(no subject)

Th' ol' man had his surgery at St. Joe's in Bangor today, and is fine. He is sore and sleepy now, due for release on Thursday or Friday. That's when I return home, just as he begins a two-month phase of hobbling recovery while getting used to his brand new joint, and treating it very gingerly (for example, the thing's liable to pop out if he lets his knee rise above hip-level during this period). If all goes well, he'll wind up better than ever, though being able to walk pain-free should be an immediate benefit.

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While they was upgrading my dad, my mom and I passed the time in Bangor as I drove their SUV around, vroom. Mom found a half-price walker for the upcoming ordeal at Marden's, and we had burgers n beer at the Sea Dog. This was probably the first time I have ever shared beer-consumption activity with either parent. As such, I got to play beverage-educator with them again, just as I did after I discovered coffee. "You should get this one," said mom, pointing to an ale on the menu of one of the finest microbreweries in Northern New England, "because it's just like Miller Lite." So I made her get their IPA instead, and she agreed it was great. sheesh

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One nice feature of St. Joe's: a nun (of the elderly-but-spry variety that probably typifies the order; I think of my mom, were she a holy woman and not a goofball real-estate wonk) in an all-white habit came into the big surgery prep room at one point, going from bed to bed to lend some last-minute moral support to the patients and their families. She talked to my dad for a while while holding his hand, and squeezed my shoulder in passing. (Also, my Dad didn't toss any anti-Catholic zingers at her, which was pretty good for him. He was doling them out to the RNs earlier, who pleasantly ignored them. I love my dad, but he can be a troll sometimes. Often. Usually.)

An unsuccessful bid to take your mind off things

The smutty tale of a Sims 2 neighborhood filled with 2004 election figures.