I Saw Two Butterflies on My Windshield This Morning…

…they were screwing. Just kidding.

On a trip to Wisconsin to visit some suppliers and take in the
beginning of the Kerry Collins Titans era.

I already have a good story to tell tomorrow and hope to garner
a few more for y’all’s entertainment in the meantime.

A teaser-”Joan Jett meets the cheeseheads.”

No They Di-in’t!

From today’s Nashville City Paper:

Man, The Dry Spot is getting kinda dirty lately. I’ll have to write some posts about butterflies or some crap like that soon to get the taste out of my mouth.

Shopping for Lambskins

Les Jones is talking about buying condoms.

The first time I ever bought condoms (no, it wasn’t last week, smart alec), I went to about ten different stores to build up the nerve and find some that weren’t behind the counter until I ended up at the Kroger in Bellevue all jazzed up on the six cokes I had bought at various stores along the way.

I looked around for awhile until I finally asked a guy stocking the shelves where I could find them. “Condoms? My man! Follow me. The ladies are especially appreciative of these!” he said as he led me down the aisle and pointed to some ribbed ones. “Turn them inside out for YOUR pleasure.”

I thought I had it made until I got in line. Who was the check-out lady? That’s right, my third grade teacher from Westmeade Elementary School. She recognized me. I recognized her.

But I was embarrassed to be buying rubbers and she was embarrassed to be working at Kroger; so we both grunted hello and completed the transaction. On the way to the car I decided that I was the one who had something to be happy about. And later that night, I was. Twice.

I Am a Rude Slacker…

…for not acknowledging Kerry Woo’s response to my whiny plea to have something named after me.

I am honored and humbled.

(But does this mean I have to pay to replace our crappy scoreboard?)

The Last Word on this Subject

Final tests are in.

All is well.

Thank you for your concern.

Some Post-cruise Observations

1. Apparently all the salt air must have shrunk my clothes somehow. Nothing seems to fit the same anymore. How unfortunate.

2. Cruise food is like having an endless pantry of pop-tarts. I saw people leave the 8:15 dinner seating and head directly upstairs to get in line for the midnight buffet. Hmmm…that might have something to do with number 1.

3. Mexico is much closer to the equator than Nashville. The sun is apparently stronger. Double your SPF.

4. No matter what the nice local tells you it will look like, do NOT get your hair braided while onshore. It will look, at best, hideous and at worst, tragic. Plus you’ll probably burn your scalp really badly. (See #3)

5. I heard a cruiser who wasn’t part of our advertising convention group complain that the people on the ship were “too rednecky.” I didn’t really notice that. Do you think it could have been us he was talking about?

Apparently, It’s a Motif

88 miles later in Blount City, Al-another Stuckey’s stop. (I’m traveling with the TBC-Tiny Bladder Club.)

Another stuffed cat on the counter and a stuffed dog on top of the nasty hot dog machine that turns the pork tubes over and over on a bunch metal rollers covered with 10-W-40. Truly unfortunate.

Despite conventional wisdom, travelers visiting a Stuckey’s should leave their pets in the car when stocking up on pecan pies and misogynist bumper stickers.

Sweet Home

From the “Only in Alabama” department…

On the way home from the ship, we stopped for a bio-break at a Stuckey’s in Verbena, Alabama. As we entered the store I felt something vaguely disquieting. I couldn’t put my finger on it until we approached the counter to pay for our pecan logs.

Oh that’s it. There’s a stuffed cat and a stuffed schnauzer on the counter. Ex-pets, we discovered.

“Hello, is this the Alabama Department of Health and Sanitation? Oh, you’re on a four-year backlog? Never mind.”

Having the Technology is Only Half the Battle

Imagine my surprise when woke up docked in Cozumel and my phone was beeping to let me know that emails were coming in.

Cool! I can blog internationally via Treo. I feel Woo-tastic.

Not that I have in particular anything to say…

Maybe later.

Now THERE’S a Good Idea

We had our lifeboat drill as soon as we got on the boat. The disconnected ethereal voice over the loud speaker who is supposed to keep us calm in the event of an emergency assured us that “these lifeboats are constructed of a material designed to keep them afloat even if they are fully submerged in water.”

Why don’t they just build the whole damn ship out of that material?

I’m just sayin’…

I Guess I’m Metrosexual…Not That There’s Anything Wrong with That

Our traveling party spent last night with a friend in Mobile. So I’m sharing a bathroom this morning with three gay men and a woman.

It’s somehow an affirmation to realize how many of the same soaps, shampoo and shaving products I have in common with them. I use about 1/10 as many, but it does mean that RUABelle made wise choices when she bought them for me.

It’s kinda like eating in the Chinese restaurant where all the Chinese people eat.

Well done!

A Sad Update

I just heard David Schnaufer passed away a few hours ago. Apparently yesterday was the first day that the pain had started to get to him, so it was time to go.

He’s much better off. We’re all the poorer.

Godspeed, buddy.

Won’t You Let Me Take You on a Sea Cruise

I’m on the board of the southeastern region of the American Advertising Federation. Many of my friends and members of our industry were severely affected last year by Katrina. Advertising and media have had a really tough time bouncing back and figuring out strategies for recovery as the population and tourism trickles back into the Gulf Coast.

So how are we celebrating the one year anniversary of Katrina? That’s right, we’re having our annual Leadership Convention on one of the FEMA cruise ships that was docked in New Orleans. I’m driving to Mobile today to board the oldest, smallest ship in the Carnival fleet, the Holiday. Picture Tunica insead of Vegas.

I’m not sure whether the irony of this is intentional and reverential or just damned unfortunate. Either way, I have to go represent the state at the District board meeting, so I’m just going to keep my mouth shut.

Think good thoughts and wish Tropical Storm Debbie away for me.

Naming Rights

I think it’s natural to wish for some sort of immortality to combat the transient nature of our time on earth. I’ve always wanted to have something named after me.

I donated some money to my old high school to get my name on a brick in the sidewalk, but you can’t really find it or read it. When they built a new wing, I inquired as to how much one had to donate to get your name on something and figured out I could afford to get my monikor inscribed on the crank of a pencil shapener. (Does anybody even use crank pencil sharpeners anymore? Or pencils, for that matter?)

I tried to have a game named after me at our semi-regular poker gatherings. We played variations of standard stud poker named after some of my old friends who most people at the table had never even met. But everybody knew what “Isherwood’s Revenge” and “Chaffin Standard” and “Charlie’s Folly” were since we played them frequently.

One night we played a game I called almost all night. And I won big. I couldn’t lose with the cards I was getting. Somebody posited, “Cee, we should name this game after you.”

Choked up, I said, “You mean *sob*, something like ‘Cee Standard?’” My day had finally come.

Somebody else at the table said, “As much fu*kin’ money as you’ve taken off me tonight, we oughta call it ‘Di*k in my Ass!’”

Guess which name stuck?

So then I thought maybe I could get something named after me at my local watering hole, the Sportsman’s Grille. I go there so often, I decided it was easier just to get my mail forwarded there. Perhaps my regular order could become my legacy.

Nope, it’s pretty hard to corner the market on Miller Lite draft and a basket of hot wings at a sports bar. My name just never caught on.

Then, Dr. Funkenswine decided to open Mothership BBQ. I was there from the beginning. Hell, since before the beginning. We’ve been friends for years, and I did all I could to support his floundering catering business until he could get the restaurant up and running. If any food item was ever going to be named after me, it had to be here, right?

But there’s only about five things on the menu, so it didn’t look good. It’s not like he’s got a beef tongue and pastrami sandwich he can name the “Maury Amsterdam.”

And, woe is me, my bloggerque buddy Kerry Woo beat me to the punch. He eats there at least as regularly as I do and always orders the same thing. Two pork shoulder sandwiches with extra burnt ends and cole slaw on top. It is offically referred to as “The Woo.”

Now I can’t eat that much. I usually order about half that. As a matter of fact, I’m officially going to co-opt Kerry’s order and make it my own.

Ladies and gentlemen, behold “The Demi-Woo.”

Sigh.

Well, That Was Pleasant

I just got a phone call from my newly-assigned Metro Health case worker. Apparently, the news of my negative syphilis test hasn’t made it through the system yet.

He was a nice enough fellow, but I’m pretty much ready to put this incident behind me.

Sheesh!

I’m Afraid We’re Fixin’ to Lose a Good One

A good friend of ours from the Sportsman’s Grille is not doing well. David Schnaufer is acclaimed as one of the greatest mountain dulcimer players in the world. Nashvillians may remember him from Walk the West or The Cactus Brothers, two of the most entertaining local bands of the 80′s.

We know him as a gentle soul who always dressed like he just walked off the streets of 1920′s Galveston into the bar. Which he probably had. You expected swinging bar doors to squeak behind him when he came in. The only time I ever saw him without a smile on his face was when he was showing concern for someone else.

I’ll always chuckle thinking about how he always demanded to roadie whenever he played at a big concert, even though he acknowledged, “Hell, it ain’t got but four strings and three of them are tuned to the same note. It makes a nice sound when you drop it.”

David has worked with orchestras around the country and been a favorite on the Bluegrass festival circuit for years. He has also served as the only dulcimer teacher on an reknowned music school faculty in the world. At Blair, he has taught scores of students, including Cyndi Lauper and Michael Stipe.

He was diagnosed with cancer recently and it had already spread throughout his body. He is currently in hospice care and deteriorating quickly. But his spirit and soul will never diminish in our eyes.

RUABelle and I are very sad. He is just a great guy. For updates, go here. Lots of good thoughts and prayers are headed his way!

Intelligent Design?

Why did God invent chiggers, and why did he send 20 of them to
attack my “bathing suit area” after yesterday’s yard work?

Update-for my (lucky) readers who have never encountered chiggers, I’ve included a link to the wikipedia article on harvest mites. No, I don’t need to go back to the Lentz Clinic.

Freaky Friday

I was checking my sitemeter to see where my visitors were coming from and noticed that somebody found The Dry Spot by Googling “George Goldtrap,” the chalk-throwing wethaerman from Channel 4 years ago.

Then I noticed that there was a new comment on the two month old post that the Google result pointed to. And it was from George Goldtrap.

Dude! George Goldtrap’s been ego-surfing the Dry Spot!

Maybe he can work something about syphilis into his latest sermon…

Ooh, My Head…

I stayed out way too late last night with a couple of West Tennessee bloggers. I’m not gonna name names or anything…

Live-Blogging My Syphilis Test

There, I knew that would get your attention.

But it wasn’t just a gambit to get my site meter numbers up. I really did spend this morning at the Lentz Metro Health Clinic in the STD lab. Pull up a carpet square, little kiddies, and let Uncle Cee tell you a little story.

Long-time readers of The Dry Spot know that I’m a frequent platelet donor at the American Red Cross. I wasn’t surprised to get an envelope from them in the mail earlier this week. They call all the time telling me about a specific cancer patient that has my blood type and send me free tickets to the races out at the Speedway as a thank you, so I figured it was something like that.

The letter began with the typical, “Thank you for your recent donation on August 4. We appreciate the time and effort you spent to donate blood for others.”

“Why, you’re welcome,” my internal monologue beamed.

Imagine my surprise when the next paragraph began, “When we tested your blood, we obtained results that indicate that you may have an infection with syphilis.”

Huh?! That’s a great big ole’ WTF! Let’s see, I’ve been in a monogamous relationship with RUABelle for almost 16 years. And I know I’ve been a good boy. Promise Keepers good. And RUABelle is a kindergarten teacher, ferchrissakes! Beyond reproach and suspicion.

Plus, I have given blood products 75 times in the last ten years and had my blood tested every time for every STD known to man. So obviously, there must be some sort of mistake, right?

I availed myself of the Red Cross counselor hot line number on the letter to inquire about false positives. The woman on the other line sounded very friendly and positive until she got my file and called me back.

I told her that I was in a monogamous relationship and that there was no way I could have contracted syphilis. “Yeah, we hear that a lot,” she said drolly. “All I can tell you is that your test was positive and that you need to seek medical care immediately. We have to report this to the Metro Health Department, and you are now deferred from donating any blood products indefinitley.”

Well, f*ck you very much, too.

After doing some internet research, (which I always tell other people not to do since it only makes you hysterical) I tried to make an appointment with a urologist that is covered by my health care plan at work. No dice. They were all scheduling into October. What is with all you guys out there taking up all the appointments for us in need? Maybe they were looking for a cute young female urologist with slender fingers and left me with nothing but an ex-wrestler named “Stubby.”

So I opted for the walk-in clinic at Lentz. No appointment necessary, and confidentiality ensured. (Until you blog about it.)

I got there this morning and went to room 116 down a secluded hallway with the window covered by black construction paper. Nice confidentiality touch, I thought. The waiting room was spacious and there were only a few people waiting before me. In the interest of decorum, I won’t describe any of them, but I will say that there wasn’t a lot of eye-contact going on in that room. The receptionist was helpful and discreet. I was issued a number which was how I was referred to for the rest of my office visit. Another good touch.

The Lentz Clnic is on an “ability to pay” basis for services, and I certainly have the ability to pay. But the entire visit was free of charge. They offer testing for all sorts of STDs without judgement and in a very confidential manner. Even though I could have had the whole menu of test done, I already had good results from my last blood donation. Oh yeah, except for that syphilis thing. So why don’t you please just test that.

After waiting about 30 minutes in the lobby, I was called back by a smiling nurse. She sat me down immediately and started to take my history. I hate it when they call you from a waiting room and put you in a smaller waiting room. I appreciated the quick attention.

I handed her the letter from the Red Cross and started to answer her questions. I detected a very small bit of skepticism from the beginning, but it rapidly shifted to confusion, especially after she saw my blood donation record. She said, “That’s not right,” and left the room to confer with a doctor.

“That’s not right” good? or “that’s not right” bad?, I wondered. I heard mumbling outside the door which ended with. “Well, draw some blood and we’ll figure out what the hell’s going on.”

I hoped that meant it was a good “that’s not right.” She came in, tapped one of my veins which might as well have a shunt for the amount of times the Red Cross has accessed them, and took the samples to the lab.

While we waited for the results, she took me on a wonderful pictorial journey through the symptoms of syphilis. “Nope, haven’t seen it look like that.” “Uh, no, I believe I would have already sought medical care if it was falling off like that.” “Which way is up in that picture?” “That looks like a pizza.”

I know she was probably required by procedure to fully inform me, but I was pretty much put off of eating for the rest of today. She finally told me that my tests should be ready and she didn’t expect them to show anything. She left the room and returned immediately with a smile on her face and said, “Yup, it’s negative.”

Now I always get confused about whether a negative test is good or bad, just like I never remember which is worse-first degree or third degree burns. But her smile let me know that everything was ok. She has to send off a confirmation test which I won’t know about for a week, but I know (as I’ve always known) that there’s nothing to worry about.

So in summary:
CeeElCee doesn’t have the syph.
RUABelle and I are fine and faithful.
I still can’t donate blood again for a year, so I might as well get a tattoo. (Any suggestions?)
I’m not bitter at the Red Cross and will donate again as soon as they will let me.

And most importantly of all, if you ever have any suspicions about any sort of STD, go on down to the Lentz Clinic on 23rd Avenue North. They are professional, confidential, efficient, affordable and an extremely valuable resource for our community. They can also offer counseling and treatment. Don’t be embarrased to get checked. They are not judgemental. Catching a disease is unfortunate. Spreading it because you won’t get tested is tragic.