Playing Doctor: The Miggy Mess

© David Hartman

     Jeff Passan, I'm calling you out.

     Baseball's annual spring training has barely begun, and one of its biggest stars already is making headlines.
     Off the field. For all the wrong reasons.
     Detroit Tigers slugger Miguel Cabrera was arrested in Florida after a cop investigated a car with a smoking engine parked on the side of the road. Inside that car was Cabrera, allegedly legally drunk times three. So excited to see the officer was Cabrera that he toasted Florida's finest with a swig from his open bottle of scotch.
     It's the second time Cabrera has been arrested for doing stupid things while intoxicated. So we all know he's an alcoholic. Don't we?
     Passan thinks so, as do ESPN colleague Jayson Stark and a whole host of others in the "journalism" business who have weighed in on the Miggy Mess since the story broke last week.
Passan's column was particularly offensive. Of Cabrera: "He still refuses to admit that he is an alcoholic. He hid behind medical privilege rather than answer legitimate questions, such as why doctors recommended he rejoin the booze-soaked baseball life today rather than check in to a rehabilitation center."
     The primary target of Passan's righteous indignation is Cabrera's employer, the Detroit Tigers, who Passan believes are turning a blind eye to Cabrera's Passan-diagnosed alcoholism. To suggest the Tigers aren't taking Cabrera's situation seriously -- they have millions of dollars invested in the guy and his ability to perform -- is even sillier than Passan practicing medicine and psychiatry with a journalism degree.
     Is Cabrera an alcoholic? I don't know. I do know that alcoholism is a disease. It has a clinical diagnosis, one made by doctors. But it's diagnosed by real doctors, not the legions of cyberdoctors who line up to take their shots every time someone famous falls down.
     Passan and others tell you Cabrera is in denial. He can't get help until he admits he's an alcoholic, they say.
     If Cabrera is an alcoholic, then what the critics say is correct. But if he isn't? Why should he admit he's something he's not simply because Jeff Passan demands it?
     But....but....but....it's not his first offense! True. Just explain to me how that makes Cabrera any different from literally tens of thousands of frat boys (and girls) who get sloshed on Saturday and do stupid things with stolen farm animals, only to repeat the process the following weekend? Are some of the frat boys alcoholics? Surely. But for every one of them you show me who battles the disease after college and does the twelve-step tango to survive one day to the next, I'll show you five others who don't. They graduate, get real jobs, have real lives and leave the frat lifestyle behind. Simply, they grow up. And they're evidence that while doing stupid things in a drunken stupor might mean you have a disease, it doesn't necessarily mean you have a disease.
     The mitigating circumstance here is that save the sheep, no one really gives a rip about the frat boys. But Cabrera makes obscene amounts of money playing games on national television while the rest of us install microwave ovens and move color TVs for a buck, so he's fair game for vultures like Passan.
     I know these attacks are commentary, not objectivity. Still, Passan might learn a thing or two from his own writing: "...doctors recommended he rejoin the booze-soaked baseball life today rather than check in to a rehabilitation center..." Really? The experts -- real doctors -- who were charged with examining his situation decided it was better for Miggy to play ball rather than enter inpatient rehab?
     Maybe, Jeff, that's an intentional, telling gap in the HIPAA-curtained window into the expert diagnosis of Cabrera's problem. I know that's not what you want to hear. I know that doesn't sell as many web hits. But for Cabrera's sake, let's hope it's true.
     Play ball.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Okay, so after a five-year hiatus from blogging, I'm gonna give it another shot. Yes, I've said that before. Yes, I really mean it this time. For now, the shell of the blog is available -- as you can see -- or else you wouldn't be here. It'll be tweaked, refined, etc., in the coming days.

Soon I'll try to post something fresh and compelling. Or at least fresh. Until then, I'll whet your appetite with a handful of entries from my previous blog existence, which you'll find under "Moldy Oldies." The Condiments section is a list of blogs I (sometimes) read and (usually) like, or just sites I regularly visit on the web. It too will expand when I have time to collect the links.

Come back soon.

Vera Values

(Originally published August 25, 2005 in wysiwyg. Reprinted with permission from the guy in the mugshot.)


I never met Vera Mae Eversole. And I'm poorer for it, because her life is an inspiration to me.

Vera Mae lived most of her life in Alva, a somewhat remote city in northern Oklahoma that we sometimes jokingly refer to as Alvatraz. She taught high school math in a school across the Kansas border and lived a quiet, modest and uneventful life.

Those who knew Vera Mae say she never owned a car newer than 10 years old, and didn't drive far in the ones she did own. She rarely bought new clothes for herself, spent a big chunk of her adult life caring for her aging mother and sick brother until they died, and had a soft spot in her heart for stray dogs and cats, often to the irritation of her neighbors. Her "extravagance" in life was regular trips to the hairdresser.

Vera Mae was an avid gardener and a longtime member of the First United Methodist Church in Alva, where she sang in the choir. She was engaged once, but never married. By all accounts, Vera Mae Eversole loved and was loved.

Because of the outward appearance of her life, when Vera Mae Eversole died in 2003 at the age of 85, it would be easy to assume that she would live on only in the memories of those who knew and loved her — not through the things she couldn't take with her. So the Oklahoma City-based Oklahoma Medical Research Foundation — who had never heard of Vera Mae Eversole — and the Oklahoma United Methodist Foundation were surprised to discover they had been remembered as joint beneficiaries of her estate.

An estate valued at about $3 million, including property, mineral rights and other assets.

I'm inspired by Vera Mae not for what she could teach me about saving, investing or living the frugal life, though I'm sure she could teach me a thing or twenty there. I'm inspired by her life, which was undeniably rich even without the bells and whistles she chose not to collect along the way.

I'm a gadget man. If it lights up, makes noise or has an insatiable appetite for batteries, I'm all over it. Yet none of them bring me true happiness or lead me closer to where I ultimately want to be.

...

"Then Jesus said to his disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.'"

"Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

Being Richard Nixon

(Originally published August 25, 2005 in wysiwyg. Reprinted with permission from the guy in the mugshot.)


"I am NOT a crook!"

I was a mere lad of eight when President Richard Nixon uttered the famous phrase to reporters in 1973 while denying his involvement in the Watergate scandal. As presidential soundbites go, that one ranks right up there with "Read my lips: No new taxes!" and "I did not have sexual relations with that woman — Miss Lewinsky."

But more than three decades after Nixon's attempt at damage control, I now know how the late president felt. Well, except that I REALLY am not a crook.

Or at least I'm not a cook.

The (long) story begins on Monday with a trip to a local pharmacy to order a couple of bottles of Aromatic Spirits of Ammonia, a chemical or "medicine" that was commonly stocked in the drug store of yesteryear. In the old days, folks would mix a little Spirits of Ammonia with Coke as a home remedy for everything from upset stomachs and headaches to hangovers and menstrual cramps. (For the record, I've only suffered the first two.) We have better medicines these days, so the demand for Aromatic Spirits of Ammonia has decreased to the point that if you want it, usually the pharmacist has to order it for you.

Why my interest? Glad you asked. Some time ago I read a newspaper story about how the head trainer of a major league baseball team would soak cabbage leaves in a solution of ice water and ammonia spirits. The players would wear the cabbage leaves on their heads -- under their caps -- to help keep cool on the field, where temperatures can exceed 120 degrees during some day games. Online, I found references to "ammonia towels" used by college sports teams, high school marching bands, and even sports officials. Instead of cabbage leaves, you simply soak a towel in ice water and ammonia spirits then wipe yourself down with the cool towel during breaks in the action. They say it's refreshing, a sensation akin to a cold shower on a hot day.

So I want to try it. Why? It gets hot here in Oklahoma, and when you're outside in the heat, such a remedy might be helpful. Second, anyone who knows me at all would tell you that putting a cabbage leaf soaked in water and a smelly chemical on your head and under your cap has David Hartman written all over it. Why cabbage? Why not iceberg, or perhaps a big leaf of romaine lettuce? Beats me.

In case you're wondering, Aromatic Spirits of Ammonia essentially is smelling salts dissolved in alcohol and some other stuff. So yeah, it has an aromatic bouquet. I'm not sure exactly what the aromatic ammonia is supposed to do in the mixture, but I suspect it just gives the respiratory system the same "Hello!" the nervous system gets when you douse ice water on it.

So Tuesday, I strolled back into the local pharmacy to pick up my two bottles of Aromatic Spirits of Ammonia.

I got suspicious when the clerk -- who I think was the manager or owner -- asked me for my driver's license, which I'm not accustomed to having to show when I buy something with my Visa debit card. Then she wrote all my driver's license information on a preprinted sheet that was designed for pharmacists to report who buys pseudophedrine and how much they got. She wanted to know how I'm going to use it, etc. I resisted the urge to tell her it was none of her business, and explained the whole ammonia towel/cabbage leaf principle. She seemed skeptical. I asked her if in the future I could get a larger, perhaps cheaper per ounce bottle of it rather than the two, two-ounce bottles I got that day. Then she went from skeptical to snippy. Told me I wouldn't be getting any of the stuff from her in a larger quantity, and for that matter, I wouldn't be getting more from her anytime soon in any quantity at all.

As I was driving back to work, it hit me: she thinks I'm cooking meth. A 2004 Oklahoma State Law (House Bill 2176) now restricts the sale of all cold and allergy medications containing pseudophedrine, because it's the key ingredient in the manufacture of meth, and Oklahoma has the distinction of having more meth labs per capita than nearly any other state. We don't have many honest high-paying jobs here, so when people figure out they can turn about $50 worth of ingredients into a drug with a street value of about $1,500 in a matter of three or four hours, a lotta folks here become entrepreneurs. You can still buy pseudophedrine, a package or two at a time, but you have to sign for it, and the pharmacist has to report the sales -- including who's buying it -- to Big Brother.

Besides that restriction, law enforcement agencies have gone to great lengths to educate merchants about precursors -- ingredients used to make meth. Things like lithium batteries, wooden matches, drain cleaner, rubber tubing, etc. Be the poor schmuck who puts enough of those things in your shopping cart at any one time, and you might just get the chance to wear the shiny metal interlocking bracelets during your free ride to the police station. There, you'll enjoy a complete physical -- or at least a full cavity search -- compliments of the State of Oklahoma.

Another key ingredient in cooking meth is ANHYDROUS Ammonia -- a chemical farmers use in large quantities to fertilize crops. That particular chemical also is regulated, so the meth cooks have to steal it from farmers instead of buying it themselves. So my pharmacist, who I'm sure was well-intentioned, confused anhydrous ammonia with aromatic spirits of, and decided to do her civic duty to save society from my evil scheme. Except of course that it isn't her job to restrict me from buying something I'm legally entitled to buy. If she's gonna be a pharmacist, she ought to know the rules.

I Googled. I felt guilty afterward and wondered if I need to go forward in church on Sunday because of it. Seriously though, I Googled "aromatic spirits of ammonia" and "meth" and got all of four hits. None of them made any reference to spirits being used as an ingredient in meth. Google "anhydrous ammonia" and "meth," and you'll get more than 30,000 hits. Hmmm.

So now I'm indignant. Mine might be a face only a mother could love, but it's not the face of a drug dealer. But now, any time I go back into that pharmacy, I'm a drug dealer. It's about principle for me.

Reminds me of the time when I was a junior in high school and got a detention. I was late for class, and was running in the hall toward said class. A teacher, in his write-up to the principal, said that he told me to stop running; I refused, and therefore was "willfully disobedient." I've never been willfully disobedient in school in my life. The hall was crowded and noisy. I never heard anyone say "stop." You wanna write me up for running in the halls, fair enough. I did that. I'll serve that detention. Willful disobedience? Not a chance. So I didn't show for the detention. It was about principle. Later, the principal called me in after I passed on the detention and told me I had the choice of serving the detention or spending three days at home under suspension. Then it became a matter of where my parents would line up on the issue: with the principle, or with the principal? And what would the consequences at home be if that didn't go my way? But I digress.

So I reckon in the coming days I'll just march back into that pharmacy, educate the pharmacist on the law and clear my pretty good name. I might also insist she cross out the information she took off my driver's license from her log. If she won't, maybe I'll threaten litigation. Or just write a good story for the newspaper. When we're finshed, she'll be smarter and I'll still have a place to get more aromatic spirits of ammonia overnight whenever I decide I want or need more.

Of course, she could also kick me out of the store and tell me to take my business elsewhere. In that case, I'll find me another ammonia supplier, and she won't have David Hartman to kick around anymore!

Housewares and Lingerie

(Originally published October 21, 2005 in wysiwyg. Reprinted with permission from the guy in the mughshot.)


A woman's place is in the kitchen. Well, when she's not in the bedroom, anyway.

Now, if this was my opinion, it would be even easier for you to understand why I'm still single. And you'd have some choice words for me, I'm sure.

But it's not my opinion. It's apparently the opinion of retailer J.C. Penney. Stick with me here and I'll explain it.

I was working today on a feature about a dinner for needy folks the local Catholic church sponsors once a month. One of my sources for the story, who works outside her home, called me from her job at the aforementioned retailer. But I was in the car, driving back to the office, and I asked if I could call her back when I got to my desk.

So when I got back to the office, I dialed the number: (405) 755-5500. No one at Penney's was available to answer my call, so I got the dreaded automated message/extension prompt system:

"For the salon, press one. 
"For the catalog or credit departments, press two 
"For the home or children's departments, press three 
"For housewares or lingerie, dial extension 268..."

Huh? Housewares or lingerie? What? Are they in the same department or something? So if I go to the store and ask a sales person to point me to the food processors, I guess he or she will say something like this: "follow this carpet all the way to the next wall and take a left. You'll find our complete line of KitchenAid small appliances off to the left, right next to the red lace teddies."

I'm not making this message thing up, lest you think I would take creative liberties with the facts on wysiwyg. Call the number if you don't believe me. Best to wait until after store hours to make sure you get the recorded system. Otherwise, there's a slight chance a real employee might answer the phone. Then you'll have the awkward task of explaining to that person that you really wanted to hear the recorded message and can she transfer you to it or do you need to hang up and call again? Been there, done that when I called back to make sure I wasn't hallucinating on Diet Dr. Pepper the first time I heard the message.

Thing is, it's not like they couldn't group the lingerie, at least for the purposes of their phone message, with the women's department. And they do have one, because the rest of the message goes like this:

"For the women's department, press four 
"For custom decorating, press five 
"For the men's department, press six 
"For shoes, press eight, 
"For all other calls, yada yada yada..."
Wouldn't you think that lingerie would fall under the domain of the women's department? I mean, absent the male members of the Boy George or Michael Jackson fan clubs and guys who think Texas Hold Em is a sport, women tend to be the primary consumers of lingerie. But even men buy kitchen appliances.

Old stereotypes die hard, I guess. Now if I could just find some sweet young thang to fill my pipe, and then go fetch my slippers....

Love Of My Life, Show Yourself

(Originally published Nov. 3, 2005, in wysiwyg. Reprinted with permission from the guy in the mugshot.)


Time's a-wastin'.

My friend Julie, previously written about in the blog and referenced as "Nurse Lady," frequently forwards me chain e-mails of various types. Sometimes I read 'em, sometimes not — but I do have to admit I have a pretty good history of breaking the chain. I'm just not good about forwarding stuff on to other people.

But I've been bugged by a stomach virus or something the last couple of days, and when I got the Feng Shui Horoscope from Julie, I decided to play the game. Might perk me up a bit, I thought.

Let's take a look at the "horoscope," what it says about me, and whether it's remotely accurate:


1. Which is your favorite color: red, black, blue, green, or yellow? 
2. Your first initial? 
3. Your month of birth? 
4. Which color do you like more, black or white? 
5. Name of a person of the same sex as yours. 
6. Your favorite number? 
7. Do you like California or Florida more? 
8. Do you like a lake or the ocean more? 
9. Write down a wish (a realistic one). 

My answers:
1. blue
2. D
3. Dec.
4. white
5. Tom
6. 7
7. Florida
8. Lake
9. Get married before I die.


1. If you choose: 
Red - You are alert and your life is full of love. 
Black - you are conservative and aggressive. 
Green - Your soul is relaxed and you are laid back. 
Blue - You are spontaneous and love kisses and affection from the ones you love. 
Yellow - You are a very happy person and give good advice to those who are down.

I picked blue, and right out of the chute this horoscope has credibility problems. Oh, I've been known to be spontaneous now and then, and I've even smooched on a girlfriend or two in my day. But beyond smoochin' on the girlfriend, I'm pretty much a hands-off guy. Don't be touching me without a good reason. The quickest way for a waiter or waitress to forfeit their tip is to put their hand on my shoulder while taking my order, or even worse, skooching me over in the booth so they can sit down next to me whilst I order. 

  
2. If your initial is: 
A-K - You have a lot of love and friendships in your life. 
L-R - You try to enjoy your life to the maximum and your love life is soon to blossom. 
S-Z - You like to help others and your future love life looks very good. 

Since I'm a "D", I have a lot of love and friendships in my life. I'd say that's fairly accurate.


3. If you were born in: 
JAN - MAR: The year will go very ! well for you and you will discover 
that you  fall in love with someone totally unexpected. 
APR - JUN: You will have a strong love relationships that will not 
last long but  the memories will last forever. 
JUL - SEP: You will have a great year and will experience a major 
life-changing  experience for the good. 
OCT - DEC: Your love life will not be too great, but eventually you 
will find your soul mate.

So my love life is pacing itself. Tell me something I don't know. But even this is a problem for the horoscope, as we'll discover further down in the survey.


4. If you chose... 
Black: Your life will take on a different direction, it will seem hard at the time  but will be the best thing for you, and you will be glad for the change. 
White: You will have a friend who completely confides in you and would do anything  for you, but you may not realize it.

I chose white, but I don't understand the revelation. I have more than one friend who would do anything for me, and I know it, and appreciate them deeply for it.


5. This person is your best friend.

Swiiiiiiiing and a miss. I picked Tom because it's the first male name that came to mind. But I don't have a best friend named Tom, nor anyone named Tom on the short list, that I can think of.


6. This is how many close friends you have in your lifetime.

I picked 7 because it was lucky. But I don't really have a favorite number, other than 150,000,000, the amount — after taxes — I win in the Powerball, not that I'm holding my breath or buying any tickets.


7. If you chose: 
California: You like adventure. 
Florida: You are a laid back person. 
   
I'd say I'm fairly laid back, yes.


8. If you chose: 
Lake: You are loyal to your friends and your lover and are very reserved. 
Ocean: You are spontaneous and like to please people.

I reckon I'm loyal and reserved. 
   

9. This wish will come true only if you send this to 1 person in one hour. Send it  to 10 people, and it will come true before your next Birthday.

Well, now here's where we've got problems. Even though I haven't actually forwarded the e-mail, to 10 people, I have put it here on wysiwyg, which is viewed by more than 10 people per day, so I think that should count for something.

Per question 3, the love life aint looking so hot in the immediate future, and yet I have a birthday in less than 50 days. That's a little quick for a courtship and planning a wedding, I'm thinking.

But wait....there's a compromise....maybe I don't marry for love. Maybe I marry some rich old woman with an estate valued at $150,000,000 — after taxes — and after a brief, six-week marriage she dies and leaves me the cash!

Maybe there is something to this Feng Phooey stuff after all....

Lunch on Noble

(Originally published May 23, 2006 in wysiwyg. Reprinted with permission from the guy in the mugshot.)


Every now and then, I experience something that makes me wonder just how many times in my life I cheat God out of the opportunity to demonstrate his promise to provide by not giving Him chances to work through me.

In 1998, a member of the Trinity Episcopal Church in Guthrie, Okla. — a church of about 60 — learned that there were a number of homeless people in town. He was told they were sleeping under bridges at night, in abandoned houses, or wherever else they could find a place to come in out of the elements. He might not be able to solve all their problems, but through the church, together they could at least give them something to eat, he reasoned.

And that's how Lunch on Noble began.

That member has since moved away from Guthrie, but his vision still lives at Trinity Episcopal through people like Dorothy Ruth Knight — D.R. as she's known to friends. D.R. was part of Lunch on Noble from the beginning. After coaxing the church to give the volunteers $100 in seed money to start the free lunch program, they went to work. They printed flyers advertising the program and posted them under the bridges and other places in town where the homeless were known to congregate. They contacted DHS and told them about the program, hoping DHS could refer some people to them.

It started with a simple philosophy. Ask no questions, pass no judgements. Let the people who come through the door know that someone cares about them. And whoever comes through the door hungry gets fed. So in August, 1998, Trinity Episcopal threw open the doors for whosoever would come. The first day, no one did. The second day, no one did. Finally, on the third day, a mother referred by DHS brought her children, and they ate.

Soon, word spread, and eaters came. Other churches learned about the effort and joined in. The First Christian Church kicked in $200 and sent volunteers. Other churches started donating food or help. They got a grant from Wal-Mart. The local grocery store started helping out with food. Today, Lunch on Noble averages about 35 guests per day, Monday through Friday. Most of them are regulars, and D.R. knows them at least by first name. Those who come get a prepared hot lunch, complete with salad and dessert. Andwhen they leave, they take with them a sack meal — two sandwiches, either bologna and cheese or PB&J, plus cookies or chips or fruit — so they have something else they can eat later in the day. Lunchand Dinner on Noble, if that's what the need is.

By my count, Lunch on Noble has opened its doors more than 1,500 weekdays since 1998. And they've never not had enough food to feed whoever came. Oh, there were some close calls, D.R. remembers. Like the time the eaters kept coming and coming, and the prepared food kept going and going, and it was clear pretty quick there wasn't going to be enough. Until a neighboring church called, saying they had some food left over from a church dinner the night before. Did Lunch on Noble need any extra food? Or the day they simply didn't have any dessert to serve with lunch. Until a woman from another church who'd heard about the program showed up with two cakes.

The problem, D.R. says, has never been not having enough food. God provides. They've learned to plan as best they can, and leave the unforseen to God for Him to worry about . The problem these days is volunteers to help prepare and serve. Many of those who started the program were seniors back in 1998. Some have passed on; others are in bad health. D.R. was just a spring chicken in 1998 when she started with Lunch on Noble. She was a school-girlish 73 years young back then. Today she's 81 and has emphysema. She can't stand up for long periods anymore, and every now and then has to take a puff from her inhaler. She's sick. She's tired. But she still coordinates Lunch on Noble, and at least three days a week, she's at the church, helping to prepare, serve or clean up.

Ordinary people. A simple "Jesus" vision to feed the hungry. And an extraordinary God who provides because they give Him a chance.