I wake up as a tremendous ball of heat engulfs me. Throwing off the covers I  wonder. Did Kim Jong-un launch his first nuclear missile and chose the north Chicago suburbs as his target? Has Trump launched a pre-emptive strike and gotten the launch code parameters wrong? Maybe the decommissioned nuclear power plant up in Zion has gone rogue and had a core meltdown? While the grandfather clock in the hall strikes four, I realize the heat is far more localized, and presumably, less destructive.

First a word about that clock. It is a family heirloom, passed down from Barb’s parents and we treasure it. The wooden cabinet has survived three or four moves and multiple months in storage. To provide a proper place of honor for it in the new house we even modified our construction plans, eliminating a closet and replacing it with an enlarged powder room and a special clock alcove.

I treat the clock tenderly. Under my care, each pendulum swing measures exactly one second. The Westminster chimes ring out the quarter hours in exact synchrony with the time on my iPhone. The walls of its little cubby cause harmonic vibrations, and many times I have woken up to what sounds like an angelic heavenly choir. Only our house sitter hates the chimes, turning them off when staying in our home during our infrequent travels.

So with the reverberating notes filling my ears, I looked to my left at Barb, peacefully sleeping next to me, and knew she was the source of the Level IV heat wave. It is a malady we both suffer from, as we pass these warming trends back and forth faster than the charging frontal boundaries on a Tom Skilling weather map.

Their appearance is unpredictable, though mine seem to come during the day, usually with a cup of tea in my hands. My face flushes as the beads of sweat pop from my forehead.

Barb suffers more at night in bed; a myriad of “head-cooling” pillows all receiving a big thumbs-down. Some mornings at 3 a.m. a dive in the pond feels like it might be the only salvation.

Yes, both our doctors know about these attacks and have each provided a bit of testing and a just bit of help. But the improvement has been minimal. Just as global warming marches on, our local heat trend is up, up, up. Football gamblers may tell you “the trend is your friend,” but in this case, it is no friend to us. The clock keeps on ticking, while the heat goes on.

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photo credit: peretzp <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/68877611@N00/7238289476″>Salem and Hope Creek Nuclear Reactors</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

I made a mistake in judgment. Yesterday’s blog post was a satirical look at our President and how he chooses to view the world and its events, man-made or natural. It was a pretty good piece, worthy of being an anchor on the ChicagoNow Weekend Front Page and to attract some attention in the Twitter zone, where it recently was popular in Scandinavia. No one complained about anything I had written, and my words were certainly not vitriolic enough to put me in the target zone of any Pro-Trumpers.

But in that post, I made a misstep, and I need to apologize for it. I used a slur, an out-dated word that I am sure is offensive to my LGBTQ friends, relatives and colleagues, and to anyone else reading the piece, either on ChicagoNow, Facebook or Twitter. I ascribed the utterance of the word to President Trump, in an entirely invented quote from a non-existent news conference. Yes, fake news, but lord, it was so outlandish I hope no one took it for anything but a bit of whimsy on my part!

Yet I printed that word. My usage was offensive in two ways. First, although it was one of those smears that used to flow easily off peoples lips, like the “N Word” or the “K Word,” it was wrong to use in the past and it was wrong to use now. I cavalierly placed it in my post; I should not have. Second, I have no evidence that President Trump has ever used the word in private conversation or in public speech. He has shown himself to be incompetent, intolerant, thoughtless and dangerous, but that does not permit me to put certain words into his mouth. Besides, he already has his foot in there most days, without any help from this blog.

I have gone back to yesterday’s post and performed a self-edit. It looks pretty seamless. I don’t know if  Mr. Trump will appreciate my cleaning up his (fake) act, but I know that I feel better now that I have cleaned up mine.

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In an early morning impromptu press conference in the lobby of Trump Tower, President Donald Trump refused to lay the blame on next week’s solar eclipse on natural astrophysical events, instead claiming the alt-left was directly responsible.

“There is no doubt in my mind that emphasis on solar power is overwhelming the capacity of the sun to keep shining on great white America. Coal is the only answer, the only way to prevent future occurrences of darkness in the middle of the day. With my next Executive Order, August 21st will officially be declared End the EPA Day. I encourage all my loyal core followers to attend a mass West Virginia Coal Dig In on that day. I understand white hood shaped hard hats will be available along with Tiki torches.”

When questioned, Trump appeared unaware that eclipses have occured throughout history. “This is the direct result of un-American activity bringing darkness to our great nation. A black sky in the middle of the day? Next thing you know they’ll be plotting to have a glowing rainbow flag fill the darkness. You know, that LGBTQ thing.”

As Trump spoke, several advisors were seen leaving an elevator holding their coats over their faces and sprinting for the exits. When contacted by telephone, Scott Pruit, head of the EPA commented, “Mr. Trump may have misinterpreted some comments that were made by me, but I guarantee you he understands the darkness will be caused by the moon moving in front of the sun.”  Appearing on “Morning Joe,” Kellyanne Conway supported the President, stating that he had one of the greatest science minds of our generation. “He is not an Einstein, but he is very close.” An attempt was made to contact the members of Trump’s Science Advisory Board, but the Board no longer seems to exist.

Following the interview, Chief of Staff John Kelly was noted in a fetal crouch, covering his head with his hands, and quietly sobbing. Via a leak to Breitbart, Steve Bannon was quoted as saying “Don’t blame this one on me.” Jared and Ivanka Kushner were on vacation and unavailable for comment.

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Speaking of science, donations still being taken for the SEABlue Prostate Cancer Awareness Event on September 10, 2017. Make your donations here.

 

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photo credit: bobosh_t <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/31801622@N07/36181480020″>DSCN0129</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

The email began with “I’m hanging in there. My husband passed away in an accident in June. Been very difficult, but I’m doing my best.”

I don’t know Jane well. She is my contact for a company in a southern state that our lab has used for several years for online learning and record keeping. If I have a question or concern I send her an email, and she usually sends her cheerful, informative, reply within the hour.

I responded to her email expressing my condolences. I knew it was a situation in which a few words from a stranger a thousand miles away could hardly provide any solace. But the friendly personality always apparent in Jane’s emails made me confident that she had many friends who would help her family in such unimaginable circumstances.

I did some ‘net research. Googling Jane’s last name as well as the state her company was located in I was able to locate her husband’s obituary and a video of a brief segment on a local TV newscast. An unusual accident, an unexpected death, a local tragedy.

And it shook me. Death is not a stranger. I have lost parents, in-laws, a sister, and many other relatives and friends. Professionally I faced death daily, particularly in the early part of my training and career. But this suddenness was different and saddening, even if it was just someone I “almost” knew.

Since I received that email the country has moved on, the focus is now on the hatred, bigotry, and yes, death, in Virginia. But my thoughts keep drifting back to that one lost life from the month before and the widening circles of feelings that it engendered until they reached me, like ripples on a pond.

Those ripples of empathy are what we need to keep us human, to help us conquer haters and hate. We are seeing where a lack of empathy can take us, it is now time to move away from there. Share the word.

The above are the views of the authors and are not the official views of UroPartners, LLC.

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photo credit: blavandmaster <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/38134034@N04/33740003150″>Sunset with friends</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

 

I tried. I really did my best. I thought there was a good reason to give up all those artificial sweeteners. I am talking about the little pink packets of Sweet’N Low that I had been emptying two at a time into my tea cup every day. And although I had kicked my diet cola habit years ago, there were still the cans of Canada Dry Diet Ginger Ale I had recently started chugging down at an alarming rate.

Artificial sweeteners don’t have a glowing reputation.  Old reports linked saccharin use to bladder cancer, though those studies were refuted long ago.  And as for aspartame, a chemical I once had a professional relationship with, everyone seems to blame something on the little blue packets!

Paradoxically, the current concern with all the phony sweeteners is that they fool some of our brain centers and can lead to weight gain, obesity, and diabetes. I didn’t need any of that. And knowing that just like Oprah I feel best when my weight is under 200 lbs, I decided it was time to give up the sweetness and pseudo-sugars, lose weight, and live a life of purity and grace.

For about a month I gave it all up for what I hoped would be blessed, unsweetened, Nirvana. What did I find? My tea, even hot, well brewed English Breakfast Tea, tasted like dishwater–dirty dishwater. The “nothing artificial added” fruit flavored bubbly waters I tried were blah and lifeless. I had headaches. Episodes of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” our current binging favorite, seemed to drag on for hours. I was sleepy and moody, and I am sure Grumpy and Sneezy weren’t far behind.

And as for my weight? The scale stayed steady, no weight loss at all. The only time my weight trended downward was when I dropped a few pounds prepping for a colonoscopy. And we all know that no matter what late night infomercials and supermarket tabloids might say, colonoscopy preps are NOT an approved method of weight loss.

So I threw in the towel, bit the dust, said “to hell with it.” Last night, feeling a little drained and sore after two hours of tennis that felt like four hours on the court, I toasted a bagel and made a cup of tea. I tore open two packets of Sweet’N Low, poured them into my cup and took a sip.

I’m sorry, but it felt sooo good!

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Speaking of health and happiness, I am once again participating in the SEABlue 5K Run. SEABlue provides support, education, and advocacy for men with prostate cancer and their families as well. To support me in the run, please go to my personal SEABlue page here.

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Lab Mates:

We are a great lab. When we were reviewing inspection checklists at our meeting yesterday I said that it wasn’t following all the items on the mandated punch list that made us great. I was wondering if one of you would ask me what it is that does make us special, but no one raised that question. If they had, my answer would have been this.

We are great because you are compulsive. Issues arise in the lab–they arise in every lab. But issues have answers, and none of you will stop until you have found those answers and solutions. You won’t stop until you know the precise location from which each biopsy fragment came from. You won’t stop until you know exactly why a patient’s name was changed on the medical record. You won’t stop until you have proven that the change in a patient’s blood values correspond to some change in the clinical condition.

You make phone calls, you comb through the record, you dig out old worksheets. You come in at all hours of the day and night, intensity burning in your eyes. The balky computer systems between the lab and the electronic medical records aren’t playing nice with each other? You figure out a work around to keep the data flowing. The big national reference labs have been mixing up some of our patient specimens? You won’t stop until you know who every specimen belongs to.

It’s not just reference labs you have to deal with. Those world renowned university hospitals in our backyard–you are on their tail, making sure that when they request biopsy slides on our patients those biopsy slides gets returned, preferably unbroken, sooner rather than later. And the reports those medical Meccas issue? They better have all the details right or they will hear from you!

Of course we comply with all the thousands of items on the checklist. All the quality control, all the proficiency testing, all the OSHA and HIPAA and CMS details. It is my job to make sure we meet all those regulations. And that makes us a damn good lab. But it is the bulldog in all of you that makes us great.

Just thought you should know!

The opinions expressed above are those of the author and not directed by UroPartners LLC (though I am sure they agree.)

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It has been quite a while since I have written about our new home. Seven months in and to quote White Sox announcer Ken Harrelson, there are “ducks on the pond.” Also swans, geese, herons and one prehistoric looking, pterodactyl-like creature. We have mastered the local walking and running trails and measured out our Sunday morning hike to breakfast in downtown Deerfield. Does a five-mile march cancel out an order of french toast and bacon?

We have also discovered the gem of the house. Projecting off the side of the kitchen and reaching out toward the pond is our new sanctuary. Call it a “Three Seasons Room” or a covered porch, it is tranquil, breeze cooled, and until winter comes, the best spot to curl up with a weekend-morning cup of tea or a before-dinner magazine. We each have our own corner to lounge in, and the kitten loves it as much as we do. She patiently waits each morning for one of us to open the door so she can settle under one of the sunlit chairs.

It is not a big space; Barb says her one regret with the house is that we didn’t make this room large enough for a kitchen table. But with jalousied windows, a high pitched roof, and rustic timbers, it truly brings the outside in. And I love that. Despite going out for a run or two every week, nightly walks around the neighborhood “loop,” and even going to a few ballgames in the last month, I am an indoor type of guy.

Going with us to a restaurant that features outside seating? Sorry, but I will tell the hostess we would prefer that indoor table in the corner. Sure, I will go to a concert at Wrigley or Soldier Field, but aren’t the sound and sight lines better at the United Center? And no need to watch Brant Miller or Tom Skilling for their over-excited weather forecasts. Rain won’t dampen an indoor concert.

The lounge chairs on our outdoor deck? I haven’t used them once. Buy a sexy convertible? No interest for me. Yeah, the wind in your face can be cool, but who needs the bugs and the exhaust fumes? And the road noise makes it really hard to listen to my latest audiobook. Especially when it’s the latest spy thriller and the narrator is expounding in a poorly done Eastern European accent.

So yeah, I am an inside guy. But the Three Seasons Room lets me enjoy the summer and still bring a hint of the outdoors in. All in all, I am a happy camper–as long as I am “camping in!”

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Hey-I had my first viral post last week!  If you haven’t read it yet, here is the link: Repeal and Replace Donald Trump.  Let me know if you agree. You can leave a comment on the blog or email me at les.raff@post.com And feel free to share this post or any others in Downsize, Maybe.

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It’s that time of year. Beginning tomorrow, Chicago will once again host Lollapalooza, one of the countries largest annual music festivals. Four days of music, sun, and traffic jams. In the meantime, Washington DC, continues to host the nation’s other ongoing source of entertainment, as the Trump administration lurches along from one calamity to the next. So how do the two compare?

10 DIFFERENCES

1. Lollapalooza loves coming to Chicago every year.

Trumpapalooza wants to “send in the Feds” to Chicago.

 

2. Perry Ferrell, the Lollapalooza organizer, played in “Jane’s Addiction.”

John Kelly, the Trumpapalooza Chief of Staff, played in “The United States Marine Corp.”

 

3. Lollapalooza brings in new acts every year.

Trumpapalooza brings in new players every week.

 

4. According to Maxim Magazine, Lollapalooza attendees are looking for sex with partners.

According to now vanquished Anthony Scaramucci, members of the team Trumpapalooza are  looking for sex with themselves.

 

5. Lollapalooza bands play at lots of aftershows that come as a surprise

Trumpapalooza players leak lots of news that comes as a surprise.

 

6. Lollapalooza tickets sell out in about 30 seconds and everybody shows up.

Trumpapalooza claimed the Innauguration had the biggest crowd in history, but nobody showed up.

 

7. Lollapalooza wants to bring in people from all over the world.

Trumpapalooza likes to keep things home grown.

 

8. Lots of people at Lollapalooza will be on drugs.

Everyone in the Trumpapalooza administration seems to be on drugs.

 

9. Lollapalooza headliners include “Arcade Fire” and “Lourde.”

The President of Trumpapalooza loves to fire people and thinks he IS the Lord.

 

10. If we are good boys and girls Lollapalooza will be back next year.

If we are good boys and girls Trumpapalooza will be gone by next year

 

I’ll stick to Lolla–even though I hate crowds! What about you?

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