My Goat, Part I
Those of you who enjoy reading between the lines may have noticed a subtle trend over the last couple of week: several references to goats.
‘Why this preoccupation with goats?’ You may have asked yourself, as I did, while reviewing recent blog entries. But, unlike you, I had the advantage of being able to look in the mirror and see—there, upon my face—a goatee.
‘Erik, you are such a good looking young man,’ the Physician Emeritus at my hospital said, putting his arm around me, ‘Why would you grow that thing on your face?’
This was not a complete surprise. I had once heard him chastising another resident for a goatee saying, ‘What a man cultivates around his mouth grows wild around his ass.’
I smiled and told him I had grown it out of laziness being in the ICU. Not shaving bought me a little extra time in the morning. The regimen became piss, brush teeth, wet hair, put on scrubs, socks, shoes, pager, and watch, then walk out the door as I grabbed my wallet and keys. I told him I was going on vacation the next day and that the goatee would be gone by the time I got back.
What I didn’t tell him was that nurses had started giving me their number since it appeared.
When I went to college in Iowa City we’d go out, I had one friend who’d get phone numbers stuffed in his pocket. And he was a bigger asshole than I am. Someone once introduced themselves by saying, ‘You look like a nice Italian boy.’
‘I’m none of the three,’ he said and walked away.
So we would head out and he would find a phone number or two slipped in his pocket. That never happened to me. I complained about this to my roommate who consoled me by saying, ‘It’s because you don’t look like the kind of guy that would call someone slutty enough to just stick their number in your pocket.’
‘But I am,’ I protested. ‘I’m exactly that kind of guy.’
‘I know that,’ he said, ‘but you don’t look like you are.’
Using the technique of comforters everywhere, he softened the insult by interpreting it as flattery.
That look that he said I din't have was actually shed in Chicago before I moved to Iowa City. The story of that on Thursday, as it is not suitable for Uncynical Wednesday.
‘Why this preoccupation with goats?’ You may have asked yourself, as I did, while reviewing recent blog entries. But, unlike you, I had the advantage of being able to look in the mirror and see—there, upon my face—a goatee.
‘Erik, you are such a good looking young man,’ the Physician Emeritus at my hospital said, putting his arm around me, ‘Why would you grow that thing on your face?’
This was not a complete surprise. I had once heard him chastising another resident for a goatee saying, ‘What a man cultivates around his mouth grows wild around his ass.’
I smiled and told him I had grown it out of laziness being in the ICU. Not shaving bought me a little extra time in the morning. The regimen became piss, brush teeth, wet hair, put on scrubs, socks, shoes, pager, and watch, then walk out the door as I grabbed my wallet and keys. I told him I was going on vacation the next day and that the goatee would be gone by the time I got back.
What I didn’t tell him was that nurses had started giving me their number since it appeared.
When I went to college in Iowa City we’d go out, I had one friend who’d get phone numbers stuffed in his pocket. And he was a bigger asshole than I am. Someone once introduced themselves by saying, ‘You look like a nice Italian boy.’
‘I’m none of the three,’ he said and walked away.
So we would head out and he would find a phone number or two slipped in his pocket. That never happened to me. I complained about this to my roommate who consoled me by saying, ‘It’s because you don’t look like the kind of guy that would call someone slutty enough to just stick their number in your pocket.’
‘But I am,’ I protested. ‘I’m exactly that kind of guy.’
‘I know that,’ he said, ‘but you don’t look like you are.’
Using the technique of comforters everywhere, he softened the insult by interpreting it as flattery.
That look that he said I din't have was actually shed in Chicago before I moved to Iowa City. The story of that on Thursday, as it is not suitable for Uncynical Wednesday.
Part II
Posted @ 6:26 AM
6 Comments:
2/15/2005
hot babe writes:
Anonymous writes:
Erik writes:
Anonymous writes:
Erik writes:
Erik writes:
I'm slutty but apparently not quite as slutty as some folks as I've never put my phone number into anyone's pocket anonymously. Well, I guess I should take solice in the fact that there are people sluttier than I out there.
I stopped shaving my legs before work. The janitor stopped copping a feel, so I figured shaving is just wasted energy.
2/15/2005
Are you aware of this?
http://americablog.blogspot.com/2005/02/man-called-jeff.html
Alex C.
2/15/2005
No, I wasn't aware of that website. I took the time to read the entire page, which was rather long. (Not that I'm one to talk)
After finishing it, I'm trying to figure out why you felt I should be aware of it. Even assuming that it's true, who cares?
It's like yelling 'lasagna' in a crowded theater.
2/16/2005
Sorry to waste your time.
2/16/2005
I did not mean to be too harsh, but here are my problems with that article.
For those of you who didn't read it, and I wouldn't really suggest it, here is a quick summary.
The Bush administration hired fake reporters to hold phony press conferences. That is legitimate news and-in fact-made the news.
This website alleges, fairly convincingly, that one of the fake reporters is a homosexual sex worker who rents himself out on a gay website. It then goes on a diatribe about ‘gay hookers.’
The site uses the excuse that the administration is anti-gay and therefore is fair game for outing his guy. If it turned out the President was blowing this guy, I think it would be a good point. There does not seem to be any allegation of such events.
The site seems to be ferreting out homo’s in the administration. Something one would expect more from Rush Limbaugh or Jerry Falwell than a gay blogger.
The site then compares this ‘scandal’ to Monika Lewinsky, which made me nostalgic for a time when presidents could die in hot tubs with their mistress and still have it not show up in the mass media.But my real objection is that it was a non-sequitor. It felt like spam.
2/16/2005
The title of the hot link was supposed to read "Not in a hot tub, but Warm Springs. Close enough." and point hereThe second was to point here.My dynamic HTML skills are not as powerful as yours, Kung Fu Master.
Also, non-sequitur is with a u.
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