Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 4

Today we drove to Seattle.

As you may remember, last night we had trouble finding a hotel room. The town was small, but we were tired, and couldn't handle the thought of driving for another few hours.

Unfortunately, the place is hosting some sort of regional fishing meeting, so finding a room was hard. We finally got one in a nondescript place on the outskirts. It looked fine, and served breakfast to boot (for people traveling with kids, the trend of hotels that offer even a basic continental breakfast is just awesome). There were several other families there, and the pool was full of kids. So we went in, and I asked for a room. That seemed to surprise the friendly clerk, and he said "How many rooms?" I replied "Oh, just one." I figured he was just hard of hearing.

Silly me. At breakfast this morning we discovered that the place covertly specializes in polygamous families. So our little familial unit of 5 was dwarfed by throngs of kids in different colored clothes, mothers rushing everywhere, and alpha males eating waffles. One guy had a T-shirt that said "I may not be smart, but I can lift heavy things". I was glad when none of them asked me about Marie's availability.

A few miles outside Missoula we passed a large bra in the middle of the road. This was followed by a sock, then a pair of shorts, and, after a surprisingly large wardrobe of clothes, we caught up to a car with suitcases on the roof, one of which was unlocked and opening as they hit bumps, allowing things to escape. We tried to tell the driver, but she flipped us off.

We saw this warehouse as we traveled. For my other medical readers, I had to get a shot of it. So now I know where the land of Junkie Joy is located.





Western Montana is remarkably scenic. Our enjoyment of it was only slightly marred by Frank asking "How do they do such nice landscaping?”

Later, while driving through the middle of nowhere we passed a cement plant. In typical tourist fashion, there were several cars pulled over with people taking pictures of it. I don't understand people.

It occurred to me today that the GPS system has ruined one of the truly great moments of childhood trips: watching your parents fighting over directions. Today's children will grow up with no idea that parents would once fight over directions, would fight over whether or not to pull over and ask for directions, would fight over who got to hold the map. The most they ever hear is the pleasant GPS voice saying "RECALCULATING" which translates into "You dipshit, why can't you listen?"

In late afternoon we passed a religious billboard, which read “Jesus said ‘This is the work of the Lord’ ”. Due to poor (or perhaps intentional) placement, the sign was located immediately next to the town landfill.

After arriving in Seattle we took the kids down to the waterfront for dinner, and ate outside. There we were assaulted by that most aggressive bird of prey, the seagull. It's like these things evolved solely for the purpose of attacking people who eat outside. Some of them were so fat it was amazing to see them fly.

The kids are watching Underdog, the movie. I'm going to bed, the queen size.

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 3

Today we drove through Yellowstone National Park.




Our drive here was somewhat delayed, as the GPS gadget had decided to take us to a shopping mall in another town that had “Yellowstone” in the name. Because, of course, we assume it knows what it’s doing, it took us 30 minutes before we finally got suspicious and investigated.

When I was kid, we made several family trips to Yellowstone. It and the Teton mountains are remarkable. Literally some of the most spectacular scenery on Earth.

I vividly remember a trip here in the late 1970's, in our faithful blue Datsun 610 stationwagon (for those too young to know, Datsun became Nissan in the early 80's). My father spotted a large buffalo near the road, and pulled over to get pictures with his humungous multi-lens Nikon camera (my father is an untalented photographer, but tries hard. He has over 300 slides he took of the Golden Gate Bridge in the early 70's, shot from every possible ground angle).

So as we sat there, Mr. Buffalo decided he wasn't too fond of the blue Datsun (or worse, thought it was attractive) and decided to investigate it. So as it came over, we all piled into the car. Dad decided to drive away slowly, trying to get shots of the buffalo through the rear window, neatly framed by my sister and I screaming at him to go faster. But he kept driving slowly away, letting the buffalo catch-up, reassuring us that he could step on the accelerator anytime he wanted to.

It was at this point that the Datsun's transmission began making a horrible noise.

We were now much slower that the buffalo, and my father kept stepping on the gas pedal trying to get away. As the buff closed to about 20 feet the car suddenly lurched forward, veered off the road, swung back on it, and left the frustrated buffalo behind.

So it was somewhat comical that today, when I drove into Yellowstone with my family, the guy at the entrance handed us a map and a large yellow paper that said "Buffalo are dangerous! They weigh 2000 pounds and can run 30 MPH. Do not allow them too close to your car". I hoped they were giving it to everyone, and not saying "Hey! that's the guy who's dad tormented a buff 34 years ago! Give him the flyer!"

Old Faithful, the geyser basins, paint pots, Mammoth Hot Springs- all phenomenal, unearthly areas. Of course, all of this was lost on my kids, who were whining about (Heaven forbid!) having to walk around to see things. So we told them to shut up and keep walking.

We ended up following a ranger around, as he led a tour group. The experience gave me some further appreciation of the park, and dramatically increased my already high esteem for rangers. Because this poor lady was being bombarded by stupid questions to rival those in my practice:

"Do you run the geyser's at night? Or only when the park is open?"

"What time do you bring the bears in for the night?"

"How did they know where to dig holes so geysers would form?"

As we walked around, I heard a teenage girl (covered in piercings and tatoos) complaining about the pathways and informational signs, saying that "it ruins it all, they should just leave things the way nature made it". Is that irony, or what?

Before setting off we decided to feed the whiny kids. This plan ended when we were trapped in line behind another tourist, who wasn't a native English speaker. In fact, as best I could tell his only English words were "Pizza" and "Coke". They didn't have pizza, and the teenage guy trying to patiently explain this to Mr. Pizza was fighting a losing battle. So we left. The whiny kids deserved granola bars, anyway.

As we drove through the park I saw signs that said "Warning: Frost Heaves!" We didn't know what frost heaves were (I've since looked it up, so you don't need to tell me). I was amazed at the number of signs for them. Apparently frost heaves are on a par with Astroturf and Al Queda as a threat to civilization. I was glad to finally have a chance to look up info on them, as I’d guessed they meant barfing from overeating ice cream.

We actually saw bears on this trip, at close range, albeit from the car. I haven’t seen them here before, although I’ve encountered pretty much everything else. It was cool.

After our day at Yellowstone, we began heading for Seattle, but were tired and didn’t get far. We stopped in a small town, which had a restaurant advertising “$7 footlong hot dogs- $5”. We had some trouble finding a room, but finally did, and set up Camp Grumpy.

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 2

Hell is a hotel that doesn’t have Nick on TV to distract my kids. So, while we were waiting to go over to my in-laws, my kids killed time by watching Playhouse Disney, which they’re WAY beyond.

So we’re watching “Special Agent Oso”. Today’s episode featured Oso (a bear) trying to feed a pet bunny, and he couldn’t figure out if the food should be inside or outside it’s cage (REALLY!). When he finally got it right, the supporting characters sang “Oso! He's O-SO Special"

Yes, indeed he is.

After an improvised martial arts match at the hotel’s waffle station, we went over to my FIL’s house. I genuinely like my FIL. He's a good guy. He teaches at a university. He has the interesting background of being able to fix ANYTHING, drive a racing jetboat, and he put himself through college and grad school by being a semi-pro boxer.

I have no idea why, but he's always called me "Big I.” He is, to date, the ONLY person I have ever allowed to call me that. And I HATE being called Big I. But from him it sounds okay.

This morning, while Mrs. Grumpy visited with family, and kids went over to a cousin's house, I sat down to read a Bill Bryson book (one of my favorite authors) that I found on a shelf. At some point my FIL came in with a bag of beef jerky.

"Hey, Big I. Here’s some leftover jerky from a trip with the grad students last week. Why don’t you finish it, I’ve had enough.” He plopped down an almost-full bag of jerky next to me, and left the room.

I’m normally not a jerky person, but tried a piece. It was HORRIBLE. Awful beyond words. I spit it out in a Kleenex and flushed it.

And apparently he wanted me to eat it all.

When he went out back to work on his boat, I quickly tossed the bag in the trash and buried it under some newspapar.

A while later he came in and asked me how the jerky was. Trying to be polite I said it was great, and that I’d finished it.

He said, “Oh, I’m glad someone liked it. Me and the grad students all thought it was terrible stuff."

Thanks, FIL.

This afternoon I was assigned the job of going to get an in-law a gift certificate to a local pizza place (it’s his birthday). FIL volunteered to drive me.

Riding with FIL is always an adventure, because he LOVES to teach. So while driving along he’ll randomly point out a window and say something like “See that Mountain Big I? That’s where, in 1873, Lt. Hardon of the 26th Cavalry clashed with the Buffalo Indians. The battle began as his men ascended the east face of Mount Bigpileofrock, and then...”

And while he’s intently looking out the back window pointing at landmarks, you’re holding on for dear life because he’s crossed into on-coming traffic, and doesn’t notice them frantically honking as they swerve off the road. Fortunately, this is a relatively small town, and most locals recognize the red 1987 Chevy Astro as it weaves in and out of traffic, and give it a wide berth.

As we dodged oncoming cars and I learned about the geological history of Bigass Mountain, we passed a sign that said: “Litter and it will hurt!!”

The pizza place was nothing special. A guy in overalls and a Big State University T-shirt sold me a $50 giftcard, then recognized my FIL and began arguing with him about his crappy grade from last semester.

When we got back I noticed this unusual receipt.

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 1

Yesterday I flew in and met up with the tribe, who are visiting Mrs. Grumpy’s Dad and his wife’s kids, and their kids.

When we checked into our hotel last night they'd screwed up our reservation, and had us down as needing a handicapped room. This didn't seem to be that big a deal, and since it was the only room they had left, we took it. We were exhausted. I set up a wake-up call, went out to forage for food, and after dinner we all fell dead asleep.

Morning came, and with it our wake-up call. When we went to bed it had, somewhat naively, never occurred to me that a wake-up call in a handicapped room would involve more than a phone ringing. But it did.

At 8:00 the phone SHRIEKED at a volume that would normally be mistaken for a racing fire truck, or perhaps a nuclear bomb. It went beyond waking us up. We all leaped out of bed, with the kids screaming that it was a fire alarm. As if the noise wasn't enough to wake the deaf, the room lights suddenly began flashing on and off, plunging our dark-adjusted eyes from glare to dark to glare again at a seizure-inducing frequency. I grabbed the phone, still asleep, and screamed "What the hell is going on?". The desk clerk, in polite tones amplified by the phone's megavolume, just said "This is your wake-up call sir". I screamed "Thank you!" and hung up.

The lights stopped, plunging the room back into pitch darkness. There were 10 seconds of silence, interrupted by Craig announcing that he needed to change his underwear.

After breakfast we went over to my FIL's house. As soon as I walked in I was unceremoniously told that I'd been picked to lead everybody's kids on a forest adventure hike (I’d apparently been voted to do this while I was flying here yesterday). They all told me that Mrs. Grumpy was supposed to have told me last night. When I looked at her, she pretended to still be deaf from the wake-up call.

So I was given 9 kids, some granola bars & water, and loaded up the van.

On the way to the trailhead Mrs. Grumpy called to tell me to stop for mosquito repellent. After making several wrong turns (and being run off the road by a tractor) I finally found a store. I bought a bottle, and moved on.

The hike was an adventure of whiny children, trees, and LOTS of mosquitoes. Bug repellent doesn’t work. Anyone who spends any time in the great outdoors knows that “repellent” is a misnomer. In fact, it’s more like firing a flare to announce your presence, daring the bugs to come get you.

And they do.

You walk quickly, and they follow you. You stop to swat them, and more land on you. And the kids thought we were having a portable eclipse because of the way the black bug cloud followed us everywhere.

After we gave up and turned back, I discovered the bottle of repellent had leaked in my shoulder pack. It had partially melted one of my plastic credit cards. Nice to think it was on our skin.

We headed back to the house, and to clean the bug spray off I sent all the kids to the showers. Of course, as soon as they got out they wanted to go swimming. All the other adults had magically disappeared, too (gee, I wonder why).

So I'm trying to direct 10 kids (somehow another had joined us, I have no idea where) in and out of showers, and clothes, and towels. All the while I'm having horrible visions of being seen by a nosy neighbor and spending the rest of my life in pedophile prison.

After a bunch of Happy Meals I dragged the kids, and cousins, and some friends who’d somehow attached themselves to my safari train (we were up to 12 now, WTF?), to the city pool. Where, of course, I’m suddenly the bad guy because (although I just bought them lunch) I won’t pay for them to buy stuff from the vending machines. Even though I think some of the snacks in there had gone out of production during my childhood.

The city pool was a popular spot, although when we got there one of the pools was temporarily closed for a rescue drill. As I watched, 2 lifeguards "rescued" a 3rd guard, who was pretending to be a drowning victim. The drowning victim, however, wasn't particularly realistic, as he kept talking, and they were all giggling over something. When they got closer I realized the victim had developed a woody during the drill, and was trying to cover it with his hat.

The kids ran into the pool. I found a chair, opened my book, popped a Diet Coke, and relaxed. The afternoon went on, with increasingly cloudy skies. Then thunder crackled, and suddenly it began pouring rain.

At home this would have sent everyone scurrying out of the pool to shelter (I still don't understand why people get out of the pool when it's raining- you're already wet for crying out loud!) but here everyone kept merrily swimming. Even as it became a downpour. Even as strong winds began blowing. And then the temperature suddenly began dropping. Into the low 50's.

To the kids in the pool, none of this was a big deal. To a guy (like me) in shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops, it wasn't pleasant. My kids had NO interest in leaving the pool, and I was stuck watching them. And I was cold.

Then the wind began blowing water from the water slide onto me. And when I reached for a towel to cover up, my paperback blew into the pool.

At this point I was waiting for a grizzly bear to come maul me. I figured that would make the day complete.

Fortunately, as the lightning got closer, they closed the pool, giving me an excuse to haul the wild bunch back to base. Where the other adults had returned from a nice day of restaurant hopping. They also wanted to know who some of the 14 kids were that I'd brought home, as 3 of them had never been seen before.

I can only assume they were tossed out of passing UFO's by angry alien parents. "It's 4 light years back to Centauri, and you guys can walk if you don't behave!"

I certainly sympathize.

While the kids get ready for breakfast

I'd like to thank my reader Greg for sending this.

And so it begins...

While I'm flying to join the rest of the Grumpy Gang (they drove ahead of me a few days ago to visit family), those of you who haven't read our previous freaking nightmares in a minivan family vacations can do so.

Spring Break, 2009

Summer Vacation, 2009

The above links will take you to the first day of each trip, and you can work forward from there.

Provided I don't hang myself in a Motel Hell, I'll be sending reports back from the front.

Annie's Desk, Tuesday Afternoon

Annie: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Annie."

Ms. DeRanged: "Yeah! I'm a patient of Dr. Grumpy's, and need to ask about my chart."

Annie: "Okay, let me look it up... What can I do for you?"

Ms. DeRanged: "When was I last there?"

Annie: "You were here just once, in December, 2009."

Ms. DeRanged: "Who do you have listed as my family doctor?"

Annie: "Looks like it was Dr. Frendly."

Ms. DeRanged: "Well he's an asshole! And I just fired him! And I don't want you to send him my chart note!"

Annie: "Okay, I'll make a note that he's not your doctor, and so we won't send him any further records."

Ms. DeRanged: "I also don't want you to send him my note from December!"

Annie: "Well, that note already went out."

Ms. DeRanged:"WHAT! HOW DARE YOU! When was that?!!!"

Annie: "The day after your visit, in December, 2009."

Ms. DeRanged: "This is ridiculous! Don't you have any respect for a patient's wishes?"

Annie: "Of course, but at that time you told us to send him a letter."

Ms. DeRanged: "But I just fired him today! I don't want you to send him a letter!"

Annie: "The letter was sent 6 months ago."

Ms. DeRanged: "Then dammit, this is YOUR problem! You get on the phone, call Dr. Frendly, and make him send it back!"

Department of the Obvious

I'd like to thank an anonymous reader for submitting another remarkable research abstract.

Basically, this study discovered that children whose parents lose their jobs are MORE likely to lose their health coverage than children of parents who DON'T lose their jobs.

For the record, I am NOT trying to make a political statement here. I'm just pointing out yet another example of insane research from the Department of Obvious Conclusions. Political comments are not the intention of this post, and will be deleted.

(click to enlarge)

My head is killing me! I'm so happy!

This magazine was sent (unsolicited) to my office recently.

In 12 years I've taken care of a lot of migraine patients. And NONE of them looked this happy about their headaches...





When someone comes into my office with that kind of look, I generally DON'T assume they need a migraine medicine. Haldol (an antipsychotic), perhaps, but not a migraine drug.

Cause & Association

Miss Payne: "I don't feel well. I think it has something to do with my new job. Maybe it's the building. All the people there seem sick."

Dr. Grumpy: "Where do you work?"

Miss Payne: "I'm a receptionist at Local Hospice."

He has eight! We can't wait!

I normally try to avoid political discussions, but today I must speak up.

Because, until now, I never thought I'd find a candidate I could support.

You may remember last week, when I ranted about those damn election signs and ended with this comment:

"On a side note, I strongly believe in the political theory proposed in "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" that anyone who actually wants to be President/Prime Minister/Chief Goombah so badly to run for the office is automatically too insane to hold the job. We need to find a way to identify the person who is least interested in the job, and then put them in charge. Just don't let them figure out what they're really doing."

When I wrote that I had no idea such a being existed. And then, yesterday afternoon, I realized one did. And therefore, I openly declare my support for Paul (no, not Ron Paul).





Yes, Paul the Octopus.

Now, some of you may be questioning the wisdom of an invertebrate mollusk taking charge of things, but lets face it: how much worse could he do?

Paul has a remarkable track record, especially considering he's only 2 years old. In this year's World Cup he predicted 7 matches with 100% accuracy. Overall, his lifetime accuracy is 86%. In that regard he's beaten all of his competitors, including Mani the parakeet and Petty the hippo. You also have to consider that Paul hasn't been wrong since June 29, 2008- how many politicians can make that claim?

Paul has shown a remarkable knack for guessing the correct solutions to international disputes- without any military force involved. Isn't it time we had a leader like this?

Paul fits the key criteria for someone who doesn't want the job. As far as I can tell from detailed research (okay, 10 minutes on Wikipedia) Paul's main ambitions in life are food and a female octopus: not money, fame, or a book deal.

Some may express concerns over Paul being from Germany, given the events of the last century. But it should be noted that Paul was hatched in England, and has voted against Germany in some soccer matches. He has no innate prejudices against any race or ethnicity (except for snails, crabs, and clams, which he eats).

So I hereby express my support to elect Paul the Octopus as Leader of the World. I suggest some slogans:

Don't be shellfish! Vote for Paul!

The true centrist (right in 4 limbs, left in 4 limbs, body in the center).

His hearts (all 3) are in the right place.

Support Paul! An invertebrate with backbone!

Sunday morning, 10:35 a.m.

"Hi, um, I want to buy a car, and am having credit problems. It looks like one of the issues is that I owe Dr. Grumpy $68.54 from an unpaid bill in 2004. Anyway, I really need this car, like, before Monday, so can I pay this today to get you to take it off my record? If someone can please call me back, I'll give you a credit card number right now, and we can settle this."

Science goes to dinner

I'd like to thank Sumdood for submitting this important research:

From the Journal Obesity:

Eating behavior and obesity at Chinese buffets.

Wansink B, Payne CR. Department of Applied Economics and Management, Cornell University, Ithaca, New York, USA.

Abstract

RESULTS: Patrons with higher levels of BMI were more likely to be associated with using larger plates vs. smaller plates (OR 1.16, P < 0.01) and facing the buffet vs. side or back (OR 1.10, P < 0.001). Patrons with higher levels of BMI were less likely to be associated with using chopsticks vs. forks (OR 0.90,P < 0.05), browsing the buffet before eating vs. serving themselves immediately (OR 0.92, P < 0.001), and having a napkin on their lap vs. not having a napkin on their lap (OR 0.92, P < 0.01). Patrons with lower BMIs left more food on their plates (10.6% vs. 6.0%, P < 0.05) and chewed more per bite of food (14.8 vs. 11.9, P < 0.001).


Dr. Grumpy comments:

Now, I know some of you are rolling your eyes at this remarkable piece of research, which basically boils down to "obese people eat more than thin people". But lets think for a minute about the research methods, and what they say about the things people will do to get published:

1. Some poor sucker of a graduate student was told to hang out at the local Chinese buffet.

2. This person had to carefully watch who took what size plates, who was using chopsticks, where people had their napkins, and (most horrifically) actually had to time (was a stopwatch involved?) how long other patrons spent chewing their food.

3. After people left the restaurant (or returned to the buffet) this person had to go make notes on how much partially-eaten food was left on plates (wouldn't this attract the suspicion of other diners? Or even the place's manager?).

4. I want to know how ANYONE, fat or thin, is able to serve themselves by going down the buffet with their back to it (1st sentence of the abstract). Certainly you'll lose weight if you're not going to take food. But if you're not going to eat anything, what's the point of going to a restaurant in the first place?

5. While it's not noted in the abstract, did the department at least reimburse this poor sucker for going to the restaurant? I personally think that should be covered under the research budget. And, if multiple trips to the restaurant were required to write the paper, how much weight did the author gain (or lose) during that time?

6. Do these findings hold up at other buffet types? Like pizza, Mongolian barbecue, or Las Vegas?

7. Can I volunteer to do similar research on a cruise ship (if the department is paying for it, of course)?