sounds like around at least $30-$40/month to me - you?)? I am sure that the big vendors (Discovery etc.) require that cable and dish companies buy packages of filler channels with the premium channels from them, so they in turn spread that cost to us, but someone, some bright, Harvard grad, has got to be able to turn this simple concept into a consumer opportunity. Maybe Joost is gonna nail it.

Of course, the argument ignores one major fact: More is better is the middle American approach to the power of their dollar, sad to say - it transcends everything from, "Well hell's bells I'll buy a bigger American Truck that sucks gas, so long as its just plain bigger." to oversized big gulp buckets of soda. From Costco to, "family" dining, the size matters argument is alive and well. And to be totally honest, I've often thought that the food at Claim Jumper is of course not 5-star cuisine, but where else can you get a plate of 20+ hot wings for a $4.99 happy hour price? Is that what a morbidly obese culture (myself included) should really Value? And why is it that Hometown Buffets, which serve food that is mediocre at best (and arguably, deadly if you believe large quantities of trans-fats or just plain calories are a bad thing), are springing up successfully all over the United States, thriving in malls and high traffic areas? In fact, to take it one step further, if you do a little digging on the SEC Web site, you can find this:

Hometown Buffet (and its associated brands (Old Town Buffet, etc.)), "operating 668 restaurants in 39 states across the United States[...]among the highest perceived value of all restaurants in their class[...] For the twelve weeks ended September 20, 2006, on a pro forma basis, we and Ryan’s [additional brand] served over 50.0 million customers, generated net sales of approximately $414.5 million and incurred a net loss of approximately $5.6 million."

That, is a lot, of calories. And they represent only 5% of the, "family dining" segment of the industry. But boy, you sure do get your money's worth. And so will your cardiologist.

The point is, for those of us who are trying to be conscious of waste, and not buying into the, "more is better" philosophy of living, these kinds of package deals crowded with fillers and junk are frustrating at best.

Circling back, the argument that packaging a handful of good television content providers with a vast array of junky ones (or 86 sports channels. I mean c'mon.), so long as there is a lot of them, is ultimately for the consumer's good makes absolutely no sense. But if you hear it long enough, it starts to wear you down. We were Dish subscribers for years, though we are currently going without (which is probably why I have time to write this entry). And if you're given no choice, you eventually sign that two-year contract to enslave yourself to 90% of programming that you'll never watch, or waste even more time figuring out that you don't want to. It seems like in most industries, the consumer ultimately determines the success or failure of each product. It's a capitalist twist on the survival of the fittest theory. So why not in this case? Why not let the good channels survive and the rest go quietly away?

I just read a fascinating article from the New Yorker that was forwarded from a good friend of mine and restauranteur (LouOnVine.com) that described some of the reasons why we eat what we do from a corporate perspective. This particular article was about Ketchup. Ever wonder why you crave Heinz 90% of the time, or why it reminds you of fries and a shake with your dad? There are lots of theories on the chemical additives that may or may not create mild addiction (can you say KFC?), or just the high sugar content that enraptures kids with the stuff, but the truth of the matter is it is market research plus an indepth knowledge of how your tongue actually works that makes products like Heinz Ketchup fly off the shelves for year after year. For example, have you ever stopped to consider that the squeeze bottle of Ketchup, a relatively new invention, is not really for any adult convenience or to solve that, "stuck in the bottle" problem...The folks at Heinz freely admit that it was designed to target children who would use more of their product if it was in a container that their small hands could manage without an adult having to assist (and restrict use). Its a great article. And in the end, I actually marveled at the brilliance of chemistry that companies like Heinz and Pepsi have figured out to satisfy our tongues. These guys have got it together.