I woke up this morning feeling
yoogely better than yesterday. The pain in my thighs is almost gone and I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to walk with just my cane — and NOT my walker — by this afternoon. This is a very big deal and I expect to hear some applause.
Thank you.
We’ve had a lot of rain around here lately. It rained all day yesterday with big booming thunderstorms all night long … and as of 7:45 this morning IT’S STILL RAINING! And naturally, all that rain ushers in widespread and immediate
flash flood warnings for anybody who’s stupid enough to live near a creek … and there are lots of creeks. (And therefore lots of stupid people.) In case you’re interested, we have a 60% chance of additional thunderstorms this afternoon, too.
Oh boy … more thunderstorms!
In the meantime I’m watching
The Player (1992), an especially quirky murder mystery starring Tim Robbins as Griffin Mill, a movie studio executive who’s receiving death threats at work on spooky postcards. Others in the cast include Greta Scacchi, Dina Merrill, Peter Gallagher, Whoopi Goldberg and Lyle Lovett. Whoopi and Lyle are a pair of Pasadena homicide detectives. (No kidding.) And as a weird early-morning nosh to accompany a weird early-morning movie, I’m gumming a can of S&W pickled beets from
Wal-Mart. (I don’t have my lower denture yet.)
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| Tim Robbins as a freaked-out movie studio executive in “The Player.” |
After Griffin is tormented daily by threatening postcards he decides (incorrectly) that they’re from a rejected screenwriter named David Kahane and starts stalking him, calling his house, and eventually trailing him to a movie theater in Pasadena to confront him. Kahane blows up, and when he and Griffin start a screaming match in the parking lot Griffin beats Kahane to death and leaves him a puddle of wet slop. That’s when our Pasadena homicide detectives (Whoopi Goldberg and Lyle Lovett) spring into action with a priceless series of interrogations (anybody remember Whoopi swinging her tampon like a helicopter?) and a police lineup. The ending has an amazing twist to it. Believe it or not, I haven’t spoiled it! I’m pleased to award
The Player with the Howdygram’s coveted five-star
★★★★★ rating.
Sam is on a “mission” this morning. I’ve been trying to wrangle my monthly Hydrocodone prescription from Baylor HouseCalls, and for some reason this is turning into a fucking
nightmare. Apparently HouseCalls has a new procedure for opioid refills … they get transmitted electronically to your pharmacy now (instead of handing the pharmacist a traditional paper script) and mine should’ve been transmitted to my Wal-Mart pharmacy on March 23.
It wasn’t. So I called Baylor HouseCalls on Monday and again on Tuesday, and both times they apologized for fucking up and said I’d hear back from somebody by the end of the day with new procedure instructions.
Nobody called me back. It’s now March 28
— five whole days since my prescription should’ve been filled — and I’m officially running out of pills, so about 45 minutes ago Sam called HouseCalls on my behalf, told them the whole story (again) and made them promise that Miriam, the senior medical aide who answers patient phone calls, would follow through and call me back. She was apparently on the phone with somebody else when Sam called … but it’s been almost 50 minutes now, and she still hasn’t called us. I’M READY TO WHACK SOMEBODY UNCONSCIOUS WITH MY CANE. (Stay away from Howdygram headquarters until I calm down, okay?)
Thank you for reading this. Also, this might be an excellent time to floss.
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