• There is a great disturbance in the force, young web author

    It is day eight of the ninth coming of Star Wars, and I have yet to step foot in a theater. What’s worse? I have yet to make firm plans to do so. What’s even worse than that? I haven’t even thought about it that much.

    No, I didn’t wake from a week long coma this morning, kidnappers did not cede to anyone’s ransom offer, and aliens didn’t just finish their tests. It’s all about the rash man.

    I AM the rash man. Truly I say to you, a rash is a big fat bummer floating in a sea of moisturizing lotion.

    I was toying with the idea of leaving work now, but alas – Cheryl was sent to work way out in the hinterland for the day (where the father of the bride never says, “You’re part of the family now.”) I even thought I would see it anyway, not say anything, and see it with her again when she’s ready.

    Will our young hero give in to temptation with rash action (look ma, a bad pun); or, will he do the right thing and save the Star Wars experience for later, when he can share it with his loved ones? Tune in next week for this entry’s exciting conclusion.

  • It could be worse; you could have a really bad rash

    Skin care continues to be job one at the Kauffman house this week. With the advent of more widespread skin care concerns; we’ve added two pump dispensers to our bathroom, moisturizing lotion and anti-itch lotion. Having three pump dispensers side-by-side can be a real source of levity, particularly when you consider the polar nature of their purpose.

    Imagine you have just finished your shower, you’re following your dermatologist’s instructions and you’re lubing up. Imagine how much fun it would be to smear some liquid soap on your arm by mistake. It’s a real kick in the ass, almost as much fun as a full court rash. Pity poor Cheryl, the odds are not in her favor during her late night jaunts to the potty. No lights, and legally blind in fifteen states (without glasses or contacts), 1 out of 3 means your hands probably aren’t getting any cleaner.

    With all the stuff I’m putting on my skin at night I feel more like I’m primping for the Mr. Universe competition, than simply bearing horizontal to log my eight heavenly hours of altered consciousness (I’m referring to sleep, of course).

  • It’s getting wet in here

    How would Noah have felt if, after the flood waters had receded, God had said, “Thou hast served me well Noah, but I am still not pleased. Getting creation right is like trying to get an indigo stain out of my toga. Let’s try that again.” Would Noah’s wife have borne witness to the Old Testament’s first tantrum – or had Adam already laid claim to that distinction?

    If I weren’t so preoccupied with scratching I might be bearing a little tantrum myself. No, unlike Noah – God isn’t calling to me, or if he is he hasn’t taken advantage of Sprint’s Free and Clear Plan. However, signs can be a powerful communication tool. The thing is: we’ve got a leaky water heater again. Damn those plumbers and their ilk! I’ll bet the Romans didn’t have this much trouble with their aqueducts. Sure, they had the occasional run-in with the Goths to contend with, but, oh hell, this metaphor is going nowhere.

    I don’t care how it works. I just want reliable indoor plumbing. Is there any such thing?