Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Pix
A textbook definition of cowardice, updated
For those of you who are apolitical, MSNBC’s Keith Olbermann for the last few weeks, has been channeling Edward R. Murrow in his (Olbermann’s) quest to take down this corrupt administration.
Tonight, Olbermann called Bush out for cowardice. Wow. Read the full transcript. Crooks and Liars will undoubtedly post a link to the video; I’ll crosslink here, when I get the opportunity.
But if politics doesn’t get you excited, meditate on the sunset 
D.
UPDATE: Here’s some linkage at Daily Kos, or go straight to Crooks and Liars.
Boy mit bagels
I made that!
Guess that goes for the boy and the bagels, although I had a bit of help making the boy.
Last time I tried to make bagels, I was in college, and they came out like rubber toss-rings. The experience so traumatized me, I have waited until now to try it again. These came out perfect — go figure. I attribute my success to (A) a kickass power mixer, and (B) a much better oven.
Best thing about this recipe? I have another big ball of dough in the fridge, which I can use to make focaccia tonight, or perhaps another half dozen bagels tomorrow.
***
Our high speed modem is futzing. If it doesn’t rally by this evening, I won’t be live blogging. Check in around 7 to 8 PM PST and see if I’m around.
‘Kay, I’ve made breakfast for the family, ran one load of dishes and one of laundry, cleaned the litterbox, and mopped up the cat’s bathroom (you know the routine — shit on the floors, shit on the walls, and kitty litter everywhere). Time to edit!
D.
Say moo
When I took out the trash a moment ago, I had a true City Boy moment. (What can I say — that’s what I am.)
There — there are cows! Across the street! And calves.
And they smell.
Of course, I had to take a picture.
One of the mama cows impressed Jake with her projectile diarrhea. What do they feed these beasts, anyway?
If you click on the photo, you can see the big version with the mama cows, too.
In other news, certain people at the hospital (you know who you are, you evil lurker you) insist I should be the Chief of Staff next year. As if being Vice Chief of Staff qualifies me for that role!
Vice Chief of Staff is easy. I’m all over Vice. Vice is in my blood. Aside from breaking up that cockfighting game in ICU and the racketeering operation over in Med-Surg, I’ve had little to do all year. But Chief of Staff — that’s a whole ‘nother animal.
I need PEOPLE SKILLS for that job. I can’t blurt out whatever’s on my mind just because I know I’ll get a laugh.
On the other hand, the prospect of absolute power is appealing.
D.
We don’t look a day over 9000
Blue Gal and I passed a milestone this month: we each received over 10,000 hits. Yay, BG! Go, me!
As much as I appreciate all my readers, my regulars have a special place in my heart. THANK YOU. I shall make my thank you more concrete in a moment, but for now, thanks to all the li’l people who came here looking for this
or this
or this
Yes, Balls and Walnuts sails past the 10K mark on the strength of our uncredited use of stolen images. Teh Intranets are kewl.
Back to my regulars, the ones I lurve, the ones I bloody well write this blog for day after day cuz I know you’re out there reading me because you like me, you really like me. Sure, some folks blog to vent, some to change the world, some to network, some to practice their exhibitionistic skills. I’m partial to all those motivations (and, give me a sec, but I’m about to indulge one of them big time), but the real reason I do this is because you fill me. You make me complete. I know I shouldn’t look outside myself for that, but I am what I am. I need an audience.
Blue Gal gave her readers a You Tube music video; but what could I give you?
Me.
All of me.
Below the cut.
The Black and White Thirteen
Black and white photos carry a potent wallop of poignancy and nostalgic feeling, don’t you think? Nearly any black and white photo makes me wistful, longing for an earlier, better time.
For example, remember when Dax Montana stopped by?
Oh, Dax. You nearly put my eye out with that, ah, outfit. Who would have thought a breast could carry such momentum.
Yes, those were the days.
Below the cut: thirteen (plus one) slices of the past. I’ve pared down the files as much as I dare, but dial-up users, you’ve been warned.
Depth of memory
After my August 16 post about my grandfather, my sister made copies of some old black and white photos of her and Papa. They arrived in the mail today, a most welcome surprise.
Photos in a minute. Dean, I’m working on your meem*, honest. I wrote a quickie scene this morning before the creativity organ pooped out like a whoopie cushion; I’m hoping I’ll finish tomorrow. The rest of you, check out Dean’s meem. You won’t regret it.
‘Kay, here’s Papa and Sis. Check out the cool car in the background:
With Paintshop Pro, I can enlarge things down to the individual pixel. So I thought, wouldn’t it be kewl to enlarge the car’s license plate? Just like in Blade Runner when Deckard used his high tech toy not only to enlarge a photograph but look around corners, too. If that worked, this should be a piece of cake.
Didn’t work, damn it. Technology SUCKS!
What I like about this picture: Papa’s Hawaiian shirt, and the way they’re both squinting into that hot Southern California sun.
Here’s another one. Sis’s comments:
My personal favorite. I never saw the girl by the fence til I enlarged the picture.
Hmm, let’s get a closer look:
If you stand back, it’s, it’s Abraham Lincoln! (Is that joke too obscure?) Anyway, the photo (not the dopy close-up) really makes me nostalgic for Southern California. Love that palm tree. And the look of joy on both of their faces, too: she was his first grandchild, and his pride shows.
D.
*Dean’s definition: A ‘meem’ is like a ‘meme’, only crappier. I love that line.
California dreaming
When my uncle died, the house on Atlantic Boulevard stood vacant save for decades-old furniture, piles of trinkets (in Yiddish, tchotchkes), and garbage of one form or another. My parents wanted to know if there was anything I wanted, so I told them: one thing, only one thing. I wanted my grandfather’s talent agency publicity photo from his time as a failed actor.
I liked Papa better than any of my other grandparents. I suspect he related better to kids than my other grandparents. We had/have similar personalities, too. We’re both dreamers and bullshit artists. We’re both forever imagining riches around the corner. For Papa, it was the breakout acting career, or the properties in Hesperia and Ontario, or (I discovered today, talking to my mother) investments in Long Beach oil. For me, it’s the breakout novel, the movie deal, or (when I’m feeling glum about the writing) a stroke of luck with the lottery.
I wonder what he’ll fetch on eBay?
I could spend a ton of time thinking up a cute name for this — Cyrano deTomato? But what’s the point. It is what it is, a tomato with a nose.
One of these days, I’ll do a photo essay on all the goofy and wonderful things patients have given me over the years. This tomato ranks right up there.
In residency, I had a patient who brought me the most godawful ties. You wouldn’t even hang one of these on a dorm room doorknob, they were that fugly. Back then, another patient gave me what I call my “animal tie,” which is still my favorite tie.
And then there are the woodcarvings, countless blue frogs, wallet-sized school pix from my pediatric patients, and artwork so ugly we hide it above the audiology booth.
Around these parts, folks bring in jars of smoked salmon and fresh crabs, when they’re in season. That’s always a treat. No one has written me into their will yet, but I keep hoping, greedy bastard that I am.
D.
Meet Ash and Mist
They’re sisters, supposedly, but not in temperament. Here’s Mist, a cool cat who likes to hide in black plastic garbage bags:
Ash, on the other hand, hasn’t quite come to terms with being a kept kitty.
Jake calls her Vashj (a World of Warcraft character), but we’re calling her Ash, short for Ashtaroth, and also the name of Bruce Campbell’s character in the Evil Dead/Army of Darkness movies. Ashtaroth is essentially Ishtar, without the connotation of “movie that bombed.” Look at the claws on this cat:
She has clawed Jake once. I picked her up and she extended her stilettos, drawing blood. An impressive show of force, I must admit.
I know, I know: how dare we rename Le Ogress’s precioussssses. Tough.
D.
Hospital life
As promised, here’s a photo of me unselfishly guinea-pigging myself for the greater good:
It’s a good thing I’m not a colorectal surgeon. I couldn’t show those photos. (Does that mean I have limits after all?)
***
‘Kay, so I got rid of the rest of this post because (A) I have a sneaking suspicion certain hospital folks lack a sense of humor (not you, Leann) and (B) making jokes about elderly, demented people is probably in poor taste. Even for me. Consequently, noxcat’s comment below no longer makes sense.
In any case, I’ve posted my 13, so you have plenty of other tasteless things to keep you occupied.
D.