Thoughts on five days of crutches:
If you leave RFK on the Metro, there is a cop at the bottom of the escamalator who say “no. you can not get on this first train. not yours.” That is unless you hobble down with crutches. Then you are welcomed aboard like Yuri Gagarin and given just as many medals. From now on I will carry crutches to every game so I can ride the handicap train.
The problems? First, every drunk wants to know what happened to your foot. Softball injury is unimpressive. Bear trap works. So does running through prairie dog town and stepping in a hole.
Secondly, even though you’re allowed on closest train leaving Stadium-Armory, you’re put off at the point farthest from the escalator at your stop. It all washes out limply in the end.
My brother in law has mono. I can’t walk. From what I understand, I could still beat him in a 50 yard dash. And the sit-n-reach. Not the shuttle run, though.
The best movie to watch on cable when you can’t go anywhere on a Sunday morning is The Hunt For Red October. Teh worst is Beverly Hills Ninja or that one with Tara Reid and Christian Slater and the bad guy from Blade in the Dark.
The best movie to watch when you can go somewhere on Monday morning is Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. Blockbuster does not carry this and that is a disgrace. Fortunately, they just, just, just got in Battlestar Galoctopus Season 2.0 which is great since now I won’t have to join Netflix to watch it.
Between my eyes and the TV, my big swollen toes peak out worthlessly under an Ace bandage. They are fat in the way I imagine George Wendt’s toes are fat. And on the TV, Kelly Clarkson new video plays continually on the channels that still play videos. The connection? Clarkson’s fingers are as gross and swollen as my and George Wendt’s toes but she doesn’t have sprained anything.
I’m sure the song is a pop masterpiece and that Kelly is wonderfully nice girl. But she has strange little hands. In the video she keeps rubbing them over some bald dudes head and it’s not appealing.
I'm not the only person to feel this way either. Kelly's on the cover of Elle this month and her portrait has been heavily photoshopped. I understand that this has been common ever since TV Guide put Oprah's melon on Ann-Margret's gams. (The most recent publicized example was Andy Roddick’s new guns on the cover of Men’s Fitness. Less noticed was the previous month’s issue where they airbrushed abs on the outside of the cover model’s shirt.) Still, I really think they touched up her fingers to make them seem longer. They are still gross.