Surly Curmudgeon

   The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire. The former are idealists acting from highest motives for the greatest good of the greatest number. The latter are surly curmudgeons, suspicious and lacking in altruism. But they are more comfortable neighbors than the other sort.
-- Robert A. Heinlein
  • Somewhere in the crusty outer layer of small towns surrounding the warm creamy center that is Oklahoma City.
Site Navigation
  • Current server time:
  • 7/13/2020 1:05:11 AM
  • Categories
    My Nerdly Hobbies
    The Daily Browse
    Reference Material
    Blogs of Note
    Non-blog Friend Pages

    Thursday, December 27, 2007

    Stabba Stabba

    I really don't like needles. However, since I have the good fortune to be allergic to just about every green plant I encounter, I have to get allergy shots once a week. In case you didn't know, allergy shots are a rather Nietzschean treatment, operating on the principle that what doesn't kill you will at least make you miserable for a while.

    Allergy shots start with needles in the "scratch test", a special form of torture that involves exposing the patient to a variety of substances and seeing which causes a reaction. In my case, my first test happened way back when I was a kid. They put a bunch of drops of various substances -- maple tree, oak tree, etc., all the way to hay and ragweed -- on my arm, then pricked the skin under each drop with a needle to let the fluid in. As I sat there, wondering whose job description included "boil plants down to their most concentrated evil form, so that we can stick it under peoples' skin and watch them squirm", my arm developed a newer, clearer definition of "itchy". It also turned a nice scarlet color from shoulder to fingertips. That was exciting.

    So anyway, eventually you get to the "treatment" phase, where they take all the data they've accumulated on you, and use it to brew up your own special poison. Then you dutifully report every week to be stabbed in the arm, or if you're lucky (and I am), both arms, and filled full of this toxic solution in the hopes that you will become "desensitized" to it.

    Well, things were going great until I started working from home, about 45 miles away from the stabby place. This created a nasty disruption in my treatment, to the point where I could actually feel myself becoming detoxified, and that just can't stand. So I inquired, made an appointment, and dragged Mrs. Curmudgeon in to the office to learn how to do the stabbing at home. Supposedly, I could learn to stab myself, but I just don't see that happening.

    On the good side of things, I never have to deal with the "harpoon lady" at the office any more. On the bad side, I have make a bigger effort to be extra nice to Mrs. Curmudgeon, especially on stabbing day.

    Posted by Tom, 12/27/2007 6:26:00 AM (Permalink). 2 Comments. Leave a comment...

    I thought it was "Stabby stabby" or maybe that's a quote from an old Kali instructor :)



    (What would Henry Rollins do?)

    -- Jimbabwe