It's just my job.

I am a lancing device. My job is to wound.

You probably shouldn't know my name, but I'll tell you anyway: it's Vlad. They tell me I was named after Vlad the Impaler, thought to be the historical inspiration behind the Dracula legend. They tell me that's supposed to be funny -- I wouldn't know. I don't have a sense of humor. In my job, I don't need a sense of humor.

My job, as I said, is to wound. The purpose of the wound is to produce a drop of blood for a glucose test. They tell me I help this guy stay healthy, but I don't care whether he's healthy or not. Either way, the pay's the same.

Most of the time, they tell me, I don't hurt this guy much. Other times, he hurts like blue blazes. Whatever it is, it doesn't hurt me. I don't have a conscience. In my job, I don't need a conscience.

It's a living.

Rock On

IMAG0023
Originally uploaded by rpederse_

Not that the folks at Blünt Lancet are short of hard-rocking ideas, but something like this image might make a good album cover. Not this exact image, of course: the hand should have a spiked leather bracelet. And be hairy. VERY hairy.

I've Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts....

I wanted to try a recipe Tuesday night that called for fresh coconut. (It was a miserable failure. Rookie mistakes.) The recipe thought I'd need two or three for the amount of coconut meat needed, so I bought four out of paranoia -- and needed less than one.

This is a picture of the three survivors, doubtless hoping that their post-dismemberment fate won't be an immediate trip to my kitchen trash.

Thanks, by the way, to my friend FatCatAnna for sending me the link to this great (and relevant) video, from which I took the title of this post.)

Diabetes Limericks

I wrote the below as relief from having written several rather earnest posts. I hope none of the below crosses the line from funny to offensive for you, and hope that you'll forgive me if they do.

My doctor had offered me kudos
On maintaining an excellent glucose
But I blew it away
On the way home that day
That sweet shop was entirely too close!

A 'betic in old Narragansett
Who hated to swap out her lancet,
Said, "I know that it's strange,
But it's annoying to change,
So I guess that I'll just have to chance it!"

My pharmacist showed an example
Of a test strip that took a small sample
"You don't need a quart,
I'm pleased to report,
A teensy bit ought to be ample!"

Games Pedersens Play

I spend a fair amount of time playing computer games. Whether you would consider me a "gamer" or not depends on your definition of that term. If you're passionate about that definition, I probably don't fit.

The games I choose are based on the following things I've learned about myself:
* I play for entertainment. I enjoy a challenge, but too much challenge means frustration. When I want a huge challenge, I do one of my cranium-crushing crosswords.
* I have very little manual dexterity and a lousy reaction time. So I have no realistic chance of being successful enough at an action game to enjoy it. So, while I've never TRIED "Modern Warfare", I just can't imagine having the fun others do.

(This would be me playing a combat game: *start* *SPLAT* *restart* *SPLAT* *restart* *SPLAT!* "Gee, I wonder what I've got on my DVR?")

Taken together, these factors put me at home with what are called "casual" games. These games are designed to be easy to learn, so that you don't need an hour with an instruction manual to get started. They're typically limited in length as well - I can finish most of the games I play in an evening.

The games I enjoy most are "hidden object" and casual adventure games. In a hidden object game, the player is presented with a cluttered scene and given a list of objects to be found in that scene. In the older games of this genre, that's pretty much the whole gameplay, and the stuff you looked for was often silly, like hotdogs. In the last few years, however, this genre has been sort of morphing into adventure games of sorts: some of the objects you find are used to solve problems that move you towards some objective. If the plot isn't TOO absurd, that's enough for me.

So, I'm not up to taking on dragons or virtually defending our nation from zombies, or terrorists, or even zombie terrorists. But I have a great time with what I do play!

It's official!

It's hardly a unique experience, and others have written about it. But it's the first time it's happened to me, so I'm gonna write about it.

When I cleared out my mailbox tonight, I saw the envelope and knew immediately what it was and what it meant.

The letter was from the AARP, formerly known as the American Association of Retired Persons.

It was an invitation to join.

I'm officially old.

This does not traumatize me: the evidence has been mounting for some time. But I turned fifty a few weeks ago, and so my name popped up on some AARP computer, and the letter got sent.

I may well join. I think it's a good organization, and the magazine is pretty good.

Get off my lawn.

Intermission

"Gee, Dad, this blogger has sure been serious lately"
"Yes, son, he has."
"He's not usually this stuffy for this long!"
"Well, you see, son, his friends in the Diabetes Online Community have given him some great post, and they've all been things he feels strongly about. He's writing deliberately because he really wants readers to understand, whether they agree or not."
"I guess. But the posts have been so LONG!"
"Well, he's got a short one in mind for tomorrow, a D-Feast Friday post. And he's hoping to inject some humor over the weekend."
"He's going to do a dfeast post? Last week he wrote about cooking beans, and he ruined a whole batch the other day!"
"Well, son, he just didn't know that the citrus just in the cooking liquid would keep the beans from softening."
"I think he's softening in the head, Dad!"
"Shh, son, that's just not nice."

My Eyebrows: A Chronological Outline

1960 -- I, and my eyebrows, are born.  Hordes of researchers have failed to produce any contemporary notice of my eyebrows whatsoever.  We must then assume that they differed in no way from the eyebrows one would expect on an infant that resembled Winston Churchill.

1960-1995 -- My eyebrows show no expansionist tendencies.  They lie waiting.  And plotting.

1995 -- I mention to my sister that I am on my way to get my haircut. She suggests I ask to have my eyebrows trimmed.  I shrug it off, deeming it ridiculous.  When I arrive for my haircut, I am asked if I would like my eyebrows trimmed.

2000 -- I begin trimming my own hair, doing so roughly monthly.  I trim my eyebrows first occasionally, then about every other time, then almost every time.

2010 -- Circa May 9 of this year, it becomes clear to me that my eyebrows require trimming, although my hair does not.

Where is this going?  Are my eyebrows in on Siah Sausage's plot for world domination?  I have fear.