Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 44
March 3, 2019
February Sucked, and other whinings
Hi, can I complain for a second?
I try to only complain once every few months or so except in my humor columns, where my misfortunes are supposed to be humorous. Nobody likes a complainer. In fact, don't read this. Just stop right there and head on over to some video of cute horses toying with much smaller humans.
Good, now I can write this just for me, which takes a lot of the pressure off. It's a private diary entry that happens to be available to billions of people. Anyway, basically I'm just here because February sucked.
Some people don't like the word "sucked" in this context, seeing it as a naughty word of sorts. I get that; I'm not really a fan of bad language. But in this case I feel I'm justified, because February did suck, and the only other words that might describe it are way worse.
I was sick for all of February, first with a cold and then my annual sinus infection; my wife was sick for only half that time, although with the same thing. (Which, yes, means it was my fault.) In this we were in good company: 90% of all the people in Indiana, and 75% of all the people in the world, also got sick in February. What else is there to do? It's February.
Of course, February sucks every year. It's maybe a little better than January but worse than December, and way worse than March--although March has its moments. I understand these are actually good months if you live in Key West, South Africa, or New Zealand. But New Zealand keeps getting overrun by Hobbits, so there's that.
I think maybe what triggered this is a combination of Seasonal Affected Disorder and Facebook. SAD is only depressing during winter, and is a condition in which sane people feel bad because they recognize how much winter sucks. Facebook is depressing all year round. But this particular February, it seemed like every time I looked at Facebook someone had died, either locally or celebrity-wise.
The celebrity part isn't important, and functions mostly to remind me I'm getting older. But locally, the population of my home town dropped 10% this February.
And then, on the last day of the month, my father's sister and my mother's brother both passed away. It happened in different states, and was completely coincidental. And yet, I couldn't help thinking that it was February's last, parting middle finger of suckiness.
I wanted to touch on that, so I could end on a less negative note. Almost anything is less negative than that.
There were other, little things, too. I tried my best to shatter my foot (yes, I wrote a blog about it--be patient); our book sales, like February, sucked, but from what I've heard the same thing happened to all my writer friends. (I assume book sales would have been bad for non-writers, if they'd had any.) Then there was the weather, which was very February-like.
But now it's March. Meteorological spring, a time of longer days and, hopefully, the first green shoots of a new season. Time to pull ourselves up by our boot straps, which as a firefighter I've literally done, and accentuate the positive.
The positive being that it's not February. Which sucked.
I try to only complain once every few months or so except in my humor columns, where my misfortunes are supposed to be humorous. Nobody likes a complainer. In fact, don't read this. Just stop right there and head on over to some video of cute horses toying with much smaller humans.
Good, now I can write this just for me, which takes a lot of the pressure off. It's a private diary entry that happens to be available to billions of people. Anyway, basically I'm just here because February sucked.
Some people don't like the word "sucked" in this context, seeing it as a naughty word of sorts. I get that; I'm not really a fan of bad language. But in this case I feel I'm justified, because February did suck, and the only other words that might describe it are way worse.
I was sick for all of February, first with a cold and then my annual sinus infection; my wife was sick for only half that time, although with the same thing. (Which, yes, means it was my fault.) In this we were in good company: 90% of all the people in Indiana, and 75% of all the people in the world, also got sick in February. What else is there to do? It's February.
Of course, February sucks every year. It's maybe a little better than January but worse than December, and way worse than March--although March has its moments. I understand these are actually good months if you live in Key West, South Africa, or New Zealand. But New Zealand keeps getting overrun by Hobbits, so there's that.
I think maybe what triggered this is a combination of Seasonal Affected Disorder and Facebook. SAD is only depressing during winter, and is a condition in which sane people feel bad because they recognize how much winter sucks. Facebook is depressing all year round. But this particular February, it seemed like every time I looked at Facebook someone had died, either locally or celebrity-wise.
The celebrity part isn't important, and functions mostly to remind me I'm getting older. But locally, the population of my home town dropped 10% this February.
And then, on the last day of the month, my father's sister and my mother's brother both passed away. It happened in different states, and was completely coincidental. And yet, I couldn't help thinking that it was February's last, parting middle finger of suckiness.
I wanted to touch on that, so I could end on a less negative note. Almost anything is less negative than that.
There were other, little things, too. I tried my best to shatter my foot (yes, I wrote a blog about it--be patient); our book sales, like February, sucked, but from what I've heard the same thing happened to all my writer friends. (I assume book sales would have been bad for non-writers, if they'd had any.) Then there was the weather, which was very February-like.
But now it's March. Meteorological spring, a time of longer days and, hopefully, the first green shoots of a new season. Time to pull ourselves up by our boot straps, which as a firefighter I've literally done, and accentuate the positive.
The positive being that it's not February. Which sucked.
February 24, 2019
Sinus Sickness Sucks, or: Noxious Nose Needs Neti
So I recently got my annual sinus infection, which is kind of like that annoying relative who shows up once a year, gives you a headache, and doesn't seem all that eager to leave, and I'm not talking about you, Uncle Sid.
(I totally am. Don't tell.)
My sinus infections are kind of like Godzilla tromping around in my Tokyo head, causing chaos, completely impervious to over the counter tanks and rockets. Only a Mothra-sized dose of antibiotics can drive it out, and ... well, you Japanese monster movie fans, you get it.
But this time I decided to try something a little different. Since sinus infections can be cause by either bacteria or a virus, I figured there was a good chance antibiotics wouldn't work. Since the antibiotics themselves make me feel crappy, why not just treat myself? It's not quite the same as treating myself to chocolate, but what is?
I used hot compresses, which was nice because it's winter, and something called a neti pot, which is never nice, ever, in any season, under any circumstances. The proper name is sinus irrigation, which sounds so much nicer than it is.
I took extra vitamin C, tried to sleep more and sometimes succeeded, increased my fluid intake, and increased my waking-up-for-fluid-outflow, which seemed to defeat the sleeping thing. There was also the need to humidify the house, which is hard to do during winter. This was accomplished by sending the dog out to do his thing whenever it snowed, which this year has been often, then letting him shake all over the living room. It resulted in a nicely humid house that smelled like wet dog, but luckily I'd lost my sense of smell, so only my wife had to suffer. And she was already suffering, anyway.
The result? Instead of suffering for two weeks and then calling the doctor, I suffered for two months and then called the doctor. I'm nothing if not stubburn, except for when I'm nothing if not stupid.
After an examination my doctor said, "It's like your head is Tokyo, and Godzilla is tromping around in it". She gets me.
So now I'm taking the antibiotics, and they make me feel awful, and pretty much nothing changed from the last fourteen times. As we speak my main goal is to keep a proverbial stiff upper lip and not make everyone else suffer with me.
It turns out allergies are a common contributor to sinus infections, so it seems to be all in my genes. Thanks, Dad. My advice is this: If you get sick, just go to the doctor.
If nothing else, maybe you won't have to use a neti pot as much.
(I totally am. Don't tell.)
My sinus infections are kind of like Godzilla tromping around in my Tokyo head, causing chaos, completely impervious to over the counter tanks and rockets. Only a Mothra-sized dose of antibiotics can drive it out, and ... well, you Japanese monster movie fans, you get it.
But this time I decided to try something a little different. Since sinus infections can be cause by either bacteria or a virus, I figured there was a good chance antibiotics wouldn't work. Since the antibiotics themselves make me feel crappy, why not just treat myself? It's not quite the same as treating myself to chocolate, but what is?
I used hot compresses, which was nice because it's winter, and something called a neti pot, which is never nice, ever, in any season, under any circumstances. The proper name is sinus irrigation, which sounds so much nicer than it is.
I took extra vitamin C, tried to sleep more and sometimes succeeded, increased my fluid intake, and increased my waking-up-for-fluid-outflow, which seemed to defeat the sleeping thing. There was also the need to humidify the house, which is hard to do during winter. This was accomplished by sending the dog out to do his thing whenever it snowed, which this year has been often, then letting him shake all over the living room. It resulted in a nicely humid house that smelled like wet dog, but luckily I'd lost my sense of smell, so only my wife had to suffer. And she was already suffering, anyway.
The result? Instead of suffering for two weeks and then calling the doctor, I suffered for two months and then called the doctor. I'm nothing if not stubburn, except for when I'm nothing if not stupid.
After an examination my doctor said, "It's like your head is Tokyo, and Godzilla is tromping around in it". She gets me.
So now I'm taking the antibiotics, and they make me feel awful, and pretty much nothing changed from the last fourteen times. As we speak my main goal is to keep a proverbial stiff upper lip and not make everyone else suffer with me.
It turns out allergies are a common contributor to sinus infections, so it seems to be all in my genes. Thanks, Dad. My advice is this: If you get sick, just go to the doctor.
If nothing else, maybe you won't have to use a neti pot as much.
February 19, 2019
Is it long winded, or long typed?
You know that photo book about the Albion Fire Department, and how it was going to be easy for me because there wouldn't be many words in it?
Well, I just finished the framing document for it. I wrote 12,000 words. It's possible I need to ponder the term "long winded".
When it comes to writing non-fiction, "easy" has never really worked out well for me.
Well, I just finished the framing document for it. I wrote 12,000 words. It's possible I need to ponder the term "long winded".
When it comes to writing non-fiction, "easy" has never really worked out well for me.
February 13, 2019
Valentine's Day, or: Epic Fail
Unfortunately for me, Valentine’s Day comes during a time of year in which I don’t do well. I’ve said before that the only good thing about February is that it isn’t January, but let’s face it: they’re not all that different.
The best way to describe most men on this dedicated-to-love holiday is: epic fail. This is two steps beyond complete fail, which is itself three steps below just fail. As a result, any store that’s open the morning of Valentine’s Day is sure to see an influx of desperate, rather dazed looking men, searching for flowers or chocolate. If they can’t find a place open with Valentine chocolate, there’s always the corner convenience store.
“Let’s see … what’s more romantic, Baby Ruth or Milky Way? Say, do you have any wrapping paper here? No? I’ll just use the real estate listings, they’re a little colorful.”
My wife is not a fan of flowers, and is allergic to milk chocolate. She also doesn’t like to go out to eat, citing the expense and the crowds on a holiday. At first glance that seems like a great thing. But it takes away all the emergency “I’m in trouble” backups.
Now, you may be thinking, “But Mark, what does she get you for Valentine’s Day?”
If you’re thinking that, you’re a man.
Valentine’s Day, like weddings, is for the woman. The man’s job is to show up, look fairly nice, and make her the center of the day. With weddings men can usually focus just well enough to handle that for a day, having been around the planning stuff for months beforehand. With Valentine’s Day, the word “planning” puts them on life support.
I love my wife. I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t love her. The idea of marriage for convenience ignores the fact that making a successful marriage isn’t convenient at all. And yet, as each holiday approaches, I utterly freeze up. I stink at shopping. I stink at picking out cards. And—this coming from a man who actually writes romantic comedies—I stink at being romantic.
The fact that most men have the same affliction is in no way an excuse.
At least, that’s what I assume my wife would say, if I was dumb enough to ask her.
My conclusion—and guys, you can all benefit from my hard-won wisdom—is this:
Being a man is no excuse. Suck it up, fellas. If, like me, you can’t seem to function during winter, try this: Go out in the summer and buy a bunch of generic presents. It’s your job to find out what your wife likes, I can’t help you with that. Figure it out, buy a bunch of them, and hide them away somewhere. When you hit that inevitable panic point—and you will—and realize the holiday happens to fall on a Sunday and there’s no store close enough for you to sneak out to, don’t gift her a zippo lighter from the Sunoco station. No, break into your horde of presents, and—surprise!—you’re a hero.
That’s what I’m going to do. Next year. This year, wish me luck.
"Yes, I promise to try to remember ... what was I supposed to remember?"
The best way to describe most men on this dedicated-to-love holiday is: epic fail. This is two steps beyond complete fail, which is itself three steps below just fail. As a result, any store that’s open the morning of Valentine’s Day is sure to see an influx of desperate, rather dazed looking men, searching for flowers or chocolate. If they can’t find a place open with Valentine chocolate, there’s always the corner convenience store.
“Let’s see … what’s more romantic, Baby Ruth or Milky Way? Say, do you have any wrapping paper here? No? I’ll just use the real estate listings, they’re a little colorful.”
My wife is not a fan of flowers, and is allergic to milk chocolate. She also doesn’t like to go out to eat, citing the expense and the crowds on a holiday. At first glance that seems like a great thing. But it takes away all the emergency “I’m in trouble” backups.
Now, you may be thinking, “But Mark, what does she get you for Valentine’s Day?”
If you’re thinking that, you’re a man.
Valentine’s Day, like weddings, is for the woman. The man’s job is to show up, look fairly nice, and make her the center of the day. With weddings men can usually focus just well enough to handle that for a day, having been around the planning stuff for months beforehand. With Valentine’s Day, the word “planning” puts them on life support.
I love my wife. I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t love her. The idea of marriage for convenience ignores the fact that making a successful marriage isn’t convenient at all. And yet, as each holiday approaches, I utterly freeze up. I stink at shopping. I stink at picking out cards. And—this coming from a man who actually writes romantic comedies—I stink at being romantic.
The fact that most men have the same affliction is in no way an excuse.
At least, that’s what I assume my wife would say, if I was dumb enough to ask her.
My conclusion—and guys, you can all benefit from my hard-won wisdom—is this:
Being a man is no excuse. Suck it up, fellas. If, like me, you can’t seem to function during winter, try this: Go out in the summer and buy a bunch of generic presents. It’s your job to find out what your wife likes, I can’t help you with that. Figure it out, buy a bunch of them, and hide them away somewhere. When you hit that inevitable panic point—and you will—and realize the holiday happens to fall on a Sunday and there’s no store close enough for you to sneak out to, don’t gift her a zippo lighter from the Sunoco station. No, break into your horde of presents, and—surprise!—you’re a hero.
That’s what I’m going to do. Next year. This year, wish me luck.
"Yes, I promise to try to remember ... what was I supposed to remember?"
February 10, 2019
Book Review: Odd Thomas, By Dean Koontz
Odd Thomas sees dead people. Walking around like regular people. They only see what they want to see. They don't know they're dead.
Wait, I thought the kid's name was Cole. The Sixth Sense, right?
But no, this is a novel by Dean Koontz, and also a great example of how there are no new ideas: Just new, unique, and fun ways of examining old ones. Odd Thomas does indeed see dead people, but that's one of the more normal aspects of Odd, and of Koontz's amazing novel.
My adventure came when my wife brought home a stack of used Koontz novels. I've seldom read his books, and had no real opinion about them, one way or another. The first I liked; the second I didn't much care for. Then came Odd Thomas, which kept me enraptured in a "do I really need to sleep? Do I have sick days available at work?" kind of way.
I was late to the party: There are six Odd Thomas books and a movie version of this one, dating back fifteen years. To demonstrate whether I liked it: I've already finished the first sequel, Forever Odd.
In the best "strange characters in a small town" fashion, Odd is surrounded by the unique occupants of Pico Mundo, California. Koontz's idea of a small town is a population of forty thousand, which really small town people like me regard with amusement, but never mind. Also in the best entertainment fashion, Pico Mundo seems to have a very high percentage of murders and other violence--where's Jessica Fletcher when you need her? As the story opens Odd encounters a little girl, who seems perfectly normal except that she can't speak.
In Odd's world, the dead don't talk. By the end of the first chapter he's used his psychic powers to identify the girl's killer, and the chase is on.
Despite his talents Odd is a short order cook. Because of his powers, really, because he's an unusually aware twenty-year old and knows that without order and routine, his ability would overwhelm him. He's madly in love with his childhood sweetheart, Stormy Llewellyn, he's the helpful sort you'd dream of having as a neighbor, and he's known around town as a great--but strange--young man. Only a few people, including the Police Chief, know of his psychic talents.
But in the course of one day his life is disrupted even beyond his own experiences. Odd finds himself chasing after a suspicious newcomer, and it leads him to supernatural madness, murder, and the knowledge that in less than a day something horrible is going to happen to the town he reluctantly protects.
I just realized how impossible it is to actually describe Odd Thomas. You have to experience it. To a large extent it's all about the style, in a book written as an after-the-fact account by Odd himself.
Odd Thomas is a weird and wonderful mix of action, thriller, and humor, the kind of well-crafted work that reminds one of Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman. It makes fiction writers like me insanely jealous. It's the kind of book that only established writers can get away with, especially when Koontz fills in backstory by having Odd just tell you what the backstory is. Yeah, he gets away with it, and also with that kind of colorful description that's gone away a little too much in today's literature. But what he gets away with is awe-inspiring.
No, I have no idea if the movie is any good ... but I'll probably watch it, anyway.
Wait, I thought the kid's name was Cole. The Sixth Sense, right?
But no, this is a novel by Dean Koontz, and also a great example of how there are no new ideas: Just new, unique, and fun ways of examining old ones. Odd Thomas does indeed see dead people, but that's one of the more normal aspects of Odd, and of Koontz's amazing novel.
My adventure came when my wife brought home a stack of used Koontz novels. I've seldom read his books, and had no real opinion about them, one way or another. The first I liked; the second I didn't much care for. Then came Odd Thomas, which kept me enraptured in a "do I really need to sleep? Do I have sick days available at work?" kind of way.
I was late to the party: There are six Odd Thomas books and a movie version of this one, dating back fifteen years. To demonstrate whether I liked it: I've already finished the first sequel, Forever Odd.
In the best "strange characters in a small town" fashion, Odd is surrounded by the unique occupants of Pico Mundo, California. Koontz's idea of a small town is a population of forty thousand, which really small town people like me regard with amusement, but never mind. Also in the best entertainment fashion, Pico Mundo seems to have a very high percentage of murders and other violence--where's Jessica Fletcher when you need her? As the story opens Odd encounters a little girl, who seems perfectly normal except that she can't speak.
In Odd's world, the dead don't talk. By the end of the first chapter he's used his psychic powers to identify the girl's killer, and the chase is on.
Despite his talents Odd is a short order cook. Because of his powers, really, because he's an unusually aware twenty-year old and knows that without order and routine, his ability would overwhelm him. He's madly in love with his childhood sweetheart, Stormy Llewellyn, he's the helpful sort you'd dream of having as a neighbor, and he's known around town as a great--but strange--young man. Only a few people, including the Police Chief, know of his psychic talents.
But in the course of one day his life is disrupted even beyond his own experiences. Odd finds himself chasing after a suspicious newcomer, and it leads him to supernatural madness, murder, and the knowledge that in less than a day something horrible is going to happen to the town he reluctantly protects.
I just realized how impossible it is to actually describe Odd Thomas. You have to experience it. To a large extent it's all about the style, in a book written as an after-the-fact account by Odd himself.
Odd Thomas is a weird and wonderful mix of action, thriller, and humor, the kind of well-crafted work that reminds one of Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman. It makes fiction writers like me insanely jealous. It's the kind of book that only established writers can get away with, especially when Koontz fills in backstory by having Odd just tell you what the backstory is. Yeah, he gets away with it, and also with that kind of colorful description that's gone away a little too much in today's literature. But what he gets away with is awe-inspiring.
No, I have no idea if the movie is any good ... but I'll probably watch it, anyway.
February 6, 2019
My Funny Valentine
Let me run this scenario past you. Your significant other says, "You never use your imagination when you get me gifts!"
So Instead of flowers or chocolate, this year you give her flower-shaped chocolate.
Let me know how sleeping on the couch works out.
Or, you can get them a book about Valentine's Day! Now that I think about it, maybe you should have it delivered with flowers ... just in case.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/193...
A bunch of us got together a few years ago to write this humor anthology, and it could save your romantic life ... unless you got a copy last year, too. In that case--unless you have a different significant other--you might want to consider lingerie. Or, um ... chocolate flavored lingerie in a flower print.
Or you could gift them one of my romantic comedy novels. But a book that actually has a Valentine on the cover is pretty appropriate.
So Instead of flowers or chocolate, this year you give her flower-shaped chocolate.
Let me know how sleeping on the couch works out.
Or, you can get them a book about Valentine's Day! Now that I think about it, maybe you should have it delivered with flowers ... just in case.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/193...
A bunch of us got together a few years ago to write this humor anthology, and it could save your romantic life ... unless you got a copy last year, too. In that case--unless you have a different significant other--you might want to consider lingerie. Or, um ... chocolate flavored lingerie in a flower print.
Or you could gift them one of my romantic comedy novels. But a book that actually has a Valentine on the cover is pretty appropriate.
February 4, 2019
Website updates, and print books available!
Emily has updated the website and yes, Coming Attractions is up and ready to order in both print and e-book versions. Check it out and read a sample here:
http://markrhunter.com/
(You know, after all this time I still have trouble getting used to the idea of a website with my name on it.)
She sent in a print order, and there's a form you can use on the website to order one straight from us, signed or unsigned. ('Cause do you really want graffiti in your brand new book?) And hey, just let us know if you want her to sign it! You can pay with PayPal, or a credit card, or a debit card ... but my scheme to take payment in large blocks of milk chocolate didn't work out.
Of course, you could just knock on the front door and ask for a copy, when they arrive in a week or so--but I'd suggest calling ahead, so the dog doesn't get too upset.
Don't forget to review! Authors survive on three things: Sales, reviews, and caffeine. One can build on the others.
As I've mentioned before, here's the post that mentions all the places you can order Coming Attractions and most of our other books:
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2018...
And remember: Every time you buy a book, the winter gets just a bit warmer. Help us out of the snowdrifts.
http://markrhunter.com/
(You know, after all this time I still have trouble getting used to the idea of a website with my name on it.)
She sent in a print order, and there's a form you can use on the website to order one straight from us, signed or unsigned. ('Cause do you really want graffiti in your brand new book?) And hey, just let us know if you want her to sign it! You can pay with PayPal, or a credit card, or a debit card ... but my scheme to take payment in large blocks of milk chocolate didn't work out.
Of course, you could just knock on the front door and ask for a copy, when they arrive in a week or so--but I'd suggest calling ahead, so the dog doesn't get too upset.
Don't forget to review! Authors survive on three things: Sales, reviews, and caffeine. One can build on the others.
As I've mentioned before, here's the post that mentions all the places you can order Coming Attractions and most of our other books:
https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2018...
And remember: Every time you buy a book, the winter gets just a bit warmer. Help us out of the snowdrifts.
February 1, 2019
Whining About Cold Injuries, Or: Why I laid on the couch for three days
Hey, can I whine, for just a second?
Usually when I write about some problem I'm going through, I try to do it with humor. I figure, why bring people down? Better to leave them with a laugh, or a smile, even if they're smiling at your misfortune--better to make life a wee bit better.
Especially now, when, honestly, it got so bad last week. We had a young police officer and his wife killed in a car crash, several bad fires in the region, and general misery for just about everyone, thanks to weather conditions so bad polar bears have been checking local real estate prices.
And that last is partially why I decided to whine. (The cold, not the polar bears.) I want to do a little public service announcement, which I'm naming after a guy I saw the other day wearing shorts. It was snowing, and three degrees. I call my PSA "If you freeze because of doing something stupid, it's stupid".
The title's a work in progress.
When I was about sixteen or so, I went out with a group of kids to play in the snow. Even back then I hated cold; but I had a lousy home life, so maybe I just wanted to get out of the house for awhile. As I recall I had a nice coat, but otherwise it was jeans and maybe some light gloves that quickly got saturated from all that snow-playing.
The thawing out process was excruciating.
So here's my first PSA: Frostbite often sneaks up on you, especially if you're sledding or, say, throwing snowballs at other sledders. And here's my second: The damage can be permanent. (Thinking back on it now, I also had a nice case of hypothermia going on.)
Afterward, once the temperature dropped below forty-five or so I had to wear gloves, or keep my hands in my pockets. Once it got down into the teens it was hard for me to use my hands even with gloves on, and I had the same problem with my toes. My cheeks and ears would burn, and any kind of breeze would give me an earache. Whether that was connected to my sinuses' sensitivity to weather changes, I couldn't say. Basically this body was meant for the desert, as a desert rat writer friend of mine often points out.
What the heck. I got used to it. Or at least, I got used to bundling up.
But wait--it gets better.
As last week's cold snap arrived, my hands and feet stiffened, hurt, and even burned a little. My ears and cheeks got sore. Inside the house ... with the heat on. That pain and increasing sinus pressure sent me into a headache that lasted three days and devolved into one of my few migraines. The good news is that I was on days off (I hate using sick days), and didn't have to go anywhere; the bad news is that I missed some fire calls, and in minus teens temperatures they could have used the help.
Yes, I know I wouldn't have lasted long in those temperatures, but who can?
Okay, enough whining, here's my point: Frostbite damage can not only be lifelong, it can get worse with age. Guess whose hands tingle and burn (and sweat, which I recently learned was a thing after frostbite)? Guess who gets that pain sooner and faster? Guess who has signs of arthritis that might be connected?
No, stop guessing, it's me. Pay attention.
So my PSA: Protect yourself. Learn how to prevent all those things that begin with "frost". Because even if you don't lose body parts (or die), you could be in for long term, and very annoying, problems.
Also, my wife wants you to yell at me if you see me outside without a hat and gloves on. She didn't say anything about pants, but maybe that's a given.
Usually when I write about some problem I'm going through, I try to do it with humor. I figure, why bring people down? Better to leave them with a laugh, or a smile, even if they're smiling at your misfortune--better to make life a wee bit better.
Especially now, when, honestly, it got so bad last week. We had a young police officer and his wife killed in a car crash, several bad fires in the region, and general misery for just about everyone, thanks to weather conditions so bad polar bears have been checking local real estate prices.
And that last is partially why I decided to whine. (The cold, not the polar bears.) I want to do a little public service announcement, which I'm naming after a guy I saw the other day wearing shorts. It was snowing, and three degrees. I call my PSA "If you freeze because of doing something stupid, it's stupid".
The title's a work in progress.
When I was about sixteen or so, I went out with a group of kids to play in the snow. Even back then I hated cold; but I had a lousy home life, so maybe I just wanted to get out of the house for awhile. As I recall I had a nice coat, but otherwise it was jeans and maybe some light gloves that quickly got saturated from all that snow-playing.
The thawing out process was excruciating.
So here's my first PSA: Frostbite often sneaks up on you, especially if you're sledding or, say, throwing snowballs at other sledders. And here's my second: The damage can be permanent. (Thinking back on it now, I also had a nice case of hypothermia going on.)
Afterward, once the temperature dropped below forty-five or so I had to wear gloves, or keep my hands in my pockets. Once it got down into the teens it was hard for me to use my hands even with gloves on, and I had the same problem with my toes. My cheeks and ears would burn, and any kind of breeze would give me an earache. Whether that was connected to my sinuses' sensitivity to weather changes, I couldn't say. Basically this body was meant for the desert, as a desert rat writer friend of mine often points out.
What the heck. I got used to it. Or at least, I got used to bundling up.
But wait--it gets better.
As last week's cold snap arrived, my hands and feet stiffened, hurt, and even burned a little. My ears and cheeks got sore. Inside the house ... with the heat on. That pain and increasing sinus pressure sent me into a headache that lasted three days and devolved into one of my few migraines. The good news is that I was on days off (I hate using sick days), and didn't have to go anywhere; the bad news is that I missed some fire calls, and in minus teens temperatures they could have used the help.
Yes, I know I wouldn't have lasted long in those temperatures, but who can?
Okay, enough whining, here's my point: Frostbite damage can not only be lifelong, it can get worse with age. Guess whose hands tingle and burn (and sweat, which I recently learned was a thing after frostbite)? Guess who gets that pain sooner and faster? Guess who has signs of arthritis that might be connected?
No, stop guessing, it's me. Pay attention.
So my PSA: Protect yourself. Learn how to prevent all those things that begin with "frost". Because even if you don't lose body parts (or die), you could be in for long term, and very annoying, problems.
Also, my wife wants you to yell at me if you see me outside without a hat and gloves on. She didn't say anything about pants, but maybe that's a given.
January 27, 2019
Ambient Snow Noise
At my chiropractor's the other day (her office, not her home), she was playing one of those ambient noise CDs that's supposed to relax you. At the time she was pushing my spine into my sternum, so you can debate how effective it was; all I heard was the sound of my own screaming.
Still, it got me thinking. I've heard ambient noise soundtracks of babbling brooks, sea shores, gentle rain, birds chirping, distant thunder, and I've just now realized how very loud nature can be.
Basically you can get ambient noise from any season ... except winter.
Why don't they have any winter soundtracks?
Howling wind, scraping snow plows. The sound of cars skidding off the road. The noise of snowblowers, bodies falling, people cursing. Surely people would pay to hear something like that, if only in the middle of July.
I think I've just hit on a new idea. Maybe I should start wearing a body mic ... I can put the recording on disks, and I'll be rich.
Or at least make enough money to pay the chiropractor.
Still, it got me thinking. I've heard ambient noise soundtracks of babbling brooks, sea shores, gentle rain, birds chirping, distant thunder, and I've just now realized how very loud nature can be.
Basically you can get ambient noise from any season ... except winter.
Why don't they have any winter soundtracks?
Howling wind, scraping snow plows. The sound of cars skidding off the road. The noise of snowblowers, bodies falling, people cursing. Surely people would pay to hear something like that, if only in the middle of July.
I think I've just hit on a new idea. Maybe I should start wearing a body mic ... I can put the recording on disks, and I'll be rich.
Or at least make enough money to pay the chiropractor.
January 24, 2019
Our Newspaper Feature Is Live!
I sent out a press release about seeking photos for our new book--and ended up on the front page of the Living Section in the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette:
http://www.journalgazette.net/feature...
The funny thing is, after an interview with J-G author Blake Sebring, the article ended up not being about that specific project at all! Instead, he did a general profile of Emily and me, and our writing careers. Thanks to Blake, who did a great job.
The only thing I'd add is that our contact information didn't end up in the article. Emily just finished updating our website, which now includes order information for the newest novel, Coming Attractions:
http://www.markrhunter.com/
All our books can be ordered from our book page there, or look us up at all the usual places, including amazon at
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
http://www.journalgazette.net/feature...
The funny thing is, after an interview with J-G author Blake Sebring, the article ended up not being about that specific project at all! Instead, he did a general profile of Emily and me, and our writing careers. Thanks to Blake, who did a great job.
The only thing I'd add is that our contact information didn't end up in the article. Emily just finished updating our website, which now includes order information for the newest novel, Coming Attractions:
http://www.markrhunter.com/
All our books can be ordered from our book page there, or look us up at all the usual places, including amazon at
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
