I liked my MRI images a lot more than my CT scan images -- I thought the MRI shots had more personality, more artistic quality. Didn't scan any CTs -- and got them to the spine doc today. No good shots of my spleen. That's what I most wanted to post.

Tsunami? I blame Bush.

Light blogging lately. What with the trips to a Brooklyn hospital, the busted back, the month of no sleep, and now the gastro-intestinal malaise -- I got things going on! Maybe Spumoni South will keep the pot stirred over the next few days. I will be collecting Vito stories (and here Steve is right -- for me to post those would absolutely require footnotes... and a translation table).

A woman boarding my subway train tonight wore a huge button on her coat that said: "No War on Iraq."

I had an overwhelming urge to say to her: "You're right, that Zarqawi guy really needs to stop all his anti-election violence."

But that would just be wasted sarcasm: I knew quite well her anger was reserved for the people who oppose the Zarqawi-types. She, in other words, was just another asshole.

Helen and I each got CT scans done yesterday. What's the chance of that? Mine was thoracic, of course, and I just looked over my image-slides -- them ribs need some barbecue sauce!

Helen is stable and in a room and annoyed that the television isn't working. We like signs of normalcy.

Next medical adventure: Cookie needs his tonsils removed. His are very large and appear to be growing hands.

We're going to the mattresses in Brooklyn these days. Let me tell you something about hospitals: if Vito can't handle the workings of an airport cab line, imagine how he might react to the dynamic of a city emergency room.

Lots of stories; little time.

Steve says I should start including footnotes on my more cryptic posts. All I can say is this: if you have to ask what it means, then you probably wouldn't understand. My assessment: "Sounds like you need a fence."

At lunch today I bought a black and white cookie. Then I remembered that John Paul had asked me over the weekend if he could come to my office. I told him we could do that one day soon.

"And we'll go to Grand Central Station? And see all the trains? And you'll get me a black and white cookie?"

He was a recalling a trip we'd taken together, joyriding and trainspotting -- back in June.

"Yeah, we'll do all that," I said, though I'm not sure when (probably after I get my back ripped open and repaired).

So for tonight, it was just the black and white cookie I'd bought at lunch.

"You boys need to share," I instructed.

John Paul had a plan for that:

"Can you cut the middle in half?"

I'm not sure how that would work. But I got a knife and did sort of what he asked.

Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife. But you should roll her off the driveway before shifting the car into Drive.

Whaddya mean, no per-minute charge? I'm running a tab on these boys. As soon as they're of age, I'm presenting a bill.