In Which We Focus

 

After I got my cataract surgery, that practice gave me a new pair of glasses with a new, supposedly improved prescription.  The glasses absolutely sucked.  I  could only see in bits and patches.  The ground at my feet was out of focus which resulted in me tripping even more than usual.  I could see across the street okay and oddly enough the microwave tower on the horizon was crisply in focus.  Not particularly useful, but crisp. 

So last week, to get proper glasses, I  went whining off to my regular eye doctor, who is charming, his office well decorated, and his bill enormous.  I got my new glasses today and I am here to tell you, being able to see is worth the money.  Plus I was able to reuse the frames I've had for a couple of years and really like, so yay. 

Also out getting coffee and then on my way over to pick up my glasses, I noticed several people, including a couple of attractive young men, giving me the eye, as they say.  It improved my mood considerably and made me think "mrpeenee still got it, yeah bitch."  And then I realized they were simply struck by my new t-shirt, a masterpiece of graphic art that represents Godzilla eating a subway car, a classic scene from a couple of Godzilla movies and one of my favorites.  

mrpeenee, avec new glasses and a seriously groovy Godzilla shirt.

Guys to pay attention to:

The luscious Keegan Whicker and his whicker whacker.

A lot of today's nekkid guys is brought to you by the letter ass.

I have returned to drinking coffee, not because I am weak, but because I WANTED to.

Matty Gilbert, superior quality daddy.

Open for business.

Beefiness.

One last extra fine buttchop.

In Which We Take a Look-See

When I was a young boy, my grandmother had cataract surgery and I remember it as both dramatic and traumatic.  She was in the hospital for several days, bed bound and not allowed to move her head at all.  The whole thing had a very lasting effect on my memory.  Since then, I know they have made tremendous advances in the procedure, but when I was scheduled for mine, I still somehow held on to the idea that it was going to be at least somewhat serious.  Pooh.  I had it yesterday and as I told my niece, I have had manicures that were more problematic. 

So how did it actually go?  Beats me.  I showed up, they took my vitals, put me on a gurney and wheeled me into the operating room.  Once they had plugged me into the anesthesia, I noticed they were playing sort of soft rock background music, which seemed odd for surgery and I started to ask about it and to request a different tune, maybe some 80s classic like Joy Division, but that's the end of my memory of going under the laser knife.  The next thing I knew, I was walking out of the center being escorted by my friend Drumstick. 

And that was the that, no pain, not even discomfort. After I'd been home a while, I walked down to Peet's cafe for a celebratory brownie and then spent the rest of the afternoon snoozing.  The most notable effect on my vision has been the contrast between the eye that was worked on and the one that I'll get corrected next week.  The corrected eye sees everything in much brighter, clearer colors, with a slight violet tinge and the other eye sees the world in a dingier yellowish hue.  

The only real problem is that the difference between my shabby old eyeball and my fancy new one is so extreme that they cannot work together.  The optometrist at the surgery center gave me a new pair of glasses with my old prescription in one lens and a new one for my corrected side, which sounded like it would be an excellent temporary solution, but the difference is just too far off.  Each eye can see, but neither wants to cooperate with the other.  I have dealt with this by simply closing one eye or the other most of the time.  That's not bad, but it results in my depth perception being totally wiped out.  Stepping down off of a curb turns into an act of faith and navigating the four shallow steps in my lobby is nothing short of a thrill ride. 

I don't care.  I am delighted with getting that stupid cataract scraped out and this time next week I will be all up to speed.  Until then, I have the eye patch I bought specifically for this and which transforms me into a rakish pirate.  I intend to work that motherfucking look for all it's worth and demand that everyone address me as Pegleg Peenee. 

Aargh.

Boys who are simply an eyeful:

You could put an eye out like that.

Asstastic

Everybody should tell me how very brave and strong I am being, because editing this post has not been easy.  I only hope these pictures are actually the naked boys I hope they are and not knitting patterns.

Although some of them are easier to tell than others.  A buttchop like this is hard to miss.

Pegleg peenee says "Prepared to be boarded and surrender your booty.

Balance is so important.

Everything counts in large amounts.

In Which We Take a Look

 

Last fall, my eye doctor announced I was developing cataracts.  I wasn't surprised particularly, I'm an old man and these things happened to old men, also they run in my family.  The cataract surgeon had a look-see and told me to wait for a while. My reply?  "Okie dokie."  But the thing about "for a while" is eventually the while part runs out. Thus this afternoon found me back at the surgeon with my pupils dilated to the size of a couple of Death Stars scheduling my cataract surgery.  Hot damn.

There was quite a few things I hadn't considered in the matter of getting my eyes chopped up.  I had vaguely assumed things would just go back to pretty much the shitty level my eyes were at before the cataracts developed, but of course that's too simple.  For one thing I am extremely nearsighted, for another, like most people as I got old, my eyes ability to adjust for reading or other close up focus crapped out so I was unable to see either far away or up close.  Great.  The surgery would correct not only the cataracts, but the myopia and the near focus as well.  Or rather, it will correct EITHER the myopia OR the near focus.  I had to pick one or the other. I'm pretty sure I went with continuing to wear glasses for distance, but not needing any correction when I'm fumbling my way through a menu. Since I have been wearing glasses for the last 60 years, the very idea of doing without was so inconceivable, I was flummoxed with the concept.  I wanted to explain that I just need to be able to clearly see pictures of naked men, but the medical profession never seems to get with the program when it comes to porn.

Anyway, now I'm home, completely blinded by the dilation, huddled in my bedroom with the curtains drawn and the cats rampaging in the next room.  I mentioned to Diane von Austinburg I'm worried that after the surgeries, I will finally have to see all the cat puke stains on my fancy rugs and I am not sure I am strong enough for that.

Speaking of naked men,

Because I am posting this while my eyes are so dialated they are mostly decorative, I will not have much to say about this week's boys.

I cannot see what I am putting up here very well, but I can make out that hog.

If some of these turn out to be kitties, I am not to blame.

I think I need some seeing-eye pussy.

I'm thinking Braille for butt.