On Sunday, a stern talking woman gave some instruction to an obviously bewildered man. No, we are not talking about the Presidential Debate here. This particular exchange took place on Sunday afternoon, hours before the Clinton-Trump showdown, at a Lord & Taylor store in suburban Chicago.

A little background while I set the scene. When Barb and I moved from the old house into our temporary apartment, all of our furniture and most of our other possessions went into long term storage with our moving company. We kept just enough clothing to get us through the transition until the new house was completed. Among the clothes I planned to take with to the apartment was a box clearly labeled “Les’s Sweaters-Take to Apartment.” Unfortunately, during the very hectic day in August on which we moved out of the house, the moving company must have grabbed that box and added it to one of the crates bound for storage. So as the Bears lose and the temperature has started to drop, I find myself sweater-less and chilly.

I told Barb I had to go shopping for a sweater or two to tide me over–shopping being something I enjoy just a bit more than a trip to the dentist. She mentioned having a 20% off on everything coupon at Lord & Taylor, so after our mandatory daily visit to the construction site, we drove to Northbrook Court. We made it past the baby clothes (sorry grandkids, nothing new for you today) to the Men’s Shop, and selected a couple of sweaters that would go with most of my wardrobe. We found a salesperson and headed to the register. Barb gave me the coupon and I looked at it for the first time. Here it is:

Can you read the fine print? That’s over 100 brands excluded, including all regular priced Men’s Wear!  I defy anyone to find two articles of clothing they could  purchase using that coupon. A costly full price purchase was looming, making less expensive Macy’s seem more desirable. The saleswoman noticed my hesitation in completing the purchase and pulled out her Super Secret Bonus 20% Off Coupon. We sealed the deal and I was no longer sweater deprived.

I don’t get it. Why is buying a sweater at a department store as complicated as negotiating a deal on a new car? I remember a few years ago when Ron Johnson became the CEO at J.C. Penney. He promised to offer everyday low prices and do away with all this sales/coupons nonsense. I cheered, but I was cheering alone. Retail sales at Penney’s dropped 30%, JCP stock declined by 51% and Mr. Johnson was rapidly fired.

I guess most of us love our coupons and our sales that aren’t really sales. Maybe I am the only one that hates it. But I’m. If you too think this is nuts, leave a comment, or send me an email at les.raff@post.com. I’d like to think I am not the lone voice in the crowd!
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When my friends back in medical school were choosing their specialties, there were the glamour fields to make a mark in. Cardiac surgery was a winner, orthopedics appealed to both the big bruisers and the little Napoleons, and neurology had the imprimatur of being for the intellectuals.

But pathology and laboratory medicine? That was for the true nerds and geeks. And believe me, you had to be really low to be considered a nerd by other medical students, few of whom had Head Cheerleader or Captain of the Football Team on their resumes. But I did my thing and watched while my colleagues in other specialties got their accolades. Who knew that lab testing would be a big deal in two news stories in one week?

Both stories are ones you may have been following along with me. First, early this week, Ben Stiller revealed that he had been treated for prostate cancer and that PSA (prostate specific antigen) testing had saved his life.

Now, I have discussed several times the controversy about PSA screening and how, based on my professional findings, I strongly believe in testing. Stiller’s story is anecdotal, it doesn’t prove anything in the debate, but a little good publicity doesn’t hurt. After all, if we have to hear about junk science from other celebrities, it is good to hear something from an actor (Zoolander doesn’t count) that doesn’t make me cringe. If you (or your spouse, partner, friend) is of an appropriate age, get your PSA test and remember:

• An increased PSA should be investigated, but it doesn’t mean you have prostate cancer. There could be benign causes for the increase. Listen to your doctors recommendations for evaluation.
• Even if prostate cancer is diagnosed, it does not mean radical treatment is necessary. Always discuss with your physician what your many options are.

As much as lab testing has its important role, it has its black eyes too. The Theranos saga is one of those. We have discussed on more than one occasion the dramatic rise and fall of the company and its Jobsian (Steve, not biblical) leader Elizabeth Holmes. The company claimed to be performing laboratory testing on minute amounts of blood drawn from a fingertip, but there were doubts about the validity of the company’s results.

After a series of investigations, inspections, and lost business partners, Ms Holmes announced yesterday that the company will be closing its labs, refrain from patient testing, and “will return our undivided attention to our miniLab platform.” I suppose at this point Holmes does feel more like the Old Testament Job than Apple’s Steve. I wonder if we will ever hear from Theranos again or if more like Jonah, it has disappeared inside a whale.

As for me, my lab just got re-accredited, our new house is coming along (more on that soon), and life is good. You don’t have to be a heart or bone surgeon to get it right!

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Why do we never get an answer.

When we’re knocking at the door.

Moody Blues–1970

Jeopardy, It’s Academic, Three for Free. Yes, questions and answers (or is it answers and questions?) are in my blood, and unlike most medicine, even cross my blood-brain barrier. So I was intrigued when my buddy Roger asked me if I wanted to join his team for an evening of pub trivia challenge. “It’s at a dive bar,” he warned, “but you will have a good time.”

Now Roger and I don’t always agree on what a good time is, but since the invitation coincided with a “bye” night in my Thursday tennis league, I decided to give it a try. After a tough day in the lab, I fought the construction traffic on I-90, navigated a few detours and wrong turns, and made it out to East Dundee, not far from that old family favorite, Santa’s Village. Meeting up with Roger for a bar burger and a brew, he gave me the low down on what to expect. The rules, the rituals, and the characters. But even forewarned, I wasn’t quite prepared.

Wandering among the tables was the Adjudicator. Sporting a monogrammed judicial robe, long silver blond hair and a well lined face, this was the master of ceremonies, giver of clues, and hurler of barbs and insults. He is also the Keeper of the Names. Every regular player eventually earns a nickname. There is Irish Mike, Ms Jeopardy, Family Doc, Thirteen, my teammates Driller and Two-Wheels, and twenty or so more players whose names I could not keep track off. As a newbie I was not officially entitled to a name, but after I earned the Adjudicator’s respect with a well timed Alex Trebeck jab, I soon progressed from “PathDoc” to “Dr. No-Name”, to a mutually satisfying “Dr. NO”.

At 7:45 my $7 entry fee was collected, the Adjudicator mumbled a few comments and before I realized it, the contest had begun. Some questions were barked, some were whispered, all were accompanied by a never ending flow of shtick and banter. The crowd knew what to expect and how to respond, screaming out “Nine” in unison for the ninth question of each round, chanting “cities” when that word was mentioned. No Bingo caller ever had a more appreciative audience.

We played six or seven rounds of 10 questions each, some rounds centering around a specific topic (Gene Wilder movies, the Cubs), others more random. There was a “sounds” round which teammate Roger aced, and a picture round of nine public figures, each flashing their middle finger at someone. The 10th picture in this round was the appropriately named Dita Von Teese, whose curves apparently make an appearance at each night of trivia. I admit to costing my team a point during the picture round, convincing my teammates that the lady rocker in picture 8 was Linda Ronstadt, while the correct answer was Grace Slick. How could I have thought sweet Linda would be giving anyone the bird?

Despite my Ronstadt-Slick blunder, at the end of the evening the Official Scorer declared our team the champion with 69 points.  Each member of the foursome raked in a cool $24. Barely enough to cover dinner and the entrance fee, but as Roger predicted, I did have fun.  And $24  easily surpasses my lifetime tennis earnings…

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Just like Apple, I think cords suck. Long before the Lords of Cupertino decided to remove the headphone jack from the newest iPhone,  I determined that the best way not to tangle with cords when I run was with Bluetooth headphones. Being a diligent market researcher I polled the Web for rankings of various wireless headphones for runners. The rankings led me to the Swedish company Urbanears and their Hellas model. Easy enough to order online, and within a week or so my shiny blue ‘phones had arrived, were synced up with the iPhone and I was able to run cord-free. Heaven!

A few months later I noticed that one of the ear cushions for the Hellas was missing. Since we were busy packing up  before the interim move, the house looked like a tornado had hit, and I could not find the ear cushion in all the debris. I’ve lost or worn out ear cushions with previous headphones, and can usually replace them with a quick order for new cushions on Amazon Prime.  Total cost, about $5. But with Urbanears, I couldn’t find the right cushion on Amazon, so I emailed the manufacturer directly. Following is the slightly edited transcript of the subsequent multiple email communications.

Me: Dear Urbanears: I have lost one of the ear cushion from my recently purchased headphones and would like to buy a replacement. Can you tell me how to do order a set?

Urbanears: Dear Sir: We regret to inform you we do not sell the ear cushions individually. However, you may be eligible for a warranty replacement of the headphones. Please send us documentation of your purchase.

Me: Dear Urbanears: Attached please find a copy of my purchase order. I really just want a new cushion.

Urbanears: Dear sir: We are pleased to inform you that based on your purchase order you are eligible for a warranty replacement of your headphones. Please send us a picture of your headphones demonstrating the problem.

Me: Dear Urbanears: Please see the attached picture of my headphones. The red arrow points out the fact that I really did lose a cushion. Wouldn’t it be easier just to send me a couple of new ones?

Urbanears: Dear Sir: Thank you for the photograph. We agree that you are missing a cushion. We are pleased to tell you that you have met all our requirements and sent us all the evidence to enable us to send you replacement headphones. In order to expedite this please do the following. Grasp your headphones, bend at the right hinge and snap off the entire earpiece. Then please cut all wires leading to the earpiece and cut them. Send us a photograph that also includes the date of destruction.

Me: Dear Urbanears: Attached is the photo you requested (see above.) It broke my heart to assassinate a perfectly good set of headphones when all I really needed was a cushion, but I guess you have your Swedish socialist business model instead of our capitalist one. Long live the EU!

Urbanears: Dear Sir: Thank you for the photograph. Your new headphones are on their way to you. It is a pleasure doing business with you and we hope to keep you as a valued customer.

Two days later I received the new headphones. My only problem now is getting the iPhone Bluetooth to sync with them. And oh yeah, I found the missing cushion in my gym bag…

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It’s just apartment house sense,

It’s like apartment house rents,

Remember one man’s ceiling

Is another man’s floor.

See that picture? That is our new house. One thing you may notice immediately is that it is not in “move-in” condition. It is coming along. The stucco, the last phase of the exterior, is in the process of being applied. The interior has a fresh coat of primer on all the walls, and that goes a long way toward making the house look like our future home. Architectural details are being finalized for the staircases, the deck is being planned, floor boards have been delivered, and there is talk that the HVAC will be installed soon. So there is definite progress. But we closed on the old Long Grove home last week, so we faced moving day, and the beginning of our stay in our apartment-away-from-home.

It was a hard week, both physically (95% of our belongings packed for storage, 4% donated or junked, the rest transported by us to the apartment), and emotionally (deciding what you will need for the next three months, tearfully saying goodbye to your home of 26 years).

The interim apartment is a furnished two-bedroom “executive” apartment in a low rise building complex. It is a mixed bag.

• The apartment is on the first floor, so it was an easy move in and easy to walk Max-BUT  not much privacy.
• The apartment is furnished so we didn’t need to bring much other than our clothes-BUT we still brought too much “stuff” so had to store a lot of boxes at Michael’s house.
• The apartment was freshly painted and power cleaned-BUT for the first week the paint fumes and cleaning solvent smells were migraine headache inducing.
• The commutes to work for me and for one of Barb’s jobs are shorter-BUT it is a longer drive for Barb’s two day a week position.
• We found some nice walking paths-BUT the overhead high tension power lines may mutate us as we walk.
• Cable TV is provided, and I was able to hook up Netflix and Amazon-BUT the apartment is very dark and somewhat drab.
• Kitchen space is limited-BUT Sunset Foods has plenty of prepared meals.

So, dear friends, what can you do to help us pass this time? Send us some good recommendations for binge TV watching, and meet us at Walker Brothers or Wildfire for dinner. Early and often!

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