Of Doctors and Other Evil Beings

Dammit! They did it to me again!

Here’s the back story:

Four years ago, your Captain established a relationship with a primary care physician. With a little push from the First Mate, I decided it was time to start paying attention to my health.

In a matter of months, the Captain went from having one doctor (my optometrist) to having six doctors.

Each poking and prodding me in their given area of expertise.

Yes, Mates, even there.

But I don’t have to go back to him for another 10 years.

On my first visit to my new primary care physician – I think it was in the Fall of the year – the Captain arrived 15 minutes early, as a Captain should. I filled out the forms they gave me honestly, including the questions “How much do you weigh?”, and “How much alcohol do you drink per week?”

With my hand up, I swear to you no doctor has ever questioned that last one, even though the number is… impressive!

But that first one…!

So the Captain’s given name was called and I followed a nurse down the hallway toward an exam room. But first we had to stop at the scale, where she measured my height and weight – even though I had just written that information on the form.

Once in the exam room, the nurse made me answer all the questions again, leaving me to wonder why I had bothered the first time!

Then the Doctor came in.

And we went over all the questions again!

But then she stopped at the weight question.

Now Mates, I’ll be honest with you. Up to this point the Captain was kinda liking his new doctor. She was young and cute and, having recently graduated from med school, she seemed to know her stuff! 

 And she appeared to listen to my concerns, coming up with a list of my top seven health concerns. She assured me we were going to tackle those one by one.

Then she noted that the nurse had just weighed me at XXX pounds, but I had written on the form that I was [six pounds less than that]. She looked at me with squinty eyes and demanded to know how I accounted for the discrepancy.

The Captain was a little surprised at her sudden change in tone - "What am I, a jockey?" - but I calmly explained that I weigh myself first thing every morning – right before I step into the shower… which means I’m bare naked. On the other hand, when the nurse weighed me, I only had a chance to lay aside my coat and the book I was reading; I was not given the opportunity to strip down to my skivvies there in the hallway.

The Doc looked at me for a moment, checked her notes, and wrote on my chart, “The patient is obese.”

Ouch! That hurt!

Now Mates, your Captain knows he could stand to lose a little weight. A year or so ago I joined a gym – which was more about improving my breathing than losing weight, but I suppose those could be connected.

Truth be told, I would like to shed about 30 pounds. More importantly, I just want to be healthy.

But I’m not obese!

Well, if you put it like that, maybe. 

But according to the BMI chart, I would have to drop 50 pounds just to reach "Overweight" and at least 100 pounds to be "Healthy". 

By this reckoning, the Captain ain't been healthy since the day I met the First Mate at the altar!

So that's probably not going to happen!

Unfortunately, the COVID-19 pandemic kinda put a crimp in my effort to get healthy. The docs didn’t want to see me during the pandemic unless I was literally dying and, truth be told, I didn’t want to see them either.

To sit in a waiting room full of potentially contagious people at the height of a pandemic? No thank you!

Fast forward to 2023.

The Captain is in a medical office once again. A different doctor. And like before, the nurse checks my weight before taking me to the exam room.

Only this time, it is winter.

Again, I drop my coat, hat, and book, and step on the scale wearing jeans, a bulky sweater, and heavier shoes; I still have my wallet, cellphone, and keys in my pockets.

Again, I get the side-eye concerning the weight I had written on the admission form.

And again, on the final report are the words, “He is obese.”

At this point I am feeling like Jabba the Hutt!

Captain's Note: For what it's worth, the Captain hasn't gained a single pound these past four years.

I know it won’t make much of a difference, but the next time the Captain goes to a doctor it will be on the hottest day of Summer. I will be wearing a gossamer-thin shirt, light-weight shorts (“commando”, with no belt) with empty pockets, and shoes I can easily slip out of before stepping on the scale.

I’ll most likely still fall in the “Obese” range on the BMI chart – but perhaps at 34 instead of 36.

But at least they won’t be thinking the Captain is a liar!

As much as I hate the word "obese", being called a “liar” is far worse!

 

Home For the Holidays

Before getting into my New Year rant, your Captain needs to apologize to me faithful krewe.

It has been a busy couple of weeks. Between weather and work and the holidays, the Captain failed to post the annual message of Christmas Cheer.

So allow me to make that up to you right now:

Now on with the rant!

Every holiday has its traditions. The Captain buys roses and chocolates for the First Mate on Valentine’s Day. Chocolate Bunnies for Easter. We carve pumpkins for Halloween. And a turkey for Thanksgiving. We erect a decorated evergreen for Christmas and exchange meaningful gifts with those we love. And on New Year’s Eve we party until midnight and get shit-faced on cheap Champagne… which means it’s probably just sparkling wine!

For the Captain, a New Year’s Day tradition is to get up and watch the Tournament of Roses Parade live from Pasadena, California.

Often through sleep-deprived and hung-over eyes of course.

The parade was started in 1890 by the Valley Hunt Club, designed to showcase / sell “Sunny Southern California” to the rest of the world.

Chamber of Commerce stuff, really.

You know those ubiquitous palm trees that line the streets in Southern California? The non-native trees were brought in by early developers to give the desert a more “tropical” feel.

Captain’s Note: A few years back the Captain found a newspaper ad from 1910 squawking about the “miles” of paved roads in Los Angeles, and how you can own a piece of Paradise for only $10 per acre!

Yes, Mates, more than 100 years ago someone should have piped up and declared, “This desert can’t support 24 million people!”

But alas, no one did.

The Tournament of Roses Parade follows a 5 ½ mile route down Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena. One thing that sets this parade apart from others is that the floats must be almost entirely covered with flowers or other living plants.

Me and the First Mate were traveling on January 1^st, but fortunately the “Never on a Sunday” rule came into play: the Rose Parade cannot be held on a Sunday so as to not startle the horses tied up in front of churches along the parade route!

So, looking only for a day of rest on Monday, we sat down to enjoy the Rose Parade.

Captain’s Note: I’ve never been much interested in the Rose Bowl football game that follows, although we did attend the game in 1989 when Michigan beat USC. With complimentary tickets from the First Mate’s uncle, we were seated in the USC Alumni section.

And your Captain was rooting for Michigan.

Unable to find the definitive broadcast from KTLA-Los Angeles, we settled for switching between two terrible alternatives – one on NBC, one on ABC.

The announcers were awful – and not in a good way!

Oh how this ol’ Captain misses Bob Eubanks and Stephanie Edwards!

But even worse, the networks took regular commercial breaks! I know you've got to pay for stuff like this, but I also know there are ways to advertise your sponsors without cutting away from the very parade they were paying money to sponsor! 

Hell, the Captain can do that with my editing software at home!

In addition to commercial breaks, ABC had a folder of “human interest stories” about how the floats were made – for which they would cut away from the actual parade to show us!

To accommodate, the broadcasts frequently skipped equestrian groups – like the Budweiser Clydesdale team!

They skipped marching bands – like the Salvation Army Band, a longtime staple of the Rose Parade.

Captain’s Note: And I’ll tell you, Mates, if I ever put my little Powder Monkey on a bus to march in the Rose Parade, you better damn well show me the marching band!

And they skipped some of the most beautiful floats in the parade!

They even skipped the Mayor of Pasadena – granted, not the most spectacular entry in the parade, but he’s the frickin’ mayor of the City!

"Meh!"

Of course, with the latest pressure on non-religious entities to include Christians (no matter how relevant), both broadcasts did manage to find time to show and talk about a float from “The Lutheran Hour”, the only overtly-Christian float in the parade – complete with a little white chapel with a tall steeple and stained glass windows, a large Sun smiling down upon happy Christians reading their KJV Bibles, and, of course, a live Jesus waving to the crowds.

Captain’s Note: I know Jesus said he was coming back, but I didn’t expect he'd be ridin' on a parade float!

Here’s the worst part of it all: The Rose Parade organizers (no longer the Valley Hunt Club but a non-profit organization now solely devoted to the parade) have decided they want to mimic the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. So into the normally steady-flowing Rose Parade they inserted “performance floats” – which means the whole parade has to stop periodically so some runner-up on “America’s Got Talent” can sing and dance.

And Mates, your Captain is beginning to wonder if America really does got talent!

Then we come to the end of the parade. Actually it was just the end of “TV Time Limit”. In a rush to let an aging Tanya Tucker sing some song, the broadcasters skipped two floats, a band, and an equestrian group!

Captain’s Note: The Captain didn’t recognize the song, but it seems “Happy Trails” would have been more appropriate for Tucker.

Then, “Parade’s over! Go home!”

Short story long, Mates, when the Captain sits down to watch a parade, I want to see a parade! Is that too much to ask? If you must narrate, then just tell me about what is directly in front of you. I don’t want commercial breaks – I’m not buying that stuff! – and I don’t want to go “behind the scenes” of making the floats...

AND. MISS. THE. ACTUAL. DAMNED. FLOATS!

Oh, and before I forget… Happy New Year, dammit!