My friend Rich is not bright. He's a very smart physician -- I'd want him to treat any of my family members in an emergency. But not bright. Let me clarify: Rich can identify life-threatening illness by the smallest, most insignificant sign, snuff it out and treat someone to save a person's life; but Rich cannot figure out that wearing long-sleeve T-shirts in which the sleeves are a different color than the shirt has been socially unacceptable for over a decade (and in actuality, was never socially acceptable). Rich can run a code and bring someone back from the jaws of death, but he cannot have a five minute conversation with my wife without her wanting to kill him. So you see, not bright.
A little more background: Rich's wife, we'll call her Darlene, pretty much runs Rich's life. This is not because Darlene is mean or dictatorial or anything like that. Rather, if Darlene didn't run Rich's life, he would succumb to his Polish heritage and wear windpants and prominent gold neck chains all day everyday and eat Ramen noodles at least 17 times per week. Darlene wouldn't mind me saying that she's a bit high-strung -- any plans for going out with Darlene and Rich are made with about 92 eject button contingencies that default to Darlene wearing My Little Pony pajamas and eating ice cream on her couch at home while watching HGTV. Thus, with Rich and Darlene, though they are wonderful and unique people, you always need a back-up plan.
I give you this background because I was supposed to go out with Rich (a.k.a. "Dick") last night, the night before Thanksgiving. Our plans were very on-again, off-again. "If I get up in time, we'll go out for dinner (Rich works nights)"/"If Darlene gets off work in time (Darlene is a workaholic who stays way later than she needs to), we'll go out for dinner." The only certainty was that there was no certainty. As parents of two small children, we've learned to just start eating dinner by 5:30 because Rich and Darlene may not be ready until about 9. Which we did -- take-out Vietnamese food really hit the spot. We never did hear from Rich and Darlene about dinner. Not surprising.
And yet, at about 8 PM I get a text from Rich: "Let's go clubbin'"
Me: "I'm 33 years old."
Rich: "You're a lameass."
Me: "You're 33 years old."
Rich: "I'm hot."
Me: "I've never gone clubbin' in my life."
Rich: "You're a lameass."
Me: "Is a Kohl's brand monochromatic polo shirt and Dad jeans appropriate in da klub?"
Rich: "You're a lameass."
So I proceeded to change into my hoodie and scrub pants, continued cleaning the for Thanksgiving dinner, put the kids to bed and then settled in for a movie on my brand new futon (Zero Dark Thirty -- way better than The Hurt Locker, gets one Julianne Moore). In between torture scenes and long views of Jessica Chastain's scary eyes, I folded some laundry. I didn't dare have a beer because I would have passed out (it was 10:30 PM after all). I guess this is just me now.
Just before midnight, during the climactic scene of the movie when "UBL" is about to go down at the hands of Seal Team 6, I get the following text from Rich:
"At Joes by your house. Come out you lameass. There are fat cougars here waiting for you."
Well, I just let that one go. I didn't go out. UBL bit it. I finished folding laundry and went to bed. It was a pretty quiet black Wednesday. No big finish. Just a day in the life.
This is the part where I say that I am thankful for my wife, my kids, my dog, my friends (even Rich), my colleagues, my patients, the roof over my head, the food in my fridge and the fact that I am not directly affected by violence on a day-to-day basis.
Given this is my Thanksgiving blog (or "blah-g" as my friend Rose would say), I guess there must be a moral.
Thanksgiving Moral:
It takes all types of people, even idiots like Rich, to make this world a good place.
A little more background: Rich's wife, we'll call her Darlene, pretty much runs Rich's life. This is not because Darlene is mean or dictatorial or anything like that. Rather, if Darlene didn't run Rich's life, he would succumb to his Polish heritage and wear windpants and prominent gold neck chains all day everyday and eat Ramen noodles at least 17 times per week. Darlene wouldn't mind me saying that she's a bit high-strung -- any plans for going out with Darlene and Rich are made with about 92 eject button contingencies that default to Darlene wearing My Little Pony pajamas and eating ice cream on her couch at home while watching HGTV. Thus, with Rich and Darlene, though they are wonderful and unique people, you always need a back-up plan.
I give you this background because I was supposed to go out with Rich (a.k.a. "Dick") last night, the night before Thanksgiving. Our plans were very on-again, off-again. "If I get up in time, we'll go out for dinner (Rich works nights)"/"If Darlene gets off work in time (Darlene is a workaholic who stays way later than she needs to), we'll go out for dinner." The only certainty was that there was no certainty. As parents of two small children, we've learned to just start eating dinner by 5:30 because Rich and Darlene may not be ready until about 9. Which we did -- take-out Vietnamese food really hit the spot. We never did hear from Rich and Darlene about dinner. Not surprising.
And yet, at about 8 PM I get a text from Rich: "Let's go clubbin'"
Me: "I'm 33 years old."
Rich: "You're a lameass."
Me: "You're 33 years old."
Rich: "I'm hot."
Me: "I've never gone clubbin' in my life."
Rich: "You're a lameass."
Me: "Is a Kohl's brand monochromatic polo shirt and Dad jeans appropriate in da klub?"
Rich: "You're a lameass."
So I proceeded to change into my hoodie and scrub pants, continued cleaning the for Thanksgiving dinner, put the kids to bed and then settled in for a movie on my brand new futon (Zero Dark Thirty -- way better than The Hurt Locker, gets one Julianne Moore). In between torture scenes and long views of Jessica Chastain's scary eyes, I folded some laundry. I didn't dare have a beer because I would have passed out (it was 10:30 PM after all). I guess this is just me now.
Just before midnight, during the climactic scene of the movie when "UBL" is about to go down at the hands of Seal Team 6, I get the following text from Rich:
"At Joes by your house. Come out you lameass. There are fat cougars here waiting for you."
Well, I just let that one go. I didn't go out. UBL bit it. I finished folding laundry and went to bed. It was a pretty quiet black Wednesday. No big finish. Just a day in the life.
This is the part where I say that I am thankful for my wife, my kids, my dog, my friends (even Rich), my colleagues, my patients, the roof over my head, the food in my fridge and the fact that I am not directly affected by violence on a day-to-day basis.
Given this is my Thanksgiving blog (or "blah-g" as my friend Rose would say), I guess there must be a moral.
Thanksgiving Moral:
It takes all types of people, even idiots like Rich, to make this world a good place.