August is over! That sound you hear is 7 million Arizonans sighing in relief. We’re still sweating, but Weather Bragging Season is in sight. And we’re below 100F and supposed to stay that way till Wednesday. Woo hoo! I can garden without melting. Also, it’s time for a quick look back at August here at Camp WTF. But first: This post is part of the Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Natalie the Explorer and What’s Been on Your Calendar hosted by Sue, Donna, Jo and Deb. Have a seat, grab a box of Extra Toasty Cheez-Its, and let’s get this party started. My poem is a finalist! First up: writing news. My poem, “Mourning Doves,” is a finalist in the Arizona Authors Association annual literary contest! Winners will be announced in early November. Steel Panther comes to Tucson One of Long-Suffering Husband’s favorite bands, Steel Panther, came to Tucson, so off we went to rock out at the Rialto. They parody 80s hair metal, and they’re pretty talented. They also have the most godawful lyrics ever written, because, you know, parody. A few pics from the show: And the obligatory concert selfie: Other stuff that happened in August My other big event in August (if you can call a 1-night trip to a place 2 hours away a “big event”) was a trip to Willcox and the Chiricahuas, which I’ve already covered in previous posts here (Willcox) and here (Chiricahuas). Additional August excitement: Rockin’ at the gastroenterology surgery center Hold onto your butts, it’s story time! Heh, heh, I said “butts” while writing about colonoscopies. What? You expected mature, sophisticated humor? From me? You must have mistaken me for an adult. Anyway. Me, in my 50s: This gastroenterology surgery center is playing my jams. Seriously. I’ve had gastro procedures in 2 different cities in the last 4 years, and both played an excellent mix of 70s and 80s tunes in the waiting area and, in the most recent instance, in the procedure room (remember that fact; it will be important shortly). Apparently GI docs know their target demographic: Old Farts. Heh, heh, I said, “farts,” while talking about gastroenterology. Apparently I’m still channeling Beavis and Butthead. Anyway. Back to the Old Fart Playlist at the GI surgery center. Let’s start this story with a flashback: It was 2019, and I was in the waiting room for my first colonoscopy, nervous as hell and trying to focus on the music to calm down. What starts playing? “Hurts So Good.” I’m sure the other patients wondered why I was giggling in a GI surgery center waiting room at 7:30 AM after a day of starvation and a night of colonoscopy prep. But it was too perfect, right? Fast forward to last month. I make it through colonoscopy #2 (Heh, heh, I said #2 while talking about colonoscopies.) with no musical mishaps, just some pretty good tunes and my husband and I making a bunch of Old Fart jokes in the waiting room like the mature adults we aren’t. Which brings us to this week. I’m back in the same surgery center for my endoscopy. More 70s and 80s jams in the waiting room. I’m kinda getting into it, resisting the urge to sing along, you know, as one does while waiting for someone to stick an endoscope in one’s stomach. They call me back, give me the most pain-free IV I’ve ever had (yay!), and after a little while, roll me into the procedure room. Remember how I said the music plays in there too? Yeah, hold that thought. The medical team gets set up. I try not to panic, because procedure rooms are a little like operating rooms, cold and brightly lit and filled with equipment that would give Viktor Frankenstein the heebie jeebies. To stave off the panic, I focus on the music. So far, so good (and no “Hurts So Good.”) Doc shows up, anesthesiologist draws up the Propofol, I assume the position. It’s GO TIME. What starts playing on the sound system? “Stairway to Heaven.” Yes, really. (I resisted the urge to say “I shit you not.” Apparently I have some standards in my potty humor.) An anesthesiologist is about to put me under, and the last thing I hear is “Stairway to Heaven.” At least it wasn’t “Highway to Hell.” The memery I’m happy to report that I did not, in fact, ascend the stairway to heaven but am alive and well and here to serve up a hot, fresh batch of ridiculousness. For my fellow old farts: IYKYK. You also never hear a murder victim described as sarcastic and foul-mouthed. I’m liking my survival odds. Arizona is only 2 CVS receipts from the sun, max. And as long as we’re talking about proximity to the sun: And finally: Cargo shorts and glasses? Sounds like that octopus is due for a colonoscopy. Hope he likes classic rock. And on that musical note, I’m outta here. Happy September! What kind of trouble did you get into last month? Had any good medical exams lately?