Because of a history of prostate cancer in my family, I have been submitting to a semi-annual PSA test which includes not only the removal of blood from my delicate system but requires my urologist to employ a finger to determine the size and shape of this vital gland.  I have mentioned before that the doctor is a rotund man, and as you may know, there is a tendency among rotund men to have stubby fingers of considerable girth.  Following the snap of a latex glove and a generous slathering of KY jelly, I assume "the position" and do my best to relax, but inevitably he must go beyond his third knuckle in order to adequately examine the intricacies of this part of my anatomy.  This brings about a sensation not unlike the introduction of an Italian sausage quickly followed by the powerful thrust of a Honey Baked Ham.  Despite this shortcoming, I continue to see him not only because he is well known and respected in his field, but because we recognize in each other a similar bent toward cynicism regarding politics.  With a war going on in Iraq, my examination is a thirty-second procedure followed by two allies in a 15 minute tirade of a government gone mad.  But, like practically all of us, he supports our troops, and in fact when the actual digital insertion began he announced that "this rectal exam is being performed in honor of the 101st Airborne Division." referring to their deep interdiction into the belly of the beast. This was funny to me, but well-appreciated humor at such a moment does trigger a reflexive clenching of one's sphincter muscle, thus intensifying the efforts of all involved.  I am pleased to report though that our findings are in keeping with a healthy vital man, which is what I am.

*****

My office here is reaching critical mass.  Piles of books and papers, stacks of magazines on the floor, newspapers waiting to be put in the official newspaper stack that is the final staging area until recycling day; it's untidy here.  But I have long been convinced that the layout and condition of a working office is a metaphor for the logic of one's mind.  If your office is neat as a pin then your synapses are canals, direct commuter lanes to a predictable destination.  If it's a mess but you know where everything is then you are a deep-thinking synthesizer, a guerrilla fighter for truth and not a tank bound for preset target coordinates.  Good for you.  The river of life is not a viaduct.

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