Yes: MRI Like it!

A happy time.

For a long time, I was afraid of the idea of getting an MRI. The thought of being crammed into a coffin-like tube appealed to me about as much as being crammed into a tube-like coffin. But then a wacky discovery in my spinal cord bought me a ticket for a whole bunch of these MRI rides.

The first of these took place in the winter months. Another thing I don't really like is winter. I'm always cold. But when I voiced my concerns about the upcoming MRI to my sister, she said "I bet it's warm in that tube. You are gonna love it!"

Encouraged, but still wary, I presented for my MRI.  Did you know if you have metal stuff inside your body like pacemakers, the MRI could kill you? Apparently, the magnetic pull of the MRI could rip that sucker right out of your chest cavity, like you were in Alien!  

Also, if you are a robot masquerading as a human, the MRI will find you out. Be warned.

As this MRI was for my spine, I didn't have to worry about the freaky head cage accessory you get to wear if you're having your head examined. (In later months, I did get to wear that and it was freaky alright.) I informed the technician that I was nervous and asked if she could slide me in and out of the tube before beginning the procedure. I knew I would be okay as long as I knew I could get out of that tube if I wanted.

After positioning myself on the MRI plank-like table, the tech slowly slid me in, stopping when all but my lower legs were inside. "This is where you'll be for the test," she told me.  I mentally tested: while tight in there, I deduced I could, in fact, shimmy myself out of there if I had to. I don't know why I would "have to," but I was comforted knowing I could escape.

"Oh, so I could get out if I wanted to," I spoke aloud.
"No!" said the tech. "Once we start, you can't move!"
"I know," I said. "I just mean, if I wanted to, I could get out."
"No, you can't move!" she said again.
"I know, it just makes me feel better knowing I could get out if I had to," I said.
"You can't move!"

I rolled my eyes at her in my tube. This action gave me my other piece of comfort: I saw when I crammed my eyes up in my skull, I could get of glimpse of the wall outside the tube. Barely, but yes, the wall outside the tube was visible. Another potential escape route. I decided not to share this info with the tech.

Test ride completed, the tech slid me out, fitted me with the IV that I would need later for an injection of dye for the last part of the test, gave me some earplugs and popped me back in. Earplugs because it's loud in there. Banging and beeping and clanging and chirping. Kind of like the sounds one used to hear when using AOL dial-up internet, but louder and more frenzied.

It wasn't all fun and games. Every now and then I would experience a brief but jarring feeling of "Help, I'm trapped in a tube!" I'm told many folks who fear MRIs keep their eyes closed the entire time. This doesn't work for me as being trapped in my head can be far scarier than being trapped in a tube. When those shocks of fear came over me, I'd center myself by counting the holes in the little speaker that was right over my face. If there had been something to read, that would have helped immensely. A little sticker or something placed where patients could read it without moving. Perhaps something like "If you think this is bad, be glad we didn't have to do an autopsy to get this information."  Anything with words would have helped.

In any case, I survived the procedure and came out none the worse for wear.  Also, I learned three things:

1. I don't have claustrophobia. What I had was a fear that I might have claustrophobia.  That's kind of funny.
2. You can request copies of those images to take to your doctor or for your own personal enjoyment.
3. I am filled with all kinds of fun things:

No: March of the Penguins

Not a good time

Remember when March of the Penguins was released in 2005 and everyone was going crazy over it?  I tell you what, the only good thing about that movie was baby penguins in grey sweaters: 

Granted, the good factor in that is huge, but every time I think about setting up residence with those penguins, I remind myself that they had the shittiest life imaginable.  All they did was make impossibly long treks in the snow or stand around on top of their babies, trying to keep them warm. Guess what? Half those babies died anyway.

But if you like watching fluffy babies weaken slowly, sitting around and walking forever then this is the place for you. 

No: Devil's Island

I would not like to live at Devil's Island.
Not from 1852 to 1951 anyway, when it was part of the whole French Guiana penal system.

Some guys, like Papillion and Rene Belbenoit, they managed to get lucky from Devil's Island by acquiring fame. Still, I don't think Devil's Island was a very good place.

Here's why:

• Guillotine
• Malaria
• Monkeys 
• 17 hours of forced labor
• 12 hours of forced standing 
• Risk of being coated with honey and left for the ants
• Hiding valuables in a little tube in my ass

No: Zeigler's Limeade

I'm not a fussy eater: I'll eat pretty much anything (including, maybe, you).  I microwave food from boxes clearly stating "Microwave not recommended." If I'm impatient, I'll eat these microwaved foods partially frozen and not much care. I had little trouble eating vegan some years back as soy "meat" products tasted just fine to me. I can tolerate all sorts of flavors, ranging from wasabi, which I'll happily eat in globs right off my chopsticks, to the aftertaste of the Sweet and Low I've been putting in my coffee for decades.

In fact, there are only 4 things I won't eat:

1. Watermelon
2. That spoiled mushroom I popped in my mouth back in 1997.  That mushroom had turned.
3. Once, craving something sweet but having nothing remotely satisfying in the house, I spread peanut butter on a piece of bread and plopped a generous pile of Nestle's Quik on top.  It was awful. It became even more awful when I threw it in the trash where it sat petulantly on a pile of scooped cat turds and urine-soaked litter.
4. Zeigler's Limeade

Zeigler's claim they are "Committed to satisfying your thirst all year long." "Natural" and "not from concentrate" and what not, it all sounds pretty great and why not try a bottle of Zeigler's Limeade?

I'll tell you why not: because you will rue the fucking day.

My (now ex but not because of the Zeiglar's) (well maybe because of the Zeiglar's) husband picked up a bottle of Zeigler's Limeade a few summers back while grocery shopping. He put it in the fridge, closed the door and that was apparently that. Except it wasn't. Apparently Zeigler's Limeade sat there in the dark, working itself into a rancid funk.

Sometime that evening, I opened the fridge and saw the Zeigler's Limeade.  I'm not a big lime fan, per say, but it looked pretty good. I poured a glass and took a large drink.

Right away, my mouth filled with a foul, bitter taste.  A second later, the taste turned from bitter to chemical. As in cleaning product or antifreeze.  As in something that does not belong in the human body because if it gets in there, you will most certainly die.  I spat that mouthful right into the sink.  There was no relief: the foulness remained on my taste buds as surely as if I had gargled with it.  I turned on the tap, filled my mouth with water, rinsed and spat.  And again. Still no relief. The Zeigler's Limeade's aftertaste would not budge.

After numerous rinse and spits, finally the taste began to fade. I poured the rest of that crap down the sink. For an hour or so afterward, I sat around waiting  to experience convulsions or maybe sudden blindness. When these didn't happen, I went to bed.

A few weeks later at the grocery store, I saw a young couple take a bottle of Zeigler's Limeade off the shelf and place it in their shopping cart.  I wanted to warn them.  I imagined this happy-looking couple planning a nice lunch or dinner and Zeigler's Limeade was going to fuck their plans right into next week.

I said nothing.  Because due to the fact the Zeigler's was (and is) still churning this stuff out, I had come to believe I must have a sampled tainted bottle. There is just no other explanation.

However, I will never buy another bottle to test my theory. I shall never again go gentle into that green shit.

No: Disneylandworld

Fuck this shit. Seriously.

I've never been to Disneyland -- or it is Disney World? There's two, aren't there? I don't care, I'm not Googling to find out.

Disneylandworld has many things I don't like:

• Long lines. If I'm going to wait in a long line, it's going to be for something that might involve Bob Mould and free kittens -- not for some over-hyped pirate ride.
• In fact, pirates. When did everyone start loving pirates?  Pirates and bacon are very big these days.  I don't really like either. 
• Mickey Mouse. He doesn't even look like a mouse.
• Star Wars.  I think Disney bought Lucasfilms.  There was brief hubbub about something like this on my Facebook news feed a while back. I know everyone loves Star Wars but I just don't. I saw the film in 1977 when it was released. It was good.  That's pretty much all I have to say about Star Wars.
• Throngs of adults acting like giant children.  There's "childlike" and "childish." I don't like the latter and you can bet your britches there's tons of that crap happening in Disneylandword all day long. 
• It is decidedly not a "small world."  I drove to Nashville once. It took a long time.
• That hidden penis on The Little Mermaid VHS cover years back. No one likes sneaky penises. There is no way I'm being surprised by a penis in Space Mountain.  

I think maybe the thing I would hate most of all about Disneylandworld is there's too damn much of it. Plus, Epcot -- I don't even know what the hell goes on over there. Admission is $95 to just to get into the "Magic Kingdom." I'd be running around that place desperate to get my money's worth and I'd end up not seeing a damn thing.

There's only one thing I might like about that place and that's Bambi.

But I don't need to go to this loopy place to see him.  

Yes: Air Supply

In 1975, two guys met in Australia while working on a production of Jesus Christ Superstar. During down times, they jammed and the room was heavy with magic. That magic became Air Supply.

I have exceptional taste in music. Ask anyone. I don't like Rod Stewart's Adult Contemporary stuff but I do like Bachman Turner Overdrive's "Sledgehammer" -- and Air Supply.

I like Air Supply because I remember first listening to them in seventh grade and hearing the short Air Supply guy's voice and thinking he was a girl. Tricky!
I like Air Supply because you know they're gay because they're Air Supply but if you Google you'll find out they are, in fact, straight. Tricky again!
I like Air Supply because all I ever need to own by them is a Greatest Hits album.There's no need to get all "deep cuts" with these guys.

But mostly I like Air Supply because when I discovered punk rock at age 19, I had to hate everything that wasn't "punk," "indie" or "alternative." So of course I had to hate Air Supply because everyone hates Air Supply. Untill I saw Todd Solondz's fiim Happiness.

It's a good film but to date I've only watched it once because it creeps me out.  In any case, there's a scene where a man and a woman dance together in a crappy bar. It's sad because the man doesn't care a shit for the woman: he's all wrapped up in Lara Flynn Boyle's character.  The woman, however, does like the guy, a lot. So they dance and it's sad because the man is "settling" but the woman thinks it's mutual and guess what's playing on the jukebox?  Air Supply's "All Out of Love." It's a poignant moment and if you think for one second Solondz could have pulled that off without some Air Supply magic, you are wrong.

Air Supply is good for other things. A while back, a Facebook friend posted that he was gearing up to watch Mothra movies and something called Giant Monsters All Out Attack. The "All Out" reference naturally brought to mind Air Supply's "All Out of Love" and shortly after, my other super-favorite Air Supply song "Making Love Out of Nothing at All." Then I thought about making Mothra out of nothing at all -- because if anyone could make Mothra out of nothing at all, you know it would be Air Supply.

Finally, I made this out of nothing at all (except some stolen images from the internet):

So while you're playing your Death Cab for Cutie or your Black Sabbath, I'll be playing Air Supply.

Well, actually, I probably won't because I only listen to them maybe twice a year.

But Air Supply is magic wearing a magical crown and as such, anything could happen. So, while you're playing your Death Cab for Cutie or your Black Sabbath, there's a (slim) chance I could be playing Air Supply and every star in the sky could be taking aim at my eyes like a spotlight.

Except probably not because I suffer from mild night blindness and don't really like spotlights aimed at my eyes.

No: Mary Shelley at Lord Byron's estate

I would not like to live as Mary Shelley at Lord Byron's country estate in Geneva.
You know, like in the film Gothic.
True, Mary Shelley obtained a place in every English major's library after that.
Still, I'm never living there.

Here's why:

• I bet Lord Byron was a snot. What with that "Lord" title and all.
• Maybe drugs!
• Plaguing myself with the notion that perhaps science is going too far.
• Being married to a guy with a mama's boy name like "Percy."

Yes/No but Mostly Yes: Scented Candles

I like scented candles.  I go for the warm, holiday scents like Macintosh Apple, Autumn Harvest and Buttercream.  When I lived in Illinois, 1000 miles away from my family in Connecticut, I'd light my Pumpkin Pie candle and swear I was in my mom's kitchen on Christmas day.

The problem with scented candles, however, is some of them trigger allergies I didn't even know I had or just plain make me sick.  You'd think, with that holiday jones I got going on, I'd be all over a Christmas Wreath scented candle.  My sister fired one of these up a few years back, however, and I instantly got a sore throat and felt nauseous.

It seems any candle with any kind of strong or perfume-like scent makes me ill so I avoid any floral or heavy smells like lavender, pine or eucalyptus.  But candles don't list ingredients and therefore, you can't be sure of anything.  I once bought a candle called Beach Walk because I like the beach.  The test smell I gave it in the store was pleasant and I detected no potential harm in Beach Walk.  I got it home and set it aflame and 15 minutes later, sore throat. Some beach walk.

Then too, there's other people's allergies to consider.  Last winter, a friend and I made plans to spend an evening together at my house.  In preparation, I kept a Blueberry Scone candle burning all afternoon so the house would smell nice.  When my friend arrived, she took one whiff and instantly begged me to open all the windows. Blueberry Scone assaulted her the way Christmas Wreath tore into me.  These things are unpredictable allergy bombs and thus carry a huge No factor.

There is, however, one candle that pushes scented candles firmly into the Yes category for me: Yankee Candle's Whoopie Pie.

Last December, I went with my sister to the Yankee Candle Store in Deerfield, Massachusetts. Having recently purchased a Red Velvet candle that may as well as been called Ass Cake by the way it went over with everyone who smelled it but me, I was looking to purchase a new holiday scent. I don't know what the hell was wrong with everyone. Red Velvet smelled just like a red velvet cake and who doesn't love that? Tell you the truth, I've never had red velvet cake but it looks good:

The Yankee Candle Store is crazytown, by the way.  There's food, mechanical men playing mechanical instruments, dark rooms with icy-looking castles and snow falling from the ceiling.  It's nutsville and you'd best be prepared if you visit this place in December.  I was okay with all this stimuli overload, it being the very beginning of the holiday season and thus, weathered it with aplomb. Still,  I was anxious to get to the SUPER GIANT ROOM OF CANDLES to find my new scent.

I walked around that room, lifting lids and smelling.  At one point, my sister began grabbing strangely-named candles and while hiding the label from me, would challenge me to name the scent.

"Guess this one!" she'd say.
"Um, I don't know ... pea soup?" I'd reply.
"Nope! Treehouse Memories!" she'd sing, triumphantly.

Seriously? Who even has a "treehouse memory?"

Finally, I see a deep brown-colored candle.  A deep brown color somewhere else could be an ominous sign, but at Yankee Candle, deep brown probably means chocolate so I move towards it. The label reads Whoopie Pie and has a nice picture of a precious little sandwich cookie cream thing on it.

I've never had a Whoopie Pie. Apparently, I've missed out on a great deal of good stuff: no red velvet cake, no Whoopie Pie, no treehouse memory. Tell you what, however, I damn near ate the candle because that's how good Whoopie Pie smelled.

Here's where it gets weird:

1. I bought Whoopie Pie, of course.  To date, I haven't lit it because I don't want to it to get all black and drippy.  I do walk by it on a regular basis, pick it up and inhale deeply.

2. I had brought ol' Red Velvet with me to the store, planning to exchange it for a new scent.  I couldn't, though and do you know why?  Because I felt bad for Red Velvet.  I felt bad for an inanimate object.  That's the kind of of thing that can happen to you at the Yankee Candle Store.