1001 Things Every Teen Should Know Before They Leave Home

They should know what pills to take for what. Antibiotics don't work for a headache.

****************

They should know it's easier to keep nausea and first-aid medicine around before it's needed rather than drive to the drug store or their parents' while barfing out the window.

--Harry Harrison, Jr., from the above titled book

Bat count

When visiting my son in Jacksonville, Florida, we discovered that a bevy of bats lived under the eaves on his balcony. We started counting every night, trying to get an accurate count as they tumbled and took flight from their nest for the night's activities.

We kept count on the post beneath. Check out the little hand on the lower picture.

You're Pitiful

Al Yankovich, a wildly talented artist who is the parody prince of comedy songs, recorded a funny take on James Blunt's hit single 'You're Beautiful'. Al or Al's people requested permission to record it, and was blocked by the recording company.

Turns out he didn't need permission. It is a parody, therefore okay to record, but he went one better. He put it out for anyone to download free. Take that, Atlantic!

Read on:

According to Yankovic, Blunt himself gave his blessing to a song called "You're Pitiful" (audio), which was to appear on Yankovic's now-finished but as-yet-unreleased new album. But after Yankovic finished recording the parody, Atlantic Records, Blunt's label, told Yankovic that he couldn't release "You're Pitiful." Though Yankovic has encountered resistance from artists before -- after a miscommunication involving permissions, Coolio publicly objected to a released parody of "Gangsta's Paradise," while Prince has always turned down Yankovic's requests to parody his hits -- he says this is the first time a label has stepped in to squash the release of one of his parodies. (Quoth an Atlantic representative: "We have no comment on this matter.")

So how, exactly, does a music label have a say in whether one of its artists can be parodied?

"The legality in this case is somewhat moot," Yankovic writes when contacted via e-mail. "James Blunt could still let me put it on my album if he really wanted to, but he obviously doesn't want to alienate his own record company... and my label could release the parody without Atlantic's blessing, but they don't really want to go to war with another label over this. So really, it's more of a political matter than a legal matter."

Of course, it's not hard to circulate a song these days, and Yankovic has helped that process along by making an MP3 of the track available for free download on his Web site. It may not appear on Yankovic's new album, but "You're Pitiful" will still swirl around in cyberspace long after Blunt's original recedes from memory.

"I have a long-standing history of respecting artists' wishes," Yankovic writes. "So if James Blunt himself were objecting, I wouldn't even offer my parody for free on my Web site. But since it's a bunch of suits -- who are actually going against their own artist's wishes -- I have absolutely no problem with it."

(from www.npr.org

So, here it is:

http://www.dohtem.com/yourepitiful.mp3

House hunting

George and I went to the center of our state last weekend, looking for a home. Wow. It has resurrected fears, insecurities and phobias. I am not surprised. I go through this every time we move or make a 'home decision'.

Multiple moves, purchases and commitments have not changed a thing. I still feel the shifting sands beneath my feet. I still agonize over whether we can afford it (we are paying cash), whether we will be happy (we always are), whether the kids will be happy (they always are), whether we will regret our decision (we really haven't, ever). Life pretty much goes on as before, with a different location. We are nothing, if not stable.

That should give me solace. Oh, no. I am Irish and I am female. I need to perseverate on stuff. I need to worry and dwell, I need to stalk the peat bogs in the freezing fog with long, soaked wool skirts, thick hair curling in drenched strands around my furrowed brow. I need to stomp into a warm stable, thick with the smell of horse and hay, pour out my laments to the farm cat, and finally reach a difficult decision, bravely, of course.

Oh, shut up. Like you don't have your own fantasies. What I mean is, this is a grown up decision that I (again) feel unqualified for. But, George and I will confer, cogitate, scribble, weigh, and finally, commit.

Meanwhile, I will act according to my culture.

Predator dispatched

I awakened at the hundredth crow of Goober, and the two hundredth of Albert, both sounding like they were directly under my window. I had put a pillow over my head at 0430, when they began their catterwalling. Now, at 0630, the alarm could not penetrate what the crowing could. I mumbled to the bathroom to begin the prep for another day. I always look out my second story window first thing.

A nasty, big, scruffy, diseased-looking Tom cat was in the yard, stalking our carefully tended quail. (Li'l Peep was the size of a quail...) He moved like silk in the early morning fog, tail twitching above prominent testicals. He stalked the nervous little birds, who shifted and darted, seeking sanctuary.

Before he could pounce on another beloved animal, he was shot. Killed. Dead. Seriously fatally injured. Laid low by a 12 gauge.

Lesson for animals: 'do not fuck with our animals. Predators not welcome. Seek mousies and canned tender niblets elsewhere'. Lesson for cat owners: 'Keep Fluffy Balls home, neuter him, or don't drop him off at my farm. Farm life is a bitch for unwelcome animals'.

R.I.P., Li'l Peep.

I will kill

Our sweet little girl, Peep, was killed. Her feathers were strewn across our chicken yard and lawn. It looks like a feral cat kill. Less so a 'coon or hawk.

It will die. I will kill this thing, most probably dropped off to be a 'barn cat' after the cute kitten became a robust, predatory, mean male. Hear me, city folks? Your little kitten will be blown away by my 12 gauge.

Rethink your pet management plan.

Yours kill mine, I kill yours. Code of the West.

A day in the life...

Wow, today was something.

I went in after a desperate call from the charge nurse last night, on my day off. Every nurse was swamped, dealing with too much pressure, too many patients, just too much...

From intubated craniotomy patients to folks with no urge to urinate (but retaining a thousand milliliters of urine), my patients have been desperate, needy, painful, confused, and complicated.

Just another day in the PACU. Thank God for knowledge and skills, peer support, standing orders, and deep breathing.