My back is killing me!
I can’t imagine how. It’s not like I go out of my way to strain myself. The opposite is far closer to the truth. If ever there was someone who went out of his way, to the opposite side of the room as it were metaphorically, to avoid physical labor or exertion, well, that’d be me. So how did I hurt myself this time?
My back is simply killing me!
Ever look at that phrase? Always seemed weird to me. I mean, what motive would a back ever have for homicide? Seems self destructive to boot. Doesn’t really fit in with the back, as a whole, as a body part, either. I mean this: backs seem to me to be rather generous. If it weren’t for the back, all your ribs would be in one spot–not nicely spaced throughout the torso. And backs let you bend, twist, stretch–try to twist you knee…hurts, doesn’t it. Not very generous, the knee. Not at all.
So my back hurts, right? I’ve been trying to figure out how it happened. I haven’t lifted anything heavy, because (let’s face it) I would have hired someone in that case to move it. The last heavy thing I moved was my computer desk alone right after my brother moved out of the house. He was gone the day before and I lurched that gigantic metal desk into his old room before the dust had even settled. I was afraid Mom would claim it as a sewing room or something. Funny, Stefan’s old room is still the computer room and my room turned into the most girly guest room of all time. Apparently, lavender and little fairies are so accommodating to travelers–or some such nonsense. I think Mom always wanted a girl. I keep explaining he had Stefan instead, but you know.
So I figure I injured my back by sleeping on it wrong. I do sleep a lot. To me, sleep seems like an excellent use of time. Excellent. A lot of people take sleeping for granted, but I had insomnia for a while and you really do get an appreciation for sleep after that. The key is to come up with a ritual. Every night before I go to sleep, I rinse out with mouthwash, take whatever vitamins and pills the doc has me on that cost so dang much, say my little bedtime prayers, change into a costume of a vampire and hang upside down in my closet. Well, I must. Because my back is KILLING me and it can’t be that mattress.
My brother just got a new mattress–I think this is the same one the Princess with the pea must have had, because you climb in it with a stepladder and when you sink into the middle of it, your nose just barely grazes the ceiling. Comfortable if you can handle the altitude.
So I slept wrong. Someone told me if I would take better care of myself, I wouldn’t have these little pains. Well, I’m sorry, but taking care of myself (whatever that’s supposed to mean) isn’t going to take the place of aspirin anytime soon, you dolt! And I’ve never met someone that takes such good care of themselves. I take myself out to eat all the time, I let myself have extra portions of that giant chocolate chip cookie Mommy made for me, and I buy myself little toys and DVDs every time I do something nice. (Thank goodness that ain’t often or I’d be broke.)
In fact, I just got myself this nice new amplification mixer board to celebrate the launch of my new charity–the “Save the Vegetables” campaign I’m starting out of the house. I figure that to be pretty thoughtful, you know? I figure I can save all sorts of vegetable life.
It’s a popular issue–I wouldn’t be surprised some Senate candidate takes it up somewhere along the way. I mean, look at how the Senior President Bush was villainized for saying “I hate broccoli.” Well, I love broccoli. So much, I never want to see it get hurt. Why would I take something I love and mash it up between my molars and canine teeth? Some people love their pet cats. Do you suppose they eat them? NO! Well, mostly no! That’d be wrong. Juggle them once in a while, but very seldom would they eat them.
Broccoli, in particular, seems like a very down-to-earth type of veggie. They kind of sit there, organizing the church bake sales, learning all the latest dance moves, and going to work nine to five when suddenly some evil farmer comes by and digs their vegetable bottom right out of the dirt. That stinks! Poor little fellers.
I hope those farmers get a bad back digging out those defenseless veggies. Would serve them right! At least, I think that’s how I feel about it. I better think it over. Maybe I’ll sleep on it.
Month: February 2005
Sheepshead Catastrophe
It’s been an odd week. But it is Lent now, so I have to take a moment and decide what to give up.
Then I thought about giving up vegetables.
For some time, the issue of the cruel carnage inflicted upon the helpless vegetable population has weighed heavily on my mind. I am taking this religious season to mark my silent protest to the silly slaughter of green organic foodstuffs. My diet will consist of only objects containing a face. Or deep fried stuff. That’s good, too.
I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting this week, because just a few hours ago marked the 15th Anniversary of my radio broadcasting hobby. It has been a lot of hard work, but knowing it is appreciated makes it all worthwhile. Today, I received a proclamation from Scott Walker declaring today “Tim Kretschmann Day” in the county of Milwaukee. I didn’t even put out my Kretschmann stockings yet.
So that was cool.
I decided to watch my little movie that I cobbled together to remember the 15 years and 50 pounds that have passed by me. They’ve been good years, and the best is yet to come.
Due, at least in part, to my courageous stand on the whole vegetable rights issue. To be sure.
I was talking to Dori at lunch and remembered there was a great untold Captain story and on the occasion of this blessed event (“Tim Kretschmann Day”), I thought I’d relay the story.
So this is about six years ago or so. I’m still involved in the Milwaukee Donauschwaben and the club I founded, the Stimmung Society, at the time. I’m out promoting this great event we were going to have–a sheepshead party–and I’m doing the usual. I’m sending out press releases. Shooting e-mails to everyone and their kid brother. Pushing the event every spare second on the radio show.
One of our “hooks” was that my father, Elmar, was going to actually TEACH sheepshead at this thing. Now, that’s something a little bit new and that got the attention of the Channel 6 news.
Nicole Locy over there called up to have us on the morning show in a short segment on a Tuesday or something just before the event. My dad set up his vacation, we planned out our German costumes to wear and dusted off a nice deck of cards to show off on the show.
No problem.
Dad would teach the card game and I would push the event. I knew the date by heart. I could quote the menu using rote memory alone. We were wired and ready to go.
The day before I get a phone call. Apparently, tomorrow was no good. Busy news day. Could we reschedule to Wednesday? No problem.
Except Dad had already booked his vacation time. Couldn’t just change it…uh – oh.
See there was one little problem. Dad plays sheepshead. He’s really good. Played every day at work during lunch. He knew the game cold.
I’ve never played it. I barely remember the rules to Crazy 8s.
This was going to be an interesting interview.
So I get to the Channel 6 station the next day and say hello to Nicole Locy (who was dreamy). I sit at a table waiting to be called out and I’m staring, intently, at this cheat sheet my father had written up for me. What the heck was I going to do? I mean this pack of cards doesn’t even have all the cards in it!
Five minutes til Nicole comes out and wires me up for sound. Since this included putting a transmitter down my pants by Nicole, I wasn’t exactly concentrating at the problem at hand for a moment. You know the whole “I never played Sheepshead and I’m about to be interviewed as an expert on the subject” thing. I thought I probably shouldn’t tell Nicole, though. I didn’t want to make her nervous.
Yeah. Right.
They stand me by this little stand up table–like they have downtown so you can eat standing upright–and I deal out the cards in order, face up, on the table. This, of course, is not something you would ever do when playing sheepshead, but I told her it was nice and colorful and tried to pretend this was leading up to my lecture on sheepshead playing.
Oh, this was going to go well. Had to. Look at what it had going for it. I had visual aids. And a mental condition, apparently.
Lights.
Those lights were so bright. Why is it so hot in here?
Camera.
The remote controlled camera rolled over. The iris closed in and I was looking down its barrel. I gulped for air.
Action.
“Hi, Nicole.”
It went downhill from there.
She introduced me and I let her introduce me as an authority on sheepshead. I smiled, though. I said something about the Germanic roots of Schapfskopf and started into my ad about the event.
She stopped me. Meany.
“So how do you play the game?”
“Well, it’s hard to show you in a few minutes here. It takes a lifetime to learn, you know.”
“Can you start us out?”
“Sure.” Afterall, I was an authority on playing Sheepshead. “Uh, five players gather around a table.”
“What’s the first thing they do?”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, first they order the beer.”
“Ha-ha. What’s next?”
This was not going to end well. “You have to prepare the deck. See all the cards aren’t in here.”
She looked ready to ask another question, so I went into it blindly, “But you won’t want to miss out this Sunday at our Card Party at the . . .”
“Then what do you do?”
“Deal out the cards. We have bratwurst available and tickets are only . . .”
“So is there a high card?”
Who knows how the heck I answered that one. I sure wasn’t listening anymore. I did mention if you are really interested in learning, you could come to the Sheepshead lessons Sunday . . .
Well, the segment ended and I think I actually had Nicole fooled. Of course, she might have just been polite. Which is actually more plausible.
I get home and the answering machine has three messages. One wanted more info on the sheepshead lessons. One wanted directions to the hall. One said I didn’t know anything about Sheepshead and that I screwed up a couple things I had said (which wasn’t bloody much outside the time and date of the party). I called him back, apologized for having “an attack of nerves” and sat down to watch the tape.
I’m still shocked criminal charges were never filed. Sheepshead is a religion in these parts and I committed some serious heresy. Nicole looked good, though.
Probably never ate her vegetables.
Yours,
Captain Catastrophe
P.S. Make sure to celebrate Tim Kretschmann Day today and keep it in your heart all year long!
Then I thought about giving up vegetables.
For some time, the issue of the cruel carnage inflicted upon the helpless vegetable population has weighed heavily on my mind. I am taking this religious season to mark my silent protest to the silly slaughter of green organic foodstuffs. My diet will consist of only objects containing a face. Or deep fried stuff. That’s good, too.
I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting this week, because just a few hours ago marked the 15th Anniversary of my radio broadcasting hobby. It has been a lot of hard work, but knowing it is appreciated makes it all worthwhile. Today, I received a proclamation from Scott Walker declaring today “Tim Kretschmann Day” in the county of Milwaukee. I didn’t even put out my Kretschmann stockings yet.
So that was cool.
I decided to watch my little movie that I cobbled together to remember the 15 years and 50 pounds that have passed by me. They’ve been good years, and the best is yet to come.
Due, at least in part, to my courageous stand on the whole vegetable rights issue. To be sure.
I was talking to Dori at lunch and remembered there was a great untold Captain story and on the occasion of this blessed event (“Tim Kretschmann Day”), I thought I’d relay the story.
So this is about six years ago or so. I’m still involved in the Milwaukee Donauschwaben and the club I founded, the Stimmung Society, at the time. I’m out promoting this great event we were going to have–a sheepshead party–and I’m doing the usual. I’m sending out press releases. Shooting e-mails to everyone and their kid brother. Pushing the event every spare second on the radio show.
One of our “hooks” was that my father, Elmar, was going to actually TEACH sheepshead at this thing. Now, that’s something a little bit new and that got the attention of the Channel 6 news.
Nicole Locy over there called up to have us on the morning show in a short segment on a Tuesday or something just before the event. My dad set up his vacation, we planned out our German costumes to wear and dusted off a nice deck of cards to show off on the show.
No problem.
Dad would teach the card game and I would push the event. I knew the date by heart. I could quote the menu using rote memory alone. We were wired and ready to go.
The day before I get a phone call. Apparently, tomorrow was no good. Busy news day. Could we reschedule to Wednesday? No problem.
Except Dad had already booked his vacation time. Couldn’t just change it…uh – oh.
See there was one little problem. Dad plays sheepshead. He’s really good. Played every day at work during lunch. He knew the game cold.
I’ve never played it. I barely remember the rules to Crazy 8s.
This was going to be an interesting interview.
So I get to the Channel 6 station the next day and say hello to Nicole Locy (who was dreamy). I sit at a table waiting to be called out and I’m staring, intently, at this cheat sheet my father had written up for me. What the heck was I going to do? I mean this pack of cards doesn’t even have all the cards in it!
Five minutes til Nicole comes out and wires me up for sound. Since this included putting a transmitter down my pants by Nicole, I wasn’t exactly concentrating at the problem at hand for a moment. You know the whole “I never played Sheepshead and I’m about to be interviewed as an expert on the subject” thing. I thought I probably shouldn’t tell Nicole, though. I didn’t want to make her nervous.
Yeah. Right.
They stand me by this little stand up table–like they have downtown so you can eat standing upright–and I deal out the cards in order, face up, on the table. This, of course, is not something you would ever do when playing sheepshead, but I told her it was nice and colorful and tried to pretend this was leading up to my lecture on sheepshead playing.
Oh, this was going to go well. Had to. Look at what it had going for it. I had visual aids. And a mental condition, apparently.
Lights.
Those lights were so bright. Why is it so hot in here?
Camera.
The remote controlled camera rolled over. The iris closed in and I was looking down its barrel. I gulped for air.
Action.
“Hi, Nicole.”
It went downhill from there.
She introduced me and I let her introduce me as an authority on sheepshead. I smiled, though. I said something about the Germanic roots of Schapfskopf and started into my ad about the event.
She stopped me. Meany.
“So how do you play the game?”
“Well, it’s hard to show you in a few minutes here. It takes a lifetime to learn, you know.”
“Can you start us out?”
“Sure.” Afterall, I was an authority on playing Sheepshead. “Uh, five players gather around a table.”
“What’s the first thing they do?”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, first they order the beer.”
“Ha-ha. What’s next?”
This was not going to end well. “You have to prepare the deck. See all the cards aren’t in here.”
She looked ready to ask another question, so I went into it blindly, “But you won’t want to miss out this Sunday at our Card Party at the . . .”
“Then what do you do?”
“Deal out the cards. We have bratwurst available and tickets are only . . .”
“So is there a high card?”
Who knows how the heck I answered that one. I sure wasn’t listening anymore. I did mention if you are really interested in learning, you could come to the Sheepshead lessons Sunday . . .
Well, the segment ended and I think I actually had Nicole fooled. Of course, she might have just been polite. Which is actually more plausible.
I get home and the answering machine has three messages. One wanted more info on the sheepshead lessons. One wanted directions to the hall. One said I didn’t know anything about Sheepshead and that I screwed up a couple things I had said (which wasn’t bloody much outside the time and date of the party). I called him back, apologized for having “an attack of nerves” and sat down to watch the tape.
I’m still shocked criminal charges were never filed. Sheepshead is a religion in these parts and I committed some serious heresy. Nicole looked good, though.
Probably never ate her vegetables.
Yours,
Captain Catastrophe
P.S. Make sure to celebrate Tim Kretschmann Day today and keep it in your heart all year long!