Apheresis Dating

Valerie and I visit the vampires pretty frequently. Recently, we decided that we would try an apheresis (Wiki) donation. The vampires tell us this is more useful to them, but it is somewhat more time consuming for us (two hours vs. one for a regular blood donation). Time isn't really an issue since we go on the weekends, so we set up the appointment.

Today, I thought I would do a little Googling to learn a little more about the process, and why it's so much more desirable than a regular donation. Got some good links, but one of the Google paid links was hilarious. I wonder if they get many hits....

In short, a lot of a "normal" blood donation isn't terribly useful to the vampires. But, since the donor gives up a reasonably large percentage (10%) of their total blood supply, he or she has to wait eight weeks between donations for the body to fully recover.

However, in apheresis, blood is removed from the body, processed to remove the elements the vampires need, and the remainder is returned, all while you sit there in the chair. According to the web sites I read today, your body is able to recover within three days. They get more from each donation, and the donor recovers faster.

1984

Ladies and gentleman, I give you... 1984!

I love this photo for so many reasons. Let's just walk through them:

• My dad, the playa. This guy was the definition of pimp. From the tight-ass Hawaiian shirt to the Magnum P.I. moustache drooping over his upper lip to the one-foot-forward stance, this guy was a P-L-A-Y-E-R. I mean, I'm not gay and he is my dad and all, but isn't your gaze just drawn right down to those taught pants?
• My mom, the grown-up hippy. I mean, check out that dress. Wait, am I tripping right now?
• My sister, the flowergirl. Seriously, isn't that dress a little out of place in the picture? Did she just come from a wedding? We lived on a tropical island, for god's sake.
• Me, the mess. So much to talk about. Let's start with the pants. I mean, wow. I must have used the same technique that sumo wrestlers use before a match. I think the distance between the bottom of my shorts and knees is exactly the same as the top of my shorts and my shoulders. Then there's the tucking, but hey-- it was the 80s. And the socks-- did I just come from soccer? Do I have shin guards on underneath those suckers? I'm guessing not, based on my giraffe legs. Is it just me or is my thigh approximately the same size as my ankle?

You know, I just noticed that both Mom and Dad chose my sister to get the hand-on-the-back. I'm just sort of standing there off to the side, half a step back, trying to lean in. And I'm wearing my play clothes when everyone else is all dressed up. Wait a minute. Am I adopted?

Maybe more on the island other time. You can see the beach near our house in the background. I could see this beach from my bedroom window. Now I sit in a cubicle all day. Dammit.

A Russian Hill Haircut

For the most part, I just cut my own hair with clippers (three guard). But, once or twice a year, I inexplicably decide that I should grow my hair out. Then, after like six weeks, I either pick a random hair salon or say "screw it" and just clipper again. I've been doing this for, say, the last ten years[1]. You think I'd learn and just stick with the clippers.

So here I am, six weeks into a "grow out," and I'm at the point where I really need to do something. This time, I decide to stick with it for one more haircut. Now the big decision: where to go. Since I never get a haircut, I don't have a clue. All of my guy friends are worthless since they either also clipper; live "too far" away[2]; or have no problem with a $40 haircut.

As is my typical response to this kind of problem in San Francisco, I chose the wander-around-until-I-find-a-random-store-that-sells-the-product-or-service-I-need method. The only problem is that there are exactly two kinds of hair salons in Russian Hill:

1. Frou-frou boutique stylists with cool names and funky clothes and hair products for sale with brands I've never heard of and prices higher than Ricky Williams in Grass Valley.
2. Random craphole filled with Chinese women hairstylists, their kids, grandpa, pets, and style magazines from 1993.

Of course, being the cheap ass I am, always end up going with the latter. Just like today.

So I grab a coffee at Royal Ground, expecting a lot of wandering. Despite the San Francisco summer-like weather[3], Polk street is pretty packed. But before I even take a sip, I stumble onto a classic #2, right at the corner of Polk and Broadway. I've been burned before, but I always have faithful Mr. Clippers at home if things go awry.

Torn page from J. Crew in hand, I entered, and three Asian women were lounging. "Do you have time for a walk-in?" I ask, somewhat rhetorically since they're all just sitting there. "Yes" says one... followed by absolutely nothing. After a few ticks of silence, one of them grudgingly[4] got up and motioned me over to her chair.

OK, so here's the awkward part. When you're growing your hair out, you want your hair left as long as possible, but it's OK to cut some to clean it up. As simple as this concept is, I always struggle to get it across. I chalk it up to the language barrier, since nine times out of ten when I'm at a #2, they reach right for the clippers.

The lady looked at the picture I brought and then asked me a series of questions I couldn't understand (in English, kinda). Honestly, I didn't even know it was a question until she stopped talking and made the "Well?" face. After a few seconds of blank stare while my brain furiously tried to decipher what she said, I was apparently able to answer satisfactorily, and we were off. Thankfully, the clippers never came out, and she did a pretty decent job of leaving the length. She did talk for most of the time, and I have no idea what about. She seemed nice enough, so I went through the motions with the standard "uh huh," "yup," "great," and "wow" when I thought it would be appropriate[5].

We'll see how it turns out after a shower. As well as it went this time, why do still sorta feel like I should have just clippered?

[1] Wal-mart clippers, purchased in 1994 for $20 and used approximately eleventy-billion times. Best purchase ever...
[2] Sadly, "too far" today was like a mile. I just couldn't bear the idea of having to walk back up Union St. If I watched college hoops all morning, does that count as exercise?
[3] Fog, dammit.
[4] I'm totally projecting that attitude on her-- she actually seemed pretty nice and helpful, even if I couldn't understand a damn word.
[5] Remarkably similar to the girlfriend-on-the-phone technique.

The D'Onofrio/Caruso Effect

TiVo and syndication are a wonderful thing-- almost too good. I am a C.S.I. addict[1]. Like a sailor to the siren's song, I've been making pretty good headway through the original series.

But there are shipwrecking rocks ahead-- I'm starting to get episodes I've already seen. I remember the feeling well; it happened at the end of my L&O: SVU addiction. Week after week, more and more episodes would be repeats until eventually TiVo would be totally dry of new ones. Not good times... until I found CSI.

L&O: SVU was the gateway L&O. When SVU starting running out, we started experimenting with the harder stuff: L&O: CI. We gave it a fair shake, but I just couldn't get past Vincent D'Onofrio. "Wait, this croissant is only sold at one bakery in the city-- let's go and get the inevitable credit card receipt, perfect description of the suspect, or other hinge clue!"

It wasn't just the scripting, I can't really blame him for that-- it was more the overacting and bad phrasing. It's like he said to the director: "I want to play this just like Dr. Lecter, but without all that pesky complexity." He drove me bonkers. Even though we were desperate for more of the L&O formula, it didn't last long on the Wish List.

Fast forward a year. Now it's CSI that's starting to run dry, so we added CSI: Miami to the Wish List. Oh CSI: Miami, I love you long time! Until... David Caruso. Oh oh. The old Vincent D'Onofrio[2] horror comes flooding back. It's like CBS ripped off the L&O formula from NBC so perfectly, they got the overacting-actor-that-ruins-the-series exactly right!

Five reasons David Caruso drives me crazy[3]:

1. the unnatural diagonal-stance-with-head-turned blocking
2. the ridiculous overacting
3. the over-the-top, one-dimensional morality
4. the awkward phrasing and fake deep voice
5. the orange hair

Does anyone really believe this guy is tough? I haven't been so incredulous since I saw my first Nicholas-Cage-as-an-action-hero movie. At least Emily Procter[4] is smoking hot.

So, I guess I'm going to have to find the next one. Suggestions?

[1] Now go back and say that in the "I am an EFF-BE-EYE agent!" Keanu Reeves voice-- it's fun.
[2] I started to abbreviate his name "VD." Um. Heh.
[3] In a bad way, not crazy like a fox.
[4] I like her bangs.