Fall back

Ooops I did it again.

I'm actually not a clumsy person, but you wouldn't know it from this post. Or this one. Subconsciously it may be because I believe in the rule of three more strongly than I thought, because this will be the third post I've done about me falling hard and flat on my back like a ton of bricks.

Fat, Jewish bricks.

Here's what happened.

I was minding my own business, doing award-winning, crowd-pleasing, results-getting, competition-killing, raise-worthy work at my bedroom desk for my 100% remote job with the world's leading cybersecurity company. In the course of that vitally important work, I make it a point to stay hydrated.

As one does.

Since it was just after noon, I started out to the kitchen to see if there was something good hiding out in the fridge for lunch. But before I got there, I turned around and went back to my desk to clear two water glasses (see hydration above) and put them in the dishwasher.

Are you with me so far? We're coming up on the part where the hardwood floor breaks my fall. And almost my back.

As I reached for the glasses, my very fashionable yet reasonably priced Vionic flip-flops got caught between the plastic desk chair mat and the area rug it overlaps. I started falling forward, water glasses in hand. Then I thought, let's see if I can put my early years as a danseur with the New York City Ballet to good use—if I turn, maybe I can slow my roll by grabbing the edge of the bed. The glasses went flying from my hands. I tried grabbing the bed and missed, which isn't easy cause that sucker is a two kids, two adults and two dog accommodating California King.

Thanks to the inertia, momentum, velocity and enormous amount of gravity at work, that giant thud you heard a little after noon PST today was me.

As luck—my luck—would have it, I was home alone: my daughter has a big time advertising job and had to go into her real office to work, and the wife had to take our German Shepherd Ace to the vet for some blood work. So I laid there a minute on the floor, my back screaming every swear word it knows at me, and tried to figure out how I was going to stand up.

The answer was fast. I sat up, grabbed the bed for leverage and got myself up off the floor. With that one move, it quickly became apparent my back wasn't going to be done swearing and screaming at me any time soon.

Just like my high school girlfriend.

Fortunately I had an acupuncture appointment this afternoon, so I managed to lower myself into my thirteen-year old Lexus ES350 (I really need a car with higher ground clearance) and went. And instead of working on my feet (long story, another post), he worked on my back.

It felt better for a little while afterwards. I don't know if it was physical or mental, but you can say that about most things with me.

So tonight, it's the heating pad on and off every twenty minutes, trying to keep the grunting sounds every time I move to a reasonable volume and not moving around too much. With any luck it'll start to feel better in the morning, and I'll be in for a quick recovery in the coming days.

Of course, the bad news is my Cirque du Soleil audition is off for now.

Thinking outside the box spring

While the country’s supply chain has been racking up headlines lately, my own personal supply chain issue has been front and center here at the Ponderosa for some time.

And what’s in short supply? Sleep.

I can’t remember the last time I slept a solid eight straight through. I’d like to say it’s been months, but sadly it’s been years.

Part of it is my own fault—I have the bladder of a three-year old (who’s going to want it back anytime now) and the bad fortune of usually wanting to quench my thirst with a can of mango-flavored Spendrift from Trader Joe’s right before bedtime.

So there’s that. Perhaps I’ve said too much.

But the other thing that’s also worked against my slumber has been my mattress.

For years the wife and I enjoyed the quality craftsmanship of a California King, Custom Comfort mattress. But a dozen years of kids trampolining, dogs of various weights and sizes jumping on and off, and two exhausted, alleged adults flopping down for the night year after year had definitely taken its toll. And I don’t just mean on the mattress. Don’t get me started.

Anyway the Custom Comfort mattress finally caved—or concaved—and we were forced to shop around for a new one.

I went to the Google, and discovered that now—like salty soup, cheap wine and organic milk—mattresses also come in a box and are all the rage.

Being the trendsetter you know me to be (cargo shorts are still in fashion, right?) I was on it. I thoroughly researched all the boxed mattresses. Once I landed on the one I wanted, I revved up the Mastercard and started the countdown until my comfy new Cal king arrived. In a box.

In the badly produced, low-res video that seems to live on all the boxed mattress websites, all I had to do was unfurl it on top of my existing, seemingly indestructible, original Custom Comfort box springs, which I firmly (no pun intended) believe will outlast us all.

What they conveniently fail to mention is to get a mattress that big in a box, they have to machine coil it so tight it's virtually spring-loaded. My daughter had the misfortune of standing in front of our first one—yes I said first one, keep reading—when we unleashed it from its wrapping, and she literally got knocked across the room.

Oh well, that's what therapy is for.

The first mattress we ordered was the Luxury Bliss® Organic Hybrid Latex Mattress from Plushbeds. You could tell it was a hybrid because it was uncomfortable and expensive.

Fortunately they have a 100-day trial/return policy, with a minimum trial of at least 30 nights.

The first night was great. Then it got progressively more and more uncomfortable. We were waking up with horrendous back, knee and hip pain. Not hip in the sense of trendy. Hip in the sense of “Did you know Rich Siegel got a new hip?”

There was a bit of a rigamarole getting it returned, but the bottom line is they finally did come out and take it back. Which was a good thing because we weren’t about to tackle rolling it back up and putting it in the box.

Setting the pick up date for the return took a bit of planning, because we didn’t want to be between beds for too long, although the living room couch felt like a Heavenly Bed after that mattress.

Being gluttons for punishment and having to learn the same lesson over and over, we went ahead and ordered another boxed mattress. This time it was from Birch, which is the organic luxury division of Helix Mattresses, which advertises on Smartless, which is my favorite podcast. See how that works? Ad people are the biggest suckers.

Anyway, same song, second verse. Long story short, we wound up sending that one back as well.

In the end, we went back to the beginning and bought a real mattress, another Custom Comfort California King. It didn’t come in a box. It came in a big truck with two big guys who set it up for us.

The moral of the story is don’t try to save money on your mattress. You get what you pay for.

Thanks to Custom Comfort, now when I sleep it’s the sleep of kings.

Now if they could just do something about my bladder.

Back story

This isn't the first post I've written about my aching back. I wrote this one last time it went out on me this bad.

Well, it's happened again and I don't know why. God knows I haven't been doing any physical labor (the only thing Jews know how to lift is the Yellow Pages). But for almost a month now, I've been in excruciating pain when I make certain movements.

Like standing. Or walking. Lying down. And sitting.

Not a good situation anytime, but especially bad since I've been freelancing for a month. It involves a lot of chair time, and twisting around to talk to people. Which is fine, except for the Game Of Thrones sword that pierces my back every time I make a move in that chair.

I've always been one to try to ride things like this out, but about a week ago I came to the pain-ridden decision that enough was enough. The ride was over.

I've now been to my chiropractor five times in the last eight days. Each time I go, they do a whole bunch of stuff to me: cold laser therapy, massage, some device that sounds like a jack-hammer to break up adhesions. There may also be ritual dancing and war paint involved, but I'm face down on the table so I can't say for sure.

Anyway,I usually feel a little better when I leave, but it's a one-step-up-two-step-back situation. By the time I get home, it starts to hurt again. I have two gel ice packs like the one you see here, and I alternate them so my lower back is constantly frozen.

The cautiously optimistic news is my back was a lot less swollen tonight, and it actually feels better than it has for awhile. So I'll stay the course as long as it keeps improving, and hope that soon it'll be back to normal.

By the way, Back To Normal was my second choice for the title of this post.

Get back

© Universal Pictures

I overheard a conversation, well, okay, I was eavesdropping on this conversation between a couple of businessmen-at-lunch-wearing-yellow-power-ties today. I feel sorry for anyone who has to wear a starched shirt and a tie on a 93 degree day.

But then I remembered that this is America damn it, and we all can make our own choices. Then I didn't feel sorry anymore. I just felt sad for their poor weather-related fashion choices.

Anyway, the part of their chat that caught my ear was when one of them said, "If I could go back twenty years I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't want to live through those years again."

It struck me as strange, because if you tell me I can go back twenty years, I'm saying, "What time do we leave?"

Of course the one caveat I have is that whole "If I knew then what I know now..." thing. I'd have to be able to take back everything I've learned in the back twenty.

For starters, Apple stock at 1994 prices. And lots of it.

Same for homes. And lots of 'em.

I'd lock up long-term CD bank accounts for as many years as I could.

I'd eat better and exercise more (well, it sounds good).

I'd buy up that run down warehouse district, and develop it. If you gentrify it they will come.

Finally, I'd be nicer to the people I knew I was going to lose. I'd make a point of spending more time with them. I'd make their lives easier in any way I could, knowing full well what the road ahead held for them. I'd be less cynical around them, despite how often it's required - they don't need the negativity. I'd steer them towards the personal habits and medical studies that might help prolong their lives, if only for a short while.

And I'd write down all my memories of them. The little turns of phrase, or crooked smiles or knowing looks exchanged. It would be a detailed journal that would keep them vividly alive for me, even after they'd departed twenty years on.

I'd also love them more. I'd be demonstrative and free with it. I'd let them know as often as I could. And when they looked at me with that "Who the hell are you?" expression, and asked why the love fest, I'd tell them the one bit of wisdom that I brought back with me from the future.

Life's too short.

Light at the end of the day

I hope you're sitting down. I don't know how to break this to you, but my Jedi instincts tell me the best way is to just come right out and say it: there are a lot of babies and whiners on the internet.

I know, I'm as shocked as you are. Shocked.

If you've been on Facebook or Twitter in the last couple days, like me you've probably noticed an ungodly amount of posts talking about how much people hate daylight savings time. How they just. don't. understand. why we have to change the clocks at all. How they're soooooo tired because they lose one hour in 24 out of one day in 365.

I'd like to promise all of you complaining about it that this is not the worst thing that will ever happen in your life. Trust me.

As you might've guessed, I happen to be a big supporter of DST. And I can't even begin to understand why everyone else isn't. There are so many more reasons to like it than not.

Let's start at the wallet. The fact it's light until almost 9 means electric bills go down. Way down for at least six months. Who's against that? Whiners? Anyone?

Next, the hideous commute I'm up against every night seems to get a little easier, because for some odd reason drivers are able to navigate better when they can actually see the road and what's around them. Body shops don't do as well during DST, but they make it up when we Fall Back.

Finally, and this may just be me, but I seem to have more energy. The longer it's light out, the longer I think it's not time to settle in for the night. I'm out and about longer getting more done. Not just more of what I have to do, but more of what I want to do.

So for all the whiners out there bitching and moaning about switching All The Clocks In The House! ahead and losing your precious hour, I say this with love: just shut up.

You'll get your hour back in November.

Look at it this way. Now that the day's longer, you'll have more time to think of something else to complain about.