Something is afoot

If you know anything about me, you know when it comes to doctors I like to go to the top guy or gal. In fact I'm the person always being asked for recommendations by friends and family.

Note to self: write memo on finder's commission.

Anyway, I have a support system—I’d say life support system but that might give you the wrong idea—of medical professionals that are tops in their fields, and there when and if I need them.

One of them happens to be my podiatrist, Doug Richie. He's seen me through all my foot woes: plantar fasciitis, broken toes, stepping on glass, orthotics, sprained ankles, in-grown toenail, neuropathy. As far as I'm concerned, he's the top guy in podiatry.

And the fact he has a picture in his office with Jerry Seinfeld in no way influences that opinion. “What is it with the little toe? Exactly what is his job?”

Sadly for me and my tootsies, while on his website today I found out he’s retiring at the end of the year. After practicing 37 years (slacker), he’s handing (footing) the practice over to his two associates, who I’m sure are just fine or they wouldn’t be working with him.

But it won't be the same.

I have a relationship with Doug that’s developed over the years. I trust him completely. We have mutual friends, and we actually live in the same neighborhood. In fact occasionally I see him jogging down our street, and I always think the same thing: I hope he’s wearing the proper running shoes.

And speaking of running shoes, Doug holds patents—5 but who's counting—on footwear and ankle braces he's designed and invented. How many patents does your podiatrist have?

I thought so.

So Doug, thank you for everything. I always looked forward to seeing you, and I never minded footing the bill (I know, sorry). Regardless of the circumstances (although I'm not gonna lie: the cortisone shots for the plantar fasciitis weren't my favorite part), I always knew my feet were in good hands. I know you'll still be extremely active, and I wish you nothing but the best in your new season.

When you run past our house, be sure and wave.

Nailed it

I've known for days something was afoot. I know, I'm already sorry I wrote it. But it's going to be that kind of post, so you may as well start getting used to it.

This is not an actual picture of my foot. For starters, my story is about my right foot not my left one. My legs are also considerably more muscular from the exercise they get walking from the bedroom to the refrigerator several times a night. It's all about the calves.

Anyway, I've had an ingrown toenail on the big toe of my right foot for a while now. It had gradually gotten more and more painful, finally to the point where I had to do something about it. So I went to my podiatrist, Doug Richie, who also happens to be Jerry Seinfeld's podiatrist when he's in town. Hope I don't hurt my foot again dropping a name on it.

With my vast medical background, I figured Doug would trim the nail properly, the pain would be gone and that would be that. Were it only that easy.

He said apparently what happened is the shape of my toenail has changed, something fairly common as "one gets older", a phrase I can never really hear enough. He then informed me the best way to stop it from reoccurring was to do a minor surgical procedure called a wedge resection.

This little piggy screamed ouch.

Basically, it consists of numbing the toe, then trimming the wedges on both sides of the toenail so they don't grow into the toe. Ever again. Part of the procedure involves putting acid—not the fun kind—on the roots where the trimmed nails were to make sure those suckers are gone for good.

When it's over, he wraps the toe up and it looks like the toe in the picture. Actually, by the time I got home, the bandage looked a little more, shall we say, colorful. Which is why I'm sparing you a picture of my actual foot.

So if you need me over the next few days, I'll be sitting here soaking in epsom salts while I finish bingeing Hannibal.

By the way, I don't know if you noticed, but I got through this without any "arch" enemy or "He's a heel" jokes.

And we had a ball anyway.

What is it with getting better?

This past Thursday night I saw Jerry Seinfeld at the Long Beach Terrace Theater. It was the second time I've seen him perform there, but not the second time I've seen him.

The first time was many years ago at the Paramount Theater in Seattle, just as his summer replacement series The Seinfeld Chronicles (later just Seinfeld) was picked up by the network. I have to admit prior to that I'd always had kind of a non-opinion of him. I felt he just did the observational humor, stayed away from anything political or edgy, and was just middle of the road.

You know, what Leno turned into.

That was when I went into the Paramount. When I came out, I was a convert.

I've also seen him in Vegas on New Year's Eve at the Thomas & Mack Center at UNLV.It's a tough crowd because everyone is just waiting to shout at midnight. But within one or two jokes, he had them. The show started at 9:30 so he was onstage at midnight, and he brought us all humorously into the new year.

And by the way, try getting a cab in Vegas on New Years Eve. You'll need a few laughs.

Anyway, each time I see him, it begs the same question: How good can this guy get?

His standup is the most highly polished, precision tuned performance you'll ever see a comedian give. And the real beauty of it is you feel as if he's delivering it off the top of his head, in the moment, just for you for the first time.

The observations are astute. They are dissected in a way that points out the foolishness or brilliance of the subject at hand. The material is eminently, frighteningly relatable. Take for example his description of being married:

It's inspiring not only to see someone like Seinfeld, who doesn't have to work another day in his life, but in spite of that continues to keep whittling, honing and improving his material to such a glossy sheen that it's brilliance seems to come so easy.

It's really electric to see a comedian so at the top of his game. And everyone else's.