Everyone knows the Saxophone is sexy. In fact the inventor actually named it the Sexophone but misspelled it on his patent application.
After watching this video I think the Sax may be playing 'second fiddle' behind these ladies. Watch it in full screen mode and crank up the volume. You women out there will love it too. It's just a great stage act.
- Larry
Monday, August 24, 2009
Two of my favorite quotes.
"I'm not afraid of dying, I just don't want to be there when it happens."
-Woody Allen
"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they get up in the morning, that's the best they're going to feel all day."
- Dean Martin
-Woody Allen
"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they get up in the morning, that's the best they're going to feel all day."
- Dean Martin
Perhaps Dylan Thomas said it best...
...on death and dying.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I'll just add one verse here -
- Larry (couldn't help myself).
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I'll just add one verse here -
And you Obama, with your lofty sight,
Curse you, and your freedom sucking Czars,
Your single payer scam, your foolish cash for cars,
Rage, rage against our dying rights.
- Larry (couldn't help myself).
NEWS FLASH! Death panels already exist...
This is a long and serious post involving the death of my father. I’m posting it because it dovetails with today’s debate about Obamacare. If you are not in the mood for such or don’t have the time, scroll on down for some more light hearted stuff.
Death panels? They already exist. They’ve existed ever since people started dying.
I know for certain as I was a member on one of them.
The other members were my sister, a heart surgeon, an attending head physician (specialized in the specific calamities affecting the patient), the head administrator of the ICU, a hospital administrator, a mediator (employed by the hospital) and my father’s brother. NOT present were any government officials or health insurance representatives or any professional patient advocates.
We had about a half dozen meetings. Not everyone was always present and they were always called at the brink of potentially explosive emotional outbursts.
Years prior, my father had been diagnosed as having sarcoidosis of the lungs. He survived a bout with prostate cancer and now at 76 years of age his heart was failing. At this stage in his life his condition was at best, fragile. His doctors were at a loss. Treating one condition aggravated the other. As such my father knew for certain death was just around the corner. So much so, he posted instructions as to what to do if his death should occur suddenly, taped to the wall in his kitchen. As a detailed, oriented taskmaster it was only obvious that he also had a living will. In it he expressed his desire to not be put on life support of any kind should he end up in the hospital.
His living will stated that in the event he could not communicate his daughter and I were to have the legal power to speak for him. I believe that the very day I drove him to the ER he knew it was the beginning of the end of his life and that he was not going to be returning to his earthly home ever again. I could see it in his eyes. It didn’t help that the head doctor on duty practically yelled out across the room after checking him out the equivalent of “dead man dying.” I could hardly believe my ears. I’ll never forget that day.
From my perspective, and I believe from the perspective of both my sister and my father’s brother, all of us who watched him suffer from that day on only wanted to do what was spelled out in his living will, written specifically to avoid the pain and suffering of all involved. Aware of his fate he told me he wanted to go gently into the night and die with dignity.
Yes… at first when he could no longer communicate, and serious life ending considerations were left up to us we sometimes questioned his desires and even our own decisions.
From the perspective of the health care workers, from top to bottom, they wanted to keep him alive as long as possible and their reasoning was at times quite convincing.
But there came a time when the inevitable was obvious and my father’s wishes and ours as his spokesmen were blatantly ignored. He had DNR (do not resuscitate) written in red on the white board next to his name at the nurse’s station. They resuscitated him twice, once after he tore off the life support systems attached to his body throwing the apparatus across his room in frustration and/or anger. When he got to the state when he could barely be understood he would whisper in my ear “tell them to let me go.” When he could no longer speak and hardly control the shaking of his hand he would manage to scratch out the same message on a piece of paper.
After each request, “important” health care workers would be summoned to his room and they would in short order, demand we leave his room. They would emerge reporting at first that he didn’t know what he was talking about because his mind was clouded with the drugs that they were dripping into his veins to suppress his pain. Later they resorted by just explaining that he “changed his mind.” His heart surgeon, at one of our “death panel” meetings actually accused my sister and I of wanting our father dead so we could profit from his estate. A desperate and baseless accusation as the man had nothing left in his financial accounts beyond a few thousand dollars. And no one in our family was interested in such.
It got to the point towards the end where I would go home and shed tears in part thinking about his suffering and in part from the frustration of not being able to figure out what was going on. Why wasn’t he dead? Why was there such a massive effort to keep him alive when it was so obvious his vital organs were no longer working? I was his only son for Christ’s sake. I asked him to be clear, I prayed about my decisions.
This was a real “head crank” for me and I believe also for all who were involved. I could go on for another few pages but I won’t. It was a very complex situation and my father only made it worse at the very end by revealing that he didn’t really want to die because he was afraid to face a harsh judgment in the afterlife that he so fervently believed in for the sins he committed in his past. That’s some pretty heavy stuff. Something I guess we’ll all have to face at our own transition.
In the end, and to this day I do not believe there was any profit motive or any other diabolical plan by either the hospital or insurance companies or even the government to keep my father alive. My father shunned Medicaid and I witnessed the “worker bees” of health care fervently doing what they were trained to do; keeping people alive. My God, the ICU was so full they hardly had the time to meet and formulate a grand plan to “fleece” my father and his family. I saw people who were just trying to make a living, same as you and I, who had chosen their profession because they cared about people. They were special people and we should be grateful for all of them.
My father’s heart surgeon? She was a brilliant, skilled and wonderful woman. No doubt she’s saved the life of many people and was paid a handsome sum for doing such. Kudos for her, she worked long and hard to be able to do what she does and she deserved it. However, I believe in my father’s case, her ego trumped all reason. For some reason she just couldn’t let go.
NOW HERE”S THE POINT OF THIS POST. Sickness and dying is a very personal and complex, dramatic and emotional event; whether it be slow or sudden. The only thing that equates to such in gravity is conception and birth. There is nothing more personal in our lives than these events.
I’ll pay my taxes to help pay for a system that will preserve my freedom by repelling socialism, fascism, communism and anarchy. I’ll even put up with a certain amount of corruption and greed as I understand those traits are inherent to the human condition, as well as even a bit of an abuse of power, also caused by the human condition accurately identified by psychologists as “ego.”
But I’ll be damned if I’ll support or tolerate a government that wants to unnecessarily meddle
in the birth and death of humanity just for the sake of governing. That's what Obamacare feels like to me. He’s got the same ego as my father’s heart surgeon had. It’s pretty obvious to me the number of the uninsured in this country would be dramatically lower if government wasn’t already taking so much of their money to line the pockets of themselves and their cronies and spending it on so much useless, wasteful projects and programs.
As I’ve illustrated above, dying is already complex enough. My decisions concerning such will be dictated by my own conscience and those decisions will be evaluated and judged by the God of my choice. Not some self righteous stuffed suit, wig wearing buffoon sitting in a paid-for-by-tax-payers leather seat, sipping a gin and tonic in a Gulfstream Jet heading for Aruba on a trip to gather facts about global warming.
If Jesus were on that jet, I believe he might, in the interest of saving his children “storm the temple” and open the emergency door at say, 35,000 feet above sea level. Thereby sucking the breath and lives out of the greedy, self centered people who have made themselves the ruling class rather than acting as our humble servants.
Or not. I’ve got a feeling he may just leave it all up to us.
Can you say, “freedom of choice?” God help us all.
- Larry
Death panels? They already exist. They’ve existed ever since people started dying.
I know for certain as I was a member on one of them.
The other members were my sister, a heart surgeon, an attending head physician (specialized in the specific calamities affecting the patient), the head administrator of the ICU, a hospital administrator, a mediator (employed by the hospital) and my father’s brother. NOT present were any government officials or health insurance representatives or any professional patient advocates.
We had about a half dozen meetings. Not everyone was always present and they were always called at the brink of potentially explosive emotional outbursts.
Years prior, my father had been diagnosed as having sarcoidosis of the lungs. He survived a bout with prostate cancer and now at 76 years of age his heart was failing. At this stage in his life his condition was at best, fragile. His doctors were at a loss. Treating one condition aggravated the other. As such my father knew for certain death was just around the corner. So much so, he posted instructions as to what to do if his death should occur suddenly, taped to the wall in his kitchen. As a detailed, oriented taskmaster it was only obvious that he also had a living will. In it he expressed his desire to not be put on life support of any kind should he end up in the hospital.
His living will stated that in the event he could not communicate his daughter and I were to have the legal power to speak for him. I believe that the very day I drove him to the ER he knew it was the beginning of the end of his life and that he was not going to be returning to his earthly home ever again. I could see it in his eyes. It didn’t help that the head doctor on duty practically yelled out across the room after checking him out the equivalent of “dead man dying.” I could hardly believe my ears. I’ll never forget that day.
From my perspective, and I believe from the perspective of both my sister and my father’s brother, all of us who watched him suffer from that day on only wanted to do what was spelled out in his living will, written specifically to avoid the pain and suffering of all involved. Aware of his fate he told me he wanted to go gently into the night and die with dignity.
Yes… at first when he could no longer communicate, and serious life ending considerations were left up to us we sometimes questioned his desires and even our own decisions.
From the perspective of the health care workers, from top to bottom, they wanted to keep him alive as long as possible and their reasoning was at times quite convincing.
But there came a time when the inevitable was obvious and my father’s wishes and ours as his spokesmen were blatantly ignored. He had DNR (do not resuscitate) written in red on the white board next to his name at the nurse’s station. They resuscitated him twice, once after he tore off the life support systems attached to his body throwing the apparatus across his room in frustration and/or anger. When he got to the state when he could barely be understood he would whisper in my ear “tell them to let me go.” When he could no longer speak and hardly control the shaking of his hand he would manage to scratch out the same message on a piece of paper.
After each request, “important” health care workers would be summoned to his room and they would in short order, demand we leave his room. They would emerge reporting at first that he didn’t know what he was talking about because his mind was clouded with the drugs that they were dripping into his veins to suppress his pain. Later they resorted by just explaining that he “changed his mind.” His heart surgeon, at one of our “death panel” meetings actually accused my sister and I of wanting our father dead so we could profit from his estate. A desperate and baseless accusation as the man had nothing left in his financial accounts beyond a few thousand dollars. And no one in our family was interested in such.
It got to the point towards the end where I would go home and shed tears in part thinking about his suffering and in part from the frustration of not being able to figure out what was going on. Why wasn’t he dead? Why was there such a massive effort to keep him alive when it was so obvious his vital organs were no longer working? I was his only son for Christ’s sake. I asked him to be clear, I prayed about my decisions.
This was a real “head crank” for me and I believe also for all who were involved. I could go on for another few pages but I won’t. It was a very complex situation and my father only made it worse at the very end by revealing that he didn’t really want to die because he was afraid to face a harsh judgment in the afterlife that he so fervently believed in for the sins he committed in his past. That’s some pretty heavy stuff. Something I guess we’ll all have to face at our own transition.
In the end, and to this day I do not believe there was any profit motive or any other diabolical plan by either the hospital or insurance companies or even the government to keep my father alive. My father shunned Medicaid and I witnessed the “worker bees” of health care fervently doing what they were trained to do; keeping people alive. My God, the ICU was so full they hardly had the time to meet and formulate a grand plan to “fleece” my father and his family. I saw people who were just trying to make a living, same as you and I, who had chosen their profession because they cared about people. They were special people and we should be grateful for all of them.
My father’s heart surgeon? She was a brilliant, skilled and wonderful woman. No doubt she’s saved the life of many people and was paid a handsome sum for doing such. Kudos for her, she worked long and hard to be able to do what she does and she deserved it. However, I believe in my father’s case, her ego trumped all reason. For some reason she just couldn’t let go.
NOW HERE”S THE POINT OF THIS POST. Sickness and dying is a very personal and complex, dramatic and emotional event; whether it be slow or sudden. The only thing that equates to such in gravity is conception and birth. There is nothing more personal in our lives than these events.
I’ll pay my taxes to help pay for a system that will preserve my freedom by repelling socialism, fascism, communism and anarchy. I’ll even put up with a certain amount of corruption and greed as I understand those traits are inherent to the human condition, as well as even a bit of an abuse of power, also caused by the human condition accurately identified by psychologists as “ego.”
But I’ll be damned if I’ll support or tolerate a government that wants to unnecessarily meddle
in the birth and death of humanity just for the sake of governing. That's what Obamacare feels like to me. He’s got the same ego as my father’s heart surgeon had. It’s pretty obvious to me the number of the uninsured in this country would be dramatically lower if government wasn’t already taking so much of their money to line the pockets of themselves and their cronies and spending it on so much useless, wasteful projects and programs.
As I’ve illustrated above, dying is already complex enough. My decisions concerning such will be dictated by my own conscience and those decisions will be evaluated and judged by the God of my choice. Not some self righteous stuffed suit, wig wearing buffoon sitting in a paid-for-by-tax-payers leather seat, sipping a gin and tonic in a Gulfstream Jet heading for Aruba on a trip to gather facts about global warming.
If Jesus were on that jet, I believe he might, in the interest of saving his children “storm the temple” and open the emergency door at say, 35,000 feet above sea level. Thereby sucking the breath and lives out of the greedy, self centered people who have made themselves the ruling class rather than acting as our humble servants.
Or not. I’ve got a feeling he may just leave it all up to us.
Can you say, “freedom of choice?” God help us all.
- Larry
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)