Pink police car nation.

Yesterday my wife and I took part in the Relay For Life at the South Florida Fairgrounds. She’s been fighting cancer for 20 years and has not given up yet. As her caregiver, I too have felt the burden of cancer from hearing bad news from her doctor and sitting in the waiting room as she underwent numerous surgeries to remove tumors from her lungs. Yet here we both were at the walk to celebrate her survival and my role in helping ensure that survival.

The Palm Beach County Sheriff was present at this event, and they brought with them something I’d never seen before. A pink patrol car. Talk about a strong source of support.



On the back window is this sign:

This pink patrol car is the first law enforcement vehicle its kind in the United States, and was created to show support for cancer research and cancer survivors. We want YOU to know that law enforcement’s role is not only to SERVE AND PROTECT our community, but to promote a sense of giving and support to anyone diagnosed with cancer.


Well said.


The cool side of curiosity.

One of my favorite radio stations is WKGR (also known as The Gater) which specializes in classical rock music. One day as I was listening to a song I was particularly fond of, there was a short interruption in the signal that briefly took the station off the air. Later the DJ came on and said there was a problem with the transmitter in Martin County that got fixed, so he replayed that same song.

I’ve since become aware that the radio station itself is not far from where I live here in West Palm Beach, and I’ve even driven past it numerous times. On the building itself are logos for some of the other radio stations that serve my area. That got me curious about where the DJ’s work. For years that curiosity kept nagging me until finally I decided to send an e-mail to the afternoon DJ to put to rest this nagging question once and for all.

I have a question that’s been nagging me for quite a while. Years ago I remember hearing you say that the transmitter for the Gater is in Martin County, and I know the radio station itself is on 45th Street. It does look like a rather small building for the radio stations serving our area. I keep thinking it must be crowded in there! Is there a separate location where you DJ’s broadcast from?

Later on that same day I got this response.

Actually our building is huge. There are 50 desks (not all occupied) in the sales area. We have 6 on air studios, a giant bullpen, 10 bathrooms, manager’s offices, on-line too. Call me and I’ll give you a tour sometime.

Even better, the DJ gave me his phone number. I’ll take him up on his offer for the tour of the station as soon as I find some time in my busy schedule. Finally, I’ll get to meet one of my favorite DJ’s in person.

It’s cool to be curious.

Cellphone PSA.


My first colonoscopy.

This morning I had my first colonoscopy. Needless to say I was nervous about it but once it was over, it turns out there really was nothing to be nervous about.

My mother told me that the worst part of a colonoscopy is the preparation. It turns out she was right. The day before my procedure I was to eat no solid foods and consume no dairy products or alcohol. Clear liquids were okay but any red or dark purple fluids were off the list.

Around 11am I took four stool softener pills to begin the bowel purging process. That wasn’t too traumatic. But at 5pm was when the gastric fireworks began. That was when I had to drink a 16 ounce cup of Suprep mixed with a little water. It tastes like grape juice mixed with seawater, not exactly a pleasant flavor. A half hour later I was running for the bathroom to play giddyup with the porcelain pony. A few minutes later I had to go again. And again. And again. Finally, after several hours, the runs eased up.

Then I had to do the Suprep thing all over again three hours before my procedure. My appointment was at 6:30am, so that meant I had to take the second dose no later than 3:30am, and by 4am, the gastric floodgates opened and once again I made repeated trips to the porcelain throne. The runs eased up just in time for my appointment. I swear lost 2 pounds during this preparation.

My mother picked me up this morning as I would be too sedated to drive after my procedure. Once at the clinic, I changed to my gown and a nurse took my vitals and started the IV. The nurse told me that I might wake up feeling bloated from the air and water used during the procedure.

A short time later I was wheeled into the room where my colonoscopy would be done. There another nurse connected a breathing tube to my nose and told me to lie on my left side. Then the doctor entered and the last thing I remembered was feeling lightheaded from the medicine that put me to sleep.

When I woke up, I was back in the preparation area where I was when I first arrived at the clinic. I began wondering if they started the procedure yet, but I was relieved when I realized that it was over. I felt no pain or bloating whatsoever. Then a nurse came to check on me and removed the sensors that monitored my vitals along with the IV needle from my hand. The doctor came by and told me no cancer was found and I have a clean bill of health. After signing the discharge papers I was finally free to go. I won’t have to go through this again for another 5 years.

UPDATE: I went back to work the next day.


Ian goes to Washington.

Ian and his parents were escorted to the guest bedroom of the White House. They had just arrived in Washington for Ian’s Medal of Honor ceremony, a moment that Ian had never foreseen in his life until he decided to join the military. After his training, he went on a spy mission that helped prevent World War 3, a feat that earned him recognition from the Pentagon and a personal invitation from the President.

“Well, here we are!” Ian’s father Ron proclaimed as he looked around the bedroom. “The famous Nixon bedroom.”

“Um, excuse me, what was that?” Ian asked, not sure of what he had just heard.

“The Nixon bedroom,” Ron repeated. “Look at that painting over there. Do you know who that is?”

Ian looked at the painting on the wall and was startled to see a portrait of Richard Nixon. The painting appeared to be very old with Nixon dressed in a vintage outfit from the 1800’s.

“That can’t be Nixon,” Ian muttered.

“Actually, it IS Nixon,” Ron said. “You know who he was, right?”

“Yeah, he was President during the 1970’s.” Ian replied.

“WHAT?” Ron shouted. “COME ON! Nixon wasn’t alive in the 1970’s!”

“He was too!”

“COME ON, IAN!” Ron roared. “Don’t you remember your American history? Everyone knows that Nixon was president during the Civil War!”

“WHAT?” Ian’s head began to spin. “I thought Lincoln was President during the Civil War!”

“YOU”RE CRAZY!” Ron yelled. “Lincoln was our first President!”

“No, George Washington was our first President!”

“Wait, who’s George Washington?”

Ian grabbed his head as the room appeared to spin faster. What was happening? Was this all a dream? Then that would have meant Ian’s trip to Washington wasn’t really happening either. None of this mattered at the moment as Ian suddenly blacked out and collapsed on the floor.



Solace at the pier.


Private Fartball.

“I am Gunnery Sergeant Grackle, your Senior drill instructor!” Grackle roared as he marched past the new recruits. “You maggots have just begun eight weeks of hell in my boot camp!”

Grackle was interrupted by the sound of farting followed by giggling.

“Who did that?” Grackle screamed. “Who’s the slimy little sock sucker who just signed his own death warrant? And I WILL find out!”

Grackle began sniffing as he walked around the room. Then his face wrinkled in disgust. “HOO! It’s getting stronger! I must be getting close!”

Then he found himself in front of a tall, skinny recruit who was trying to stifle his laughter.

“What’s so funny, Private Tweezers?” Grackle bellowed.

“My friend here just farted,” Tweezers giggled.

“So farts are funny?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll fix that!” Grackle picked Tweezers up and squeezed him so hard that Tweezers let out one long loud fart before Grackle set him back down. Tweezers’ face now registered pain and discomfort.

“What’s the matter, Tweezers?” Grackle screamed. “I thought you said farts were funny!”

“They are.”

“Well, why aren’t you laughing?”

“That hurt,” Tweezers moaned.

“It’s SUPPOSED to hurt!” Grackle yelled. “Does that mean you’re not going to laugh at farts anymore?”

“Yes, sir.”


Grackle now turned to a short, fat recruit standing next to Tweezers.

“And you! Private Fartball! What’s the idea of farting around? Trying to make us laugh or something?”

“No sir,” Fartball stammered. “I only fart when I’m nervous.”


Fartball let out a short fart.