I've gotten increasingly and noticeably dumber. No concentration, forgetful, and illogical. I mean it's been a slow erosion, but lately its accelerated dramatically.
It's either the:
poker
booze
coffee
or lack of sleep
Interestingly, I've laid off the poker this last week which has me going to bed earlier. And since I'm not up, I'm not drinking.
Therefore if I"m not wickedly smart by 3:30 this afternoon, I"m blaming the coffee.
Yeah, I know that doesn't make any sense, but gimme a break, I'm retarded.
You know what's pissing me off ? I keep typing the " when I mean to be typing the '. That's really weird because you have to hit SHIFT in order to get the ". Jezze I'm losing it.
How's it go ? Frontal labotomy vs. bottle in front of me ?
Anyway, thanks to Rob the Bouncer this is in the bag
Infinate Jest by David Foster Wallace
Yet another good author who wrote some really funny stuff and then killed himself. Frankly that pattern is starting to make me uncomfortable. Good thing for Sez his site has gone down the tubes.
Ok, this has turned into useless rambling...I'm out.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
green aKers ?
Tim: You're always telling people what to do. You're like that fascist....what's his name ?
Tom: Mussolinni ?
Tim: No, no, no the one from T.V........what the fuck is his name ? Oh yeah, Eddy Albert.
Tom: EDDY ALBERT ?! From Green Acres ?!
Tim: Yeah right ! You're like Eddy " Fascist" Albert with all your rules and bullshit like that.
Tom: Seriously, what the hell are you talking about.
Tim: You ever listen to that theme song ? He's all like " Oooo I wanna be a gentleman farmer" and Zha Zha Gabor is all like " Please Eddy please, don't take me away from my family" and at the end he's all like " YOU ARE MY WIFE !!!" like threatening her and shit, just picking on this poor immigrant. And what's she going to do, " goodbye city life" that it, that's all she's got. That's me. All day long I'm like " goodbye city life" while your running around with your pitchfork and three piece suit giggling.
Tom: First off, its Eva Gabor. And you're no Eva Gabor. Secondly, there's a big fucking difference between Fascism traditional marriage rolls.
Tim: I suppose it seems that way when you're the one weilding the dick.
Tom: In any case. While I'm not advocating repression, you have to admit, under Mussolini the trains DID run on time.
Tim: Yeah, up until they burned the bastard.
Tom: If it saved him from having conversations like this, I'm sure it was a welcomed end. Now get back to work.
Tom: Mussolinni ?
Tim: No, no, no the one from T.V........what the fuck is his name ? Oh yeah, Eddy Albert.
Tom: EDDY ALBERT ?! From Green Acres ?!
Tim: Yeah right ! You're like Eddy " Fascist" Albert with all your rules and bullshit like that.
Tom: Seriously, what the hell are you talking about.
Tim: You ever listen to that theme song ? He's all like " Oooo I wanna be a gentleman farmer" and Zha Zha Gabor is all like " Please Eddy please, don't take me away from my family" and at the end he's all like " YOU ARE MY WIFE !!!" like threatening her and shit, just picking on this poor immigrant. And what's she going to do, " goodbye city life" that it, that's all she's got. That's me. All day long I'm like " goodbye city life" while your running around with your pitchfork and three piece suit giggling.
Tom: First off, its Eva Gabor. And you're no Eva Gabor. Secondly, there's a big fucking difference between Fascism traditional marriage rolls.
Tim: I suppose it seems that way when you're the one weilding the dick.
Tom: In any case. While I'm not advocating repression, you have to admit, under Mussolini the trains DID run on time.
Tim: Yeah, up until they burned the bastard.
Tom: If it saved him from having conversations like this, I'm sure it was a welcomed end. Now get back to work.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
EEEEEEVELLLLLL
AN unbelievable story.
* Mine worker
* Convict
* Champion Insurance Salesman
* Poacher
* Arm wrestler
* and on and on
I like this:
On the morning of the jump, Knievel stopped in the casino and placed his last 100 dollars on the blackjack table (which he lost), stopped by the bar and had a shot of Wild Turkey and then headed outside where he was joined by several members of the Caesars staff, as well as two scantily clad showgirls. After doing his normal pre-jump show and a few warm up approaches, Knievel began his real approach. When he hit the takeoff ramp, he felt the motorcycle unexpectedly decelerate. The sudden loss of power on the takeoff caused Knievel to come up short and land on the safety ramp which was supported by a van. This caused the handlebars to be ripped out of his hands as he tumbled over them onto the pavement where he skidded into the Dunes parking lot. As a result of the crash, Knievel suffered a crushed pelvis and femur, fractures to his hip, wrist and both ankles and a concussion that kept him in a coma for 29 days
I used to have one of these
Friday, October 03, 2008
perception is reality
Down home soccer mom, woman of the people - Todd Palin works for the London-based oil company BP as an oil-field production operator and owns a commercial fishing business. The Palins have an estimated combined net worth of $1.2 million.
Big mean old rich white senator dude - With a net worth between $59,000 and $366,000,and almost no outside income or investment income, he is consistently ranked as one of the least wealthy members of the Senate.
Big mean old rich white senator dude - With a net worth between $59,000 and $366,000,and almost no outside income or investment income, he is consistently ranked as one of the least wealthy members of the Senate.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Mott the Hoople
I'm not much of a music guy. I mean I like it, but I don't buy it...nor do I rip it off.
But usually once a year I get an impulse and buy something that grabs my attention.
2005 - 50cent - Get Rich or Die Trying
2006 - George Thorogoods Greatest Hits
2007 - Johny Cashs Great Hits ( as you can see I'm a greatest hits guy)
So this morning I went into Starbucks and
GLAM REVOLUTION - The Heyday & Legacy of Glam Rock
Queen, David Bowie, GOLDFRAPP !!!! by God GOLDFRAPP !!!....Mott THe Hoople, Adam and the Ants, Roxy Music and a seperate track by Bryan ( with a y) Ferry, T. Rex, The New York Dolls, Iggy Friggin-Pop.
My only disappointment is that it didn't come with a scarf and some eyeliner.
GLAM ON !
But usually once a year I get an impulse and buy something that grabs my attention.
2005 - 50cent - Get Rich or Die Trying
2006 - George Thorogoods Greatest Hits
2007 - Johny Cashs Great Hits ( as you can see I'm a greatest hits guy)
So this morning I went into Starbucks and
GLAM REVOLUTION - The Heyday & Legacy of Glam Rock
Queen, David Bowie, GOLDFRAPP !!!! by God GOLDFRAPP !!!....Mott THe Hoople, Adam and the Ants, Roxy Music and a seperate track by Bryan ( with a y) Ferry, T. Rex, The New York Dolls, Iggy Friggin-Pop.
My only disappointment is that it didn't come with a scarf and some eyeliner.
GLAM ON !
Monday, September 29, 2008
what a life
I'm sure there's a way to get pictures from my phone and onto my computer.
I'm also sure that I'll never figure out how to do that...which is too bad because I have some good ones.
They say that all any parent ever wants to do is to give their kids a better life than what they had. But at what point is it ok to start getting jealous ?
Point in case...
Saturday I took the boy to the Phillies game. Not just any Phils game, but one in which they were playing for the NL East title. Because the Flyers had a special game at the Spectrum and Temple was playing at the Link we went public transportation. A short train, trolley, a then subway ride ( and 200 hands of blackjack) later we were sitting a dozen rows off the field eating ice cream. Not only did the boy enjoy a gluttonous afternoon of pizza, soda and ice cream, but we got an incredible nailbiter of a game. Jimmy Rollins made a diving save up the middle and turned a double-play in the 9th, with the bases loaded to seal the deal.
The place went nuts even by Philadelphia standards. There were fireworks, the bell was ringing, strangers were hugging each other. You could probably see all of this if you all were huddled in my office looking at my phone.
Sunday the boy had a football game. He started at quarterback and threw a completed pass for a touchdown and a completed pass for an extra point in the pouring rain at a level where just completing a pass is about a 8 to 1 shot. He rounded out the effort with two catch, a sack, and one interception.
We came home, made cheesesteaks, made a strawberry pie, and ate it all watching football until we feel asleep.
Damn I'm a lucky kid...I mean HE...yeah HE's a lucky kid.
I'm also sure that I'll never figure out how to do that...which is too bad because I have some good ones.
They say that all any parent ever wants to do is to give their kids a better life than what they had. But at what point is it ok to start getting jealous ?
Point in case...
Saturday I took the boy to the Phillies game. Not just any Phils game, but one in which they were playing for the NL East title. Because the Flyers had a special game at the Spectrum and Temple was playing at the Link we went public transportation. A short train, trolley, a then subway ride ( and 200 hands of blackjack) later we were sitting a dozen rows off the field eating ice cream. Not only did the boy enjoy a gluttonous afternoon of pizza, soda and ice cream, but we got an incredible nailbiter of a game. Jimmy Rollins made a diving save up the middle and turned a double-play in the 9th, with the bases loaded to seal the deal.
The place went nuts even by Philadelphia standards. There were fireworks, the bell was ringing, strangers were hugging each other. You could probably see all of this if you all were huddled in my office looking at my phone.
Sunday the boy had a football game. He started at quarterback and threw a completed pass for a touchdown and a completed pass for an extra point in the pouring rain at a level where just completing a pass is about a 8 to 1 shot. He rounded out the effort with two catch, a sack, and one interception.
We came home, made cheesesteaks, made a strawberry pie, and ate it all watching football until we feel asleep.
Damn I'm a lucky kid...I mean HE...yeah HE's a lucky kid.
Friday, September 26, 2008
real comfort
I broke my rear deraileur cable on my ride Tuesday. That meant 5 miles home in the 39x12.
Thursday came quicker than expected and that left me in a pickle. I moved a bunch of stuff around in the garage and dug out my old Cannondale retired something like 8 years ago. The thing had about a quarter inch of dust on it. The bar tape was held together by some electrical tape, and it still had vista lights and my drop-in bars ( the greatest bars ever invented i might add) and a rear blinker from when I had last used it as a commuter.
I threw some good wheels on it, doused the chain with WD-40 ( only the best) and headed out.
Talk about sweeeeeet.
It was like finding your high school baseball glove and sliding it on your hand. The thing fit absolutely perfect. It was only a 45 minute ride, but may have been one of the more enjoyable rides of the year. I may have a hard time going back.
Anyway, your funny clip of the day...
Thursday came quicker than expected and that left me in a pickle. I moved a bunch of stuff around in the garage and dug out my old Cannondale retired something like 8 years ago. The thing had about a quarter inch of dust on it. The bar tape was held together by some electrical tape, and it still had vista lights and my drop-in bars ( the greatest bars ever invented i might add) and a rear blinker from when I had last used it as a commuter.
I threw some good wheels on it, doused the chain with WD-40 ( only the best) and headed out.
Talk about sweeeeeet.
It was like finding your high school baseball glove and sliding it on your hand. The thing fit absolutely perfect. It was only a 45 minute ride, but may have been one of the more enjoyable rides of the year. I may have a hard time going back.
Anyway, your funny clip of the day...
Thursday, September 25, 2008
hey wait a sec
It occurred to my on my drive in today.....so the Prez says the banks need an influx of cash...very important he says. OK I'm down with that.
But how about this ? Instead of printing up a bunch of money and giving it to them, or instead of assuming all their debt, how about this plan...
The government immediately drops the federal income tax rate for everyone paying taxes by 60%. That means instead of paying 40% of your income in federal taxes you only have to pay 24%. That's going to immediately give everyone in the country between a 6% and 16% raise.
With that, many of the people defaulting on their mortgages will have the money to actually PAY their monthly mortgage. People who have been reluctant to purchase a house might have the funds to do so. And everyone else will have money to spend, invest, and PUT IN THE BANKS.
Now the natural question is, how is the government going to get by on 40% of what they're used to having ? I say, let them figure that out. They can tighten the purse strings, they can be more attentive to waste, and if they're really in a jam they can print up money like they plan on doing anyway. But at least this way, we'd stand a chance.
But how about this ? Instead of printing up a bunch of money and giving it to them, or instead of assuming all their debt, how about this plan...
The government immediately drops the federal income tax rate for everyone paying taxes by 60%. That means instead of paying 40% of your income in federal taxes you only have to pay 24%. That's going to immediately give everyone in the country between a 6% and 16% raise.
With that, many of the people defaulting on their mortgages will have the money to actually PAY their monthly mortgage. People who have been reluctant to purchase a house might have the funds to do so. And everyone else will have money to spend, invest, and PUT IN THE BANKS.
Now the natural question is, how is the government going to get by on 40% of what they're used to having ? I say, let them figure that out. They can tighten the purse strings, they can be more attentive to waste, and if they're really in a jam they can print up money like they plan on doing anyway. But at least this way, we'd stand a chance.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
neo-cons are funny
From FoxNews ( of course)
Former UN Secretary Bolton talking about Ahmadinejad's address yesterday
BOLTON:
And if anybody needed any convincing about how dangerous the Iranian regime is listen to Ahmadinejad today. Not only did he say the things that you mentioned, he also said that Zionists controlled the financial markets in the United States.
This is what this man thinks. Imagine him in possession of nuclear wapons.
yes, that's crazy, to think such a thing...wonder where would he get that idea ?
Federal Reserve Board of Governors ( of 6 positions)
Bernanke, Kohn, Mishkin, Kroszner
Bush forein policy team
Chertoff, Bolton, Pearle
and a foreign policy program the rejects diplomacy and supports Isreal's right to PREEMPTIVE attacks on PERCEIVED threats.
Yeah, he's crazy.
**EDIT**
And before anyone jumps to conclussions....do not mistake those comments to be anti-semetic.
Simply put, there's an overt and unapologetic dispensationalist Christian and pro-Isreal influence in this current administration, and in the US government in general. So to have members of the administration continue to use comments about Zionism as 'evidence' of lunacy strikes me as funny ( not haha funny, but Orwellian double-speak funny...which really isn't that funy now that I think about it).
See this stuff scares me because you have a rising movement among evangelical Christians who really believe the rapture is coming soon. And the rise of Palin is further evidence that this movement is gaining momentum. My greatest fear is that these folks are going to succeed in self-fullfilling their own prophesy.
WOW ! That's a far cry from my usual farting stories eh ?
Former UN Secretary Bolton talking about Ahmadinejad's address yesterday
BOLTON:
And if anybody needed any convincing about how dangerous the Iranian regime is listen to Ahmadinejad today. Not only did he say the things that you mentioned, he also said that Zionists controlled the financial markets in the United States.
This is what this man thinks. Imagine him in possession of nuclear wapons.
yes, that's crazy, to think such a thing...wonder where would he get that idea ?
Federal Reserve Board of Governors ( of 6 positions)
Bernanke, Kohn, Mishkin, Kroszner
Bush forein policy team
Chertoff, Bolton, Pearle
and a foreign policy program the rejects diplomacy and supports Isreal's right to PREEMPTIVE attacks on PERCEIVED threats.
Yeah, he's crazy.
**EDIT**
And before anyone jumps to conclussions....do not mistake those comments to be anti-semetic.
Simply put, there's an overt and unapologetic dispensationalist Christian and pro-Isreal influence in this current administration, and in the US government in general. So to have members of the administration continue to use comments about Zionism as 'evidence' of lunacy strikes me as funny ( not haha funny, but Orwellian double-speak funny...which really isn't that funy now that I think about it).
See this stuff scares me because you have a rising movement among evangelical Christians who really believe the rapture is coming soon. And the rise of Palin is further evidence that this movement is gaining momentum. My greatest fear is that these folks are going to succeed in self-fullfilling their own prophesy.
WOW ! That's a far cry from my usual farting stories eh ?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Thank you freecycle
FREECYCLING.ORG
No, its not a cycling thing...its a REcycling thing.
You know all that stuff you have in your garage that you don't want to throw away because it still works...but you know you aren't ever going to use it again ?
Well this is your answer. You post what you have and if anyone can use it, the come and get it.
I posted my kids swingset on Friday at 2 pm, had 5 intersted people by the next morning and by Sunday at noon the entire swingset was out of my backyard ( no mean feat).
Just as important, I suppose, is that instead of being in a landfill or being firewood, the payset is going to put to good use by a new group of kids.
No, its not a cycling thing...its a REcycling thing.
You know all that stuff you have in your garage that you don't want to throw away because it still works...but you know you aren't ever going to use it again ?
Well this is your answer. You post what you have and if anyone can use it, the come and get it.
I posted my kids swingset on Friday at 2 pm, had 5 intersted people by the next morning and by Sunday at noon the entire swingset was out of my backyard ( no mean feat).
Just as important, I suppose, is that instead of being in a landfill or being firewood, the payset is going to put to good use by a new group of kids.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
how good is this ?
Minimize the screen because the video is stupid, but how about this songwriting.
If I could do two things that I cannot do, writing something like this would be one of them. The other would be to be able to sing Gospel like a large southern black woman.
If I could do two things that I cannot do, writing something like this would be one of them. The other would be to be able to sing Gospel like a large southern black woman.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
good poker story from 2+2
While visiting Scottsdale, I wandered over to the Indian casino and jumped into a 2/5 game. I sat in seat 7 at a full table. Next to me in seat 8 was a retired hockey player, no one famous or even well known. He was a big guy and apparently a regular. He had been drinking and developed a terrible negative attitude, berating the players and the dealers at every opportunity. This goes on for some time and everyone is just putting up with him. Despite his drinking however he remained rock tight.
Across the table in seat 3, sat a very young wispy haired kid whose shoulders barely spanned a foot. The kid looked 13 but was a good player.
The kid and the hockey player end up HU in a big pot. The river was dealt. Kid moved all in. Hockey player went in the tank. After a minute he folds. Kid slaps down rags face up.
Hockey player blows up. Berates the kid for showing the bluff and starts calling the kid names. The kid pulls the pot and starts stacking. The last name the hockey player yelled was "f***ing derelict!"
There was a brief pause. Then the wispy haired kid pushed two of his $100 stacks back toward the center of the table and said to the hockey player, "This $200 is yours if you can spell 'derelict'." The hockey player froze. I could barely contain myself. I had to turn away. Remember, the hockey player was sitting right next to me.
The stacks went back to the kid. The hockey player never said another word to anyone.
Later in the session, I noticed the hockey player with a pen and paper on his lap under the table. He was trying to spell out derelict
Across the table in seat 3, sat a very young wispy haired kid whose shoulders barely spanned a foot. The kid looked 13 but was a good player.
The kid and the hockey player end up HU in a big pot. The river was dealt. Kid moved all in. Hockey player went in the tank. After a minute he folds. Kid slaps down rags face up.
Hockey player blows up. Berates the kid for showing the bluff and starts calling the kid names. The kid pulls the pot and starts stacking. The last name the hockey player yelled was "f***ing derelict!"
There was a brief pause. Then the wispy haired kid pushed two of his $100 stacks back toward the center of the table and said to the hockey player, "This $200 is yours if you can spell 'derelict'." The hockey player froze. I could barely contain myself. I had to turn away. Remember, the hockey player was sitting right next to me.
The stacks went back to the kid. The hockey player never said another word to anyone.
Later in the session, I noticed the hockey player with a pen and paper on his lap under the table. He was trying to spell out derelict
customer enterprise relations management architecture
The one thing that always bothers me about tech people is that they're always using words that send my bullshit meter into the red.
Now I know at this point that the jargon is industry wide and people are just communicating in kind, but I have a had time saying, "ok, ok Im impressed already..computers are mystical...programming is magic...I get it...just say what you mean".
I think these fuckers are paid by the syllable.
Now I know at this point that the jargon is industry wide and people are just communicating in kind, but I have a had time saying, "ok, ok Im impressed already..computers are mystical...programming is magic...I get it...just say what you mean".
I think these fuckers are paid by the syllable.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Parenting the insane
Matt Damon pretty much capturing my emotional state with regard to the presidental election. And before you nutjobs go psycho on me, the destain and disgust extends well beyond both sides of the aisle and into all arms of the media. But there's something surprisingly shocking about the way he states the obvious here and how it contrasts against the contrived discussions that almost everyone else is having.
Onto less depressing things
Me (on phone): Hello Sophie
Sop: This isn't Sophie, its Sabrina
Me: Yeah....whatever. Put Uncle Ron on.
Sop: He's not here.
Me: He's not ?!
Sop: No...he's out eating sushi.
Me: Dammit, put Uncle Ron on !
Sop: OK....and I'm telling Mom you used bad words again.
I had a guy at work who called me three times in three days being a bigger and bigger asshole each time he called. I reacted by being a nicer and nicer guy each time. By the thrid time I had enough. The real problem was during the third call a workman for our security system provider came into my office set up his ladder and was working on something in the ceiling just in front of my desk. What he first heard was me ridiculously dripping with niceness, " yes sir, no sir, I understand sir" etc, etc....then I blew. " I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE !!!!!", I yelled at the top of my lung...standing and sceaming into the phone. PLOP. Down went the screwdriver as the workguy needed both hands to stead himself on the ladder. Then he hustled down the ladder, grabbed the screwdriver and ran out the door.
Oh yeah, the guy on the phone couldn't have been any nicer. " Hey, thats great, thanks for helping me out". Go figure.
I'd write more... but after McNabb threw into tripple coverage on 2nd & 14 with 10 yards of open field to run in front of him last night..I have an email to Philly I need to take care of.
Onto less depressing things
Me (on phone): Hello Sophie
Sop: This isn't Sophie, its Sabrina
Me: Yeah....whatever. Put Uncle Ron on.
Sop: He's not here.
Me: He's not ?!
Sop: No...he's out eating sushi.
Me: Dammit, put Uncle Ron on !
Sop: OK....and I'm telling Mom you used bad words again.
I had a guy at work who called me three times in three days being a bigger and bigger asshole each time he called. I reacted by being a nicer and nicer guy each time. By the thrid time I had enough. The real problem was during the third call a workman for our security system provider came into my office set up his ladder and was working on something in the ceiling just in front of my desk. What he first heard was me ridiculously dripping with niceness, " yes sir, no sir, I understand sir" etc, etc....then I blew. " I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE !!!!!", I yelled at the top of my lung...standing and sceaming into the phone. PLOP. Down went the screwdriver as the workguy needed both hands to stead himself on the ladder. Then he hustled down the ladder, grabbed the screwdriver and ran out the door.
Oh yeah, the guy on the phone couldn't have been any nicer. " Hey, thats great, thanks for helping me out". Go figure.
I'd write more... but after McNabb threw into tripple coverage on 2nd & 14 with 10 yards of open field to run in front of him last night..I have an email to Philly I need to take care of.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Thursday, September 04, 2008
where I've been
In a nutshell...
Got stuck in one airport....then got stuck in a second airport...was in both places with a headcold, so getting hammered drunk was out of the question. In an airport, with a headcold, sober might be the second level of hell.
Anyway up in the air, sinuses exploding, back down...rinse and repeat.
Finally got home after 12 hours miserable and exhausted. I loaded up no twice as many cold meds as recommended, pounded a beer, and went straight to bed at 8:30. I traded rooms with my daughter so that I wouldn't infect anyone else.
Somewhere around 2 am I woke up doped and disoriented and with a full bladder. I tried to figure out where I was made a beline for the only lightsource coming from the hallway.
WHACK
I walked right into a opened closet door and split my nose and head open. I didn't even bother dealing with it. I took a leak and went back to bed.
Got stuck in one airport....then got stuck in a second airport...was in both places with a headcold, so getting hammered drunk was out of the question. In an airport, with a headcold, sober might be the second level of hell.
Anyway up in the air, sinuses exploding, back down...rinse and repeat.
Finally got home after 12 hours miserable and exhausted. I loaded up no twice as many cold meds as recommended, pounded a beer, and went straight to bed at 8:30. I traded rooms with my daughter so that I wouldn't infect anyone else.
Somewhere around 2 am I woke up doped and disoriented and with a full bladder. I tried to figure out where I was made a beline for the only lightsource coming from the hallway.
WHACK
I walked right into a opened closet door and split my nose and head open. I didn't even bother dealing with it. I took a leak and went back to bed.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
dookie
Part of starting my new job has been to try and make sure that I'm respectful of the fact that all the employees who were here when I have here have their own particular way of doing things. I'm also substantially more self aware because everyone in the office is a woman...more specifically all women between 50-65 years old.
The first week of work that was on my mind when I went into the non-urinal, shared bathroom and was sure to put the seat down when I was done. On the second day, I went in and saw the seat was UP ?! I took my leak, put the seat down, and off I went. The third day I went in SEAT UP ?!?! I was starting to freak out. With an entire office full of women either one of the chicks was getting freaky, or someone was trying to set me up.
On day four the seat was up and I was on full out paranoia. About a half hour later I heard the secretary get up and go walking down the way toward the bathroom. I went, put the seat down then laid in wait to see who the culprit was. I went into the bookkeepers office which is directly across from the bathroom ( another story for another time). I brought a folder she and I were going to review so I could keep an eye on the bathroom door without drawing suspicion on myself. After a minute or two I heard a click and looked up but the bathroom door didn't move. Instead, off to the left, the hall closet opened and the secretary came walking out of the closet.
" Huh ?!", I said aloud, " What was she doing in the closet ?"
The bookkeeper look at me puzzled, " the closet?"
" Yeah Suz just came walking out of the closet !"
He face twisted up a little more, " Don't you...Do you mean the women's bathroom ?"
Apparently, we have a women's bathroom.
Also...apparently the maintenance MAN comes in at time.
And finally....apparently I'm a jackass.
The first week of work that was on my mind when I went into the non-urinal, shared bathroom and was sure to put the seat down when I was done. On the second day, I went in and saw the seat was UP ?! I took my leak, put the seat down, and off I went. The third day I went in SEAT UP ?!?! I was starting to freak out. With an entire office full of women either one of the chicks was getting freaky, or someone was trying to set me up.
On day four the seat was up and I was on full out paranoia. About a half hour later I heard the secretary get up and go walking down the way toward the bathroom. I went, put the seat down then laid in wait to see who the culprit was. I went into the bookkeepers office which is directly across from the bathroom ( another story for another time). I brought a folder she and I were going to review so I could keep an eye on the bathroom door without drawing suspicion on myself. After a minute or two I heard a click and looked up but the bathroom door didn't move. Instead, off to the left, the hall closet opened and the secretary came walking out of the closet.
" Huh ?!", I said aloud, " What was she doing in the closet ?"
The bookkeeper look at me puzzled, " the closet?"
" Yeah Suz just came walking out of the closet !"
He face twisted up a little more, " Don't you...Do you mean the women's bathroom ?"
Apparently, we have a women's bathroom.
Also...apparently the maintenance MAN comes in at time.
And finally....apparently I'm a jackass.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
First day of school
Let me begin by saying I have some allergy that strikes me in August and September. I have no idea what it is, and it doesn't affect me any other time, but starting right around the second or third week in August I wake up every morning with my eyes burning and my nose running uncontrollably.
That's exactly how things started for me yesterday, which was the kids first day of school.
The allergies set the tone for what is always destined to be a disaster of a morning. The kids aren't used to getting up, my wife is all depressed because the kids are going away and summer is over, and more importantly ( to me anyway) is that my morning routine is interrupted.
All summer long I have the pleasure of being the only up in the mornings. The rare chance to enjoy the quiet solitude has really made me a morning person. Grib, who had 4 brothers and 3 sisters told me how he would occasionally find his father sitting in the dark at 5 am with a pot of coffee all alone. What was once seen as maniacal seems prudent now.
So instead of quietly getting dressed and sipping coffee while listening to sportscenter I spent the better part of the morning screaming shit like, " I'm leaving in 3 minutes with or without you !" ( I wasn't) or " I'm going to make you all wear burlap sacks to school for now on" ( I was).
Finally, 5 minutes late, we got out the door, into the car, and off to school. In my haste I forgot my allergy medicine and the entire time over to the school I have to drive with my head tilted back and my nose toward the heavens so that I didn't have mucus running all over my shirt. This was of course made worse by the face that my eyes were watering. Frankly I'm proud of the fact that we got to school without me dragging 100 yards of corn stalks behind us.
We got to school and after dealing out the hugs, kisses and goodbyes I ran into the bathroom and got a giant handful of that sandpaper-grade institutional towels every grade school has. With a giant sigh of relief I stepped out the front doors blew my nose with great vigor, and wiped the burning from my eyes. Finally....relief.
With that, a passing mother on her way into the building stopped for a second, put her hand on my shoulder and said, " awww, I know exactly how you feel, the first day always breaks my heart too..it'll be ok."
That's exactly how things started for me yesterday, which was the kids first day of school.
The allergies set the tone for what is always destined to be a disaster of a morning. The kids aren't used to getting up, my wife is all depressed because the kids are going away and summer is over, and more importantly ( to me anyway) is that my morning routine is interrupted.
All summer long I have the pleasure of being the only up in the mornings. The rare chance to enjoy the quiet solitude has really made me a morning person. Grib, who had 4 brothers and 3 sisters told me how he would occasionally find his father sitting in the dark at 5 am with a pot of coffee all alone. What was once seen as maniacal seems prudent now.
So instead of quietly getting dressed and sipping coffee while listening to sportscenter I spent the better part of the morning screaming shit like, " I'm leaving in 3 minutes with or without you !" ( I wasn't) or " I'm going to make you all wear burlap sacks to school for now on" ( I was).
Finally, 5 minutes late, we got out the door, into the car, and off to school. In my haste I forgot my allergy medicine and the entire time over to the school I have to drive with my head tilted back and my nose toward the heavens so that I didn't have mucus running all over my shirt. This was of course made worse by the face that my eyes were watering. Frankly I'm proud of the fact that we got to school without me dragging 100 yards of corn stalks behind us.
We got to school and after dealing out the hugs, kisses and goodbyes I ran into the bathroom and got a giant handful of that sandpaper-grade institutional towels every grade school has. With a giant sigh of relief I stepped out the front doors blew my nose with great vigor, and wiped the burning from my eyes. Finally....relief.
With that, a passing mother on her way into the building stopped for a second, put her hand on my shoulder and said, " awww, I know exactly how you feel, the first day always breaks my heart too..it'll be ok."
Friday, August 22, 2008
good reading
Michael Phelps to write new book
2 hours ago
NEW YORK (AP) — Olympic superstar Michael Phelps will write a book telling the story behind his historic eight gold medal swims just in time for the holiday season, Free Press, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, announced Friday.
In "Built to Succeed," Phelps will also cover his philosophy on training and competition, as well as his life being raised by a single mother and coping with an attention-deficit disorder, the publisher said.
The book is scheduled to be released in December.
Phelps, 23, became the winningest Olympian ever at this summer's Beijing games, winning eight golds to add to six previous Olympic first-place victories. He holds seven world records.
Hosted by Copyright © 2008 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.
I bet it will sound a lot like this:
2 hours ago
NEW YORK (AP) — Olympic superstar Michael Phelps will write a book telling the story behind his historic eight gold medal swims just in time for the holiday season, Free Press, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, announced Friday.
In "Built to Succeed," Phelps will also cover his philosophy on training and competition, as well as his life being raised by a single mother and coping with an attention-deficit disorder, the publisher said.
The book is scheduled to be released in December.
Phelps, 23, became the winningest Olympian ever at this summer's Beijing games, winning eight golds to add to six previous Olympic first-place victories. He holds seven world records.
Hosted by Copyright © 2008 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.
I bet it will sound a lot like this:
Thursday, August 21, 2008
losin it
I've been trying to lose weight.
I track what I eat on fitday.com and I'm exercising and I'm doing all the stuff that you're supposed to. After 4 weeks I weighed in at 209. I lost exactly one pound.
When you're in a jam you should always go with what you know, and since I've never been comfortable with moderation, I figured there was only one way to go. Starting on Sunday I started starving myself.
Sunday was fine.
Monday I woke up hungry and spent most of the day thinking about food and telling people what I really thought of them (note to self: telling people they're whiny fucks might not be the best way to make a good impression at your new job).
Tuesday I woke up feeling like I was half drunk...that was the more functional half. I got up all dizzy and drove to work swerving all over the road and crying my eyes out over some NPR story about Arctic drilling...THOSE POOR ESKIMOS.
I got to work and finally cracked. I had a Clif Bar in my bag and wolfed it down. 2 minutes later the sugar hit my system and I got a euphoria that bordered on a religious experience. It was like all the vomiting you do before you start hallucinating on peyote....I mean, so I've heard....allegedly...anyway, I wouldn't recommend it as a form of getting high, but I wouldn't discourage it either.
So basically I made it from Sunday night till Tuesday morning, about 36 hours, eating almost nothing. It makes me realize that if I'm on a plane that goes down on the Andes, I'm definitely going to be one of the ones that eats the other passengers. And notice I didn't necessarily say "dead passengers".
In any case, I started eating a little more regularly, with of course the accompanying guilt that required a couple of 2.5 hour rides the last couple of days. So its reassuring to see the the anorexia has taken at least a small hold.
Oh yeah, and I got on the scale today...205.
I track what I eat on fitday.com and I'm exercising and I'm doing all the stuff that you're supposed to. After 4 weeks I weighed in at 209. I lost exactly one pound.
When you're in a jam you should always go with what you know, and since I've never been comfortable with moderation, I figured there was only one way to go. Starting on Sunday I started starving myself.
Sunday was fine.
Monday I woke up hungry and spent most of the day thinking about food and telling people what I really thought of them (note to self: telling people they're whiny fucks might not be the best way to make a good impression at your new job).
Tuesday I woke up feeling like I was half drunk...that was the more functional half. I got up all dizzy and drove to work swerving all over the road and crying my eyes out over some NPR story about Arctic drilling...THOSE POOR ESKIMOS.
I got to work and finally cracked. I had a Clif Bar in my bag and wolfed it down. 2 minutes later the sugar hit my system and I got a euphoria that bordered on a religious experience. It was like all the vomiting you do before you start hallucinating on peyote....I mean, so I've heard....allegedly...anyway, I wouldn't recommend it as a form of getting high, but I wouldn't discourage it either.
So basically I made it from Sunday night till Tuesday morning, about 36 hours, eating almost nothing. It makes me realize that if I'm on a plane that goes down on the Andes, I'm definitely going to be one of the ones that eats the other passengers. And notice I didn't necessarily say "dead passengers".
In any case, I started eating a little more regularly, with of course the accompanying guilt that required a couple of 2.5 hour rides the last couple of days. So its reassuring to see the the anorexia has taken at least a small hold.
Oh yeah, and I got on the scale today...205.
Monday, August 18, 2008
I might have to give this guy a second look
the story here
John McCain's temper is well documented. He's called opponents and colleagues "shitheads," "assholes" and in at least one case "a fucking jerk."...
Three reporters from Arizona, on the condition of anonymity, also let me in on another incident involving McCain's intemperateness. In his 1992 Senate bid, McCain was joined on the campaign trail by his wife, Cindy, as well as campaign aide Doug Cole and consultant Wes Gullett. At one point, Cindy playfully twirled McCain's hair and said, "You're getting a little thin up there." McCain's face reddened, and he responded, "At least I don't plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt." McCain's excuse was that it had been a long day. If elected president of the United States, McCain would have many long days.
John McCain's temper is well documented. He's called opponents and colleagues "shitheads," "assholes" and in at least one case "a fucking jerk."...
Three reporters from Arizona, on the condition of anonymity, also let me in on another incident involving McCain's intemperateness. In his 1992 Senate bid, McCain was joined on the campaign trail by his wife, Cindy, as well as campaign aide Doug Cole and consultant Wes Gullett. At one point, Cindy playfully twirled McCain's hair and said, "You're getting a little thin up there." McCain's face reddened, and he responded, "At least I don't plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt." McCain's excuse was that it had been a long day. If elected president of the United States, McCain would have many long days.
Friday, August 15, 2008
yeah yeah yeah
I know I've been fairly tame since my return.
The thing is this new job has polarized my personality so that most of the time I'm so square there's nothing the write about. The rest of the time the shit that I'm writing is so freaky that I'm frightened to read it myself, let along post it.
So far the freakiness hasn't manifested itself in the material world, simply meaning that I've held it together in an impressive run of patience and sobriety. However I have a sneaky feeling that may all come to a head this weekend. What was it Jules said ?...
" I'm a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, motherfucker !" ahahaha good stuff.
Here's a great link:
http://www.allmyfaves.com/
And I just discovered Conor Oberst:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWRhwJ6p1yg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ndeTIkOi9Y
Have a great weekend.
The thing is this new job has polarized my personality so that most of the time I'm so square there's nothing the write about. The rest of the time the shit that I'm writing is so freaky that I'm frightened to read it myself, let along post it.
So far the freakiness hasn't manifested itself in the material world, simply meaning that I've held it together in an impressive run of patience and sobriety. However I have a sneaky feeling that may all come to a head this weekend. What was it Jules said ?...
" I'm a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, motherfucker !" ahahaha good stuff.
Here's a great link:
http://www.allmyfaves.com/
And I just discovered Conor Oberst:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWRhwJ6p1yg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ndeTIkOi9Y
Have a great weekend.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
dang !
On my way to shoot 3 under until the final hole got me.
49 is my best. Watch out for the windmill.
http://www.addictinggames.com/miniputt.html
49 is my best. Watch out for the windmill.
http://www.addictinggames.com/miniputt.html
Monday, August 11, 2008
smooth
when asked about the complex intros that marked his songs and offset his trademark barartone voice, Issac Hayes said, " You don't stick bread in a cold oven baby ".
Isaac Lee Hayes, Jr. (August 20, 1942 -- August 10, 2008)[1] was an American soul and funk singer-songwriter, musician, record producer, arranger, composer and actor. Hayes was one of the main creative forces behind southern soul music label Stax Records, where he served as both an in-house songwriter and producer with partner David Porter during the mid-1960s. In the late 1960s, Hayes became a recording artist, and recorded successful soul albums such as Hot Buttered Soul (1969) and Black Moses (1971) as the Stax label's premier artist.
Alongside his work in popular music, Hayes was a film score composer for motion pictures. His best known work, for the 1971 blaxploitation film Shaft, earned Hayes an Academy Award for Best Original Song (the first Academy Award received by an African-American in a non-acting category) and two Grammy Awards. He received a third Grammy for the album Black Moses.
In 1992, in recognition of his humanitarian work, he was crowned an honorary king of Ghana's Ada district. From 1997 to 2006, he provided the voice for the character "Chef" on the Comedy Central animated TV series South Park.
Hayes was found dead in his Memphis home on August 10, 2008 as reported by the Shelby County sheriff's department. His death came 10 days before his 66th birthday.[1]
[2]Here is a complete slo-mo video clip of Isaac Hayes conducting the Theme from Shaft, which won an Oscar for best song.
After viewing, visit this lost mash-up classic from 1985
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UTpVW...
Isaac Lee Hayes, Jr. (August 20, 1942 -- August 10, 2008)[1] was an American soul and funk singer-songwriter, musician, record producer, arranger, composer and actor. Hayes was one of the main creative forces behind southern soul music label Stax Records, where he served as both an in-house songwriter and producer with partner David Porter during the mid-1960s. In the late 1960s, Hayes became a recording artist, and recorded successful soul albums such as Hot Buttered Soul (1969) and Black Moses (1971) as the Stax label's premier artist.
Alongside his work in popular music, Hayes was a film score composer for motion pictures. His best known work, for the 1971 blaxploitation film Shaft, earned Hayes an Academy Award for Best Original Song (the first Academy Award received by an African-American in a non-acting category) and two Grammy Awards. He received a third Grammy for the album Black Moses.
In 1992, in recognition of his humanitarian work, he was crowned an honorary king of Ghana's Ada district. From 1997 to 2006, he provided the voice for the character "Chef" on the Comedy Central animated TV series South Park.
Hayes was found dead in his Memphis home on August 10, 2008 as reported by the Shelby County sheriff's department. His death came 10 days before his 66th birthday.[1]
[2]Here is a complete slo-mo video clip of Isaac Hayes conducting the Theme from Shaft, which won an Oscar for best song.
After viewing, visit this lost mash-up classic from 1985
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UTpVW...
Friday, August 08, 2008
A reasonable idea
So I came up with the idea for the shows "The Contender" and " The Ultimate Fighter". Social networking sites...I had that one years ago. When I was 9 I invented the turn signal that turned itself off ( although I was saddened to find that one had been around for about 25 years already).
In recent years I've been working on this idea of putting the shortstop between the pitcher and the catcher to obscure the view of the batter. When I inquire about any rule prohibiting such actions I just get funny looks and comments like, " There probably NOT a rule because nobody would be that stupid". I think those people underestimate both my genius and ballplayers stupidity/courage. In any case, even Edison had his detractors.
Which leads us to a discussion of last night which brought about a very reasonable idea...what if we started teaching high school kids how to not be morons.
(OK, that might be harsh...and impractical...I mean we're not miracle workers.)
What I mean is that society used to have support systems that have largely eroded in modern society. There was a time when a mother would teach a daughter how to cook, what to expect during pregnancy, or the fact that the quickest way to get a man to do what you want is an unexpected handjob ( ok, not MY Mom, but probably your Mom). A time when fathers would teach a son to throw a ball, how to haggle over the price of a car, or where the hide all the parts left over after you've built the grill.
But there was also the larger support structure when people would learn either how to do stuff or who to ask when it came to mortgages, dealing with local government issues, how to deal with house maintenance issues, money management.
And finally, there was enough common culture and community where people felt compelled to act civilly toward each other...more than that, there was a formal and accepted way to deal with each other. People shared certain verbal and non-verbal cues that prevented interactions from escalating to the point of chasing someone around their yard with a snow shovel. The constraints of society that went out the window over the last 30 years as being too formal or unnecessary, IMO actually served a practical purpose.
Here's an analogy that might make my point....
When I play poker with people for the first time I go over a few rules that I view as essential
* keep you bet in front of you and don't throw it into the middle of the table
* The dealer should deal the same way every time...burn-don't burn-whatever, just be predictable
* do not talk about the current hand while its going on
and there are a couple more, but you get the point.
Invariably, the first time around everyone breaks these rules and I have to go through the whole thing again. Predictably, next time around it starts up again and then I just let it go. In almost every instance, either someone acts out of turn or can't figure out what their bet is or some other sort of disagreement breaks out and people suddenly realize WHY I asked that we follow prescribed rules and see the inherent benefits of commonly accepted behavior. Then once everyone is on board we can enjoy the game without any distractions, arguments, or bad feelings.
What high school kids really need is someone sitting at the poker table telling them how to play.
Stuff like:
- When you show up to an interview, don't wear ripped jeans
- When you're approaching an interchange on the turnpike, move to the left lane and make room for merging traffic
- Don't fucking talk on your cell phone in a way that includes everyone within 200 yards on the results of your gonorrhea test.
- When you cross the street, move your fat ass
- When you make $8.50 an hour, 900 anytime minutes and new sneakers might not be the most prudent investment strategy
- Subway charging you for onions and you not getting said onions is not an offense worthy of a 911 call
- If you drive through a neighborhood with kids at 80 miles an hour, talking on your cell phone, with your subwoofer blaring a song about 'fucking da bitches'...don't be surprised when you find your tires flat and three pounds of dog shit under your passenger seat
I'm sure the list can go on. I suggest starting it freshman year with the hope that you'd be able to get most of it in.
In recent years I've been working on this idea of putting the shortstop between the pitcher and the catcher to obscure the view of the batter. When I inquire about any rule prohibiting such actions I just get funny looks and comments like, " There probably NOT a rule because nobody would be that stupid". I think those people underestimate both my genius and ballplayers stupidity/courage. In any case, even Edison had his detractors.
Which leads us to a discussion of last night which brought about a very reasonable idea...what if we started teaching high school kids how to not be morons.
(OK, that might be harsh...and impractical...I mean we're not miracle workers.)
What I mean is that society used to have support systems that have largely eroded in modern society. There was a time when a mother would teach a daughter how to cook, what to expect during pregnancy, or the fact that the quickest way to get a man to do what you want is an unexpected handjob ( ok, not MY Mom, but probably your Mom). A time when fathers would teach a son to throw a ball, how to haggle over the price of a car, or where the hide all the parts left over after you've built the grill.
But there was also the larger support structure when people would learn either how to do stuff or who to ask when it came to mortgages, dealing with local government issues, how to deal with house maintenance issues, money management.
And finally, there was enough common culture and community where people felt compelled to act civilly toward each other...more than that, there was a formal and accepted way to deal with each other. People shared certain verbal and non-verbal cues that prevented interactions from escalating to the point of chasing someone around their yard with a snow shovel. The constraints of society that went out the window over the last 30 years as being too formal or unnecessary, IMO actually served a practical purpose.
Here's an analogy that might make my point....
When I play poker with people for the first time I go over a few rules that I view as essential
* keep you bet in front of you and don't throw it into the middle of the table
* The dealer should deal the same way every time...burn-don't burn-whatever, just be predictable
* do not talk about the current hand while its going on
and there are a couple more, but you get the point.
Invariably, the first time around everyone breaks these rules and I have to go through the whole thing again. Predictably, next time around it starts up again and then I just let it go. In almost every instance, either someone acts out of turn or can't figure out what their bet is or some other sort of disagreement breaks out and people suddenly realize WHY I asked that we follow prescribed rules and see the inherent benefits of commonly accepted behavior. Then once everyone is on board we can enjoy the game without any distractions, arguments, or bad feelings.
What high school kids really need is someone sitting at the poker table telling them how to play.
Stuff like:
- When you show up to an interview, don't wear ripped jeans
- When you're approaching an interchange on the turnpike, move to the left lane and make room for merging traffic
- Don't fucking talk on your cell phone in a way that includes everyone within 200 yards on the results of your gonorrhea test.
- When you cross the street, move your fat ass
- When you make $8.50 an hour, 900 anytime minutes and new sneakers might not be the most prudent investment strategy
- Subway charging you for onions and you not getting said onions is not an offense worthy of a 911 call
- If you drive through a neighborhood with kids at 80 miles an hour, talking on your cell phone, with your subwoofer blaring a song about 'fucking da bitches'...don't be surprised when you find your tires flat and three pounds of dog shit under your passenger seat
I'm sure the list can go on. I suggest starting it freshman year with the hope that you'd be able to get most of it in.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Showertime
This is my shower
After an hour of hacking my way through half-filled conditioner bottles...
YEA ! I finally found a shampoo !
I suppose that's what its like living with women.*
* I left the toilet seat up on purpose when I left today...so we're even.
After an hour of hacking my way through half-filled conditioner bottles...
YEA ! I finally found a shampoo !
I suppose that's what its like living with women.*
* I left the toilet seat up on purpose when I left today...so we're even.
Monday, August 04, 2008
lawn warrior
Like most, I detest mowing the lawn.
Given the fact that it does give me a solid 45 minutes of solitude the experience has grown on me a bit...with one exception.
Whenever I bring myself to START mowing that lawn, I want to FINISH mowing the lawn. I don't want to take a phone call, or take a break, or get half done now and do the other half later. Because as far as I'm concerned if you stop mowing the lawn for more than 5 minutes, then starting up again is the same as mowing the lawn TWICE. And I aint mowing the lawn twice.
So Saturday I was clipping along at a good pace when the mower started sputtering and died. Fine, OK, out of gas. Walking to the garage and getting the gas can is under the 5 minute rule and therefore maintaining the continuity of a single mow.
When I picked up the gas can I suddenly realized that we had a 'situation'.
The can was just about empty.
I was about 90% done with the front and only had a small backyard to do. I shook the can, and eyeballed the lawn and tried to get a feel for my gas to grass ratio. I did not have a very good feeling.
I made my way over the the mower and recreated the opening scene out of Road Warrior where a frantic Mel Gibson uses hubcaps and a bloody rage to sop up every last drop of gas in the desert.
I twisted and turned the can and nozzle to get every last drop of gas out of the can. Had I been able to cut it in half and scrape the inside of the can, I would have considered it.
Then I made a quick lap of the yard to maximize efficiency. I picked up all the kids balls and toys, I propped opened the back gate, and eyed up the shortest path from where I was to where I had to be.
Then I reared back, pulled the cord, and started running. And man did I run.
It's tough to get an accurate perspective while pushing a mower, but if I had to guess I was maintaining right around a 9 minute mile pace. And mind you that's with have to make turns !
I can't imagine what my neighbors though as the drove by to see me sprinting around my yard like a mad man putting the mower no two wheels and power sliding it around the swingset, but at this point I'm pretty sure that nothing happening at Chez Flick would totally catch them off guard.
The good news, I got the lawn done with gas to spare ! The even better news, I now realize it should really only take me about 18 minutes to do the entire lawn if I apply myself...and I can get my workout in to boot.
Monday, June 09, 2008
See Jane Run
Friday was the Hempfield qualifier for the Hershey Track meet
http://www.hersheystrackandfield.com/meet/results.aspx
Steph wanted to do the standing long jump and one of the sprints. Since she could do two running events I also ( against he will) signed her up for the 400.
In the standing long jump she jumped 5' 1" which was good for 4th.
In the 50 yard dash she finished a close 2nd, which was great, but only the winner advances to regionals.
That left the 400.
Steph was not happy. She got her ribbon for the 50 and that was good enough. Some of the high school kids had told her that the 400 was the hardest event and that combined with the fact that it was 88 degrees had her scared. What made matters worse was having to sit around for 20 minutes until after all the heats for the 200 were conducted.
I tried to take her mind off things and walked her around the infield a bit and joked around with her, but she'd have none of it. " How fast should I run...what happens if I'm last....I don't know what to do", she grew more worried by the minute.
As the start approached I told her, " Run at a comfortable speed and stay near the middle. I'll stand someone near the finish and when you get to me just start running as fast as you can."
They run this event as a pack race so the girls do not have to stay in a lane, but when the shot the starter pistol Steph stayed wide around curve by herself in lane two.
" Move to the rail, stay to the inside", I tried yelling over the crowd to no avail.
At the 100 yard mark a couple of girls separated themselves from the pack and got a two stride lead. With that Steph moved inside and settled into third place. They runners started to distance themselves from the field and the winner would come from these three.
At the 200 yard mark the lead runner picked up the pace and second place started to crack. Her stride faltered and got choppy and she started going backwards with each step. Steph went wide around her and lost another stride now falling three strides back.
" STAY WITH HER ! KEEP HER CLOSE !", this was heart wrenching.
I moved from the 80 yard mark out past 100 yards. Steph was going to have to close a lot of ground and if she stood any chance she'd have to start sprinting early. The girls started exiting the final curve coming to the 120 yard mark. The girl in the lead had the smooth relaxed gait of a distance runner with he face relaxed and calm. Three steps behind was Stephanie grinding it out, desperately hanging on with her face wincing in pain.
I leaned over next to the rail and into her ear, " you have to MOVE IT !!!!! NOW !!!!.........NOW !!!!"
In a blink her expression morphed from a struggling 9 year old girl into something very very frightening. She looked like a cross between a hungry lion and Mike Tyson looking at a Robin Givens poster. And she started to run.
Her initial burst brought her right onto the girl's heels and the crowd started to scream. The yelling inspired the front runner and she lifted the pace holding off Steph at the 70 meter mark. Then out of the crowd and up to the edge of the track stepped someone who looked remarkably like my mild mannered wife. Above the roar of the crowd I could hear her screaming, " GET HER !!!!.......GEEEETTTTTTTT HERRRRRRR !!!!!!!
Stephanie found one more gear and pulled out into lane two along side the girl. 40 meters....30 meters....then Steph started to gain ground. Finally the other girl cracked. 10 meters to go she had a full stride and that's how they finished 1-2, a good five seconds ahead of third place with Stephanie running her first quarter-mile in 1:23. Not bad for a 9 year old.
I was really proud of her effort and more proud of the fact that she congratulated all her competitors and consoled the distraught girl in second place. She's a really great kid and I'm happy to see her efforts rewarded. I'm hoping the experience will also help her when she's faced the the next intimidating thing that comes along.
Oh yeah, her mother is a little embarrassed but shouldn't be. I'm proud of her too.
http://www.hersheystrackandfield.com/meet/results.aspx
Steph wanted to do the standing long jump and one of the sprints. Since she could do two running events I also ( against he will) signed her up for the 400.
In the standing long jump she jumped 5' 1" which was good for 4th.
In the 50 yard dash she finished a close 2nd, which was great, but only the winner advances to regionals.
That left the 400.
Steph was not happy. She got her ribbon for the 50 and that was good enough. Some of the high school kids had told her that the 400 was the hardest event and that combined with the fact that it was 88 degrees had her scared. What made matters worse was having to sit around for 20 minutes until after all the heats for the 200 were conducted.
I tried to take her mind off things and walked her around the infield a bit and joked around with her, but she'd have none of it. " How fast should I run...what happens if I'm last....I don't know what to do", she grew more worried by the minute.
As the start approached I told her, " Run at a comfortable speed and stay near the middle. I'll stand someone near the finish and when you get to me just start running as fast as you can."
They run this event as a pack race so the girls do not have to stay in a lane, but when the shot the starter pistol Steph stayed wide around curve by herself in lane two.
" Move to the rail, stay to the inside", I tried yelling over the crowd to no avail.
At the 100 yard mark a couple of girls separated themselves from the pack and got a two stride lead. With that Steph moved inside and settled into third place. They runners started to distance themselves from the field and the winner would come from these three.
At the 200 yard mark the lead runner picked up the pace and second place started to crack. Her stride faltered and got choppy and she started going backwards with each step. Steph went wide around her and lost another stride now falling three strides back.
" STAY WITH HER ! KEEP HER CLOSE !", this was heart wrenching.
I moved from the 80 yard mark out past 100 yards. Steph was going to have to close a lot of ground and if she stood any chance she'd have to start sprinting early. The girls started exiting the final curve coming to the 120 yard mark. The girl in the lead had the smooth relaxed gait of a distance runner with he face relaxed and calm. Three steps behind was Stephanie grinding it out, desperately hanging on with her face wincing in pain.
I leaned over next to the rail and into her ear, " you have to MOVE IT !!!!! NOW !!!!.........NOW !!!!"
In a blink her expression morphed from a struggling 9 year old girl into something very very frightening. She looked like a cross between a hungry lion and Mike Tyson looking at a Robin Givens poster. And she started to run.
Her initial burst brought her right onto the girl's heels and the crowd started to scream. The yelling inspired the front runner and she lifted the pace holding off Steph at the 70 meter mark. Then out of the crowd and up to the edge of the track stepped someone who looked remarkably like my mild mannered wife. Above the roar of the crowd I could hear her screaming, " GET HER !!!!.......GEEEETTTTTTTT HERRRRRRR !!!!!!!
Stephanie found one more gear and pulled out into lane two along side the girl. 40 meters....30 meters....then Steph started to gain ground. Finally the other girl cracked. 10 meters to go she had a full stride and that's how they finished 1-2, a good five seconds ahead of third place with Stephanie running her first quarter-mile in 1:23. Not bad for a 9 year old.
I was really proud of her effort and more proud of the fact that she congratulated all her competitors and consoled the distraught girl in second place. She's a really great kid and I'm happy to see her efforts rewarded. I'm hoping the experience will also help her when she's faced the the next intimidating thing that comes along.
Oh yeah, her mother is a little embarrassed but shouldn't be. I'm proud of her too.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Re-runs
I'm out until August 1. Until then I'll be running a series of re-runs from the last 3 years.
From March 2006:
the Flu
Wednesday night my youngest daughter started projectile vomiting all over the house.
By Thursday, my wife had contracted it. Friday night I could feel it coming and by Saturday morning, I had it full blown. Actually Saturday started with me laying in bed, unsure if I had it or not and unwilling to move for fear that I might find out.
The boy walked in and said, " good morning !...ummm by the way, I threw up twice last night."
"where"
" Uh, in my room, I'm sorry"
I walked into his room to see vomit strategically spewn all over his covers, the bed and the floor. Any doubts at to whether or not I was going to spend the day nauseous were sealed right there and then. The rest of the weekend was spent prone watching TV and hoping not to die.
Which reminds of a story of one other time i had the stomach flu.
I was in school and had it bad. I sweated it out for two days in my room, getting up only to got the the bathroom where I would howl in pain and grab the seat so as not to get blown out of the stall. After about 48 hours of of sweating the fever and emptying the lower half of my intenstinal tract it started to lift. The fever came down under 101 and I could sit upright without having to barf. With all the strength I had I got dressed and started heading down to the health campus in hope that they had some medicine to cure Lupus or whatever I had contracted.
I live about 1 mile from the infirmary and had been walking for about a half mile when I had the uncontrollable desire to fart. Now being a veteran of such incidences, I knew better than to let one rip. The last thing I needed was a spoonful in my trousers. I stopped in my tracks and very gingerly, oh so tenderly, I slowly loosened up the sphincter and tested the waters with the tiniest of flatulence. A squeeker if you will. Whew...nothing but gas.
I continued on my way somewhat relieved, but still not totally satisfied as there continued to be slight pressure on my lower half. Again I paused, gingerly relaxed, and as inconspicuously as possible provided myself some necessary relief with a nice solid, although purposely quiet fart. Ahhhhh, no worries at all. I continued on my way.
Now about three quarters of the way to the health campus the gas pains returned. Now this was getting to be a bit ridiculous. Hopefully when I got to the infirmary, they'd be able to give me something for the gas as well as the fever. Emboldened with confidence of my first two attempts I figured I'd just let this one go 'on the fly' and get to the infirmary and get things over with.
Then it happened.
A big and expected whiff of gas came out and the swelling in my belly subsided. Then, without warning, and with all the power of the Hoover Dam busting at the seams, the last remnants of my bowels started emptying into my pants. I instinctively tightened my sphincter, but to no avail. This was like a jailbreak. I even stopped in my tracks and clenched my buttcheeks, but it was no use. I might as well have been trying to stop a fire plug with two boxing gloves for all the good it was doing.
For a good 5 seconds, which anyone who has been in a similar situation could surely tell you is an anal eternity, the entire remaining contents of my lower bowels emptied into my pants. I had been worried about a spoonful....a got the whole gallon.
I stood stood there...still....stunned....ashamed....Panicked. Then I noticed a very very odd thing.
Despite what had to be a good quart of poo emptying out of my bottom, I couldn't....and i hate to be graphic here....I couldn't feel anything running...you know...anywhere.
Then I realized that a very surreal, dare I say, miraculous thing had occurred. In my haste to get dressed and out the door, I hadn't worn jeans and boxers. Instead I slipped on a pair of brief and and old pair of sweatpants. The combination of these two items had created sort of a catch basin...or depository, if you will....that all of the offending material was now precariously perched in. Everything I was worried about was hanging somewhere between my testicles and knees and was bordered on either side my the elastic bands of my undershorts.
By all means, this wasn't a solution...but it did offer hope. Slowly and steadily I turned. With the grace of a ballerina and the iron nerves of a bomb diffuser I waddled my way back toward home. Somehow, some way, it what is really a blur that I attribute to divine intervention, I negotiated my way through the sea of students and all the way back to the dormitory bathroom where I was able to extract myself from the shorts and shower all in one relatively safe manner.
From March 2006:
the Flu
Wednesday night my youngest daughter started projectile vomiting all over the house.
By Thursday, my wife had contracted it. Friday night I could feel it coming and by Saturday morning, I had it full blown. Actually Saturday started with me laying in bed, unsure if I had it or not and unwilling to move for fear that I might find out.
The boy walked in and said, " good morning !...ummm by the way, I threw up twice last night."
"where"
" Uh, in my room, I'm sorry"
I walked into his room to see vomit strategically spewn all over his covers, the bed and the floor. Any doubts at to whether or not I was going to spend the day nauseous were sealed right there and then. The rest of the weekend was spent prone watching TV and hoping not to die.
Which reminds of a story of one other time i had the stomach flu.
I was in school and had it bad. I sweated it out for two days in my room, getting up only to got the the bathroom where I would howl in pain and grab the seat so as not to get blown out of the stall. After about 48 hours of of sweating the fever and emptying the lower half of my intenstinal tract it started to lift. The fever came down under 101 and I could sit upright without having to barf. With all the strength I had I got dressed and started heading down to the health campus in hope that they had some medicine to cure Lupus or whatever I had contracted.
I live about 1 mile from the infirmary and had been walking for about a half mile when I had the uncontrollable desire to fart. Now being a veteran of such incidences, I knew better than to let one rip. The last thing I needed was a spoonful in my trousers. I stopped in my tracks and very gingerly, oh so tenderly, I slowly loosened up the sphincter and tested the waters with the tiniest of flatulence. A squeeker if you will. Whew...nothing but gas.
I continued on my way somewhat relieved, but still not totally satisfied as there continued to be slight pressure on my lower half. Again I paused, gingerly relaxed, and as inconspicuously as possible provided myself some necessary relief with a nice solid, although purposely quiet fart. Ahhhhh, no worries at all. I continued on my way.
Now about three quarters of the way to the health campus the gas pains returned. Now this was getting to be a bit ridiculous. Hopefully when I got to the infirmary, they'd be able to give me something for the gas as well as the fever. Emboldened with confidence of my first two attempts I figured I'd just let this one go 'on the fly' and get to the infirmary and get things over with.
Then it happened.
A big and expected whiff of gas came out and the swelling in my belly subsided. Then, without warning, and with all the power of the Hoover Dam busting at the seams, the last remnants of my bowels started emptying into my pants. I instinctively tightened my sphincter, but to no avail. This was like a jailbreak. I even stopped in my tracks and clenched my buttcheeks, but it was no use. I might as well have been trying to stop a fire plug with two boxing gloves for all the good it was doing.
For a good 5 seconds, which anyone who has been in a similar situation could surely tell you is an anal eternity, the entire remaining contents of my lower bowels emptied into my pants. I had been worried about a spoonful....a got the whole gallon.
I stood stood there...still....stunned....ashamed....Panicked. Then I noticed a very very odd thing.
Despite what had to be a good quart of poo emptying out of my bottom, I couldn't....and i hate to be graphic here....I couldn't feel anything running...you know...anywhere.
Then I realized that a very surreal, dare I say, miraculous thing had occurred. In my haste to get dressed and out the door, I hadn't worn jeans and boxers. Instead I slipped on a pair of brief and and old pair of sweatpants. The combination of these two items had created sort of a catch basin...or depository, if you will....that all of the offending material was now precariously perched in. Everything I was worried about was hanging somewhere between my testicles and knees and was bordered on either side my the elastic bands of my undershorts.
By all means, this wasn't a solution...but it did offer hope. Slowly and steadily I turned. With the grace of a ballerina and the iron nerves of a bomb diffuser I waddled my way back toward home. Somehow, some way, it what is really a blur that I attribute to divine intervention, I negotiated my way through the sea of students and all the way back to the dormitory bathroom where I was able to extract myself from the shorts and shower all in one relatively safe manner.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Something this fat-ass and I can agree on.
Monday, April 21st, 2008
My Vote's for Obama (if I could vote) ...by Michael Moore
Friends,
I don't get to vote for President this primary season. I live in Michigan. The party leaders (both here and in D.C.) couldn't get their act together, and thus our votes will not be counted.
So, if you live in Pennsylvania, can you do me a favor? Will you please cast my vote -- and yours -- on Tuesday for Senator Barack Obama?
I haven't spoken publicly 'til now as to who I would vote for, primarily for two reasons: 1) Who cares?; and 2) I (and most people I know) don't give a rat's ass whose name is on the ballot in November, as long as there's a picture of JFK and FDR riding a donkey at the top of the ballot, and the word "Democratic" next to the candidate's name.
Seriously, I know so many people who don't care if the name under the Big "D" is Dancer, Prancer, Clinton or Blitzen. It can be Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Barry Obama or the Dalai Lama.
Well, that sounded good last year, but over the past two months, the actions and words of Hillary Clinton have gone from being merely disappointing to downright disgusting. I guess the debate last week was the final straw. I've watched Senator Clinton and her husband play this game of appealing to the worst side of white people, but last Wednesday, when she hurled the name "Farrakhan" out of nowhere, well that's when the silly season came to an early end for me. She said the "F" word to scare white people, pure and simple. Of course, Obama has no connection to Farrakhan. But, according to Senator Clinton, Obama's pastor does -- AND the "church bulletin" once included a Los Angeles Times op-ed from some guy with Hamas! No, not the church bulletin!
This sleazy attempt to smear Obama was brilliantly explained the following night by Stephen Colbert. He pointed out that if Obama is supported by Ted Kennedy, who is Catholic, and the Catholic Church is led by a Pope who was in the Hitler Youth, that can mean only one thing: OBAMA LOVES HITLER!
Yes, Senator Clinton, that's how you sounded. Like you were nuts. Like you were a bigot stoking the fires of stupidity. How sad that I would ever have to write those words about you. You have devoted your life to good causes and good deeds. And now to throw it all away for an office you can't win unless you smear the black man so much that the superdelegates cry "Uncle (Tom)" and give it all to you.
But that can't happen. You cast your die when you voted to start this bloody war. When you did that you were like Moses who lost it for a moment and, because of that, was prohibited from entering the Promised Land.
How sad for a country that wanted to see the first woman elected to the White House. That day will come -- but it won't be you. We'll have to wait for the current Democratic governor of Kansas to run in 2016 (you read it here first!).
There are those who say Obama isn't ready, or he's voted wrong on this or that. But that's looking at the trees and not the forest. What we are witnessing is not just a candidate but a profound, massive public movement for change. My endorsement is more for Obama The Movement than it is for Obama the candidate.
That is not to take anything away from this exceptional man. But what's going on is bigger than him at this point, and that's a good thing for the country. Because, when he wins in November, that Obama Movement is going to have to stay alert and active. Corporate America is not going to give up their hold on our government just because we say so. President Obama is going to need a nation of millions to stand behind him.
I know some of you will say, 'Mike, what have the Democrats done to deserve our vote?' That's a damn good question. In November of '06, the country loudly sent a message that we wanted the war to end. Yet the Democrats have done nothing. So why should we be so eager to line up happily behind them?
I'll tell you why. Because I can't stand one more friggin' minute of this administration and the permanent, irreversible damage it has done to our people and to this world. I'm almost at the point where I don't care if the Democrats don't have a backbone or a kneebone or a thought in their dizzy little heads. Just as long as their name ain't "Bush" and the word "Republican" is not beside theirs on the ballot, then that's good enough for me.
I, like the majority of Americans, have been pummeled senseless for 8 long years. That's why I will join millions of citizens and stagger into the voting booth come November, like a boxer in the 12th round, all bloodied and bruised with one eye swollen shut, looking for the only thing that matters -- that big "D" on the ballot.
Don't get me wrong. I lost my rose-colored glasses a long time ago.
It's foolish to see the Democrats as anything but a nicer version of a party that exists to do the bidding of the corporate elite in this country. Any endorsement of a Democrat must be done with this acknowledgement and a hope that one day we will have a party that'll represent the people first, and laws that allow that party an equal voice.
Finally, I want to say a word about the basic decency I have seen in Mr. Obama. Mrs. Clinton continues to throw the Rev. Wright up in his face as part of her mission to keep stoking the fears of White America. Every time she does this I shout at the TV, "Say it, Obama! Say that when she and her husband were having marital difficulties regarding Monica Lewinsky, who did she and Bill bring to the White House for 'spiritual counseling?' THE REVEREND JEREMIAH WRIGHT!"
But no, Obama won't throw that at her. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be decent. She's been through enough hurt. And so he remains silent and takes the mud she throws in his face.
That's why the crowds who come to see him are so large. That's why he'll take us down a more decent path. That's why I would vote for him if Michigan were allowed to have an election.
But the question I keep hearing is... 'can he win? Can he win in November?' In the distance we hear the siren of the death train called the Straight Talk Express. We know it's possible to hear the words "President McCain" on January 20th. We know there are still many Americans who will never vote for a black man. Hillary knows it, too. She's counting on it.
Pennsylvania, the state that gave birth to this great country, has a chance to set things right. It has not had a moment to shine like this since 1787 when our Constitution was written there. In that Constitution, they wrote that a black man or woman was only "three fifths" human. On Tuesday, the good people of Pennsylvania have a chance for redemption.
Yours,
Michael Moore
My Vote's for Obama (if I could vote) ...by Michael Moore
Friends,
I don't get to vote for President this primary season. I live in Michigan. The party leaders (both here and in D.C.) couldn't get their act together, and thus our votes will not be counted.
So, if you live in Pennsylvania, can you do me a favor? Will you please cast my vote -- and yours -- on Tuesday for Senator Barack Obama?
I haven't spoken publicly 'til now as to who I would vote for, primarily for two reasons: 1) Who cares?; and 2) I (and most people I know) don't give a rat's ass whose name is on the ballot in November, as long as there's a picture of JFK and FDR riding a donkey at the top of the ballot, and the word "Democratic" next to the candidate's name.
Seriously, I know so many people who don't care if the name under the Big "D" is Dancer, Prancer, Clinton or Blitzen. It can be Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Barry Obama or the Dalai Lama.
Well, that sounded good last year, but over the past two months, the actions and words of Hillary Clinton have gone from being merely disappointing to downright disgusting. I guess the debate last week was the final straw. I've watched Senator Clinton and her husband play this game of appealing to the worst side of white people, but last Wednesday, when she hurled the name "Farrakhan" out of nowhere, well that's when the silly season came to an early end for me. She said the "F" word to scare white people, pure and simple. Of course, Obama has no connection to Farrakhan. But, according to Senator Clinton, Obama's pastor does -- AND the "church bulletin" once included a Los Angeles Times op-ed from some guy with Hamas! No, not the church bulletin!
This sleazy attempt to smear Obama was brilliantly explained the following night by Stephen Colbert. He pointed out that if Obama is supported by Ted Kennedy, who is Catholic, and the Catholic Church is led by a Pope who was in the Hitler Youth, that can mean only one thing: OBAMA LOVES HITLER!
Yes, Senator Clinton, that's how you sounded. Like you were nuts. Like you were a bigot stoking the fires of stupidity. How sad that I would ever have to write those words about you. You have devoted your life to good causes and good deeds. And now to throw it all away for an office you can't win unless you smear the black man so much that the superdelegates cry "Uncle (Tom)" and give it all to you.
But that can't happen. You cast your die when you voted to start this bloody war. When you did that you were like Moses who lost it for a moment and, because of that, was prohibited from entering the Promised Land.
How sad for a country that wanted to see the first woman elected to the White House. That day will come -- but it won't be you. We'll have to wait for the current Democratic governor of Kansas to run in 2016 (you read it here first!).
There are those who say Obama isn't ready, or he's voted wrong on this or that. But that's looking at the trees and not the forest. What we are witnessing is not just a candidate but a profound, massive public movement for change. My endorsement is more for Obama The Movement than it is for Obama the candidate.
That is not to take anything away from this exceptional man. But what's going on is bigger than him at this point, and that's a good thing for the country. Because, when he wins in November, that Obama Movement is going to have to stay alert and active. Corporate America is not going to give up their hold on our government just because we say so. President Obama is going to need a nation of millions to stand behind him.
I know some of you will say, 'Mike, what have the Democrats done to deserve our vote?' That's a damn good question. In November of '06, the country loudly sent a message that we wanted the war to end. Yet the Democrats have done nothing. So why should we be so eager to line up happily behind them?
I'll tell you why. Because I can't stand one more friggin' minute of this administration and the permanent, irreversible damage it has done to our people and to this world. I'm almost at the point where I don't care if the Democrats don't have a backbone or a kneebone or a thought in their dizzy little heads. Just as long as their name ain't "Bush" and the word "Republican" is not beside theirs on the ballot, then that's good enough for me.
I, like the majority of Americans, have been pummeled senseless for 8 long years. That's why I will join millions of citizens and stagger into the voting booth come November, like a boxer in the 12th round, all bloodied and bruised with one eye swollen shut, looking for the only thing that matters -- that big "D" on the ballot.
Don't get me wrong. I lost my rose-colored glasses a long time ago.
It's foolish to see the Democrats as anything but a nicer version of a party that exists to do the bidding of the corporate elite in this country. Any endorsement of a Democrat must be done with this acknowledgement and a hope that one day we will have a party that'll represent the people first, and laws that allow that party an equal voice.
Finally, I want to say a word about the basic decency I have seen in Mr. Obama. Mrs. Clinton continues to throw the Rev. Wright up in his face as part of her mission to keep stoking the fears of White America. Every time she does this I shout at the TV, "Say it, Obama! Say that when she and her husband were having marital difficulties regarding Monica Lewinsky, who did she and Bill bring to the White House for 'spiritual counseling?' THE REVEREND JEREMIAH WRIGHT!"
But no, Obama won't throw that at her. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be decent. She's been through enough hurt. And so he remains silent and takes the mud she throws in his face.
That's why the crowds who come to see him are so large. That's why he'll take us down a more decent path. That's why I would vote for him if Michigan were allowed to have an election.
But the question I keep hearing is... 'can he win? Can he win in November?' In the distance we hear the siren of the death train called the Straight Talk Express. We know it's possible to hear the words "President McCain" on January 20th. We know there are still many Americans who will never vote for a black man. Hillary knows it, too. She's counting on it.
Pennsylvania, the state that gave birth to this great country, has a chance to set things right. It has not had a moment to shine like this since 1787 when our Constitution was written there. In that Constitution, they wrote that a black man or woman was only "three fifths" human. On Tuesday, the good people of Pennsylvania have a chance for redemption.
Yours,
Michael Moore
Thursday, March 20, 2008
In the clear
A couple of years ago while visiting my parents, my brother noted that our youngest was no longer in diapers.
To this he made a comment that only someone without three children could possibly make. He said, " Oh fantastic...looks like you're in the clear."
Let's fast forward to Tuesday night. I'm tired, I'm fighting off a cold, and I'm getting ready for bed and Mrs. Flick says, " oh shoot, we need to blow out five eggs for the kindegarten class Easter project."
Five minutes later, instead of restfully laying in bed, I found myself sitting at the table with a sewing needs and a carton of raw eggs.
What followed was an array of swearing, jabbing, and egg breaking that would give any mischief night a run for its money.
Ever try to blow up a really cheap, really small ballon and you blow so hard that your eyes bug-out, you get dizzy, and eventually give up and have a headache ? Yeah that's what I did, with a half dozen eggs...without giving up....for 1 hour and 35 minutes.
I also stuck myself twice with a sewing needle covered in raw egg. My best shot is that instead of getting salmonella, that I get what spiderman got when he got bit by that spider. Then again, I'm not sure that if I'm lucky enough to get super powers that I get those of a egg layin chicken. You don't see a lot of Chickenman comics in circulation.
The night ended with some success in that I got all five eggs done. Hurrah ! When your night ends with your hands and face covered in raw egg whites and looking like you just got done making a really awful japanese porno vid, its the small victories that you need to hang onto.
Yeah Bro, I'm "in the clear".
To this he made a comment that only someone without three children could possibly make. He said, " Oh fantastic...looks like you're in the clear."
Let's fast forward to Tuesday night. I'm tired, I'm fighting off a cold, and I'm getting ready for bed and Mrs. Flick says, " oh shoot, we need to blow out five eggs for the kindegarten class Easter project."
Five minutes later, instead of restfully laying in bed, I found myself sitting at the table with a sewing needs and a carton of raw eggs.
What followed was an array of swearing, jabbing, and egg breaking that would give any mischief night a run for its money.
Ever try to blow up a really cheap, really small ballon and you blow so hard that your eyes bug-out, you get dizzy, and eventually give up and have a headache ? Yeah that's what I did, with a half dozen eggs...without giving up....for 1 hour and 35 minutes.
I also stuck myself twice with a sewing needle covered in raw egg. My best shot is that instead of getting salmonella, that I get what spiderman got when he got bit by that spider. Then again, I'm not sure that if I'm lucky enough to get super powers that I get those of a egg layin chicken. You don't see a lot of Chickenman comics in circulation.
The night ended with some success in that I got all five eggs done. Hurrah ! When your night ends with your hands and face covered in raw egg whites and looking like you just got done making a really awful japanese porno vid, its the small victories that you need to hang onto.
Yeah Bro, I'm "in the clear".
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Keepin it real
Last night was fun.
I got a little drunk but not too drunk.
I stayed out a little late, but not too late.
I babbled on like I do, but didn't make a dick of myself.
In short it was a far cry from LAST YEAR
And thankfully today I don't feel like THIS
That's not to say all was lost. We did still honor one of the lesser known
ST. Patrick's Day traditions of having a Buddist do a headstand on a Dodge Neon.
Is suppose to bring you good luck for 20 days. I'll let you know how it works out.
I got a little drunk but not too drunk.
I stayed out a little late, but not too late.
I babbled on like I do, but didn't make a dick of myself.
In short it was a far cry from LAST YEAR
And thankfully today I don't feel like THIS
That's not to say all was lost. We did still honor one of the lesser known
ST. Patrick's Day traditions of having a Buddist do a headstand on a Dodge Neon.
Is suppose to bring you good luck for 20 days. I'll let you know how it works out.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Family Owned
I'm not sure what this says, but only 3 fewer people asked if this was me than asked if I was the cyclist who assaulted the motorist with the bike chain last week.
Those of you not local probably haven't seen this.
The story:
http://articles.lancasteronline.com/local/4/218297
Those of you not local probably haven't seen this.
The story:
http://articles.lancasteronline.com/local/4/218297
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Its all in the inflection
There's a fine line between 'clever' and 'asshole'.
If anyone has seen that line please forward me the location. According to everyone's expression lately, I've lost sight of where it is.
So I see that yet another political figure got caught up in a sex scandal. And once again the dude showed up, all forlorn, to press conference with his wife.
Here's the photo from yesterday...
And here's Craig's press conference...
And i could go on and on. Point being, I'm not sure where these guys are finding women like this. There are few things that I'm SURE of.
I'm sure of death, of taxes, and that raisins make me fart.
And I'm sure that if I get caught on tape negotiating with a prostitute that my press conference will look like this...
Notice ? No wife.
If anyone has seen that line please forward me the location. According to everyone's expression lately, I've lost sight of where it is.
So I see that yet another political figure got caught up in a sex scandal. And once again the dude showed up, all forlorn, to press conference with his wife.
Here's the photo from yesterday...
And here's Craig's press conference...
And i could go on and on. Point being, I'm not sure where these guys are finding women like this. There are few things that I'm SURE of.
I'm sure of death, of taxes, and that raisins make me fart.
And I'm sure that if I get caught on tape negotiating with a prostitute that my press conference will look like this...
Notice ? No wife.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Pete Schwetty
The president of the PTO couldn't make it so I was recruited to welcome the parents of the new kindegarten class to the school on Tuesday.
In a previous blog I explained the PTO difficulties that I've had, but I felt like this one was going to be different. I knew what I was talking about, I had plenty of notification, I had time to prepare...all was good. Until I got up there.
Typcially I have no problem speaking in public. When I was a teacher and when I was a coach I did it all day long. Anyone who knows me personally will attest to the fact that getting me to stop talking might be a problem, but rambling onto an audience is one of my strong suits. But for some reasons this PTO thing has me rattled.
The first couple of words out of my mouth were a bit broke...perhaps the older readers will understand when I say they were " Bobby Brady like". But I did a good job of shaking that off. I took a deep breath, continues, and as they words started coming out more easily, I was finally able to relax. WHEW. I little joke here a little change of inflection there, and I was back to my old tricks.
Thats when the sweating started.
I felt the first few drops and tried to ignore them. Then a few more came and the only thought in my head was " STOP SWEATING". Apparently the "stop sweating" thought triggers the same portion of your brain as "don't laugh" or " don't orgasm yet" and therefore I started sweating at double the previous rate.
By the time I got done I needed a snorkle.
Next time I'm bringing some 1970's NBA headgear like Ben Wallace.
I'll be the belle of the ball.
In a previous blog I explained the PTO difficulties that I've had, but I felt like this one was going to be different. I knew what I was talking about, I had plenty of notification, I had time to prepare...all was good. Until I got up there.
Typcially I have no problem speaking in public. When I was a teacher and when I was a coach I did it all day long. Anyone who knows me personally will attest to the fact that getting me to stop talking might be a problem, but rambling onto an audience is one of my strong suits. But for some reasons this PTO thing has me rattled.
The first couple of words out of my mouth were a bit broke...perhaps the older readers will understand when I say they were " Bobby Brady like". But I did a good job of shaking that off. I took a deep breath, continues, and as they words started coming out more easily, I was finally able to relax. WHEW. I little joke here a little change of inflection there, and I was back to my old tricks.
Thats when the sweating started.
I felt the first few drops and tried to ignore them. Then a few more came and the only thought in my head was " STOP SWEATING". Apparently the "stop sweating" thought triggers the same portion of your brain as "don't laugh" or " don't orgasm yet" and therefore I started sweating at double the previous rate.
By the time I got done I needed a snorkle.
Next time I'm bringing some 1970's NBA headgear like Ben Wallace.
I'll be the belle of the ball.
Friday, February 29, 2008
She doesn't like to be told twice
" fliiiiiicccckkkkkkkkk ?!"
I swear, sometimes I think that there's a button underneath the toilet seat that makes people scream when I sit down.
" FLLIIICCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK !?"
I assumed that embarassing position that half way resembles a downhill skiier in tuck and half way resembles a very large dog shitting and shuffled over to the door.
" WHAT ?!?!"
" The children are killing each other in the basement."
" Well can you just deal with it for now, I'm right in the middle of something !"
When I came out of the bathroom the house was eerily silent. I went downstairs to find the boy sitting on the couch whimpering with an ice pack on his face.
" What's going on ?", I asked my wife.
" Your daughter", ( MY daughter...with that tone and desciption that could only mean the 5 year old) my wife continued, " scratched the boys face and now he's bleeding."
With that she pulled the ice pack off the boy, exposing a couple of bleeding scrapes, and sending him into a wailing fit.
I should note that the boy is almost 8 years old. But beyond that he's the biggest kid in his class by 3 inches and he weights 80 lbs. The youngest girl might weigh half that, maybe, and is one of the smaller kids in the class.
My wife continued, " She up in her bed, you need to go deal with her."
I walked into the room and she was sitting there with her arms crossed, a frown on her face, and starting straight down.
" What did you do to your brother !", I asked sternly.
" He was calling me names !", as usual she went right on the offensive.
" Well I don't care what he did. What are you supposed to do when someone is mean to you ?", I asked.
" Come see you.", except it come out in begrudging grunts, " Come....see....you...urgh."
" AND...if that doesn't work, then what ?!", I keep on her.
" Yeah but...but", she realized that bullrushing me wasn't working so she moved to plan B...pity, " He was called me a THERAPIST !"
Now that got my attention, " He call...he....WHAT ?!"
" He called me a therapist !", she continued gaining her confidence back.
" Well I don't care what he called you, what are you supposed to do ?", I got myself back on track.
Uh-oh, distracting me didn't work, she moved right onto plan C...lieing, " Well I tried to come tell you...but he tackled me and held me down."
" He tackled you and held you down...that's your story ?", i had heard this before.
" YES !"
" So, I'm going to go downstairs and asks your brother and if that's not true you're in big trouble.", I bluffed.
" Well..", now she was getting really angry, " well he wouldn't even remember !"
Weak.
" He wouldn't remember eh ? Well seeing as he was the one holding you down, allegedly, I suspect he'd remember. Now I'll ask you one more time before I go downstairs....did he hold you down ?"
" FINE !!! FINE!!! NO !!!", and she burst into tears.
I send her to bed for the night and went down to check on the boy.
He was still sitting there pouting and I asked, " What did you do to your sister ?"
" NOTHING ! I was cleaning the basement like Mom said to and I told her she had to help. Then a minute later, when she didn't get up, I told her a second time. The she got up, picked up the dominos tin, whacked me in the head, then jumped on me and and started clawing my faces. All I did was tell her twice !"
" Did you call her any names ?", I asked.
" Yes, I'm sorry.", and then he started crying, " but it hurt and I got mad...I'm sorry"
" That was after she attacked you. What did you say to her BEFORE that ?"
" Nothing. I didn't call her nuthin..I just told her she had to help me, I swear"
So I had to ask, " Are you sure ? Did you call her a therapist ?"
He stopped sobbing and turned and looked at me puzzled, " A what ?"
" A therapist...did you call her a therapist ?", I felt foolish even asking.
" No why would I call her that. I'm not even sure what that is ?", he said.
" Yeah, that's what I suspected." I answered the boy, " But if this stuff keeps up, I"m gonna be the one calling her a therapist."
" Yeah ?", he coninuted, "Well if you do that you better watch out. She's nuts."
I swear, sometimes I think that there's a button underneath the toilet seat that makes people scream when I sit down.
" FLLIIICCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK !?"
I assumed that embarassing position that half way resembles a downhill skiier in tuck and half way resembles a very large dog shitting and shuffled over to the door.
" WHAT ?!?!"
" The children are killing each other in the basement."
" Well can you just deal with it for now, I'm right in the middle of something !"
When I came out of the bathroom the house was eerily silent. I went downstairs to find the boy sitting on the couch whimpering with an ice pack on his face.
" What's going on ?", I asked my wife.
" Your daughter", ( MY daughter...with that tone and desciption that could only mean the 5 year old) my wife continued, " scratched the boys face and now he's bleeding."
With that she pulled the ice pack off the boy, exposing a couple of bleeding scrapes, and sending him into a wailing fit.
I should note that the boy is almost 8 years old. But beyond that he's the biggest kid in his class by 3 inches and he weights 80 lbs. The youngest girl might weigh half that, maybe, and is one of the smaller kids in the class.
My wife continued, " She up in her bed, you need to go deal with her."
I walked into the room and she was sitting there with her arms crossed, a frown on her face, and starting straight down.
" What did you do to your brother !", I asked sternly.
" He was calling me names !", as usual she went right on the offensive.
" Well I don't care what he did. What are you supposed to do when someone is mean to you ?", I asked.
" Come see you.", except it come out in begrudging grunts, " Come....see....you...urgh."
" AND...if that doesn't work, then what ?!", I keep on her.
" Yeah but...but", she realized that bullrushing me wasn't working so she moved to plan B...pity, " He was called me a THERAPIST !"
Now that got my attention, " He call...he....WHAT ?!"
" He called me a therapist !", she continued gaining her confidence back.
" Well I don't care what he called you, what are you supposed to do ?", I got myself back on track.
Uh-oh, distracting me didn't work, she moved right onto plan C...lieing, " Well I tried to come tell you...but he tackled me and held me down."
" He tackled you and held you down...that's your story ?", i had heard this before.
" YES !"
" So, I'm going to go downstairs and asks your brother and if that's not true you're in big trouble.", I bluffed.
" Well..", now she was getting really angry, " well he wouldn't even remember !"
Weak.
" He wouldn't remember eh ? Well seeing as he was the one holding you down, allegedly, I suspect he'd remember. Now I'll ask you one more time before I go downstairs....did he hold you down ?"
" FINE !!! FINE!!! NO !!!", and she burst into tears.
I send her to bed for the night and went down to check on the boy.
He was still sitting there pouting and I asked, " What did you do to your sister ?"
" NOTHING ! I was cleaning the basement like Mom said to and I told her she had to help. Then a minute later, when she didn't get up, I told her a second time. The she got up, picked up the dominos tin, whacked me in the head, then jumped on me and and started clawing my faces. All I did was tell her twice !"
" Did you call her any names ?", I asked.
" Yes, I'm sorry.", and then he started crying, " but it hurt and I got mad...I'm sorry"
" That was after she attacked you. What did you say to her BEFORE that ?"
" Nothing. I didn't call her nuthin..I just told her she had to help me, I swear"
So I had to ask, " Are you sure ? Did you call her a therapist ?"
He stopped sobbing and turned and looked at me puzzled, " A what ?"
" A therapist...did you call her a therapist ?", I felt foolish even asking.
" No why would I call her that. I'm not even sure what that is ?", he said.
" Yeah, that's what I suspected." I answered the boy, " But if this stuff keeps up, I"m gonna be the one calling her a therapist."
" Yeah ?", he coninuted, "Well if you do that you better watch out. She's nuts."
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
What a welcome home.
I spent the weekend down in Myrtle Beach playing golf and then playing some more golf. Other than that it was 3 days of blissfully sitting around without having to break up a fight or get someone a drink or letting people in and out of the house. It made me realize that parenting is most being a bouncer for midgets.
So I came home and got right back into the swing of things.
Last night I sat down to check my email and my wife informed me that she had to run to the store and I should keep an eye on the kids.
Two minutes after she left, I heard my five year old daughter say " Oh-OH !" then I heard a door slam.
" What was that ?", I yelled.
" NOTHING ! DON'T COME IN HERE !!!"
Now she had my interest, " Where are you ?"
" I'm in the potty, DON'T come it "
Now I was worried, " What the matter ? Are you ok ?"
" I'm fine !", she was doing a poor job of trying to sound convincing, " There ....ahhhh....just been a surprise "
" A surprise ?", I asked.
" Yeah, a surprise !", she answered.
" What kind of surprise ?", I kept pressing.
" There's something on the floor....well I really don't want to say, but maybe it would be ok if I can spell it."
" Ok"
" P...O....O....P"
" Oh jeeze", I cried.
" No, no, no don't come in. I'll take care of it!"
So I waited. I'm trying to teach the kids to be self sufficient and pressing on them to start cleaning up after themselves. This isn't exactly what I meant, but to be consistent I gave her a shot. I sat there for a while, doing what I was doing, but keeping one ear to the door.
After a while, " Ummm DAD ?"
" Yes dear ?"
" Umm, I'm going to need a little help in here. I need someone to wipe me."
OK. That's an unusual request....and thankfully one I didn't hear the entire time in Myrtle Beach.
I walked into the bathroom to quite the site. There was a little bit of poop on the ground that she had attempted to wipe up, but instead smeared it around. Additionally, she had feces on her bottom and front and her clothes were strewn about the room. By the rising water level, the toilet was obviously clogged and there was a mountain of toilet paper stacked high enough to look like a paper mache volcanic island in a sea of tiddy-bowl blue.
" What in gods name....", I started in.
Now the interesting thing about my daughter is that, while being the smallest and the youngest, she's by far the most aggressive. When the other two kids are faced with a stressful situation they gravitate to "flight" while this one goes right to " fight". Before I could express my awe, she hit me with shock.
" HEY! ", she yelled, " I TRIED TO CLEAN IT UP !"
That did a pretty good job of putting me on my heels.
" Yeah...well...fine", She had me stammering, " Its just that I might barf"
" YEAH ?!", She kept pressing me and at the same time coyly stepping around the poop, around me and out the door, " Well if you're going to barf, then you should get a bucket or something. I'll tell you what, I'll go get you a bucket". And the little weasel tried to run off leaving me there.
" NO WAY...HEY !!!!! Stay right where you are !", I yelled.
The yelling got the attention of the older daughter who I heard running down the stairs..boom-boom-boom..and into the hallway.
" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH !" she screamed, " She's got poop on her dingle !!!!!"
This immediately drive the younger girl into a fury and she stood there holding her shirt up above the poop line, red with rage and she started screaming....I believe the biblical phrase is "in tongues".
I quickly took command, " YOU ! Stop screaming...and YOU, stop making fun of your sister and make yourself useful. Go get a plunger...NOW !"
This commotion drew the attention of the boy who came running into the hallway.
I never gave him the chance, " YOUUUUUUU ! OUUUUUTTT !"
" But ...", he started.
" OUUUUUTTTTT !" and I pointed to the nearest exit and off he ran.
The next 5 minutes I was a fervor of wiping, plunging, washing, plunging and wiping again. Finally I got the girl clean and sent her to the upstairs bathroom to wash her hands. On the way up there the other two started making fun of her. Her response was to say, " I didn't wash my hands yet" and then she chased them around the upstairs of the house trying to touch them while they screamed and ran terrified.
Eventually I ran up and quieted that revolt.
Finally after all of that, I got to sit back down and start to read the email that I had started 30 minutes earlier. With that my wife walked in with some groceries.
" Everything ok while I was away ?", she asked.
" Yeah, yeah.", I just didn't feel like getting into it.
" Good", she said.
And then continued, " You just got back from vacation... why don't you spend some times with the kids instead of sitting on the computer all night ?"
" Yeah. Good idea."
So I came home and got right back into the swing of things.
Last night I sat down to check my email and my wife informed me that she had to run to the store and I should keep an eye on the kids.
Two minutes after she left, I heard my five year old daughter say " Oh-OH !" then I heard a door slam.
" What was that ?", I yelled.
" NOTHING ! DON'T COME IN HERE !!!"
Now she had my interest, " Where are you ?"
" I'm in the potty, DON'T come it "
Now I was worried, " What the matter ? Are you ok ?"
" I'm fine !", she was doing a poor job of trying to sound convincing, " There ....ahhhh....just been a surprise "
" A surprise ?", I asked.
" Yeah, a surprise !", she answered.
" What kind of surprise ?", I kept pressing.
" There's something on the floor....well I really don't want to say, but maybe it would be ok if I can spell it."
" Ok"
" P...O....O....P"
" Oh jeeze", I cried.
" No, no, no don't come in. I'll take care of it!"
So I waited. I'm trying to teach the kids to be self sufficient and pressing on them to start cleaning up after themselves. This isn't exactly what I meant, but to be consistent I gave her a shot. I sat there for a while, doing what I was doing, but keeping one ear to the door.
After a while, " Ummm DAD ?"
" Yes dear ?"
" Umm, I'm going to need a little help in here. I need someone to wipe me."
OK. That's an unusual request....and thankfully one I didn't hear the entire time in Myrtle Beach.
I walked into the bathroom to quite the site. There was a little bit of poop on the ground that she had attempted to wipe up, but instead smeared it around. Additionally, she had feces on her bottom and front and her clothes were strewn about the room. By the rising water level, the toilet was obviously clogged and there was a mountain of toilet paper stacked high enough to look like a paper mache volcanic island in a sea of tiddy-bowl blue.
" What in gods name....", I started in.
Now the interesting thing about my daughter is that, while being the smallest and the youngest, she's by far the most aggressive. When the other two kids are faced with a stressful situation they gravitate to "flight" while this one goes right to " fight". Before I could express my awe, she hit me with shock.
" HEY! ", she yelled, " I TRIED TO CLEAN IT UP !"
That did a pretty good job of putting me on my heels.
" Yeah...well...fine", She had me stammering, " Its just that I might barf"
" YEAH ?!", She kept pressing me and at the same time coyly stepping around the poop, around me and out the door, " Well if you're going to barf, then you should get a bucket or something. I'll tell you what, I'll go get you a bucket". And the little weasel tried to run off leaving me there.
" NO WAY...HEY !!!!! Stay right where you are !", I yelled.
The yelling got the attention of the older daughter who I heard running down the stairs..boom-boom-boom..and into the hallway.
" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH !" she screamed, " She's got poop on her dingle !!!!!"
This immediately drive the younger girl into a fury and she stood there holding her shirt up above the poop line, red with rage and she started screaming....I believe the biblical phrase is "in tongues".
I quickly took command, " YOU ! Stop screaming...and YOU, stop making fun of your sister and make yourself useful. Go get a plunger...NOW !"
This commotion drew the attention of the boy who came running into the hallway.
I never gave him the chance, " YOUUUUUUU ! OUUUUUTTT !"
" But ...", he started.
" OUUUUUTTTTT !" and I pointed to the nearest exit and off he ran.
The next 5 minutes I was a fervor of wiping, plunging, washing, plunging and wiping again. Finally I got the girl clean and sent her to the upstairs bathroom to wash her hands. On the way up there the other two started making fun of her. Her response was to say, " I didn't wash my hands yet" and then she chased them around the upstairs of the house trying to touch them while they screamed and ran terrified.
Eventually I ran up and quieted that revolt.
Finally after all of that, I got to sit back down and start to read the email that I had started 30 minutes earlier. With that my wife walked in with some groceries.
" Everything ok while I was away ?", she asked.
" Yeah, yeah.", I just didn't feel like getting into it.
" Good", she said.
And then continued, " You just got back from vacation... why don't you spend some times with the kids instead of sitting on the computer all night ?"
" Yeah. Good idea."
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Quitters never lose either
Since I quit poker...again...i was looking for a little action last night.
I busted out Pictionary and we had ourselves a little family game night.
The Boy and I were doing quite well until we got into an all play against the girls where my wife and son were both drawing. I was the guesser for our team.
The word was CANNON.
The boy drew this...
Cannon eh ? The boy must think quite a lot of himself.
I busted out Pictionary and we had ourselves a little family game night.
The Boy and I were doing quite well until we got into an all play against the girls where my wife and son were both drawing. I was the guesser for our team.
The word was CANNON.
The boy drew this...
Cannon eh ? The boy must think quite a lot of himself.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Room in your coffee for some rage ?
I walked into Starbucks this morning, got into line, the reached into my pocket for some money. As I did so, I took a half step back with my left foot so I could turn to the side and count my bills. When I did so, I stepped on something...and was surprised to realize someone had come in, and was standing right behind me, and I had stepped on his steel toed boot.
" Oh jeeze, pardon me", I apologized and turned around to see a very surly looking, saved head, five foot-six, construction worker standing there with a scowl on his face.
" Fucking idiots !" he muttered, no so under-his-breath.
" Pardon me ?", I though perhaps I had misheard.
" You heard exactly what I said " he growled.
I was stunned, this had to be a joke, " Are you serious ?"
" Yeah, I'm serious", and the little fucker started stepping towards me.
I was still in disbelief, " What are you talking about ? You snuck right up behind.."
" Don't give me that bullshit, I came in right behind you...YOU SAW MEEE !!!", now he was foaming at the mouth.
The first thing I thought was 'this is what is must be like for other people when I flip out', the second thing was ' this is going to be a really entertaining fist fight'.
I turned to him, " You're out of your fucking mind. I didn't see shit and what the fuck, you have boots on anyway.." I was starting to stammer and getting fired up expecting that the next 10 second were going to determine whether or not I was going to spend the next 4 hours at the police station.
The think that may have saved the situation was that I could see his posture start to change. Having been on his end of things once or twice i realize that the initial freakout is sometimes tempered when you realize that the other person might be as retarded as you. He didn't exactly back off, but my reaction at least stopped him in his tracks.
I took a breath and said, " You know what...just go ahead of me and get your coffee."
" No, I don't trust you ", he said.
" Just get your coffee", I've made the committment to try and be a better person and avoid confrontation. And I gotta figure that whatever problems this guy has have almost nothing to do with me or his toe. " If I'm going to do anything its going to be right here to your face, not when your back is turned."
We stood there toe to toe for a second.
I gave him every option, " How do you want this to play out ? Where do you want this to go ?"
" Fine !", he walked past me and up to the counter, " Give me a tall coffee."
" HA !, that's rich.", well I said I was TRYING to be a better person...sometimes I just can't help myself, " TALL coffee ? How that for irony ?"
He grabbed his coffee and out the door he went.
" Oh jeeze, pardon me", I apologized and turned around to see a very surly looking, saved head, five foot-six, construction worker standing there with a scowl on his face.
" Fucking idiots !" he muttered, no so under-his-breath.
" Pardon me ?", I though perhaps I had misheard.
" You heard exactly what I said " he growled.
I was stunned, this had to be a joke, " Are you serious ?"
" Yeah, I'm serious", and the little fucker started stepping towards me.
I was still in disbelief, " What are you talking about ? You snuck right up behind.."
" Don't give me that bullshit, I came in right behind you...YOU SAW MEEE !!!", now he was foaming at the mouth.
The first thing I thought was 'this is what is must be like for other people when I flip out', the second thing was ' this is going to be a really entertaining fist fight'.
I turned to him, " You're out of your fucking mind. I didn't see shit and what the fuck, you have boots on anyway.." I was starting to stammer and getting fired up expecting that the next 10 second were going to determine whether or not I was going to spend the next 4 hours at the police station.
The think that may have saved the situation was that I could see his posture start to change. Having been on his end of things once or twice i realize that the initial freakout is sometimes tempered when you realize that the other person might be as retarded as you. He didn't exactly back off, but my reaction at least stopped him in his tracks.
I took a breath and said, " You know what...just go ahead of me and get your coffee."
" No, I don't trust you ", he said.
" Just get your coffee", I've made the committment to try and be a better person and avoid confrontation. And I gotta figure that whatever problems this guy has have almost nothing to do with me or his toe. " If I'm going to do anything its going to be right here to your face, not when your back is turned."
We stood there toe to toe for a second.
I gave him every option, " How do you want this to play out ? Where do you want this to go ?"
" Fine !", he walked past me and up to the counter, " Give me a tall coffee."
" HA !, that's rich.", well I said I was TRYING to be a better person...sometimes I just can't help myself, " TALL coffee ? How that for irony ?"
He grabbed his coffee and out the door he went.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Tu Rah Lou Rah Lou Rah Ayyyyyy
I forced myself to listen to 'Come on Eileen' in its entirety on the drive here in the hopes that it would either lift my spirits or convince me to steer into a tree. Unexpectedly, but thankfully I find myself a tad cheerier.
I don't play poker well tired, frustrated, or stressed. That information would have been more helpful 24 hours ago. Apparently the price of self-actualization is $105.
And of course I handled it with enough composure to compell me to explain to everyone that I wasn't really that mad. Bitterness, for me, is about 80% performance art.
Luckily for my other 20% still suffices to provide more misery that would be experienced by the common man. Thankfully for you, it might also provide a reasonable and steady source of entertainment...case in point..
After everyone left I was sitting there broke, miserable, drunk and tired. I cleaned up, pouted for a while, then decided to go to bed....or in my case last night go to 'couch'. I dug through the ottoman and couldn't find a blanket bigger than a large towel so I patch worked together 7 small blankets, intricately overlapping them to create one large blanket and cocooning myself in.
I no sooner got all of situated and put my head upon my pillow when I had the sudden and uncontrollable urge to piss. Now it had taken me maybe 6 minutes of adjusting and readjusting those fucking blankets 100 times so that my ass wasn't sticking out into the cold air and now that I had everything perfect I had to take a leak.
I refused.
I laid there for what seemed like an eternity, spiting myself, and refusing to give in. I somehow figured that if I could just fall asleep everything would be ok. Obviously, that was a flawed plan.
I was just about resigned to getting up when I remember that the giant 64oz glass that I had just finished was sitting empty at the end of the couch. Now I don't wanna be no 'jug-pisser' but extreme circumstances sometimes call for extreme measures...and without upsetting the apple cart and using my cell phone as a light source, I could both reach the cup and unveil the necessary particulars.
After some nervous apprehension I got the process started and felt the calm relief of release....and more release...and some more...about 62 ounces of......errr wait for it.....up-oh....63.....oh lord please don't...whew....about 63.5 ounces of relieved release.
Delicately, carefully, tentatively, I wedged the cup between the couch and the ottoman. I didn't want to accidentally knock it over and I sure as hell didn't want the cat to tip it. I placed it down next to the couch and pulled the ottoman closer and closer. It was quite tight enough so I gave the footrest one last little tug, just hard enough to firmly wedge the cup in there.....and just hard enough to overcome the inertia that was holding my cell phone in place atop my laptop. Before I could realize what that noise in the darkness was my cell phone slide off the laptop, off the ottoman, and directly to the bottom of the piss filled cup.
BTW, a Motorola razor displaces exactly .4oz of water if fully submerged.
So the final tally is me:
- minus another hour of sleep
- minus one cup
- minus one phone
On the other hand I have a great story that I really can't (shouldn't) tell anyone.
Needless to say, if you need to get hold of me today, ring me on the office line. Oh yeah, and be sure to ask for me by my new name..Rock....Rock Bottom.
I forced myself to listen to 'Come on Eileen' in its entirety on the drive here in the hopes that it would either lift my spirits or convince me to steer into a tree. Unexpectedly, but thankfully I find myself a tad cheerier.
I don't play poker well tired, frustrated, or stressed. That information would have been more helpful 24 hours ago. Apparently the price of self-actualization is $105.
And of course I handled it with enough composure to compell me to explain to everyone that I wasn't really that mad. Bitterness, for me, is about 80% performance art.
Luckily for my other 20% still suffices to provide more misery that would be experienced by the common man. Thankfully for you, it might also provide a reasonable and steady source of entertainment...case in point..
After everyone left I was sitting there broke, miserable, drunk and tired. I cleaned up, pouted for a while, then decided to go to bed....or in my case last night go to 'couch'. I dug through the ottoman and couldn't find a blanket bigger than a large towel so I patch worked together 7 small blankets, intricately overlapping them to create one large blanket and cocooning myself in.
I no sooner got all of situated and put my head upon my pillow when I had the sudden and uncontrollable urge to piss. Now it had taken me maybe 6 minutes of adjusting and readjusting those fucking blankets 100 times so that my ass wasn't sticking out into the cold air and now that I had everything perfect I had to take a leak.
I refused.
I laid there for what seemed like an eternity, spiting myself, and refusing to give in. I somehow figured that if I could just fall asleep everything would be ok. Obviously, that was a flawed plan.
I was just about resigned to getting up when I remember that the giant 64oz glass that I had just finished was sitting empty at the end of the couch. Now I don't wanna be no 'jug-pisser' but extreme circumstances sometimes call for extreme measures...and without upsetting the apple cart and using my cell phone as a light source, I could both reach the cup and unveil the necessary particulars.
After some nervous apprehension I got the process started and felt the calm relief of release....and more release...and some more...about 62 ounces of......errr wait for it.....up-oh....63.....oh lord please don't...whew....about 63.5 ounces of relieved release.
Delicately, carefully, tentatively, I wedged the cup between the couch and the ottoman. I didn't want to accidentally knock it over and I sure as hell didn't want the cat to tip it. I placed it down next to the couch and pulled the ottoman closer and closer. It was quite tight enough so I gave the footrest one last little tug, just hard enough to firmly wedge the cup in there.....and just hard enough to overcome the inertia that was holding my cell phone in place atop my laptop. Before I could realize what that noise in the darkness was my cell phone slide off the laptop, off the ottoman, and directly to the bottom of the piss filled cup.
BTW, a Motorola razor displaces exactly .4oz of water if fully submerged.
So the final tally is me:
- minus another hour of sleep
- minus one cup
- minus one phone
On the other hand I have a great story that I really can't (shouldn't) tell anyone.
Needless to say, if you need to get hold of me today, ring me on the office line. Oh yeah, and be sure to ask for me by my new name..Rock....Rock Bottom.
Monday, February 11, 2008
pandora out...rhapsody in
At the sound advice of a friend checked out Rhapsody today.
At the sound advice of the Grammys I also checked out Amy Winehouse this morning.
Plesantly surprised that both lived up to their billing.
And here's a little Billy Bragg to get your week started.
At the sound advice of the Grammys I also checked out Amy Winehouse this morning.
Plesantly surprised that both lived up to their billing.
And here's a little Billy Bragg to get your week started.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
smooth criminal
I've been using pandora.com as my music source lately. You punch in an artist and it finds music of a similar genre.
I was on a hard core gangsta tip yesterday and had fiddy-cent punched in. This morning when I logged on, my intention was to switch that to something a little more reasonable to listen to with my coffee.
But when I fired up the browser I was met with some sweet old-school smooth funk sounds. Boom bah deeeewwwwwww. Like a slow rolling jam that you might have in the background when you were laying some smooth moves on your lady. I found myself bouncing along, sippin my coffee, and having visions of a fire place and a bear skin rug when the lyrics began...
" I pop caps in niggas then I steal their bitches....I need a hundred ho fo my hundred itches .."
( ok, that's not what it really said. I made that up, but you get the idea )
So hard core lyrics laid over smooth tracks ?!?!
Yes, this morning I discovered Jay-Z.
I was on a hard core gangsta tip yesterday and had fiddy-cent punched in. This morning when I logged on, my intention was to switch that to something a little more reasonable to listen to with my coffee.
But when I fired up the browser I was met with some sweet old-school smooth funk sounds. Boom bah deeeewwwwwww. Like a slow rolling jam that you might have in the background when you were laying some smooth moves on your lady. I found myself bouncing along, sippin my coffee, and having visions of a fire place and a bear skin rug when the lyrics began...
" I pop caps in niggas then I steal their bitches....I need a hundred ho fo my hundred itches .."
( ok, that's not what it really said. I made that up, but you get the idea )
So hard core lyrics laid over smooth tracks ?!?!
Yes, this morning I discovered Jay-Z.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Happy Tet
If you were Chinese or Vietnamese you'd be as psyched as I am, cause today is New Year's Eve. The plan is to head over to the Budist temple in Columbia and rock out Viet Cong style tonight. Hopefully I'll have some pictures for tomorrow.
If you want to ever get really depressed, spend 10 minutes listening to NPR the day after an election. My candidate has no chance, has never had any chance, so I have the pleasure of viewing this election from the outside with some detached objectivity. I'm less interesting in who wins as much as I am in understand why someone wins. With that in mind I've been intently paying attention when people are interviewed for their opinions and justifications for who they're supporting.
My conclussion so far is that 'the man on the street' is, by and large, functionally retarded.
But enough of that. Here is something worth smilin about
http://www.myspace.com/riskaydramaqueen
Now THAT'S a candidate I can get behind. My favorite song so far is Kristpy Kreme.
Wizzurd my bizzurds.
If you want to ever get really depressed, spend 10 minutes listening to NPR the day after an election. My candidate has no chance, has never had any chance, so I have the pleasure of viewing this election from the outside with some detached objectivity. I'm less interesting in who wins as much as I am in understand why someone wins. With that in mind I've been intently paying attention when people are interviewed for their opinions and justifications for who they're supporting.
My conclussion so far is that 'the man on the street' is, by and large, functionally retarded.
But enough of that. Here is something worth smilin about
http://www.myspace.com/riskaydramaqueen
Now THAT'S a candidate I can get behind. My favorite song so far is Kristpy Kreme.
Wizzurd my bizzurds.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Baby Girl story #2
Tuesday afternoon I got a call, " You have to talk to your daughter, she got in trouble at school"
" Uh-oh", I said, " what did she do ?"
" She made some girl cry, by saying something to her."
" What did she say ?" I asked.
" She told the girl, 'you legs are as hairy as a bunny'."
After I got done laughing, I asked to talk to Baby Girl. She didn't want to talk to me, but finally I got her on the phone and simply explained that while what she said may have been true, she should apologize for hurting the firls feelings.
All was well until I got home and found out the real reason why she didn't want to talk to me on the phone earlier. It turns out that she didn't tell the girl 'your legs are as hairy as a bunny". What she acutally said to the girl, and the entire class is...
"Your legs are as hairy as my Dad's belly."
Thanks kid.
" Uh-oh", I said, " what did she do ?"
" She made some girl cry, by saying something to her."
" What did she say ?" I asked.
" She told the girl, 'you legs are as hairy as a bunny'."
After I got done laughing, I asked to talk to Baby Girl. She didn't want to talk to me, but finally I got her on the phone and simply explained that while what she said may have been true, she should apologize for hurting the firls feelings.
All was well until I got home and found out the real reason why she didn't want to talk to me on the phone earlier. It turns out that she didn't tell the girl 'your legs are as hairy as a bunny". What she acutally said to the girl, and the entire class is...
"Your legs are as hairy as my Dad's belly."
Thanks kid.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
baby girl story #1
I pick up the youngest girl first and then we drive over to another school the pick up Hot Gril and The Boy.
When we get to school #2 I try to make a game of it. Baby Girl and I walk in on the sidewalk on either all cracks or no cracks, and when we get inside we walk on either all light squares or all dark squares. Baby Girl takes great pride in being the one who chooses what we do each day.
We got out of the van and she declared " ALL CRACKS " and we carefully traced a path along the cracks, down the side walk, and towards the front door.
We reached the front door at around the same time as an black woman who there to pick up her kids. I broke ranks and politely opened the door to let the woman in. Baby Girl was concentrating so hard on staying on the cracks didn't notice the woman and as she got to the door almost bumped into her.
Baby Girl startled, looked up at the woman, then looked up at me and emphaticly declared, " WHITES ONLY DADDY ! WHITES ONLY !"
I saw the woman pause and her face drop. Then she quickly started hustling into the building.
I acted as quickly as I could, " YES BABY GIRL ! GOOD IDEA STEP ONLY UPON THE SQUARES THAT ARE WHITE IN COLOR.....not, of course, that there's anything wrong with the brown squares...they're just as....ahh...yeah, that's it good job."
Thankfully, the woman gave me a knowing smile and we went on our ways.
When we get to school #2 I try to make a game of it. Baby Girl and I walk in on the sidewalk on either all cracks or no cracks, and when we get inside we walk on either all light squares or all dark squares. Baby Girl takes great pride in being the one who chooses what we do each day.
We got out of the van and she declared " ALL CRACKS " and we carefully traced a path along the cracks, down the side walk, and towards the front door.
We reached the front door at around the same time as an black woman who there to pick up her kids. I broke ranks and politely opened the door to let the woman in. Baby Girl was concentrating so hard on staying on the cracks didn't notice the woman and as she got to the door almost bumped into her.
Baby Girl startled, looked up at the woman, then looked up at me and emphaticly declared, " WHITES ONLY DADDY ! WHITES ONLY !"
I saw the woman pause and her face drop. Then she quickly started hustling into the building.
I acted as quickly as I could, " YES BABY GIRL ! GOOD IDEA STEP ONLY UPON THE SQUARES THAT ARE WHITE IN COLOR.....not, of course, that there's anything wrong with the brown squares...they're just as....ahh...yeah, that's it good job."
Thankfully, the woman gave me a knowing smile and we went on our ways.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Oh Me Oh My Oh Monday
So, what's be going on you ask ?
Well on Saturday I saw monkeys riding dogs and herding rams. And sadly that's not a euphamism for something more exciting.
Say hello to Team Ghost Riders
They were the halftime show at the Farm Show Rodeo that I took my kids to. Both the Farm Show and the Rodeo are a good time. If there really is a thing such as All-American fun, then that might be as close as you can get. The downside, everything worn smells remarkably and almost permanently like the ass of a cow.
The weekend ? Friday: talked and drank, Saturday: Farm Show sausage then cards and drank, Sunday: Watched football and drank. I've concluded that I do a good job of not letting all those other activities interfere with the drinking.
I'm in a weight loss contest now for the last two weeks and I've only gained 2 lbs. I haven't completely connected the dots, but I'm starting to suspect this paragraph and the one above it are somehow related.
On Friday I was in a local pub and saw someone who looked remarkably like Sez walk past and go into the bathroom. Brentz, Grib and I followed the guy in. I took place at the stall next to him and tried to assertain if it was him or not when Grib threw caution to the wind.
" WE GOT YOU SURROUNDED !!!! HANDS UP MOTHERFUCKER !!!", Grib had his hands like a gun and kept poking Sez's elbow while he pissed, " I SAID HANDS UP !!!"
Thank goodness it was Sez.
As funny as that might have been, it was the guy washing his hands at the sink running out of the room in terror that caused Mr. Brentz to laugh so hard he threw up in his mouth a little.
Sez might now be incontnent.
Well on Saturday I saw monkeys riding dogs and herding rams. And sadly that's not a euphamism for something more exciting.
Say hello to Team Ghost Riders
They were the halftime show at the Farm Show Rodeo that I took my kids to. Both the Farm Show and the Rodeo are a good time. If there really is a thing such as All-American fun, then that might be as close as you can get. The downside, everything worn smells remarkably and almost permanently like the ass of a cow.
The weekend ? Friday: talked and drank, Saturday: Farm Show sausage then cards and drank, Sunday: Watched football and drank. I've concluded that I do a good job of not letting all those other activities interfere with the drinking.
I'm in a weight loss contest now for the last two weeks and I've only gained 2 lbs. I haven't completely connected the dots, but I'm starting to suspect this paragraph and the one above it are somehow related.
On Friday I was in a local pub and saw someone who looked remarkably like Sez walk past and go into the bathroom. Brentz, Grib and I followed the guy in. I took place at the stall next to him and tried to assertain if it was him or not when Grib threw caution to the wind.
" WE GOT YOU SURROUNDED !!!! HANDS UP MOTHERFUCKER !!!", Grib had his hands like a gun and kept poking Sez's elbow while he pissed, " I SAID HANDS UP !!!"
Thank goodness it was Sez.
As funny as that might have been, it was the guy washing his hands at the sink running out of the room in terror that caused Mr. Brentz to laugh so hard he threw up in his mouth a little.
Sez might now be incontnent.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
In the inbox - glad to know I'm not alone
Flick,
So this morning I had to walk a few blocks from my office to get my glasses repaired. Luckily it was nice and sunny so I could wear my prescription sunglasses. On the way I stopped at Square One and got coffee for the walk and wait. This being a business day I have a suit and tie on with a white shirt.
I walked into the second floor small waiting room that the Optometrist has and gave my frames and lenses to the receptionist/Certified Repair "Technician" and sat down. Now in my glassless state (the office was way too dark for the sunglasses) I note that there is an old "cracked or whacked out guy" sitting a couple of chairs away from me with an old army fatique jacket and a baseball hat. Across the room sitting is the poster boy for the stereotypical gang member; about 250 pounds, baggy jeans, untied high top basketball shoes, huge white T Shirt and lots of bling.
The Glass Repair Specialist left the room for "her lab". I leaned back and started working on my coffee. A couple minutes later while trying to see how much of the eye chart I can actually see without my glasses, I note that bling boy is staring at me, but not making eye contact. I go back to the coffee and my glassless, unfocused haze. Now I note that crackhead has awakened and I think I catch HIM staring at me and then he looks at bling boy. They both shrug and roll their eyes. I am not pissed yet, but I am getting there. So a few minutes later I look at crackhead and he is definetly staring at me, but like at my stomach, I switch my gaze to bling boy who is staring near my belt buckle. Okay now not only am I pissed, I am a little creeped out. So I look bling boy right in the eye and say "is there a problem?" He tips his 270 degree baseball cap a little forward and says "DUDE" and nods toward my lap. I look down and now note that my POS coffee lid has apparently been leaking each time I take a sip. My tie is soaked and an ever widening brown stain is growing on my white monogrammed Lands End shirt. Just about then the Optometrist comes to get crack-whackhead, who gets up to follow him, but before he goes takes one look back and shakes his head and says "DUDE".
The "technician/Certified Glass Repair Specialist"/receptionist walks back in and hands me my glasses. I don't even put them on I just get up button my jacket and walk out - truly A CLASS ACT. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to be a great day.
So this morning I had to walk a few blocks from my office to get my glasses repaired. Luckily it was nice and sunny so I could wear my prescription sunglasses. On the way I stopped at Square One and got coffee for the walk and wait. This being a business day I have a suit and tie on with a white shirt.
I walked into the second floor small waiting room that the Optometrist has and gave my frames and lenses to the receptionist/Certified Repair "Technician" and sat down. Now in my glassless state (the office was way too dark for the sunglasses) I note that there is an old "cracked or whacked out guy" sitting a couple of chairs away from me with an old army fatique jacket and a baseball hat. Across the room sitting is the poster boy for the stereotypical gang member; about 250 pounds, baggy jeans, untied high top basketball shoes, huge white T Shirt and lots of bling.
The Glass Repair Specialist left the room for "her lab". I leaned back and started working on my coffee. A couple minutes later while trying to see how much of the eye chart I can actually see without my glasses, I note that bling boy is staring at me, but not making eye contact. I go back to the coffee and my glassless, unfocused haze. Now I note that crackhead has awakened and I think I catch HIM staring at me and then he looks at bling boy. They both shrug and roll their eyes. I am not pissed yet, but I am getting there. So a few minutes later I look at crackhead and he is definetly staring at me, but like at my stomach, I switch my gaze to bling boy who is staring near my belt buckle. Okay now not only am I pissed, I am a little creeped out. So I look bling boy right in the eye and say "is there a problem?" He tips his 270 degree baseball cap a little forward and says "DUDE" and nods toward my lap. I look down and now note that my POS coffee lid has apparently been leaking each time I take a sip. My tie is soaked and an ever widening brown stain is growing on my white monogrammed Lands End shirt. Just about then the Optometrist comes to get crack-whackhead, who gets up to follow him, but before he goes takes one look back and shakes his head and says "DUDE".
The "technician/Certified Glass Repair Specialist"/receptionist walks back in and hands me my glasses. I don't even put them on I just get up button my jacket and walk out - truly A CLASS ACT. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to be a great day.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Dang
I have a few things that I want to write, but ever time I start to write all that goes through my head is...
BOOBS !
BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS
So the other BOOBS I ran into BOOBS and we went over to the BOOBS to check out the BOOBS.
See what I mean ?
Damn, I hope this.... BOOBS!....passes soon.
BOOBS !
BOOBS !
BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS
So the other BOOBS I ran into BOOBS and we went over to the BOOBS to check out the BOOBS.
See what I mean ?
Damn, I hope this.... BOOBS!....passes soon.
BOOBS !
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Arden
So the boy was excited to go to his cub scout thing last night.
From the time I picked him up at school and all through dinner all he kept talking about was "Arden" this and "Arden" that.
"Arden is so much fun"
"Arden is the coolest"
"I really like Arden"
So when I took him to the cub scout meeting I had to find out who this supposedly wicked cool guy Arden was.
I got there, listened to the introductions, and quickly found out who Arden was...
O-U-R D-E-N
Stupid cub scout talk.
From the time I picked him up at school and all through dinner all he kept talking about was "Arden" this and "Arden" that.
"Arden is so much fun"
"Arden is the coolest"
"I really like Arden"
So when I took him to the cub scout meeting I had to find out who this supposedly wicked cool guy Arden was.
I got there, listened to the introductions, and quickly found out who Arden was...
O-U-R D-E-N
Stupid cub scout talk.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
This note to Fry says it all
.....I locked myself in the basement with the kids, a giant bag of Christmas candy, and all their new toys. When the smoke cleared, I was the second the the last one standing. The last one standing was doing so on my throat.
Good times.
.....
HCwDB has their end of year awards up. A must see.
.....
Catching up, just like the rest of you. More in a day or two.
Good times.
.....
HCwDB has their end of year awards up. A must see.
.....
Catching up, just like the rest of you. More in a day or two.
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