My Eyes Have Been Pillaged...And That Other Thing

I took my company's vision plan out for a walk today and was pleasantly surprised. I chose an eye doctor based solely on location the other day, using the plan's website. This morning, I drove there in mere minutes. My first surprise: this place was pretty big, and swanky. My next surprise, although it shouldn't have been: this place was playing the same worship-chorus-turned-elevator-music music that I was "allowed" to bring to my missionary stint in Moscow. Between that and the tower of free Bible story pamphlets in the waiting room, I knew that my doctor would be good people. Or at least kindly people.

And I was right. Dr. Walter was a very professional and genial eye doctor, with handshakes and slightly wry, compassionate humor. I'm sure at least two of his assistant girls were homeschooled; all had Modern Baptist Hair (Original Baptist Hair involved ozone-depleting hairspray, so let's be thankful for the MBH). And all the while, "Crown Him With Many Crowns" played in the background with a jaunty, yet mellow step.

For all of this GFC (God, Family, Country) fronting during the exam part of my visit, I was very surprised to see the woman helping me choose frames suggest brands like Calvin Klein and Gucci. In fact, that's all they had. That's the wildest thing about Brandon, FL: they might love Jesus, but his robes better be by Michael Kors. I finally settled on some BCBG (who would've thought?) frames.

If only I didn't have to get the dilation drops put in my eye, the entire visit would've been a luxe experience. As soon as those drops hit my eyes, I started getting nauseous and woozy. The doctor noticed, so after my exam, he asked one of his assistant girls to put the anti-dilation drops in. I thought he was kidding.

Nope. 10 minutes later and I'm driving down the road, black syran wrap under my glasses, feeling like I want to claw my eyes out.

When I got to work, I looked in a mirror. Only an entire weekend of tweaking could possibly make my eyes look this red and bloodshot. Eh, but it wouldn't have come with this nifty pamphlet about Joseph and his rockin' coat.

It Needed a Change of Clothing

In a tiny ode to my favorite one-panel in any media, Exploding Dog, I made an iPod Tattoo with one of my favorite pieces, "I have magic powers". Sigh.



***

And in honor of the act of changing clothes, a little excerpt from Megan and me, circa 1999:

(Walking out of an auditorium, where we've been dressed up for awhile. Megan walks quickly in front of Keith.)

Keith: What are you going to do later?
Megan (noticably pulling at dress as if she's too hot): Change!
Keith: Into what?
(Long pause. She turns around quickly and lunges at Keith.)
Megan: Into an AMPHIBIAN!

***

And scene.

The Kind I Cannot (Accidently) Kill

I love my swaying plastic flower from Japan. Well, it's really from Urban Outfitters, found tossed aside in the clearance rack--Too Happy? Not ironic enough?--and marked at four bucks.

It's doing much, much better than my real plants, neither of which enjoy flourescent lighting and new carpet fumes, despite the filtered water they get to drink. Sigh. If only they were solar powered and plastic...then they'd be happy no matter what.

Repeatable phenomena

My hairstylist, Jason, is really amazing. He seems to take my disheveled, hair-ridden self and turn me into a put-together guy, almost as if I had planned on looking a certain way.

It's strange, however, that in the last 30 seconds of my visits, he turns my lovely haircut into something more suited to a poodle--upswept and untenable. I could never do such things at home. But he must like the visual drama. I've included a picture, but it really doesn't do the "leaning tower of hair" justice.