On my watch

A long time ago, on wrists far, far away, people wore watches that weren’t smart. Rather they were functional. Fun. Stylish. Elegant.

Instead of the black, battery-charged squares you see on so many wrists, that do everything from answer phone calls to measure your heart rate to tell you how many steps you take in a day, they made up for their lack of Swiss Army utility by doing one thing well: telling time.

They were, and still are, um, timeless.

I was rummaging through my drawers over the weekend— the ones in my dresser, get your mind out of the gutter—and hidden away in there were a few timepieces I’d completely forgotten about.

Like this beauty pictured above. This ACME watch was given to me by the wife when we were in New York back in the day. We were enjoying a fine afternoon of shopping at the now late, great Warner Bros. flagship store on the corner of 5th and 57th, fraternizing with characters like Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Superman, Wile E. Coyote, the Tasmanian Devil, Tweety Bird and Sylvester.

The only silhouette missing on the face of it is the falling anvil.

Another gem, and also a gift from the wife who may have been trying to tell me something by giving me so many watches, was this retro-chic Hamilton Electric timepiece. I can’t remember if it’s from the late 50’s or early 60’s, but it doesn’t really matter.

Bitchin’ then, bitchin’ now.

Then there’s the Xemex—see if you can guess who gave it to me. It belonged to our friend Francois, and I had admired it so much that the wife (dammit, now you know) made a secret deal to buy it from him for me. The watch weighs just under seventy-five pounds. Alright, maybe not. But it feels like it. It’s a huge, heavy, shiny object.

I’ve had apartments smaller than that watch.

Years ago, an art director I worked with named Neil Muller wore this Seiko Chronograph. At the time I didn’t wear a watch (does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care?), but I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful it was. So I ran out and bought the exact same watch for myself.

I still don’t know what most of the dials do, but they look impressive, yes?

Finally, have to go with a classic. This Mickey Mouse watch was purchased on one of my many trips to the happiest place on earth. My Apple Watch lets me have a digital Mickey face on it, but it ain’t the same.

I was going to tie this up with a line about being out of time, coming back for seconds or even tick-tock Clarisse.

But it’s been a rough day. I think I’ll just kick back and unwind.

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.