August 4: Muffin, Less Weary, Name Game

I am feeling a little less weary this afternoon.  This morning, I could have crawled under my desk like George Costanza and gone to sleep.  The only thing that kept me awake is that video clip of Madeline Kahn and a healthy dose of caffeine.

One of the patients from last week dropped off a huge box of muffins for the staff of the surgery center.  I grabbed an almond/poppy seed muffin.  I put it on a plate and walked around with it for most of the morning.  When I sat with my muffin at lunch and still didn't eat it, one of coworkers said, "Is that your new pet?  What are you going to name it?"

I have, for the time being, started calling my pet muffin Tramp.  However, I'm not really stuck on that name, so one of my best friends suggested having a naming contest on the blog.  That's what I've decided to do.  Here's a picture of my muffin:

My muffin, currently known as Tramp

The person who suggests the best name for my muffin will receive an original Confessions of Saint Marty cartoon from me in the mail.  Let's see.  I suppose I should set a deadline.  Send me your suggestion in a comment to this post.  I will select the winning name on Saturday, August 13.  (This may involve you becoming an official follower of this blog.  I'm not sure.)  Anyway, post your most creative monikers for my muffin, and you may be immortalized on my blog.  Glory.  Honor.  A better spot in heaven.  And orginal artwork.

Name Saint Marty's muffin.  He dares you.

August 4: Ready for Vacation

I'm weary.  Even Mountain Dew hasn't been perking me up in the mornings.  I'm ready for a vacation.  I usually take two vacations in a year:  one week in August and one week in January.  Next week is my August vacation, and I can hardly wait.  My only worry is that one week isn't going to be enough.

That's all I got this morning, folks.  I have to go to a department meeting at 7 a.m.  I'm pretty sure it's going to be about how much busier we're going to be in the fall, with new surgeons and doctors working at the surgery center.  Pretty soon, classes start at the university, as well.

I think Madeline Kahn says it all for me:

Saint Marty needs a break.

August 3: Bright Lights, Dead Grandmothers, New Poem

Some people have asked me about my extreme low blood sugars.  When the paramedics have to revive me, I'm probably as close to death as I can be without actually checking into the big Holiday Inn above (or below, depending upon the person with whom you speak).  They ask me if I've ever seen anything strange.  Bright lights.  Either of my dead grandmothers.  Angels.  Demons.  Republicans.  Democrats.  Whatever.  I hardly ever answer this question.  But today, I plan to reveal my experience of the afterlife.

What I recall about my near death experiences is...Nothing.  I haven't met Abraham Lincoln or Elvis (for those of you who believe Elvis really is dead).  I haven't felt an overwhelming sense of peace or joy.  I haven't gone for a walk with Jesus, Budha, Moses, or Tupac.  None of the cliches.

Talking with the King and the king

When these low blood sugars have taken me out, I remember confusion, headaches, and being sticky.  The stickiness comes from the glucose the paramedics usually squeeze into my mouth trying to revive me.  I wish I had some cool memories of these really awful events, but I don't.  The best I can say is that I got very tired, and then I went to sleep.  That was peaceful.  I suppose that's not very comforting for most people who want proof of heaven.  However, I'm in the same boat as everyone else when it comes to that topic.  It's all a matter of faith.  Either you believe or you don't.  That's what today's poem is about.

Saint Marty believes.

Near Death

Is it like walking to the South Pole, all white and flat and bright as mirrors?  Cold.  I bet it’s cold.  The day Uncle Liam died, Lake Superior froze over for the first time in twenty years.  At the beach, I could hear water under the ice, groaning, like it hurt.  Like it was trying to break through, but couldn’t.  Instead, it had to sit there, under that lid of snow.  Gather itself.  You know how when you wind up a toy tight enough to snap?  Then you let it go?  It almost sings when it’s free, moves so fast it hurts to watch.  That was the lake that day.  Water just winding and winding, getting ready.  I didn’t see the ice break in spring, but, when it did, I bet that water jumped like a humpback whale.  Higher and higher, a piece of sky falling up.  And I bet it shook the air.  A mine shaft collapsing.  Lava hitting the ocean.  That’s what it’s like, isn’t it?  When you come that close?  It’s like being at Dachau when the tanks came roaring through the gates.

Not crossing over yet

August 3: Movie Review of "Cowboys & Aliens," Cudighi

Cowboys & Aliens was a little cheesy, but entertaining.  I kind of wish it didn't take itself so seriously.  Harrison Ford isn't in it enough, and Daniel Craig is in it a little too much.  The aliens themselves are hybrids of the aliens from Alien and Predator and Total Recall.  Our friends from the university were sufficiently entertained, but we all agreed that it could have been so much better.  Too bad.  Jon Favreau did a great job with the original Iron Man.  I kind of expected a little better.  My prediction is that this movie is going to disappear fairly quickly from movie theaters.

On the bright side, we had some great food at the Jasper Ridge Brewery.  Cudighi sliders for me.  Still tasting them.  And it was good to be with our friends.

Overall. Saint Marty would give Cowboys & Aliens...