Palin trumps Jackson and Grader Boob wishes me well

In case any readers or passing trolls are wondering, the reason for the frenetic posting today is that surgery is tomorrow.

I am nervous.

I really should not be, given that this will be the... give me a minute... the seventh surgery done by this particular operator, since 2005. The sixth since we began this mucked-up odyssey against infection last summer.

He's talented, famous, and more importantly, he practices good medicine.

Still, despite the wrongheadedness of it, I feel like I have been primarily... lucky.

Last August, I ended up in ICU on a vent. Then again in April of this year. And through all of this, we have been unable to identify the offending organism.

I am worn down, exhausted, in a world of pain, able to do less-and-less. I am full of self-pity.

Anyway. I just got an email from Brother-Unit Grader Boob. He claims that he is taking his "organizational scheme from Governor Palin," as in:

"Before I continue with my resignation, I'd like to thank the American troops who are fighting abroad to give me the freedom to quit."

He goes on to note that, "[w]ell, at least she interrupted the Michael Jackson death watch."

Truly. Isn't it a frightening glimpse into American culture, that this woman should prove to be the newsmaker to shift a dead, mentally-ill, drug-addicted, worldwide pop icon from center stage?

Anyway, Grader Boob and I have communicated through, and hidden behind, sporting events our entire lives. I remember watching bowl games with him, snug and secure in my big brother's presence, while my family and country went about the process of disintegration. He's been an awesome brother, and I would do anything for him. You know... like if he were reading this and all, it would be nice for him to know that, trust in that.

Ahem. Anyway, he has already left Wimbledon behind (fourth set now, Roddick kicking booty in hopes of tying the match at 2 sets all) and is getting his head into Le Tour de France. Grader Boob was an accomplished cyclist. I say was because:

"Right now, I'm watching the le Tour prerace show and I look over at my cycling shorts and realize that to squeeze into them would be truly an eyesore."

He closes by telling me about the class he is teaching: "[A]pparently, they're still at the stage where they like to mutter smart ass answers under their breaths, not at all concerned about offering up a more insightful response. Hopefully, that will change as they delve into the readings. Hope springs eternal!"

He also promises that "I'll be thinking of you tomorrow, sending good thoughts up into the heavens and some semi-articulate prayers towards {Tête de Hergé}."

I couldn't be more blessed.