You need a really strong stomach to watch a sappy Gary Cooper movie.

Yo, everybody. It’s 7:15 p.m. on a cold Friday evening here in north Texas. According to the meteorology gods at Weather.com we’re expecting the low tonight to dip down to 32° … and that’s damn cold for us at this time of year because our temperatures are typically in the 60s through New Year’s Day.

Enough weather bullshit. I think we should move on to more important subjects.

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Let’s get caught up on the latest juicy hospice news, shall we? First of all, today being Friday, I had concurrent ROUTINE STAFF VISITS this morning from my C.N.A. for the “usual” (bathing and hygiene) and also from my R.N., who mostly took my vital signs (blood pressure, heart rate and temperature) and kissed me on the head. She always kisses me on the head. We didn’t change my catheter, however, because I asked if we could wait until Monday for that. I just wasn’t in the mood. (Trust me … a person definitely has to be in the mood.)

We also finally had closure today regarding two ongoing PRESCRIPTION ISSUES. First, why did the hospice M.D. tell the pharmacy to send me two bottles of the same medication this week — in different strengths and with different instructions — for Gabapentin, which I take for neuropathy pain!? And second, I finally (at last!) received my Hydrocodone prescription in the correct quantity for a two-week supply, which initially was promised weeks ago after I gave up both of my Morphine prescriptions. The hospice administrator promised I’d have it tonight … and sure enough, the pharmacy delivery dude rang our doorbell at 9 p.m. GLORIOSKI! I finally have my good drugs. I love my good drugs!

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Sam and I have been entertained tonight by a couple of classic World War I movies in our annual salute to Armistice Day, which is now called Veterans Day and largely no big deal to almost anybody. However, we’ve been watching The Fighting 69th (1940) starring George Brent, Jimmy Cagney and Pat O’Brien, and Hell Below (1933) starring Robert Montgomery, Robert Young and Walter Huston. Both of them are riveting, gritty and (at times) miserably hard to watch … but they’re fabulous.

Incidentally, I’ve also got Sergeant York (1941) recorded on our DVR, but you need a really strong stomach to watch a sappy Gary Cooper movie like this. He’s probably the most wooden, depressing, inept actor in Hollywood history, and it absolutely amazes me that he ever had any kind of career. (I really can’t stand John Wayne, either, in case you’re interested.) However, in addition to Sergeant York, I feel the same way about Cooper’s performance in Pride of the Yankees (1942). Pure dreck! It’s typical Gary Cooper bullshit. He’s 41 years old at the time pretending to be 19, and he looks like such an idiot.

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Thank you for reading this. Send a couple of spare legs if you have them. Mine are shot.