Pretty Boy Matt

It's so simple, I can't believe I didn't think of it before. And I owe it all to the gun lobby.

Normally, when I complain about the existence of disease in the world, I get guff from Mom about free will and stuff, but now I know how to sidestep that issue.

I get Congress to outlaw all diseases and accidents because then only outlaws will have diseases and accidents.

And if I get declared an outlaw -- instead of being cured -- I become good "bad guy" like Pretty Boy Floyd.

Call your congressman today!

Matt keeps economy running

I have been doing my darnedest to keep the economy humming this week.

I went to the mall Wednesday and bought prescription sun glasses with all the bells and whistles. The salesman was probably laughing and rubbing his hands that he got such a rube, one who'd actually but polarization coating or something. But I just figure why would they offer it if it was worthless.

After the mall, I went and bought comic books.

Yesterday, I went to the bike store to talk about options for my recumbent trike. I lift with a new hand-cycle, having traded in my trike. It is pretty cool. Unfortunately, the Internet is a joke tonight so I can't find a picture.

I am a dope

The mall does bad things to me.

Actually, it's not the mall, it's the parking lot and the handicapped spots.

When the spots are filled, as is often the case no matter how many there are, I start looking at the vehicles parked there and making judgments.

This is not something I am proud of, but I say to myself: "SUV there, disabled person could not get out of there easy, probably a scammer." Or "Oh, yeah, nice little sports car. No room for a chair or crutches or canes." Even a regular sedan: "Like you are a wheelchair user."

The worst is when someone in a handicapped spot gets out of a vehicle and easily (in my mind) walks to the mall. I might run them down, which is another reason it is good that I do not drive.

I know there are many legitimate reasons that people in SUVs, sports cars or sedans would have a handicapped tag. And people who walk easily can also have real reasons for needing a tag.

But I just don't care that much. The spots are all mine, just get out of my bleeping way.


P.S. After the mall visit today, I stopped at the comic book store and canceled all my Spider-Man books.

It would have been funny

I am reading The Big Over Easy by Jasper Fforde these days. It is a science fiction comedy set in a world like ours except nursery rhyme characters live among the people and no one worries that Mr. Dumpty is an egg. The other key difference is that police detectives have secretaries who write up the investigations for entertainment magazines. The best detectives, therefore, are often those who bend the rules --withholding evidence until they can use it themselves -- and make their cases suspenseful even when it's not necessary.

I was tempted today to make my life more suspenseful, just for this blog.

I was standing up facing the toilet and I sat backward to get into my chair. My chair was farther back then I realized and I wound up sliding gently down my chair and sitting on the footplate, which was down. That would have been a normal and uneventful slip. I could have just pulled myself up via the grab bars in the bathroom.

But (there's that danged "but" again) my arm snagged my chair's joystick on the way down and before I was able to stop it, my chair moved forward and squeezed me into the toilet so I was between the toilet and the chair.

I got my arm off the joystick and sat there wondering if I should call for help, not that I needed it, but because it was so unique.

I decided not to, because Mom and Dad were out and if I could reach my cellphone to call my little sister, then surely I could reach my joystick, people would ask. So I did back it up and got in my chair, went out on the porch to sit in my chaise lounge and fell on to the floor of the deck because I hadn't buckled my seatbelt after I left the bathroom.

I did have to call my brother-in-law to help me from that oh-so-common and boring fall. I deserved it.

Blessing?

Last night a friend said that my presence was "such a great blessing" to my niece and nephew, but I wonder what my niece would say to that after I ran her over.

Granted, it was her fault, but she's 6, so I suspect it was my fault.

I am not exactly sure of all these events, but they are the only explanations that come to mind when I replay the incident.

She was sitting on my left knee and driving my power chair. She was in third gear, which was one faster than I realized. Her brother had just fallen down and was being comforted by his parents, so my niece and I were on our own, more or less. I did have my hand on the joystick, but I let her steer.

She started going into the grass and up a slight incline.

Going over grass is bumpy so I suspect my left foot came off the footrest and my left leg, where my niece was sitting, became less a sit-able surface and more a slidable one. What I know is that she started slipping off my lap.

Again I suspect that I was leaning forward in my chair to hold my niece up with my left arm as she slid down. What I know is that I was leaning forward, which meant my right hand was pushing forward on the joystick and driving my niece farther under the chair.

Next thing I knew, my niece was disappearing under the footplate of the chair, yelling WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!

I am not sure how I stopped pushing the joystick. As my sister came running up after hearing her daughter's yells, I do know that I was bent over at the waist. Maybe I just pulled my arm off the joystick and my body flopped in half.

My niece's foot was all muddy and she was laughing a little too hard to convince me (and her) that she was OK. She also took a minute to push my body upright again.

I wonder who is really blessed.