I’ve been thinking about getting LASIK. I’m sick of wearing glasses, and I don’t have the testicular fortitude to shove anything directly into my eyeball, which rules out contacts. The only problem with LASIK is that the procedure sounds far more uncomfortable than simply foregoing wearing glasses and dealing with bumping into random things for the rest of your life.
LASIK has some big cons as I see it. It’s expensive, and insurance won’t cover it, so you’re shelling out several thousand dollars out of pocket. It has to be done while your eye is open and you are alert and aware of everything that is happening. You want to know the number one thing I don’t ever want to see? A scalpel being inserted into my eyeball. Which is exactly what they do. And they slice up a flap on the lens of your eye and fold it back, which temporarily blinds you. While you are awake. And aware. And thinking, “Holy shit, what if they botch this up; my vision will be like this forever!” Then the doctor, who is just a glorified teen with a laser pointer at the movies, fires laser beams directly into your eyeball to cut and reshape your cornea. And you get to watch all this unfold. They actually strap you into a harness and prop your eye open like Alex in A Clockwork Orange. Well that ain’t gonna work with me. No, I’d be clenching my eyes so tight, I would bend the steel that frame was made out of. Shoot lasers into my eye, please...
But LASIK has some awesome benefits. You never have to wear contacts or glasses again, which is awesome. You could go into 7-11 and buy sunglasses. Sure, you wouldn’t want to, but you could. You wake up in the morning, you can see everything clearly from the get-go (this doubles as a negative when you wake up next to that woman you brought home from the bar last night who has more rolls than a delicatessen). You get to take that stupid letter code off the back of your driver’s license, though the DMV will force you to keep the picture you took when you still had glasses because they are assholes (good luck getting pulled over when your ID shows you wearing glasses but you don’t have any glasses with you). Probably the biggest benefit is that when your friend has a midlife crisis and decides he needs to climb Everest and tries to drag you along, you can say, “I’m sorry, but I have had LASIK, and it fails at high elevations,” which is absolutely true, so he can’t even accuse you of lying (and if he decides to buy a Porsche instead, he might let you drive it).
The most compelling reason to get LASIK is because glasses suck. The worst part about glasses is shopping for glasses. It is physically impossible for you to know how a pair of glasses will look on you until after you’ve bought them and had your prescription lenses installed. You’ll walk through Binyon’s or wherever, and you’ll see some glasses you like. You take off your glasses, and suddenly you are functionally blind. You put on the new frames, but they have some weird dummy lenses in them that just make your vision even worse. You’re trying to see yourself in a mirror, squinting to the point that your whole face has gravitated to your eyes, so you think every single frame makes you look like a rat. It’s a no win situation.
The way around this, of course, is to bring a friend. Someone fashion conscious. You know, a woman. Men won’t be much help picking out frames. “How do these look?” “They’re fine, let’s go, we’re missing the game.” Women will actually help you out. But you need to make sure that you bring someone with similar taste to your own; you don’t want to get home and discover you’re wearing those weird rectangular frames from the Geordi LaForge collection because “rectangles are what’s in right now.” Above all, you want to make sure that whoever you bring along is in a good mood. Be patient with them. After all, they’re doing you a favor here. If you start to snap at them, they will get upset. And chances are, they don’t want to make a scene in the mall. No, they’d much rather go the passive aggressive route where they can spend the next two years giving you a non-verbal “fuck you” every time you see yourself in your new Ruth Bader Ginsburg reject glasses. They won’t even feel remorse; “Well, you shouldn’t have snapped at me.” So always be nice to the person who goes glasses shopping with you.
As for LASIK, I think I’ll wait a couple years. I have no doubt they’re gonna come out with some report that says the radiation from LASIK causes eye cancer or everyone’s LASIK is gonna start failing or whatever. I don’t want to be a guinea pig. Even one with perfect vision. I think I’ll wait for it to drop in price enough that I can walk in and get it done at a kiosk in the mall. Vision is fleeting, but four thousand dollars can buy a lot of happiness.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Vacation horror stories: Part 1
In keeping with the theme of vacations, which admittedly you wouldn't know was a theme unless you read my blog regularly, which is unlikely, or you start at the bottom of the page, which makes you an idiot since no one starts reading at the bottom of the page... But in keeping with the theme of vacations, here is a piece I wrote a while back about a particularly memorable vacation I took. Enjoy.
I'm fortunate enough to have a wealthy godmother who likes to travel. When I was in 8th grade, she took me for a weeklong trip to the Galapagos. Everything went swimmingly, and it's by far the best trip I've ever taken in my life. I highly recommend everyone go if they ever get an opportunity.
So the very last night of the trip, we ran out of bottled water. Well, that was no problem, we had some Sprite, so things were fine. We had heard the horror stories about drinking the water, and we knew that wasn't something we wanted to experience. I'm getting ready for bed, ready for the 20 hours of traveling the next day would hold.
When you are a child, you live a life of routine. My routine prior to going to bed was to brush my teeth. This routine was reinforced by dentists who would scare the shit out of me by showing me pictures of kids who didn't brush and floss every day; their teeth would be rotted out, black and grimy, sticking out of their gums in awkward directions, or simply gone from their mouth altogether. Consequently, I made sure I brushed every damn day. But all we had was Sprite... I can't brush my teeth with soda, can I? Nah, can't be, the dentist always tells me to avoid soda too. So, I dribble two drops of water out of the faucet, put that on my toothbrush with plenty of toothpaste, brush, spit (no rinsing of course), done. I made sure I hadn't swallowed any liquid; I was in the clear.
It took less than 15 minutes to hit me. All of a sudden, my large intestine and small intestine seemed like they were attempting to swap places. A horrible gurgling noise started in my stomach, matched in tone and horror by a trembling warble allegedly coming from my mouth (though no human could have produced these sounds, of that I am most sure). My godmother gave me some unmarked pills to take, and like any 13 year old staring death in the face, I complied. All I had to drink was Sprite, but you can take a pill with soda... I mean, OK, I did just brush my teeth, but what's the dentist going to say if I die? "Well, at least he took good care of his teeth." No, I'll take the pills with soda, that will be fine.
Now, I don't know what the pills were. All I know is that they mixed with Sprite like baking soda and vinegar. Suddenly, where before there had been cramping and gurgling, now there was a full-fledged volcano brewing in my innards. But I was young and stupid, and I absolutely refused to vomit. Every bone in my body is yelling, "Just puke you shithead and this will all go away!" but I refused to believe it (what do bones know anyway). I sat in bed all night, clutching my knees to my chest, shivering and sweating, sure that I was destined to die in this roach infested third world hellhole.
The next day, we went to the airport. Normally, we would have sought out an emergency room, but when you are greeted into a country by men holding AK47s, you don't want to overstay your visa. We boarded the plane, and I embarked on the longest voyage of my life. My godmother and I parted ways in Miami, as she was bound for South Carolina and I was headed to Oregon. I spent the next 12 hours on planes and in terminals clutching my knees to my chest, hoping that my insides would rearrange themselves into a normal configuration at some point so that I would be able to straighten up without fear of fracturing vertebrae.
The best part of this experience was that as a young child traveling alone (and clearly in need of medical aid or a priest), I got to board the plane first. It was fun watching every single person get on the plane, take one look at me, then quickly doublecheck their ticket to make sure they weren't sharing a row with Pukey McDiarrhea (not that I was having either of these symptoms on the plane mind you, but I'm sure I looked like a leper who had just been injected with weaponized ebola). There's nothing more satisfying than someone saying a hail Mary before they take their seat beside you. But the small joy that this would make an excellent story for parties was quickly surpassed by the overwhelming agony that only someone suffering from La Turista in a tin can in turbulence at 30,000 feet can truly appreciate.
I eventually made it home, and spent the next 14 hours safely on a toilet, emptying myself of the evil that had purged my fragile body while my mom called around to see where we could find replacement organs for the ones I had just forcefully ejected from my torso. All's well that ends well, and to that end I survived and had a hell of a time in the Galapagos. But I'd sooner let every tooth rot out of my head than brush my teeth with Ecuadorian tapwater again.
I'm fortunate enough to have a wealthy godmother who likes to travel. When I was in 8th grade, she took me for a weeklong trip to the Galapagos. Everything went swimmingly, and it's by far the best trip I've ever taken in my life. I highly recommend everyone go if they ever get an opportunity.
So the very last night of the trip, we ran out of bottled water. Well, that was no problem, we had some Sprite, so things were fine. We had heard the horror stories about drinking the water, and we knew that wasn't something we wanted to experience. I'm getting ready for bed, ready for the 20 hours of traveling the next day would hold.
When you are a child, you live a life of routine. My routine prior to going to bed was to brush my teeth. This routine was reinforced by dentists who would scare the shit out of me by showing me pictures of kids who didn't brush and floss every day; their teeth would be rotted out, black and grimy, sticking out of their gums in awkward directions, or simply gone from their mouth altogether. Consequently, I made sure I brushed every damn day. But all we had was Sprite... I can't brush my teeth with soda, can I? Nah, can't be, the dentist always tells me to avoid soda too. So, I dribble two drops of water out of the faucet, put that on my toothbrush with plenty of toothpaste, brush, spit (no rinsing of course), done. I made sure I hadn't swallowed any liquid; I was in the clear.
It took less than 15 minutes to hit me. All of a sudden, my large intestine and small intestine seemed like they were attempting to swap places. A horrible gurgling noise started in my stomach, matched in tone and horror by a trembling warble allegedly coming from my mouth (though no human could have produced these sounds, of that I am most sure). My godmother gave me some unmarked pills to take, and like any 13 year old staring death in the face, I complied. All I had to drink was Sprite, but you can take a pill with soda... I mean, OK, I did just brush my teeth, but what's the dentist going to say if I die? "Well, at least he took good care of his teeth." No, I'll take the pills with soda, that will be fine.
Now, I don't know what the pills were. All I know is that they mixed with Sprite like baking soda and vinegar. Suddenly, where before there had been cramping and gurgling, now there was a full-fledged volcano brewing in my innards. But I was young and stupid, and I absolutely refused to vomit. Every bone in my body is yelling, "Just puke you shithead and this will all go away!" but I refused to believe it (what do bones know anyway). I sat in bed all night, clutching my knees to my chest, shivering and sweating, sure that I was destined to die in this roach infested third world hellhole.
The next day, we went to the airport. Normally, we would have sought out an emergency room, but when you are greeted into a country by men holding AK47s, you don't want to overstay your visa. We boarded the plane, and I embarked on the longest voyage of my life. My godmother and I parted ways in Miami, as she was bound for South Carolina and I was headed to Oregon. I spent the next 12 hours on planes and in terminals clutching my knees to my chest, hoping that my insides would rearrange themselves into a normal configuration at some point so that I would be able to straighten up without fear of fracturing vertebrae.
The best part of this experience was that as a young child traveling alone (and clearly in need of medical aid or a priest), I got to board the plane first. It was fun watching every single person get on the plane, take one look at me, then quickly doublecheck their ticket to make sure they weren't sharing a row with Pukey McDiarrhea (not that I was having either of these symptoms on the plane mind you, but I'm sure I looked like a leper who had just been injected with weaponized ebola). There's nothing more satisfying than someone saying a hail Mary before they take their seat beside you. But the small joy that this would make an excellent story for parties was quickly surpassed by the overwhelming agony that only someone suffering from La Turista in a tin can in turbulence at 30,000 feet can truly appreciate.
I eventually made it home, and spent the next 14 hours safely on a toilet, emptying myself of the evil that had purged my fragile body while my mom called around to see where we could find replacement organs for the ones I had just forcefully ejected from my torso. All's well that ends well, and to that end I survived and had a hell of a time in the Galapagos. But I'd sooner let every tooth rot out of my head than brush my teeth with Ecuadorian tapwater again.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Spring Break!
It’s Spring Break week, and in keeping with that theme, I thought I’d share some vacation secrets to take with you as you plan your trip. Granted, most people probably aren’t planning their trip this far into Spring Break, but I wouldn’t put anything past your typical college student (hey, man, is it Spring Break already?).
Without a doubt, the best places to visit during Spring Break are beaches. There’s something about a large collection of young drunkards next to large bodies of water that just seems to make sense. Cancun, Daytona, the Strait of Hormuz, these are the types of location you should be shooting for.
Before visiting the beach, you’ll want to get your beach bod in shape. No point in going to the beach only to be embarrassed by your physique (don’t worry, we know it’s stunning under that muumuu). The physique you aim for is entirely dependent on the beach you’ll be visiting. For Acapulco, you may consider slimming down and gaining some muscle definition through the torso. For Green Bay, Wisconsin, you’ll want to gain at least 300 pounds of fat to prevent hypothermia.
After deciding on your location, there are several ways to go about getting into peak physical shape. Many people suggest exercises like crunches and push-ups, but these require a serious commitment of time and effort. Rather than go to all that trouble for one small trip, a good alternative is to simply draw muscle definition on with a Sharpie or other permanent marker. A good tip: the stinkier the marker, the less likely it is to wash off in the surf, so be sure to test the markers in the store by holding them to your nose and inhaling deeply.
You’ll want to build up a base tan before visiting most Spring Break locales. A spray on tan is the most natural method, though you can save a few bucks by buying a can of orange spray paint. Application is simple, though you will want to be aware that spray paint can easily clog the pores, causing death and/or acne.
If you are visiting a foreign country for Spring Break and still feel you have too much fat around your midsection, you can devote your first day of vacation to a weight loss method known to locals as “La Turista,” though you may come to refer to it as “Liquid Death,” or “Oh God, Oh God, Please Kill Me Now.” This technique is simple, though it will require you to set a solid 24 hour period aside. All that is required is a glass of local tap water. Drink it, wait 10 minutes, and prepare for a wild ride as your body sheds 20 pounds overnight. For maximum amusement, do this at a crowded buffet; the reactions from other people will be worth the price of your soul, which you’ve probably already forfeit if you’re willing to have the screaming squirts in the middle of a crowded eatery.
Break in all your banana hammocks early. You don’t want to look too stiff out there.
Practice building sand castles. This is a good way to impress women. Then practice kicking the sand castles over. This is also a good way to impress women. For some reason, women like douchebags.
If your Spring Break plans take you to the tropics, you will need to prepare yourself for drinks with little umbrellas in them. Practice by drinking punch bowl sized hurricanes, piña coladas, mai tais, or other fruity sounding drinks, with every meal (two at breakfast; it’s the most important drink of the day). Nothing is worse than getting stabbed in the eye with a tiny umbrella because you were unprepared. It may be difficult to remember to add the umbrella to every drink, so for the first few days of practice, you might try simply leaving the umbrella in your eye as a reminder. Incidentally, I’ve found that punch bowl sized hurricanes are a great way to prepare for most events; weddings, job interviews, court… the list is endless.
If you’re visiting a foreign country, you should brush up on how to speak to foreigners. Many guide books will tell you to use the native language, but this is a mistake; the locals will think you are being condescending. Instead, you must prepare yourself to speak English very slowly and loudly. It's important to practice this because if you go unprepared for all the hollering you will need to do to get your point across, you can easily strain your vocal cords. Probably best to brush up on your emphatic gesturing as well; you don't want to throw your shoulder out trying to find the nearest buffet when you need a place to vomit.
If you remember these simple guide lines, I’m sure your vacation will be memorable. Good luck fellow travelers!
Without a doubt, the best places to visit during Spring Break are beaches. There’s something about a large collection of young drunkards next to large bodies of water that just seems to make sense. Cancun, Daytona, the Strait of Hormuz, these are the types of location you should be shooting for.
Before visiting the beach, you’ll want to get your beach bod in shape. No point in going to the beach only to be embarrassed by your physique (don’t worry, we know it’s stunning under that muumuu). The physique you aim for is entirely dependent on the beach you’ll be visiting. For Acapulco, you may consider slimming down and gaining some muscle definition through the torso. For Green Bay, Wisconsin, you’ll want to gain at least 300 pounds of fat to prevent hypothermia.
After deciding on your location, there are several ways to go about getting into peak physical shape. Many people suggest exercises like crunches and push-ups, but these require a serious commitment of time and effort. Rather than go to all that trouble for one small trip, a good alternative is to simply draw muscle definition on with a Sharpie or other permanent marker. A good tip: the stinkier the marker, the less likely it is to wash off in the surf, so be sure to test the markers in the store by holding them to your nose and inhaling deeply.
You’ll want to build up a base tan before visiting most Spring Break locales. A spray on tan is the most natural method, though you can save a few bucks by buying a can of orange spray paint. Application is simple, though you will want to be aware that spray paint can easily clog the pores, causing death and/or acne.
If you are visiting a foreign country for Spring Break and still feel you have too much fat around your midsection, you can devote your first day of vacation to a weight loss method known to locals as “La Turista,” though you may come to refer to it as “Liquid Death,” or “Oh God, Oh God, Please Kill Me Now.” This technique is simple, though it will require you to set a solid 24 hour period aside. All that is required is a glass of local tap water. Drink it, wait 10 minutes, and prepare for a wild ride as your body sheds 20 pounds overnight. For maximum amusement, do this at a crowded buffet; the reactions from other people will be worth the price of your soul, which you’ve probably already forfeit if you’re willing to have the screaming squirts in the middle of a crowded eatery.
Break in all your banana hammocks early. You don’t want to look too stiff out there.
Practice building sand castles. This is a good way to impress women. Then practice kicking the sand castles over. This is also a good way to impress women. For some reason, women like douchebags.
If your Spring Break plans take you to the tropics, you will need to prepare yourself for drinks with little umbrellas in them. Practice by drinking punch bowl sized hurricanes, piña coladas, mai tais, or other fruity sounding drinks, with every meal (two at breakfast; it’s the most important drink of the day). Nothing is worse than getting stabbed in the eye with a tiny umbrella because you were unprepared. It may be difficult to remember to add the umbrella to every drink, so for the first few days of practice, you might try simply leaving the umbrella in your eye as a reminder. Incidentally, I’ve found that punch bowl sized hurricanes are a great way to prepare for most events; weddings, job interviews, court… the list is endless.
If you’re visiting a foreign country, you should brush up on how to speak to foreigners. Many guide books will tell you to use the native language, but this is a mistake; the locals will think you are being condescending. Instead, you must prepare yourself to speak English very slowly and loudly. It's important to practice this because if you go unprepared for all the hollering you will need to do to get your point across, you can easily strain your vocal cords. Probably best to brush up on your emphatic gesturing as well; you don't want to throw your shoulder out trying to find the nearest buffet when you need a place to vomit.
If you remember these simple guide lines, I’m sure your vacation will be memorable. Good luck fellow travelers!
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Global warming
Given the recent news that a giant section of the Antarctic ice shelf is breaking off, I feel compelled to give my thoughts on global warming. The biggest problem I have with global warming is the name. Warming. It sounds too soothing. Today's been pretty harsh and miserable; tonight, I'll go home to my warm house, wrap myself in a warm sweater and a warm blanket, lie down in my warm bed in front of a warm fire with a warm mug of cocoa and be at peace. Global warming sounds too nice. They should have called it something like "Catastrophic global thunder fuck AHHHH!" That's an attention grabber. "The sun is going to fuck us to death with its fiery cock of death! The ozone layer is the condom that protects us from solar AIDS!" I know that ozone depletion isn't related to global warming, but hey, kill two birds with one stone, you know?
But the thing that struck me the other day about global warming was thinking about history. What happened the last time the Earth was this hot? Dinosaurs were out roaming around. The coolest fucking animals that have ever lived. And I'm including humans in that calculation. You can keep your humans, your chimps, your puppies... even those shrimp that mimic a gun shot are nowhere near as cool as dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were giant fucking dragons, running around, breathing fire (you don't know they didn't), and basically kicking the shit out of everything in their way for 150 million goddamn years. They had razor sharp teeth over a foot long. They had giant retractable claws on their feet. They were bigger than houses, which wasn't hard at the time since houses hadn't been invented yet (similar to how I am bigger than Al Sharpton as he is but a figment of my imagination... I hope). There were dinosaurs that could fly, dinosaurs that could swim, even dinosaurs that could mosey (which is difficult to do without beltloops and thumbs)... They ruled land, air and sea for just fucking ever (you can't even conceive of 150 million years).
So I'm thinking global warming is probably the key to bringing the dinosaurs back. The world was not prepared for their sheer awesomeness back then. Now we have pirates and ninjas and Chuck Norris; dinosaurs are still cooler, but we're making headway. If all it takes is a few degrees to bring back the ass-kickingest animals of all time, then fuck it, I'm going home tonight and burning some old tires. The hippies can complain all they want; when I go riding through town on my fire-breathing T-Rex, it won't matter for nothing.
Atta-boy Sparky. Atta-boy.
But the thing that struck me the other day about global warming was thinking about history. What happened the last time the Earth was this hot? Dinosaurs were out roaming around. The coolest fucking animals that have ever lived. And I'm including humans in that calculation. You can keep your humans, your chimps, your puppies... even those shrimp that mimic a gun shot are nowhere near as cool as dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were giant fucking dragons, running around, breathing fire (you don't know they didn't), and basically kicking the shit out of everything in their way for 150 million goddamn years. They had razor sharp teeth over a foot long. They had giant retractable claws on their feet. They were bigger than houses, which wasn't hard at the time since houses hadn't been invented yet (similar to how I am bigger than Al Sharpton as he is but a figment of my imagination... I hope). There were dinosaurs that could fly, dinosaurs that could swim, even dinosaurs that could mosey (which is difficult to do without beltloops and thumbs)... They ruled land, air and sea for just fucking ever (you can't even conceive of 150 million years).
So I'm thinking global warming is probably the key to bringing the dinosaurs back. The world was not prepared for their sheer awesomeness back then. Now we have pirates and ninjas and Chuck Norris; dinosaurs are still cooler, but we're making headway. If all it takes is a few degrees to bring back the ass-kickingest animals of all time, then fuck it, I'm going home tonight and burning some old tires. The hippies can complain all they want; when I go riding through town on my fire-breathing T-Rex, it won't matter for nothing.
Atta-boy Sparky. Atta-boy.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Fuck blogs!
Apparently I'm a blogger now. Well fuck me with the working end of a staple remover. I think this officially makes me an angst-filled teen; missed the boat on that one by a decade or so. Oh well. I feel bad leaving my opening blog with nothing, but that's the whole point of a blog isn't it? Fuck it, one joke and then you can all go to hell (I'll be mixing drinks!):
I'm jealous of my friend's job. He works at a religious tolerance center. He gets 67 holidays a year.
A'ight (is this the proper spelling of "a'ight?"), I'll see you around maybe; probably not, but one can hope.
Oh, and as always, all content of whatever I'm drunk enough to write remains copywrite Sam Pollach, whatever year this happens to be (2008 if I recall correctly). So if you steal my material, I will pursue you via the courts (by which I mean screaming in a ski mask with a stale loaf of bread and some rancid brie).
I'm jealous of my friend's job. He works at a religious tolerance center. He gets 67 holidays a year.
A'ight (is this the proper spelling of "a'ight?"), I'll see you around maybe; probably not, but one can hope.
Oh, and as always, all content of whatever I'm drunk enough to write remains copywrite Sam Pollach, whatever year this happens to be (2008 if I recall correctly). So if you steal my material, I will pursue you via the courts (by which I mean screaming in a ski mask with a stale loaf of bread and some rancid brie).
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