Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Magnificent Deaf
At a recent function I became engaged in an enlightening conversation concerning the hearing impaired, sign-language, and this demographic's method for clapping (involves holding both hands aloft and rotating them rapidly side to side). I found the image of an auditorium full of people applauding in this way to be a fascinating mental image. Consider how a conventional clapping motion is a minimal movement kept too close to the body to add anything visually spectacular to the situation, aside from the resulting noise; yet a sea of hands waving beyond both the breadth and height of each person would be a pretty magnificent sight.
Suddenly, however, I came to dwell on what sort of situation would find a very large group of hearing impaired people together in an auditorium. A concert would seem fairly redundant, theater troupes rarely provide subtitles, and comedian would have a tough time conveying his act to such a large group. I suppose the use of a large screen would be plausible in a convention setting, but here's what caught me up on that thought:
Usually, during a question & answer session after large seminars, a microphone is passed around so that the inquiring audience member may be heard. At a deaf-convention, would they hold up a giant magnifying glass?
Suddenly, however, I came to dwell on what sort of situation would find a very large group of hearing impaired people together in an auditorium. A concert would seem fairly redundant, theater troupes rarely provide subtitles, and comedian would have a tough time conveying his act to such a large group. I suppose the use of a large screen would be plausible in a convention setting, but here's what caught me up on that thought:
Usually, during a question & answer session after large seminars, a microphone is passed around so that the inquiring audience member may be heard. At a deaf-convention, would they hold up a giant magnifying glass?
Midwest Tsunamis
(Originally Posted February 27, 2010)
Always interested in current affairs, Lola, one of my employees, started out the day discussing the disastrous earthquakes that have recently hit "Chili", and warned me about "the major tsunami warnings sent out to places like Washington, Canada, Arkansas..."
Wait a minute.
Always interested in current affairs, Lola, one of my employees, started out the day discussing the disastrous earthquakes that have recently hit "Chili", and warned me about "the major tsunami warnings sent out to places like Washington, Canada, Arkansas..."
Wait a minute.
T & A
It's official:
I go on the chopping block for my T (tonsil) and A (adenoid) removal this June 22nd.
The Visit.
First, the nurse took my blood pressure, which was slightly high due to the sauna-temperatures in that office (or so I excused). Then the doc numbed up my nose and shoved a stetho-mometer up there, and I got to look around inside of me; pretty gross, if you ask me. The process numbed my teeth as well, so I asked him to fix some cavities while he was in there, but he said my teeth looked fine (like an ENT doctor would know). While I was signing the waiver that detailed out all the possible risks, there was an ominous "1/1000" next to the side effect of "DEATH". My face paled as I asked the nurse, incredulously, "one in a thousand people die from this procedure?!" She laughed and tried to convince me that this was simply a reference number for their books, to which I responded that we should probably check my blood pressure again. Perhaps the most comical waiver line I've ever had to sign was the one that permitted them to "dispose" of "removed body parts" from the surgery, prompting me to ask the nurse if 1/1000 people wake up with no arms. Finally, on my way out of the waiting room, a threesome of geriatrics were quite unashamedly arguing about sex, effectively murdering my libido in cold-blood.
Fortunate that I live so close to the funeral home.
I go on the chopping block for my T (tonsil) and A (adenoid) removal this June 22nd.
The Visit.
First, the nurse took my blood pressure, which was slightly high due to the sauna-temperatures in that office (or so I excused). Then the doc numbed up my nose and shoved a stetho-mometer up there, and I got to look around inside of me; pretty gross, if you ask me. The process numbed my teeth as well, so I asked him to fix some cavities while he was in there, but he said my teeth looked fine (like an ENT doctor would know). While I was signing the waiver that detailed out all the possible risks, there was an ominous "1/1000" next to the side effect of "DEATH". My face paled as I asked the nurse, incredulously, "one in a thousand people die from this procedure?!" She laughed and tried to convince me that this was simply a reference number for their books, to which I responded that we should probably check my blood pressure again. Perhaps the most comical waiver line I've ever had to sign was the one that permitted them to "dispose" of "removed body parts" from the surgery, prompting me to ask the nurse if 1/1000 people wake up with no arms. Finally, on my way out of the waiting room, a threesome of geriatrics were quite unashamedly arguing about sex, effectively murdering my libido in cold-blood.
Fortunate that I live so close to the funeral home.
Future.
You can be anything in the world you want to be!
Sound familiar? I once told an old lady:
"I want to be a Ninja Turtle... who works as an Oreo tester!"
Boy, talk about broken dreams.
Sound familiar? I once told an old lady:
"I want to be a Ninja Turtle... who works as an Oreo tester!"
Boy, talk about broken dreams.
Environs of a Man.
Round Two.
My first incursion into digital promulgation fell flat, and here we shall try again. Those familiar with me can vouch for my embarrassingly poor short-term memory, so this is my attempt to mitigate the loss of amusing ideas to amnesia. The content of this blog will tend to lend less to diary than absurdity, as these are the things I find most interesting in the world; the environs of man, if you will. If anything, my example in life is to prove that ADHD can precipitate more than just holes in sneakers and handfuls of chewed-through pencils.
A little bit:
I hail from the land of Arctic tundra- not at all down unda'. I also hail wherever my spit freezes before hitting the ground. (get it?). I have the attention span of a squirrel coked on "Columbian Cake Batter" and the patience of a toddler. I seem to be aging at a supernatural rate (hey, good to be supernatural at something, I guess), and my youthful legs have already lent themselves to varicosity. I have yet to feel in my joints a storm coming, though.
My first incursion into digital promulgation fell flat, and here we shall try again. Those familiar with me can vouch for my embarrassingly poor short-term memory, so this is my attempt to mitigate the loss of amusing ideas to amnesia. The content of this blog will tend to lend less to diary than absurdity, as these are the things I find most interesting in the world; the environs of man, if you will. If anything, my example in life is to prove that ADHD can precipitate more than just holes in sneakers and handfuls of chewed-through pencils.
A little bit:
I hail from the land of Arctic tundra- not at all down unda'. I also hail wherever my spit freezes before hitting the ground. (get it?). I have the attention span of a squirrel coked on "Columbian Cake Batter" and the patience of a toddler. I seem to be aging at a supernatural rate (hey, good to be supernatural at something, I guess), and my youthful legs have already lent themselves to varicosity. I have yet to feel in my joints a storm coming, though.
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