The ides of March, Venus and Jupiter in convergence, and my colonoscopy

In a feat of unbridled rhetoric, Blaiser will now attempt to juggle all three titular ideas of this post, without dropping anything, for the next few minutes.

Et tu, brother? Ever been stabbed in the back before? Me, too, but fortunately not with an actual dagger, only with the blunted intentions of confused, scared people who have forgotten--or perhaps never learned--how to promulgate kindness.

I have, however, been recently "stabbed" with an exploratory scope, recently, and highly recommend it: You put on a gown, someone shoves a tube into your arm, and then you take a nice nap while somebody else (also in a gown, so you know, you're equals, except that he doesn't have a tube shoved up anything) takes a close look where the sun don't shine. In my case, I woke up to the good news that all was clear on the nether front, and went home with some nice photos of my bungy. Kinda like going to Disney for the afternoon, and about as expensive... (with my [pardon the analogy] crap-ass insurance, I'm figuring it'll cost about $1500, or the amount of money that the Goldman Sachs chief makes every 21.74 minutes, all day, every day)

People who make great gobs of money from such procedures tell us that a huge amount of deaths from colo-rectal cancer would be prevented if more screenings were done in middle age. So, if you take the cynical 15-20% off the top, that's still a lot of preventable deaths. Ergo, Blaiser recommends paying someone to go have a look if you're over 50, and pretty much NOW if you have any history of colon cancer in your family, and you were old enough to stay up and watch Hill Street Blues. 

Please note that this is neither a confirmation, nor a denial, of any proximity "Blaiser" might share with "middle age."

For a good sense of perspective on age, take a look outside tonight at the rare convergence of Venus and Jupiter.

There's some pretty cool stuff up there, and if you're like me (which you are--we are all cousins on this planet), it's often both comforting and terrifying to remember that we really have no freaking idea about a lot of this stuff. Although it can be fun to theorize. We are here for a shutter's-snap length of time, and then, as Vonnegut would say, our "peephole," is closed. Sometimes by a bunch of knife-wielding Senators. And other times more metaphorically by a bunch of Bible-wielding Senators...

Ray Charles' peephole only opened on the inside, but more way poured out of it than our regular beer. When he hit the road, Jack, it was a good bit harder to get around than your daily commute. So chill. And listen to something wonderful* while you read the rest of the post.

When Roy Scheider made his commute to Jupiter in The Year We Make Contact, he took a nice nap too, although he did not, I think, wake up to some nice photos of his bungy.

But he did A) talk about baseball with John Lithgow and Bob Balaban; 2) flirt with Helen Mirren; and Gamma) interact with a partially human, partially alien intelligence that used to be Keir Dullea, who told him to get the hell out of Dodge before "Something Wonderful" happened, namely Jupiter getting gobbled up by monoliths and igniting into a small star, and PS stay the hell away from Europa, you human pig-dogs. Now THAT was a hell of a day.

Thanks for reading, and please try to bear in mind that even though Rick Santorum favors the sweater vest, it doesn't mean his warmth is capable of making it past the orbit of his immediate family, and therefore means his chances of igniting into a small star are much smaller than yours. Vote accordingly. And for god's sake, Stay the Hell Away from Europa!!!

* If someone who neither confirms nor denies middle age can use the word "phresh" in a sentence and you can still keep a straight face, then check out these guys. I did!