One hundred reasons to hate television

They're starting to say that I've broken the record for k-p recipients for number of times admitted after transplant; even I have lost count of the number of days. Whatever. The good news is that evenually, I'll get better; the bad news is that I could be in and out of the hospital for the next year or so.

I believe that qualifies as questionable news in the best-case scenario.

My roommate this time around was Betty, a grandmother whose colon cancer was detected by a random test administered by an ER doctor. She was a big-haired woman with her hair down. I kept asking myself what she had done with the beehive. Honest, she was circa 1962 right down to the smile permanently plastered on her face.

Her voice was gruff, as though she'd smoked her whole life, but still hard-tack southern. Betty's last name was Robinson, so the doctors and nurses referred to her as Mrs. Robinson, which made me laugh.

She and her husband were well informed enough to have an opinion on popular music. This surprised me a little. They like Toni Braxton, but not Eminem; they think Faith Hill is all right but needs to do something about her hair. I gleaned these important bits of information while they were watching the Grammy Awards on teevee.

(I enjoyed the Eminem and Elton John extravaganza, which puts me in a sort of no-man's land, since I believe that serious fans of either artist would have decried the spectacle. Since I am a serious fan of neither Eminem nor Elton John, I found the whole thing oddly moving, except for Elton's yellow and pink spotted suit with matching shirt, which impressed me in an altogether different way.)

In any case, Betty and her husband have a nearly endless supply of grandchildren. The mother of the granddaughters took great pleasure in spouting all manner of "when you grow up and get married like girls are supposed to" rhetoric to her offspring. She was joined in this by the whole Robinson family, including the girls themselves, who seemed to be about seven and nine years old.

In a sense, I'm glad I spend time in hospitals. This is the only place I have extended exposure to women who are not like me. What I learn about them--and by comparison, about myself--is both fascinating and mildly disturbing.

The fact that reiterates itself is that I like men more than I like women. I understand them better. This doesn't mean that I dislike women or their company, but I find men easier to get along with on a casual basis.

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By the way, has anybody else seen the promo for a new show on some network Some of My Best Friends Are... Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad premise for what will probably be a bad show?

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