Memories...

His name was Feldman. He belonged to our temple when I was growing up.

Feldman was the most boring guy in the world. Anonymous desk job. Anonymous life. One of these guys who was always on some boring temple committee (I still don't understand people who live to be on committees- temple, church, hospital, whatever).

Like these people do, he eventually became temple president one year. As such he was the guy who traditionally makes a few announcements during the high holiday service on Yom Kippur.

Sadly, taking the podium that day, with an insanely bored reform congregation full of 1-day-a-year-Jews, was the highlight of Feldman's life. He wasn't going to let it go. And we'd all been sitting there for 3 hours (there's a reason we were reform - make the services REALLY short, so we can go out for bacon cheeseburgers afterwards).

He was supposed to make a few generic announcements: "The children's service starts at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Thank you to Irma Goldblat for stacking the prayer books. Remember to put your yarmulkes in the bin on the right as you leave."

But that wasn't good enough for Feldman. This was his lifetime ambition 5 minutes in the spotlight, and he'd prepared a fucking speech. Not even a good speech. Just a boring-as-hell speech in which he thanked EVERY FUCKING PERSON on EVERY FUCKING COMMITTEE by name. And the lady who did payroll in the office. And the guy who set up the chairs. And the guy who was going to put away the chairs. And the people bringing food to the children's service. And the lady who made the lovely cake for the Silverman Bat Mitzvah. And it went ON AND ON AND ON.

As he passed the 30 minute mark of this insanity, my mother's friend Corkie, seated toward the back of the auditorium, said LOUDLY, "You have to wonder what he's like in bed!"

Feldman stopped. Then walked off as the congregation fell into hysterics.

The Rabbi needed another 10 minutes before he could coherently say the closing prayer.

Eloquence

Mrs. Downer: "I feel so bad. I'm just bad. I know how bad off I am. Am I really that bad?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No."

Mrs. Downer: "Oh, that's good."

Some things just go great together

Thank you, Sheila!

The bag lady

 

Mrs. Gift is a sweet lady who always brings a small present for my staff and I. It's usually a little paper bag filled with something like a few dipped strawberries, or some chocolates, or other candies. I generally turn it over to Mary to put in the break room.

Yesterday she started the appointment off as usual by handing me a little paper bag. I thanked her, and we had our visit.

Afterwards I gave it to Mary. She took it to the back, and opened it.

It contained a PBJ sandwich, a banana, and a bag of chips.

Mrs. Gift came back an hour later, looking for her lunch in exchange for a bag of lollipops.

Huh?

Dr. Grumpy: "How are things at home? Didn't you get married last year?"

Mrs. Taylor: "Okay. This one is an okay marriage. I've had several that were happier, but certainly quite a few that were worse, too."

Zoo. To go.

"No officer, the parrot was driving. Talk to him."

Thank you, Grant!

Monday with Mary's voice mail

"Hi, I'm looking for a neurologist who treats symptoms caused by electromagnetic force fields, such as those given off by cell phones, WiFi transmitters, hearing aids, and computers. These things are prevalent in our society, and are making me and my friends all sick. We need someone who can treat us for brain and nerve damage from their radiation, and who could also help us file a mass lawsuit against all cell phone, computer, and hearing aid users. Thank you."

We're talking serious Haldol. And 4-point leathers

Gee, why do I suspect drugs were involved?

Thank you, Tanya!

More hairs leap off

Dr. Grumpy: "Hi, Mike, it's Ibee."

Dr. Brilliant: "Yes, what can I do for you?"

Dr. Grumpy: "I sent Mr. Jones to you - you saw him earlier today - for a second opinion on his weird muscle disease. What did you think?"

Dr. Brilliant: "I'd like to know what his EMG showed."

Dr. Grumpy: "Well..."

Dr. Brilliant: "You know, I don't mind doing second opinions. But it's not helpful when you don't send all the information with the patient."

Dr. Grumpy: "Because..."

Dr. Brilliant: "I cannot help the patient without the test results. Could you have your staff send the EMG to me?

Dr. Grumpy: "YOU DID THE EMG YOURSELF! 2 weeks ago! I sent him to you for the test!" 

(long pause)

Dr. Brilliant: "Let me get back to you."

Irony

Yesterday at a birthday party I was sitting on a park bench near 2 young mothers at a picnic table. Both were covered with tattoos. And I overheard this:

Mom 1: "Did you hear Jessica got breast implants?"

Mom 2: "No! That's just wrong. Why would anyone do something like that to change their body?"

Saturday

Due to a bunch of kid activities today, I'm just posting this for your entertainment.

 

Mary's Desk

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

Ms. Sleaze: "Yes, I need to speak to Dr. Grumpy immediately."

Mary: "Who is this?"

Ms. Sleaze: "You have some nerve to ask me that! This is Ima Sleaze, and I'm calling him on a personal matter about him being a homeowner."

Mary: "Okay, I can give him a message, but he's with a patient. If this is a sales call I can tell you he won't return it."

Ms. Sleaze: "THIS IS AN IMPORTANT MATTER FOR ALL HOMEOWNERS! You can tell him that Suzy Patient referred me to him. I know he'll get on the phone right now."

Mary: "I'm not going to interrupt him with a patient. If you want to leave me your phone number, I'll give him the message."

Ms. Sleaze: "He'll fire you for not putting me through, and you'll have only yourself to blame."

(click)

Thursday evening rambling

Sitting here, listening to Donna Summer on iTunes.

Disco was, for the most part, not one of music's greatest genres.

But Donna Summer was something special. I was 12 years old (what's called a "tween" today) when she hit the big time.

She had an incredible voice, and used it with style. Songs that no one else could carry she could. She put energy into the music. Cover versions just don't do them justice the way her pipes did. Even while "MacArthur Park" (which she didn't write- she did a cover of an older song) had some, uh, unusual lyrics, she still made them come alive in a way that blew the original away.

"Hot Stuff" was the first 45 rpm single I remember buying. I took it home and listened to it repeatedly. Certainly not philosophical stuff, but at an age when you were first trying to figure out girls, the music was PERFECT to just get up and boogie at the 7th & 8th grade dance (6:30 to 9:30, 1st Friday of each month, in the school cafeteria). It gave you courage to ask a girl to dance, and hope she didn't notice your braces.

On a side note, the first time I ever danced with a girl was when SHE asked me. Her name was Amy, and I was sitting on a table, trying to figure the whole thing out. She came out of nowhere, grabbed my hands, and pulled me out on the floor. I guess she didn't ask me at all, just said "Come on!" and pulled my arms out of their sockets.

The only disco on my iTunes has always been Donna Summer's greatest hits. Last year, when my wife gave me an LP/cassette-to-digital converter, I dug out the ancient "Hot Stuff" single and digitalized it.

Yeah, the CD music version is clearer, but hearing my original vinyl 45 again, with the scratchy needle sound, means more to me. It's the version that's still embedded deep in my brain, taking me back to the school dance.

Thank you, Donna.

Wednesday night, 11:23 p.m.

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy, returning a page."

Mrs. Dword: "Yeah, I saw you a year or so ago for my pain issues, and they're pretty bad now. I'm in Farfaraway Hospital ER."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, I'll let the doctor there handle it. I don't have privileges there."

Mrs. Dword: "I want you to tell them to give me another ER doctor. This one isn't giving me any of the good pain medicines I keep asking for."

Dr. Grumpy: "Good night."