Laura Bush: Shoe thrower lucky Saddam gone
Last update: 6:29 p.m. EST Dec. 28, 2008
WASHINGTON, Dec 28, 2008 (UPI via COMTEX) -- U.S. first lady Laura Bush says she isn't laughing off the incident in Iraq in which a reporter disrupted a news conference by hurling his shoes at her man.
....
She added that the fact the offender would be released sooner rather than later was an indication of the new freedoms Iraqis are enjoying since the overthrow of Saddam Hussein.
"I know that if Saddam Hussein had been there, the man wouldn't have been released," she said. "He probably would have been executed."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
On Friday morning, November 16, 2007, al-Zaidi was kidnapped on his way to work in central Baghdad. Unknown armed men forced him into a car, where he was beaten until he lost consciousness. The assailants used al-Zaidi's necktie to blindfold him and bound his hands with shoelaces.
Injuries
According to witnesses, al-Zaidi was "severely beaten" by security officers after he had been dragged out of the room following the shoe-throwing incident.[32] As the man's screaming could be heard outside, Bush said "That’s what people do in a free society, draw attention to themselves."[21] A "large blood trail" could be seen on the carpet where al-Zaidi had been dragged by security agents.[33][34] Dawa-owned Afaq TV reported that security forces kicked al-Zaidi and beat him.[21] His family reports that it has received many threatening phone calls.[35] The United States Secret Service and the Iraqi Police took custody of al-Zaidi.[36] Al-Zaidi was tested for alcohol and drugs, and his shoes were confiscated as evidence.[37] Al-Zaidi was interrogated by Iraqi and U.S. agents to ascertain whether anyone paid him to throw his shoes at Bush.[38] In an interview with BBC News, al-Zaidi's brother, Durgham al-Zaidi, reported that Muntadhar al-Zaidi suffered a broken hand, broken ribs, internal bleeding, and an eye injury.[9] Durgham al-Zaidi told Al Jazeera that his brother was tortured.[39] Al-Baghdadia TV said that al-Zaidi was "seriously injured" during his detention.[39] Al Sharqiya also points to signs of injury on his thighs and an immobile right arm. However, a different brother, Maitham al-Zaidi, spoke with Muntadhar on the phone and was told: "Thank God I am in good health."[38] On Friday 19 December Dhia al-Kinani, the Judge investigating the case, said there were signs al-Zaidi had been beaten; al-Zaidi had bruises on his face and around his eyes.[40] The Judge also said al-Zaidi had not yet raised a formal charge relating to his injuries.[40] His lawyer, Dhiya'a al-Sa'adi, has also confirmed that al-Zaidi had been beaten, stating that "there are visible signs of torture on his body".[41]
Yeah Laura...this guys doing just great under your husband's " NEW FREEDOMS" you thick cunt.
This was a chance for Bush to step up and set an example for law, order, and freedom. A chance to show the differences between Saddam and democracy. Instead he allows this man to be tortured and sends his wife out to blather on about how "lucky" the guys is. Yet another opportunity lost and more reason for the world to hate America.
All you need to know is on this video from 2:10 - 2:25 where, in response to the reporter pointing out that terrorism didn't come to Iraq until AFTER the invasion, " So What". Hundreds of thousands dead, more maimed, and an entire region in disarray and this shitbag's response....." so what". Thank God its only another 22 days.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Infinite Jest
I try not to write about whatever book I'm reading because it always seems that its virtually impossible to do so without sounding pretentious, like the teller is really saying, " He I read books, not like you TV watching retards".
But seeing as any reader here knows that I watch the requisite amount of TV and I'm as retarded as any red blooded American male, I'll assume that you'll be cool with me mentioning that I read.
Anyway, I just finished Infinite Jest by this dude named David Foster Wallace. The book is looooong. Year ago, younger and more robust I made it through The Stand. A half dozen years back I made it through Atlas Shrugged, but that was only because I skimmed most of the rant at the end AND I was on jury duty. This book is as long and it took me 6 weeks to finish, but had me entertained from cover to cover.
The book is a half dozen short stories intertwined and it heavy on descriptive observation and light on substantive plot. It covers some area...namely athletics, substance abuse/addiction, family relationships, and mental illness, with realistic and hilarious detail that reveals much about the authors background. The book was named in Time's listing of the top 100 novels of all time, but sadly the potential for any future offering about the Endfeld tennis academy or any other offering's by the talented writer ended when David Foster Wallace killed himself last September.
Anyway, you can find the book for $10 on Amazon. You might find the first chapter a little tough to get through until you sync with the timing and tone, but after that you should find the book enjoyable.
But seeing as any reader here knows that I watch the requisite amount of TV and I'm as retarded as any red blooded American male, I'll assume that you'll be cool with me mentioning that I read.
Anyway, I just finished Infinite Jest by this dude named David Foster Wallace. The book is looooong. Year ago, younger and more robust I made it through The Stand. A half dozen years back I made it through Atlas Shrugged, but that was only because I skimmed most of the rant at the end AND I was on jury duty. This book is as long and it took me 6 weeks to finish, but had me entertained from cover to cover.
The book is a half dozen short stories intertwined and it heavy on descriptive observation and light on substantive plot. It covers some area...namely athletics, substance abuse/addiction, family relationships, and mental illness, with realistic and hilarious detail that reveals much about the authors background. The book was named in Time's listing of the top 100 novels of all time, but sadly the potential for any future offering about the Endfeld tennis academy or any other offering's by the talented writer ended when David Foster Wallace killed himself last September.
Anyway, you can find the book for $10 on Amazon. You might find the first chapter a little tough to get through until you sync with the timing and tone, but after that you should find the book enjoyable.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
grocery shopping
I took the youngest girl grocery shopping with me on Sunday.
We were just about done and I remembered three things that I still needed, " OK, we need three more things..a green pepper, garlic bread and bacon. If I forget remind me, OK ?"
" Yes Daddy, pepper, bread, bacon."
We made our way across the grocery store and got the pepper, bread, and a few other items and then I couldn't remember that last thing I needed. ( which of course is why I asked her to remember)
" Dang, I can't remember the last thing I need. What was it I asked you to remember."
" Ha Ha, you can't remember ?"
" No I can't,", I was getting a little annoyed at myself for forgetting and her for laughing, " can you please tell me ?"
" Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, crackers ?"
" No not crackers."
" marshmellow ?"
" No of course not marshmellow. It was something cold I remember that."
" French toast ?"
Then I realized she was just randomly saying stuff as we passed it, " Hey, you're just saying..."
" Pizza ?"
" CUT IT OUT !"
" Whipped cream ? Orange Juice ? Frozen Oniooooooons ?", then incessant giggling.
So then we left. Half way home I remembered, " Bacon ! Stupid friggin bacon !"
" You better go back.", she said, " you're very forgetful" with a big smile.
Later she was sure to let Mommy know and suggested that I was getting old and that maybe they should keep an eye on me.
We were just about done and I remembered three things that I still needed, " OK, we need three more things..a green pepper, garlic bread and bacon. If I forget remind me, OK ?"
" Yes Daddy, pepper, bread, bacon."
We made our way across the grocery store and got the pepper, bread, and a few other items and then I couldn't remember that last thing I needed. ( which of course is why I asked her to remember)
" Dang, I can't remember the last thing I need. What was it I asked you to remember."
" Ha Ha, you can't remember ?"
" No I can't,", I was getting a little annoyed at myself for forgetting and her for laughing, " can you please tell me ?"
" Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, crackers ?"
" No not crackers."
" marshmellow ?"
" No of course not marshmellow. It was something cold I remember that."
" French toast ?"
Then I realized she was just randomly saying stuff as we passed it, " Hey, you're just saying..."
" Pizza ?"
" CUT IT OUT !"
" Whipped cream ? Orange Juice ? Frozen Oniooooooons ?", then incessant giggling.
So then we left. Half way home I remembered, " Bacon ! Stupid friggin bacon !"
" You better go back.", she said, " you're very forgetful" with a big smile.
Later she was sure to let Mommy know and suggested that I was getting old and that maybe they should keep an eye on me.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
E-A-G-L-E-S
I attended my first NFL football game last night.
WOW !
The closest thing I can compare it to is Lollapalooza. It was just complete indulgent chaos. In just our parking lot alone I saw more overt signs of drunken debauchery than I've seen in the last 3 years...and readers of this blog will know that's really saying something. I'm both horrified and impressed at the commitment of Eagles fans to gorge themselves on pork and consume as much Miller Lite as (sub)humanly possible. Hats off.
The one thing that I really found humours was the Eagles year long commitment to going "green". Nothing says " save the environment" like 55,000 people driving 40,000 cars to an event that's lit by 1 trillion mega-lumens of high wattage lamps, and then serve them food and drink in disposable containers that they indiscriminately toss on the ground. As the guy in the seat said to me last night, " is this really your target audience ?"
But what a good time. I got the feeling that in close game or in a loss against Dallas, that it wouldn't take much for the entire scene to go sideways quickly...but at least last night the fans were fun, the game was great, and a fun time was had by all.
Go Birds !
WOW !
The closest thing I can compare it to is Lollapalooza. It was just complete indulgent chaos. In just our parking lot alone I saw more overt signs of drunken debauchery than I've seen in the last 3 years...and readers of this blog will know that's really saying something. I'm both horrified and impressed at the commitment of Eagles fans to gorge themselves on pork and consume as much Miller Lite as (sub)humanly possible. Hats off.
The one thing that I really found humours was the Eagles year long commitment to going "green". Nothing says " save the environment" like 55,000 people driving 40,000 cars to an event that's lit by 1 trillion mega-lumens of high wattage lamps, and then serve them food and drink in disposable containers that they indiscriminately toss on the ground. As the guy in the seat said to me last night, " is this really your target audience ?"
But what a good time. I got the feeling that in close game or in a loss against Dallas, that it wouldn't take much for the entire scene to go sideways quickly...but at least last night the fans were fun, the game was great, and a fun time was had by all.
Go Birds !
Monday, December 15, 2008
aquaman
There's a guy who goes to the gym that I frequent.
He's usually at the pool at around the same time as me and does laps wearing a divers mask, a snorkle, and flippers. Big ocean faring flippers too. And with all that gear on he 'swims' laps for a half hour. I think it takes him two strokes to get the the other side of the pool.
After swimming he retires to the locker room for roughly 3 hours where he showers, steams, hot tubs, showers again, the entire time engaging people in these horrible conversations. Its always something awkwardly personal and when the other person invariably starts talking in a hushed tones in an attempt to salvage some dignity and mellow him out, he always responds by raising his voice about 100 decibles.
( Thus far anyway) he is self aware enough to know to NOT talk to me. I spend the entire time there with a look ( well honed in the locker room of an all boys Catholic high school) that says, " fuck with me and I'll towel snap you right in the dick".
Anyway, I have to swim on Wednesday and I'm seriously thinking about sticking a tampon in his snorkle while he's in the steam room.
He's usually at the pool at around the same time as me and does laps wearing a divers mask, a snorkle, and flippers. Big ocean faring flippers too. And with all that gear on he 'swims' laps for a half hour. I think it takes him two strokes to get the the other side of the pool.
After swimming he retires to the locker room for roughly 3 hours where he showers, steams, hot tubs, showers again, the entire time engaging people in these horrible conversations. Its always something awkwardly personal and when the other person invariably starts talking in a hushed tones in an attempt to salvage some dignity and mellow him out, he always responds by raising his voice about 100 decibles.
( Thus far anyway) he is self aware enough to know to NOT talk to me. I spend the entire time there with a look ( well honed in the locker room of an all boys Catholic high school) that says, " fuck with me and I'll towel snap you right in the dick".
Anyway, I have to swim on Wednesday and I'm seriously thinking about sticking a tampon in his snorkle while he's in the steam room.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
out of the fog
You'll have to forgive me as I just cleared the fog of a 3 day hangover, but I'm going to give writing sentences a shot. If this goes well I might shoot for coherent sentences tomorrow.
Someone used the phrase "bum rush" the other day. As in, " he was standing there and the other guy bum-rushed him". This got me wondering about the origins of this and other common phrases. For whatever inane reason I had a vague idea that bum-rush was referring to your behind/buttocks/your bum. So that bum-rushing someone was running up behind them. How this related to Public Enemy's Bum Rush Da Show I'm not really clear on, but I hadn't really thought about it that much. Then someone pointed out the obvious that it probably had origins that deal with bums...ie hobos, vagabond, transients, etc. I'm not exactly sure how THAT makes sense either, because I'm not sure I've even seen a bum "rushing" exactly, they usually seem rather unhurried. And I really couldn't envision a group of bums closing in on someone...not without kinda laughing anyway. But here's what I found. Its all sorta clear as mud.
This line of thinking also provided me another revelation. My father has always used the phrase "cotton picker" or " cotton pickin" instead of swearing. Now the fact that he going out of the way to not swear should give some insight to the fact that he's a rather conservative guy ( Ward Cleaver conservative, not Rush Limbaugh conservative). The guy doesn't drink and I've never heard him say anything racist in his life. So up until a week ago,I never actually thought about the phrase he so commonly uses. I mean it should have been obvious to both he and I, but I guess it was just one of those things that you just never notice. I can only imagine my shock will pale in comparison to his reaction when I point it out this weekend. I'm SURE he's used the exact phrase, " Ahhhh I just sliced that cotton picker into the sandtrap " while playing with his African-America golfing partner.
And then there's " She built like a brick shithouse " which I just assumed to mean solid...but hardly flattering. I'll let straight dope handle that one.
Someone used the phrase "bum rush" the other day. As in, " he was standing there and the other guy bum-rushed him". This got me wondering about the origins of this and other common phrases. For whatever inane reason I had a vague idea that bum-rush was referring to your behind/buttocks/your bum. So that bum-rushing someone was running up behind them. How this related to Public Enemy's Bum Rush Da Show I'm not really clear on, but I hadn't really thought about it that much. Then someone pointed out the obvious that it probably had origins that deal with bums...ie hobos, vagabond, transients, etc. I'm not exactly sure how THAT makes sense either, because I'm not sure I've even seen a bum "rushing" exactly, they usually seem rather unhurried. And I really couldn't envision a group of bums closing in on someone...not without kinda laughing anyway. But here's what I found. Its all sorta clear as mud.
This line of thinking also provided me another revelation. My father has always used the phrase "cotton picker" or " cotton pickin" instead of swearing. Now the fact that he going out of the way to not swear should give some insight to the fact that he's a rather conservative guy ( Ward Cleaver conservative, not Rush Limbaugh conservative). The guy doesn't drink and I've never heard him say anything racist in his life. So up until a week ago,I never actually thought about the phrase he so commonly uses. I mean it should have been obvious to both he and I, but I guess it was just one of those things that you just never notice. I can only imagine my shock will pale in comparison to his reaction when I point it out this weekend. I'm SURE he's used the exact phrase, " Ahhhh I just sliced that cotton picker into the sandtrap " while playing with his African-America golfing partner.
And then there's " She built like a brick shithouse " which I just assumed to mean solid...but hardly flattering. I'll let straight dope handle that one.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Jonestown
That's why my house looked like Sunday morning. Plastic cups and bodies strewn about as a result of some self-induced mass slaughter...in other words, the annual Flick Family Christmas Party.
This year the party also doubled as a reveal for a year long prank that I pulled on my good friend and neighbor Tom. I haven't been able to write about it here for feat that he might see it, but the whole prank is laid out on another blog I write www.ohdeer2008.blogspot.com
In a nutshell, I stole Tom's wooden lawn deer and spent the last your mailing him around the coutry. THe two videos at the top of that page sum the whole thing up nicely.
Right now I feel like that Russian dude who got poisoned. I kinda look like him too.
This year the party also doubled as a reveal for a year long prank that I pulled on my good friend and neighbor Tom. I haven't been able to write about it here for feat that he might see it, but the whole prank is laid out on another blog I write www.ohdeer2008.blogspot.com
In a nutshell, I stole Tom's wooden lawn deer and spent the last your mailing him around the coutry. THe two videos at the top of that page sum the whole thing up nicely.
Right now I feel like that Russian dude who got poisoned. I kinda look like him too.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
good interview
http://www.bikeraceinfo.com/oralhistory/lemond.html
My wattage, relative to VO2 Max…a VO2 Max of 92 or 93 in a fully recovered way…I think I was capable of producing 450 to 460 watts. The truth is, even at the Tour de France, my Tour de France climb times up l’Alpe d’Huez yielded a wattage of around 380 and 390. That was the historic norm for Hinault and myself. You’ve got times going back many, many years. But what was learned recently, in the last 5 years, was that when you start the Tour de France, you start with a normal hematocrit of, say, 45 percent. By the time you finish, it’s probably down 10 or 15 percent. Which means my VO2 Max dropped 10 or 15 percent. So that’s why I was never producing the same wattage. And then there a lot of other factors that help performance if you’ve recovered. My last time trial in ’89, I averaged about 420, 430 watts, which would match or be slightly down from what my real VO2 Max was.
My wattage, relative to VO2 Max…a VO2 Max of 92 or 93 in a fully recovered way…I think I was capable of producing 450 to 460 watts. The truth is, even at the Tour de France, my Tour de France climb times up l’Alpe d’Huez yielded a wattage of around 380 and 390. That was the historic norm for Hinault and myself. You’ve got times going back many, many years. But what was learned recently, in the last 5 years, was that when you start the Tour de France, you start with a normal hematocrit of, say, 45 percent. By the time you finish, it’s probably down 10 or 15 percent. Which means my VO2 Max dropped 10 or 15 percent. So that’s why I was never producing the same wattage. And then there a lot of other factors that help performance if you’ve recovered. My last time trial in ’89, I averaged about 420, 430 watts, which would match or be slightly down from what my real VO2 Max was.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
going deep
I did a 5 mile run tonight. About 4 miles into to i got a little rumbly in my tumbly, at 4.5 miles it turned into a full blown intestinal "situation", with each pounding step home I put myself into further and further distress.
Its now 10 pm and I'm writing this on the laptop from the downstairs bathroom where I've spent a good portion....let me rephrase that, where I've spent the majority of the night.
I think I now understand why I haven't lost any of that weight. I think I was carrying it all in my large intesttine and just needed a long run to jar it loose. I'm crapping out stuff from the late 80's....stuff like pop rocks and classic coke.
Oh lordy, I hope I make it till daybreak.
Its now 10 pm and I'm writing this on the laptop from the downstairs bathroom where I've spent a good portion....let me rephrase that, where I've spent the majority of the night.
I think I now understand why I haven't lost any of that weight. I think I was carrying it all in my large intesttine and just needed a long run to jar it loose. I'm crapping out stuff from the late 80's....stuff like pop rocks and classic coke.
Oh lordy, I hope I make it till daybreak.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Black Monday
That's what I'm calling the Monday after Thanksgiving break. Everyone is walking around here in a fog. 4 days ( or more) of sleeping in and gorging yourself on turkey is no preparation for an overcast Monday morning sitting in a cubical. Add to that the fact that here in Pennsyltucky its the first day of buck fever and the door never beeps and the phone never rings and you have a recipe ripe for violations of the companies internet use policy.
I hope your Thanksgiving holiday went well...mine did.
As Mrs. Flick is still laid up I made my first turkey ever for the big day. I started around noon right after a hard bike ride and a 4 mile run, which left me as hungry as a Rastafarian in a Whole Foods store. The result was a 15 lb bird, 3 lbs of marshmellow yams, 16 biscuts, etc etc capped off both a pumpkin and a coconut cream pie....for 5 of us, three of whom are under 10 and one of whom is a skinny woman. Needless to say that I've eaten nothing but leftovers for the last 3 days. FYI, 3 day old yams are disgusting no matter how much marshmellow to bathe them in.
Friday I took the kids downtown for the tree lighting ceremony and annual Mayoral season greeting, this year titledm, please-buy-some-stuff-downtown-instead-of-the-mall-so-we-can-hang-onto-the-last-of-the-white-people-who-haven't-pulled-the-the-chute-yet, or something like that. I'm not really sure because I didn't get one of the programs.
The whole city scene fascinates me. You have some modestly affluent baby boomers who are really committed to saving the city. They're the ones supporting ( or opening) the shops. They're the ones keeping the nightlife afloat. They're the ones drawing in the likes of me and my family to participate in things like the tree lighting and first Friday artwalk. But the city is also composed of a fair number of half-way house type crazy and infirmed people as well as a stunning number of feral 12 year old boys with improbably large puffy jackets and nicer cell phones and sneakers than I have. This all creates a surreal mix in the town square with the boomers in their camel hair jackets and wingtips trying to act dignified while crazy toothless people try to protect their shopping bags from wandering packs of PhatFarm puffballs screaming at each other with a 3 to 1 obscenity to english ratio. At least the event was capped with ( literally) 200 tuba players, tubas fully decorated in Chirstmas regalia, playing silent night an a Bowser-like octive, to keep everything anchored in normalcy.
Me ? I bought my kids some hot chocolate then we hightailed it outta there and back tot he suburbs where we like our dysfunction the old fashion American way...surpressed in a haze of prescprition drugs and deviant sexuality. In that I can trust.
The rest of my weekend was spent running, and riding, and swimming, the same as the last 6 weeks. The result of this concerted effort toward fitness and good health has yielded me a net loss of exactly 1 whole pound depending on whether or not I weigh myself pre or post dump. People keep trying to say encouraging things like " maybe you gained muscle" or " hang in there" but I suspect that in their heads they're finishing the sentence with the phrase " ...you fatass". No matter what the outcome, at least if my car breaks down I should be able to run, ride, or swim to the closest donut shop, so it all works out.
A very short conversation Saturday night.
The boy: ( something insulting to the youngest girl)
the girl: I'm not impressed
The boy: Well then maybe I'll call you a therapist
The girl: Then maybe I'll bleed you again.
Last night the youngest girl had a friend over for a sleepover. Around 1:00 am I heard some comotion and I got up to find her friend crying. " I want my mommy, I want to call her". I told the girl that I didn't think that it was a good idea to freak her mom out by calling her at 1:00 am, but that I'd sit with her until she fell back asleep so she wouldn't be scared. Then the youngest girl woke up and asked what has happening. " Your Daddy wont let me call my mommy, he wants to sit in bed with me instead", which, while accurrate, would look a lot less magnanmous if written out in a police report. I woke Mrs. Flick and let her manage the sitation.
OK, I realize this is post is starting to get a little out of control. Happy Monday.
I hope your Thanksgiving holiday went well...mine did.
As Mrs. Flick is still laid up I made my first turkey ever for the big day. I started around noon right after a hard bike ride and a 4 mile run, which left me as hungry as a Rastafarian in a Whole Foods store. The result was a 15 lb bird, 3 lbs of marshmellow yams, 16 biscuts, etc etc capped off both a pumpkin and a coconut cream pie....for 5 of us, three of whom are under 10 and one of whom is a skinny woman. Needless to say that I've eaten nothing but leftovers for the last 3 days. FYI, 3 day old yams are disgusting no matter how much marshmellow to bathe them in.
Friday I took the kids downtown for the tree lighting ceremony and annual Mayoral season greeting, this year titledm, please-buy-some-stuff-downtown-instead-of-the-mall-so-we-can-hang-onto-the-last-of-the-white-people-who-haven't-pulled-the-the-chute-yet, or something like that. I'm not really sure because I didn't get one of the programs.
The whole city scene fascinates me. You have some modestly affluent baby boomers who are really committed to saving the city. They're the ones supporting ( or opening) the shops. They're the ones keeping the nightlife afloat. They're the ones drawing in the likes of me and my family to participate in things like the tree lighting and first Friday artwalk. But the city is also composed of a fair number of half-way house type crazy and infirmed people as well as a stunning number of feral 12 year old boys with improbably large puffy jackets and nicer cell phones and sneakers than I have. This all creates a surreal mix in the town square with the boomers in their camel hair jackets and wingtips trying to act dignified while crazy toothless people try to protect their shopping bags from wandering packs of PhatFarm puffballs screaming at each other with a 3 to 1 obscenity to english ratio. At least the event was capped with ( literally) 200 tuba players, tubas fully decorated in Chirstmas regalia, playing silent night an a Bowser-like octive, to keep everything anchored in normalcy.
Me ? I bought my kids some hot chocolate then we hightailed it outta there and back tot he suburbs where we like our dysfunction the old fashion American way...surpressed in a haze of prescprition drugs and deviant sexuality. In that I can trust.
The rest of my weekend was spent running, and riding, and swimming, the same as the last 6 weeks. The result of this concerted effort toward fitness and good health has yielded me a net loss of exactly 1 whole pound depending on whether or not I weigh myself pre or post dump. People keep trying to say encouraging things like " maybe you gained muscle" or " hang in there" but I suspect that in their heads they're finishing the sentence with the phrase " ...you fatass". No matter what the outcome, at least if my car breaks down I should be able to run, ride, or swim to the closest donut shop, so it all works out.
A very short conversation Saturday night.
The boy: ( something insulting to the youngest girl)
the girl: I'm not impressed
The boy: Well then maybe I'll call you a therapist
The girl: Then maybe I'll bleed you again.
Last night the youngest girl had a friend over for a sleepover. Around 1:00 am I heard some comotion and I got up to find her friend crying. " I want my mommy, I want to call her". I told the girl that I didn't think that it was a good idea to freak her mom out by calling her at 1:00 am, but that I'd sit with her until she fell back asleep so she wouldn't be scared. Then the youngest girl woke up and asked what has happening. " Your Daddy wont let me call my mommy, he wants to sit in bed with me instead", which, while accurrate, would look a lot less magnanmous if written out in a police report. I woke Mrs. Flick and let her manage the sitation.
OK, I realize this is post is starting to get a little out of control. Happy Monday.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Ninja Assasin
Mrs. Flick has shoulder surgery a couple of weeks ago. She's doing well and healing up fine, but pain management has been a bit of an issue.
Mrs. Flick is rather conservative when it comes to drugs, prescription I mean.... she wouldn't even consider recreational. Heck I have to buy her pony bottles of beer and she can barely get through one of those before it starts to get warm. So despite being in some post-op pain, she was only taking her Oxycontin at about half the dosage and in half the time frame prescribe by the doctor. The real trouble started when, after three days, she just quit cold turkey and tried to "gut it out". That's when she learned that "time-released pain meds" means that once you let it get out of your system, you're not getting any real relief for about 2 hours.
After suffering through some serious pain for a few hours, it took far less convincing to get her to take a full dose of the meds, which she did and finally at about 4 am conked out. That's when she learned the meaning of another new phrase..."opium dreams".
I was driving into work the next morning and my phone rang. " WHY ?! WHAT DID I DO ?!", Mrs. Flick was shouting at me.
" Huh ? What's wrong ?"
" I'm a good wife, I'm a good person, why would you want me dead you bastard !"
She went on to explain her very vivid dream involving me hiring a ninja to kill her and her somehow escaping..but the ninja slicing her in the neck and shoulder.
The whole thing was a bad trip which reminded me of this.
I did my best Jimmy Carter, talked her off the ledge and had her go back to bed. A half dozen hours later, no longer high and with a cup of coffee in her, we got it all straightened out....although I notice she still kinda watches me all suspicious out the corner of her eye all.
Which brings us to last night.
Last night I had a shitty day, she had a shitty day and we were chasing the kids around getting them ready for bed. " Man I could use a beer" I lamented since we haven't been keeping any alcohol in the house since I started trying to get back into shape. " You know, me too", she responded.
So while she tucked the kids in I ran down to the corner bar and grabbed me some beer ( that experience will be tomorrows post).
When I got back we sat down, relaxed, and I cracked open a couple of beers. After a few minutes of peaceful silence Mrs. Flick asked, " Hey, I took one of those pills about an hour ago, you think its ok for me to have this beer ?"
I thought for a second, " yeah sure, one beer isn't going to do anything."
Then she gave me that out of the corner of the eye look and I can tell thoughts of ninjas were going through her head, " are you sure ?"
" Yeah I'm sure...relax", but then I started thinking about it and I wasn't sure at all. I mean I wouldn't worry for me, but she doesn't drink, doesn't use drugs, and she's about 100lbs lighter than me. I doubted anything could happen, but now that she asked me ( twice) if anything did happen I didn't need that shit on my shoulders. Plus I know she told that ninja story to at least one of her friends and if she turned up dead I had a bad feeling that I'd have a tough time trying to find character witnesses that would say anything other than, " I dunno...he seems like the kinda guy who might actually do it."
So I googled Oxycontin and alcohol and the first 5 hits that came up has some variation of the same thing, " UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DRINK ALCOHOL WITH THIS DRUG, IT WILL SUPPRESS YOUR CNS AND YOU'LL GO TO SLEEP AND NEVER WAKE UP".
" Ummmm, maybe you should stop drinking that be...", I looked up to see her finishing off the last of the bottle.
" WHAT !?!?!"
" Oh nothing dear, just kidding" and I sent her off to bed.
On Wednesdays I get up to swim and between that and the way she's got herself rigged up in a nest of pillows and pulleys and such for the shoulder, I've arranged other sleeping quarters. So I got up swam, came home showered, and went into our room to get my clothes.
The light from the open door spilled across the bed and there among the pulleys and pillows and various contraptions used to prop her up was Mrs. Flick. Her head was back, mouth agape, out completely cold and not moving. I looked a little closer for the tell tale rise and fall of the covers and the thoughts of prescription bottle disclaimers and Amish ninjas flashed through my head. " OK Flick, get ahold of yourself, you're being silly", I tried to steady myself.
I moved a little closer and leaned over her listening for her breathing and still nothing...NOTHING ! " Honey ?", I whispered. Nothing. " Hey.", and I gave her a little poke. NOTHING !
Then I just freaked out, " OH MY GOD ARE YOU ALIVE, HELLO HELLO !" and started shaking her (good) arm.
" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH", Mrs. Flick bolted straight up, eye the size of saucers. Dazed and confused, " WHA ? WHO ? WHA ?"
" ohmygodohmygodohmygod....okokokokokokok...aaaaaa. sorry....sorry....go back to bed, everything is ok"
She was looking around blankly, " but wha ? what the ?"
" No honey its ok, everything is fine, back to bed now", and I coaxed her back onto the pulley and such and somehow got her lulled back to some sort of sleep. Then I got the hell out of dodge.
Mrs. Flick is rather conservative when it comes to drugs, prescription I mean.... she wouldn't even consider recreational. Heck I have to buy her pony bottles of beer and she can barely get through one of those before it starts to get warm. So despite being in some post-op pain, she was only taking her Oxycontin at about half the dosage and in half the time frame prescribe by the doctor. The real trouble started when, after three days, she just quit cold turkey and tried to "gut it out". That's when she learned that "time-released pain meds" means that once you let it get out of your system, you're not getting any real relief for about 2 hours.
After suffering through some serious pain for a few hours, it took far less convincing to get her to take a full dose of the meds, which she did and finally at about 4 am conked out. That's when she learned the meaning of another new phrase..."opium dreams".
I was driving into work the next morning and my phone rang. " WHY ?! WHAT DID I DO ?!", Mrs. Flick was shouting at me.
" Huh ? What's wrong ?"
" I'm a good wife, I'm a good person, why would you want me dead you bastard !"
She went on to explain her very vivid dream involving me hiring a ninja to kill her and her somehow escaping..but the ninja slicing her in the neck and shoulder.
The whole thing was a bad trip which reminded me of this.
I did my best Jimmy Carter, talked her off the ledge and had her go back to bed. A half dozen hours later, no longer high and with a cup of coffee in her, we got it all straightened out....although I notice she still kinda watches me all suspicious out the corner of her eye all.
Which brings us to last night.
Last night I had a shitty day, she had a shitty day and we were chasing the kids around getting them ready for bed. " Man I could use a beer" I lamented since we haven't been keeping any alcohol in the house since I started trying to get back into shape. " You know, me too", she responded.
So while she tucked the kids in I ran down to the corner bar and grabbed me some beer ( that experience will be tomorrows post).
When I got back we sat down, relaxed, and I cracked open a couple of beers. After a few minutes of peaceful silence Mrs. Flick asked, " Hey, I took one of those pills about an hour ago, you think its ok for me to have this beer ?"
I thought for a second, " yeah sure, one beer isn't going to do anything."
Then she gave me that out of the corner of the eye look and I can tell thoughts of ninjas were going through her head, " are you sure ?"
" Yeah I'm sure...relax", but then I started thinking about it and I wasn't sure at all. I mean I wouldn't worry for me, but she doesn't drink, doesn't use drugs, and she's about 100lbs lighter than me. I doubted anything could happen, but now that she asked me ( twice) if anything did happen I didn't need that shit on my shoulders. Plus I know she told that ninja story to at least one of her friends and if she turned up dead I had a bad feeling that I'd have a tough time trying to find character witnesses that would say anything other than, " I dunno...he seems like the kinda guy who might actually do it."
So I googled Oxycontin and alcohol and the first 5 hits that came up has some variation of the same thing, " UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DRINK ALCOHOL WITH THIS DRUG, IT WILL SUPPRESS YOUR CNS AND YOU'LL GO TO SLEEP AND NEVER WAKE UP".
" Ummmm, maybe you should stop drinking that be...", I looked up to see her finishing off the last of the bottle.
" WHAT !?!?!"
" Oh nothing dear, just kidding" and I sent her off to bed.
On Wednesdays I get up to swim and between that and the way she's got herself rigged up in a nest of pillows and pulleys and such for the shoulder, I've arranged other sleeping quarters. So I got up swam, came home showered, and went into our room to get my clothes.
The light from the open door spilled across the bed and there among the pulleys and pillows and various contraptions used to prop her up was Mrs. Flick. Her head was back, mouth agape, out completely cold and not moving. I looked a little closer for the tell tale rise and fall of the covers and the thoughts of prescription bottle disclaimers and Amish ninjas flashed through my head. " OK Flick, get ahold of yourself, you're being silly", I tried to steady myself.
I moved a little closer and leaned over her listening for her breathing and still nothing...NOTHING ! " Honey ?", I whispered. Nothing. " Hey.", and I gave her a little poke. NOTHING !
Then I just freaked out, " OH MY GOD ARE YOU ALIVE, HELLO HELLO !" and started shaking her (good) arm.
" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH", Mrs. Flick bolted straight up, eye the size of saucers. Dazed and confused, " WHA ? WHO ? WHA ?"
" ohmygodohmygodohmygod....okokokokokokok...aaaaaa. sorry....sorry....go back to bed, everything is ok"
She was looking around blankly, " but wha ? what the ?"
" No honey its ok, everything is fine, back to bed now", and I coaxed her back onto the pulley and such and somehow got her lulled back to some sort of sleep. Then I got the hell out of dodge.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Greg Lemond
I usually don't talk about cycling or doping because they both bore me anymore, but I just got done watching stages 17-21 of the 1990 Tour De France and find myself really pissed off.
What I'm pissed off at are the morons who criticize and vilify Greg Lemond as some sort of washed up guy who's criticism of modern cycling and douchebag Armstrong is all sour grapes.
Lets establish something right off the bat.
Greg Lemond is the greatest American cyclist ever. Period.
He was World Champion as a junior and twice as a professional on the road.
He got the silver at the worlds an additional two times as a professional
He won the Tour three times, twice after being SHOT and still having pellets in the tissue around his heart. He also placed third in the tour and second in a tour that many feel he could have won.
He won the season long super prestige trophy in 1983 which was that era's equivalent of the Pro Tour title. He was second in the same series in 1986
He raced all season long in Europe AND the US, winning the Coors Classic a couple of times,the Tour DuPont and featuring in the spring and fall classic as well as the world championships.
And HE DID IT DOPE FREE
I'll even contend that if it weren't for EPO jacking up riders like Berzin, Chiapucci, Riis, Indurain, etc etc etc in the early 90's that Lemond may have an another couple of successful seasons and perhaps another tour win.
Now to address his criticisms of Armstrong and Landis, let's get right to the heart of the matter.
Landis doped.
If you want to make the argument that Armstrong didn't dope, I think you're retarded, but I'll agree that he never tested positive. Somehow he dominated Ulrich, Zuelle, Pantani and all the other admitted cheaters, but he never tested positive. All his former teammates, Hamilton, Heras, Landis, Vaughters, Andreau, Swart, etc etc etc all have either been busted and or admited cheating, but you're right he never tested positive. He dumped Landis' blood bag down the drain like some petulant child, but he indeed has passed every piss test. He went out of his way to badger, humiliate and cut short the careers of riders and support staff of spoke out against doping, but you're 100% correct he never tested positive.
Oh except for that one time with the cortisone, but that got all straightened out.
So at great personal loss....he lost his bicycle company...he had his personal laundry of child molestation outted....he's persona-non-grata in the professional cycling community.....at the great personal loss and without anything to gain, Lemond has spoken out AGAINST DOPING. He's called into question Armstrong antics, associations, and motivations. He's asked for more strict guidelines and testing procedures.
And along every step of the way his assertions, accusations, and ideas have all been proven to 100% absolutely CORRECT.
And he's the asshole ?!?!
If you don't support Lemond, if you don't see that he's trying to clean up the sport...the dying piece of shit that its become...then you're blind.
http://www.cyclinghalloffame.com/riders/rider_bio.asp?rider_id=23
http://bestoflemond.blogspot.com/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greg_LeMond
Two Ships
After watching to kids almost konk heads in the swimming pool the phrase " two ship passing in the night" went through my head.
Its usually used in the context of two people missing some wonderful opportunity due to an unfortunate circumstance of timing. Often this is used in the context of relationship.
But seeing the two kids nearly bang heads made me wonder about the alternatives. What if two people were like two ships that collided in the night. You know with horror and panic, people screaming and pleading for their lives ?
Now that sounds like a much more apt description of my relationships.
Its usually used in the context of two people missing some wonderful opportunity due to an unfortunate circumstance of timing. Often this is used in the context of relationship.
But seeing the two kids nearly bang heads made me wonder about the alternatives. What if two people were like two ships that collided in the night. You know with horror and panic, people screaming and pleading for their lives ?
Now that sounds like a much more apt description of my relationships.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)