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2003-01-08 - 9:33 p.m. Cast away This, this is a job I want. Fear No Ice is the performance ice sculpture group, comprised of Scott Rella, Kevin Roscoe and Peter Slavin. These former professional chefs wield smoking chainsaws, entertaining audiences by carving ice sculptures to rock music. They blast through a ton of ice about every 15 minutes. (And I thought I wanted a second career being paid to make up ridiculous names for paint like �pearly gates� and �azure lagoon�.) How cool is that? Cool. See, the little ice joke? (Silence. Chirp.) Okay, okay, it was a very little joke. I ache all over. Walking is a new sort of work these days. What happened to your tendonitis, Theo? Why, I'm glad you asked... Mid-December, I eagerly went to my orthopedic surgeon. Virtuous, had I been, clumping around in the cast for weeks. I could taste freedom. It hurt a lot less. Just the formality of a checkup and I could go back to wearing cool boots and something besides the five pairs of pants that fit over the cast. Or not. Swelling down's quite a bit. That's good. I didn't think it would work. I blink. Huh? I didn't think you could avoid surgery. Apparently, what doctor didn't mention he wasn't sure the cast/drugs thing would work, but didn't bother to tell me. Why worry me in case it did work? And he was right. So I can stop wearing the cast? To be honest, you really should wear it six weeks but I'll let you out after you get orthodics I look at him pleadingly But is it really necessary? Christmas in a cast? I know I'm whining Yes, yes you are. But I can�t make you wear it. You could choose to take it off. You could choose surgery. As he's saying this, I can hear Dame Anne's voice in my head, You could make that choice� Wince. So, I wore the damn cast, because he was right and I was being childish. And now I have these strange insoles shaped to give my feet an arch for the first time in their sad, flat little lives. But I walk differently, which makes all those subtle little muscles ache all. Guess the treadmill will stay off just a little bit longer. But this too shall pass. The cable is working again. (Warning. Boring cable story. Warning. Read at your own risk of boredom.) With my own brand of what Roland calls 'verbal abuse', I explained to Comcast that (a) I understood what a kilohertz was and wanted their technicians to explain to me *exactly* what had been done because they seem incapable of tracking their own records. (b) if they said 'Unfortunately, ma'am, that's not my area' one more time I would start screaming into the phone. (c) I was not staying home for work again cause, by God, it was not my equipment (d)Someone better call me back rather than forcing me to wade through level 1 tech support over and over - after being hung up on twice and only receiving one of four promised return calls, it was their problem to get in touch with me. (e) No, I was *not* waiting three days for another service call - they'd failed to fix it on try 1 and 2 and I would have priority. It was not a succinct process. 2.5 hours on the phone with Comcast last night. But today, my cable TV is working; my cable modem is working; I've had three progress phone calls from a technician and I have his cell number. Pathetic that I had to become extremely nasty to get them to do their job. I have the executive vice president's phone number. I intend to call him tomorrow. And, yes, at least one Comcast rep made the mistake of making the 'rocket scientist' joke. Okay, cross your fingers that that is the end of the boring cable saga. Thanks for everyone's guestbook congrats. Warm and fuzzy sort of thing. Except, I am now alarmed that Byram is his Marg. My Marg once chased down the thieves that stole her mini-van. Bastard drove past her in her stolen vehicle - when the cops had failed to accomplish anything with their investigation. She whipped around her car, dialed the police on her cell and went on a wild chase while yelling directions at dispatch. Marg rocks. I don't think I should introduce her to Byram. � � Scribble to Theo previous - next �