Hospital sushi

When my daughter was out here last month on her Christmas break from school in Iowa (don't get me started), she didn't do a lot of the usual things you'd expect students on break to do.

She didn't go to movies every night.

She didn't party with her friends at every chance.

She didn't go with her BFF's to Disneyland and stay until closing time, or until (SPOILER ALERT) Mickey and the other cast members take their heads off, hang up the costumes and head out to their second job. I'm sorry you had to hear it this way.

She didn't do any of that. Instead, she had her tonsils out.

Now, of course she could've had them taken out by someone in Iowa. But before you accuse me of being an overly protective, elitist west coast dad who thinks Iowa doctors—as educated, experienced, compassionate and stellar though they may be—just aren't good enough for his daughter, allow me to do it for you. You're absolutely right. (Full disclosure: it was an Iowa ENT who looked down her throat and said, "Oh yeah, it's your tonsils. They have to come out.")

So six days after she got home, her mom and I were in the Outpatient Surgery Center waiting room at Long Beach Memorial, biding our time until she came out of recovery. I'd like to mention her surgery was performed by our ENT, who also happens to have been Chairman of the Division of Head and Neck Surgery at Long Beach Memorial from 2008-2013, and is currently Chairman of the Department of Surgery at Long Beach Memorial and oversees all surgical divisions at the medical center.

I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, somewhere just shy of the halfway mark of the 8 hours we spent there, the wife and I were feeling a bit famished. But we weren't about to leave the premises in case the doctor wanted to talk to us, or they needed me to scrub in on an emergency surgery (I didn't go to medical school, but I did see 8 seasons of Grey's Anatomy).

So I made a run downstairs to the basement where the hospital cafeteria is, along with the morgue. Coincidence? I think not.

It was pretty much like every institutional cafeteria you've ever seen. But what caught my eye was the pre-packaged sushi. As you might know by now, sushi's one of my favorite credit card torching, bank account-draining meals. However the idea of hospital sushi was only slightly more appealing than gas station or car wash sushi. The good news was if it made me sick, I wouldn't have far to go for help.

I decided to go for it, but to also hedge my intestinal bet by buying a chicken salad sandwich along with it. As I think back on it now,I should have probably given more thought to the age of all that mayonnaise in the chicken salad.

When I got back to to the surgery center waiting room and started eating, I was spotted on a security camera, and the lunch police nurse was in front of me in a nanosecond letting me know there was no eating there as a courtesy to patients who weren't allowed to eat at least 12 hours before their surgeries. Like that was my fault.

But since my daughter was under the knife, er, laser, I didn't want to rock the boat. I decided to obey their rule. And by obey, I mean break it.

Since it was late in the day when I got back with the food, the only people in the waiting room were families of patients who'd already gone in. There was no one left for my eating to offend. I was still scared of Nurse Ratched, who was now sitting at her desk. So being the brave rule breaker I am, I put the sushi container in my wife's purse and snuck bites out of it when she wasn't looking.

Driving home after her surgery, my daughter wanted to stop at In-N-Out for a milkshake, one of the few things she was allowed to have for the next couple of weeks.

If I'd known we were going to do that, I definitely would've thrown the sushi back.

License to killjoy

I don’t know whether to be shaken or stirred by this.

Daniel Craig is tired of playing James Bond on the big screen. And frankly, I couldn’t be happier. A little brushing up on my British accent and this could be my shot. I mean, if you’ve seen any of the movies you probably already know how similar Craig and I are built. When I saw him walk out of the ocean in Casino Royale it freaked me out. I thought I was looking in a mirror.

That sound you hear is my wife laughing hysterically.

Where was I? Oh yeah. So now, after four installments as agent 007 with a license to kill, Craig has naturally decided to bitch and moan about how tough it’s been. How rough it is making millions of dollars playing an iconic character in the most successful movie franchise of all time. Whining about how he’s been injured a couple times on set, and had to spend a few days in a five-star hospital in Monaco. Or the French Riviera. Or Geneva.

And having to cruise around in that Aston Martin DB10 take after take? Don’t get him started.

Here’s the thing: there isn’t a good-looking actor with a rented tux and a not half-bad English accent on earth who wouldn’t trade places with him in a heartbeat. Part of the problem is that Daniel Craig is too far removed from his waiting tables/starving actor days to remember that he’s won the golden ticket, the acting lottery. He doesn’t have to work for the rest of his life.

Unless he keeps making movies like Cowboys & Aliens. Then he might.

Craig isn’t the only actor with a sense of entitlement and a lack of gratitude. David Duchovny spent the last six years of X-Files telling anyone who’d listen how bored he was playing Fox Mulder. Then he had a few years employment on Californication (I’m still waiting to meet someone who actually watched that). But now that his career has cooled, he’s suddenly up for returning to the character that bored him so in the reboot of the X-Files, in the form of a miniseries, airing in January. I’m sure he suddenly realized there were many more facets of Mulder to delve into. That or it was the money. The truth is out there.

David Caruso, long rumored to be the angriest actor in Hollywood, literally walked off the set when his character made his final exit after the first season of NYPD Blue. Then a funny thing happened: no one would hire him. He made a couple of bad movies, then disappeared. Until CSI Miami came along to resurrect his career, he was nowhere to be found. And the only reason he was able to do that was because Caruso, still under contract to NYPD Blue producer Steven Bochco, needed his permission to do another series. In a magnanimous gesture proving Bochco is a far better person than I would've been, he gave it to him.

Katherin Heigl, Chevy Chase and even another Bond – Sean Connery, all decided to to jettison the roles that made them household names. Connery went on to further success in other roles. The other two, not so much. Although if Hollywood ever makes a movie called Box Office Poison, I think they have their co-stars.

I don’t believe in being beholden to something you did in the past. But there is such a thing as gratitude and humility at being given the chance. Neither Caruso, Craig or Heigl were anyone before those roles.

Also, the audience doesn’t really need to know how much Craig hates what he's doing. It’s a slap in the face, and it tarnishes all the goodwill built up over the last four films. I was extremely excited to see the new Bond film. But after hearing Craig’s comments, I’m less interested. I’ll get to it when I get to it.

The good news is the franchise has a built-in loyal fan base around the world, and will continue to be successful even without Craig.

Or as Hollywood calls him, Dr. No.

Say my McName

SPOILER ALERT: If you didn't see last Thursdays's Grey's Anatomy, and by some miracle haven't heard about it, don't read this until you see it. Important plot points revealed.

As some of you may already know, my nickname in high school was McDreamy. I believe it was because of my rugged good looks, silky smooth hair, razor-sharp sense of humor, keen insights and rugged good looks. Did I mention that?

But that all changed when Shonda Rhimes, creator of Grey's Anatomy, decided to also have Patrick Demsey's character Derek Shepard go by the nickname McDreamy.

As you can imagine, it was a confusing time for my friends and family.

I was hopeful after seeing last Thursday's episode, where an eighteen-wheeler and some ill-prepared hospital residents send Derek Shepard off to take the big dirtnap after eleven years on the show, that I'd be able to once again enjoy the moniker that was rightfully mine.

But like my acting career and engagement to Scarlett Johansson, it was not to be.

After all this time, the power of network television has rendered the name McDreamy solidly associated with Patrick Demsey's character. And even though he's gone from the show, I'm sure there will be flashbacks, daydreams and hallucinations that include him in coming episodes. I'm afraid I have to face the reality that the nickname McDreamy, the one that was mine first, is going to die with him when he's eventually gone for good.

In spite of my rugged good looks.

Anyway, we move forward. Today begins the search for a new nickname I can be proud of. One that reflects my true being, my inner self, and, say it with me, my rugged good looks.

So far the only contender is something along the lines of McJeffy.

I'm already sorry I wrote that.