Things To Do Today

Run 11 miles

Go to work

2 social histories

2 discharges

Come home

Cut the grass

Write something clever on my blog

Reward myself with rich food and alcohol

Watch the Royals game

Keep my eyes open for fun



Later

John Strain

Dental Dams and Sexual Harassment

Disclaimer: This post deals with material of a sexually explicit nature. So if your response is "hot dam" read on, but if your reaction is "oh my" proceed at your own risk. I am trying to be funny not vulgar if that helps any.



"Do you know what a dental dam is?" the nurse asked me. By the look on her face, she was betting I did not know. She was right. I was guessing something to do with sex, but rather than take a few wild guesses, I confessed ignorance. I don't think she knew what a "dental dam" was 15 minutes earlier herself. For those of you who do not know, a dental dam is what dentists use to isolate a tooth. It is a piece of latex. It is perhaps better known today as an implement of safe sex. That is, the dental dam functions as a barrier between one partner's genitals and the other partner's tongue. This gives new meaning to the phrase, "have your cake and eat it too." Why the question and talk about dental dams and oral sex? No special reason, just another day at the psych hospital. No topic is off limits. The raunchier the better is the way we see it. Actually, the nursing group today covered sex and safe sex. You cannot do a group like that with folks who are, for lack of better words, low functioning intellectually, without getting basic. With sex, talking basic is a treasure trove of straight lines - for me at least.



Incidents and conversations like this occur every day. They are opportunities for laughter and camaraderie. I love the people with whom I work. They are all good sports and get into humor that might shock others. Case in point. Later that day, someone went out for coffee and smoothies. The nurse who asked me about the dental dam was inadvertently left out. When she saw my strawberry smoothie, she said, "how about giving me some of that smoothie?" I said to her, "do you want some of this smoothie?" She replied, "yes." "OK then," I continued, "bring your dental dam and meet me in my office." We all had a good laugh. Then she asked bystanders to join her in a sexual harassment law suit rather than working until retirement. Of course, I wanted to know what my cut would be, after all, it was my comment that made it all possible.



Every hospital I worked at has been the same way. The staff curses and swears at a rate much higher than the national average. It may be due to the fact we see some pretty strange things. The sights we see and the conversations we hear are, at the very least, unique. It is not uncommon for a male patient to whip out his tool and start going to town right out in the open. Nurses have phrases in their daily vocabulary like, "Glen, stop masturbating and put that thing back in your pants." Other patients often feel the need to walk out of their room in their birthday suit. Now couple incidents like these with an adolescent mind such as my own and others like me and you have the ingredients for some great humor. I really love my job.



It would be difficult to win a sexual harassment suit at our hospital. On any given day, there are probably dozens of violations to the harassment policy, by a strict interpretation. I know other businesses are much more serious about acceptable language and humor. A friend of mine once related a story about harassment which occurred at his office. The build up he gave had me expecting a story about rape, but when he finished the tale I said, "and? when are you going to get to the sexual harassment part?" We were obviuosly accustomed to different standards.



What I have said above does not apply to state psychiatric facilities. Those places are where casting companies get their actors and actresses for movies like "Night of the Living Dead." State facilities don't play. They are quite serious. I would probably not last long in a state facility - as an employee. I might do better as a patient.



What of your place of business? Are people cool or are they tight asses? Can you be normal or do you have to adopt that BS professional facade?



I hope you have a Good Friday, get it "Good Friday."



Until the next time

John Strain

The American Pass Time

One of the most relaxing, soothing sounds I recall from childhood is the hypnotic sound of a baseball announcer calling a game on the radio. Many an evening, I sat in my backyard listening to the Kansas City Athletics games. The descriptions of the announcers fueled my young imagination. When I got to attend the games in person, it was like going to my own fantasy land. Oh, the view of the grass as I emerged from the stadium tunnel. A beautiful sight as any baseball fan would attest. I loved the sound of the crowd and the smell of hot dogs. Ahhhhhhh! These are memories of summers past, locked safely in my head.



As the years passed, baseball changed. It seemed players and owners were ruining the game. I was so angry a few years ago, I vowed never to spend another penny on baseball. I wrote letters to the MLB website and even got a reply. Last year, though, I came back to baseball. I guess my love was greater than my hurt.



This year, I spent $99 to have live access to most all games right on my computer. I know baseball has lost fans and lags behind basketball and football. Our ADD generation finds it difficult to watch or understand the intricacies of the game.



My Uncle Tom sent me an email a few years ago telling me about a relative who was influential in New Orleans baseball. His name was Abner Powell. I happened on to his photo in a book about Baseball in New Orleans. Abner Powell is wearing the suit. He managed the 1902 New Orleans Pelicans. Abner invented the tarp for covering baseball infields. He had taken the idea from the New Orleans docks. Huge tarps were used on the docks to keep goods out of the weather. In addition, Abner Powell started Ladies Days and rain checks. He is most noted for the following incident which occurred on August 22, 1886:

In a game with the Louisville Colonels, with the score tied 3 - 3 in the bottom of the 11th inning, William "Chicken" Wolf laced a line drive toward the right field corner. A stray dog that had been napping in the outfield awakened and joined outfielder Powell in a chase for the ball. When it appeared Powell was winning the race, the dog bit into his leg and refused to let go, allowing Wolf to run out an inside-the-park home run.

From "Baseball In New Orleans" by S. Derby Gisclair

Baseball is in its third century now. It is part of our national fabric. The old photos scream "Americana." There is something comforting about them. I like the stories about the good players who left the game to fight in W.W.II, like Ted Williams. I was watching the World Series when the big earthquake hit the Bay Area in California. So many of my memories and historical markers involve baseball. It is part of my personal fabric.

_____



My other post about baseball: I Have Fallen In Love Again



Until the next time

John Strain

Procrastination List

One of these days when I get some time I will make a list of things on which I have been procrastinating. On that list, between driving a dull spike through my head and joining the Democratic Party will be completing my income tax.



Every year it is the same thing. I reluctantly pull things together, fill out a form my CPA sent me and get the material to her right around April 15. On January 1, I thought this year would be different. I guess because by the time the end of January rolls around my resolve has rolled away. The W2's and assorted papers sit in a pile awaiting my last minute rush in April.



There is always something in my life that needs attention. If I am exercising and keeping the house up, my finances are in shambles. If I am writing letters and making phone calls to friends and family, my grass is three feet high. One problem is work. At least 40 hours per week at that hospital, seriously cuts into my personal goals. I can't quit though, because I have grown accustomed to paying bills and living in a house. Another amenity I have come to appreciate is regular meals.



I suppose in the grand scheme of things, this is all nothing. I am healthy, I am alive, and I live in a country that values freedom. Most of the people I encounter each day are pleasant and polite. I am watching my son grow into manhood. It is really hard to find something to complain about. Most of my problems are self-inflicted.



I will just keep counting my blessings. I hope this Wednesday finds you happy and fulfilled. I hope you are on your way to realizing a dream. If not, I hope you are warm, dry, and sitting comfortably with a full stomach.



Until the next time

John Strain

Death in the Spring

Hug your children today, because you never know what will happen. Spring symbolizes new life and promise, but for three Covington teens it was the time of their death. Saturday morning my son called from work to tell me about the accident. Three boys from the local high school ran off the road and hit a bridge pillar at 2:30 AM. All three were instantly killed. One of the boys was my son's friend and basketball team mate from last year. The boy was a few weeks from high school graduation. John knew the other two boys, but not as well as he did Corey.



John struggled with all of the mysteries of death that day. He eventually left work and came home due to the shock. How is it a person is alive one moment, then the next moment they are forever gone? Why did they die at such a time in their life? It is all so sad and such a waste, but it is.



The three had been down on Bourbon Street that night. Of course everyone suspects the boys were drinking, but the results have not yet come in. Regardless, they are gone and area teens are learning a lesson in life. Death is part of life. It hurts. There are no answers that satisfy.



As a young seminary student in March of 1982 I had occasion to preach a funeral. One of the professors was the interim pastor for a New Orleans church and one of the members had been killed tragically in an auto accident. Dr. Hubbell could not preach the funeral because of a conflict and passed the torch to me.



I was nervous. It would be my first funeral. I did not know the people, they did not know me. The family were fringe church members and the person who died was only 19. It was one of the more difficult things I have done, but it taught me some things. I was worried about myself. What would I say? Would the people be angry with me - God's representative? But it was not about me. It was about them and their grief.



Here is what I wrote after the events of that day March 13, 1982.

DEATH IS AN EXCLUSIVE CLUB

I preached my first funeral today. Until yesterday, I did not even know that Paul G. existed and today I preached his funeral. I arrived at the funeral home knowing what to expect from text books I had read and advice people had given me. When I passed through the doors into the quietness of the funeral home I could taste sorrow- I could hear sadness - I could see grief - I could feel anguish. I wanted to touch the sorrow and take it away, but I had no magic words. My concern allowed me to keep silent. When I did touch it was with a firm handshake and a steady look in the eye to say, "I am sincere." I wanted to do more. I wanted to somehow take those suffering people in my arms and wipe away their tears. But death is an exclusive club and today I was not a member, but someone on the outside wondering how I could help. The family was taking their last look at their son and I was in the hall adjusting my tie, thinking about what I had to say and where I was to walk. I felt less than inadequate - less than humble. I presented a positive message which spoke of death as victory for the Christian. I also left room for the expression of grief through tears and the weightiness of sorrow. I read scripture which affirmed the love of God. I have the feeling that the effect was positive, but that aspect will probably never be known to me. I was reminded of the seriousness and the responsibility which comes with the ministry. I was reminded that God is there to help. And I was reaffirmed in my call - I felt useful and I felt used. I was reminded of how precious the life is we possess, because I saw the grief and sadness of those who had lost some. I hope I never allow this act of conducting funerals to become mechanical. I think that would lead to a damage beyond my comprehension reaching into several realms of existence. My last thought is this: It is far better to say I love you to living ears than to say I loved you to ears which no longer hear.

It is just sad, no getting around it. As a parent, I cannot fathom the level of grief these boy's families are feeling right now. I pray God would comfort them during this time of great loss.



I am counting my blessings.



Until the next time

John Strain