Frisbee

I lied. Here is one more post for FY08.

I just noticed on Stuff White People Like that White People like Frisbee sports. This is tragic. The official sport of my Navy community is Ultimate Frisbee. We are so discriminating. No wonder we have only two black officers. This is straight up ludicrous. I am so calling the 24-hour Diversity Hotline. They shall hear from me, I promise you. PT tomorrow morning will be basketball or an equivalent sport invented to embarrass the White People.

Long time, No see

Wow, it's been a while. I blame my eyes. Ever since I went under the laser, I just haven't felt up to the kind of recreational typing this blog requires.

However, focusing on objects is no longer a chore. With my near-normal vision, I hope to get back into this blog. I'm making a promise to myself to try to write every day starting October 1 (my New (fiscal) Year resolution). FY09 will be a literary epic, just you watch.

I know I don't write very well off the cuff, so hopefully this exercise will make my writing less painful with less forethought.

In addition to this life-changing odyssey, I also start a new job on the 1st. It promises to be a big day. See you on the other side. Adios, FY08.

-Bryan

Warning: This Post contains a laser. Avoid direct eye contact.

I had my informed consent today for my refractive laser eye surgery next week. Informed consent is standard procedure for any elective surgery, and generally involves a group of surgeons graphically describing all the bad things that could happen to you. It is a rather frightening process, as they begin with the generally benign side effects like dry eyes and move swiftly and passionately into the more juicy side effects, like corneal collapse. And, like the good students of science that they are, surgeons never commit to absolutes.

Me: "Doc, will I have poor night vision?"
Surgeon: "There is a non-zero chance."

Me: "Doc, will a freak power surge cause the laser to carve "Kilroy was here" on the back of my skull?"
Surgeon: "There is a non-zero chance."

Awesome.

Anyway, after about an hour of glowing testimonials artfully peppered with dire warnings we finally got to meet the surgeon. A nice, slightly balding Navy doctor in scrubs and a white coat pulled over--what is that?? Is that a cast on his hand??

Bad sign.

So, my surgeon has a cast on his left hand. No biggie, right? Controlling a laser is as simple as a couple keystrokes on a computer, right? That's what he said. He also told us that, while most patients receive Lasik as opposed to the competing procedure, PRK, he was hoping that we would all be PRK patients because he couldn't do Lasik with a cast on his arm.

Really bad sign.

If you are unfamiliar with the differences in laser eye surgery, as I was until nine o' clock this morning, it can be summed up fairly simply:

PRK: A painful, longer recovery.
Lasik: A painless, quick recovery.

Hmm. At this point I was almost too informed to give my consent. I am usually very trusting when it comes to medical professionals, but even I have my limits. I was ready to mutiny against this doc and find myself another cast-free surgeon to zap my eye.

But then I had my one-on-one, and I copped out. I couldn't commit. He produced some very convincing reasons to perform PRK instead of Lasik. Most of those reasons involved colored maps of my eyes with numbers that I didn't understand. But there was an orange spot in the otherwise yellow center of my left eye. This apparently was bad for Lasik, which, if performed, could one day, many many years from now, if the planets are aligned just right and I am standing on my head, result in spontaneous corneal collapse. The same corneal collapse they warned me about! It's a non-zero chance! I couldn't risk it!

So I'm a PRK guy.

I think Lasik would have worked for me, but this surgeon looks like a documenter, and I'm sure he would have documented the crap out of me had I ignored his recommendations. You live and die in the Navy based on documentation, and having that in my record would have screwed me somewhere down the road. ("I see you went against your eye surgeon's recommendation forty years ago. I'm sorry, sir, but Lasik directly caused your arthritis and we cannot treat you.")

Anyway, I go under the ray gun on Monday. I'll share the experience here.

Ezekiel 33

I am Catholic.  Not to toot our own horn or anything, but I think we've got a good thing going.  We've got apostolic succession all the way back to St. Peter and a pretty awesome sovereign nation.  Do the Baptists have a sovereign nation?  No.  And Mississippi does not count.

As a Christian, I am a huge fan of the New Testament.  In relation to other religious texts, I think it lays down a decent framework for a belief system.  It has a good message and, aside from Revelations (what is that??) you could live your life by it and come out doing okay.

The Old Testament, on the other hand, is a piece of work.  It is like Christianity's rough draft.  If the New Testament speaks of love, the Old Testament is all about judgment and punishment.  It makes for decent literature, but, religiously speaking, it causes a lot of conflict when everyone is walking around being holier than thou.  It was a good first crack at monotheism, but I think it fell a little short.

For instance, Ezekiel 33:8-9, which was our first reading this past Sunday, says:

"If I say to someone wicked, "Evil-doer, you are to die," and you do not speak to warn the wicked person to renounce such ways, the wicked person will die for this guilt, but I shall hold you responsible for the death.

If, however, you do warn someone wicked to renounce such ways and repent, and that person does not repent, then the culprit will die for this guilt, but you yourself will have saved your life."

That is like a license to be preachy.  In fact, it is an order to be preachy.  God commands it.  If you see someone so much as lift a finger on the Sabbath, as a Christian you would be encouraged--nay, required--to nag this person.  And Christians don't need any help being naggy. 

Oh, and "naggy" is not a word, but it should be.

New IPO: BRY

The Navy has invested a lot of money in me.  I know this because they continually remind me.  The latest figure they've told me is $300k, not including normal pay and compensation.  That is a lot of money, but they must have some idea what the Return On Investment (ROI) is.  I'm curious when they expect to see some profit.  Will I have to pay dividends?

That got me pondering.  I'm a pretty good guy with a healthy amount of common sense and ambition.  I know what exactly what you're thinking.  "My God, he is a shameless braggart!"  Yes, that may be.  But you are probably also thinking, "How can I get in on that action??"  With the stock market the way it is these days, it is hard to pass up on a sure thing like me.  I may not be flashy like Google, but I can provide you a steady rate of return over the long run.  I'm a catch.

The Navy got me off the ground with some initial venture capital, and now I am ready to go public.  The Navy insures me to $500,000, which is a reasonable assessment of my value.  Assuming the SEC approves my application, I expect that my IPO will begin October 1, 2008.  I will issue 50,000 common shares priced at $10.  Of these shares, 25,001 will be held by my wife, who, in addition to her majority ownership, will be chairperson of the board of directors.  The remaining 24,999 common shares will be released to general public.

I encourage you to hop aboard this gravy train.  A copy of the Prospectus for this IPO will be provided to serious investors upon request.

Another X on the wall

Living in a cubicle for eight hours a day has its challenges.  For one, no matter how many Dilberts or family photos you thumbtack to the wall, nothing can mask that Misery Gray color.  Second, it is difficult to mark the passage of time.  Without a window or any insight to the outside world, it becomes nearly impossible to adjust to the changing months.  My daytime world is a consistent partly-cloudy 72 degrees. 

In light of this challenge, one of the universal activities of our close cubicle fraternity is counting the days.  We all need to know we're getting closer to the end.  It doesn't matter that we haven't defined the end yet, it just feels good to know we're getting there.  Much like POWs.  A lot of people mark X's (or, for the tragically perky, smiley faces) on their calendars.

That's quaint.

I, on the other hand, mark the passage of time with urinal pads.  Navy contracts are beautiful in their complexity and their manic attention to detail.  We just don't hire someone to "clean the bathroom". No, no. Our contract with the custodial provider says "You will replace all urinal pads on the first working day of each calendar month."  It is precisely that attention to detail that makes me proud to be an American. 

Today is one of those contractually important days.  I go to the bathroom at around 10:00 this morning and, while in the process of relieving myself, I receive this fragrant burst of lilac aroma.  I look down and sure enough, written on the urinal pad in Sharpie is 9-2-08.  Today is a good day.  I settle back into my hygienic routine and let lilac blossoms remind me that August is over.  That is a good thing.  Toward the end, August was starting to smell a bit like urine.

What did Houma do to you, Jim Cantore?

Gustav is about an hour away from making landfall.

Where is The Weather Channel's Jim Cantore? Houma, Louisiana.

Where is Gustav going to make landfall? Houma, Louisiana.

Houma, you must have pissed Jim off real bad. Good job.

Jim Cantore, Meteorologist, Hurricane Whisperer