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| Hiatus. |
| 05.09.08 (6:53 am) [edit] |
I'll be taking a break for a while.
Enjoy. |
| Anyone have a hammer? My head needs a tap or two. |
| 05.08.08 (9:01 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Yesterday morning, I got to work just a little early. Went around and made a list of the jobs I wanted to do but the guy I check with at that particular place wasn't there quite yet, so I couldn't get started just then. I went back to my Jeep and did a little paperwork. After a few minutes I decided to go across the street to grab a cup of coffee. Got the coffee, then saw the owner pull in as I walked back. Went and spoke with him, got my list approved, then went to my Jeep to get my stuff. Damn. Doors were locked and there were my keys hanging from the ignition switch. Grrr. First time I'd done that in years. Luckily, I was at a car dealership and one of the mechanics lent me a fancy-assed version of a stiff coat hanger made especially for the job. I broke in to my Jeep in a few minutes with little fanfare. No harm. No foul. Still felt stupid. About noon it started to rain. I debated whether I should continue working right then, pulling cars in, but decided that since I had to go to Home Depot anyway, I'd do that and see if the rain let up over the next hour or so. Got to Home Depot and remembered I had a couple of cans of spray paint I'd bought for something a week or two earlier, but hadn't used after all, that I should return. They sat on the floor on the passenger's side under my laptop bag and another plastic garbage bag I put on top there just to disguise the computer. Went around to that side of the car and dug them out. Went in, returned the paint, looked at the other things I needed, but decided I didn't like the quality of the wood they had in the size I needed, and headed out to my car. My keys weren't in my pocket. My heart sank, my mood turned dark, as I stood there remembering and realizing that my keys very likely sat on the passenger seat under that plastic garbage bag I'd moved when I was getting those two cans of paint. I cursed my own stupidity. I went back in to the store an spent ten bucks buying a little steel rod and a tiny pry bar. This time it took me a good ten or fifteen minutes to maneuver the rod into place and pop the electronic lock. The day ended up being productive enough, but it never got much better. I slept fitfully and had a zillion episodes running through my head that I could have handled differently during my life. Nothing like feeling stupid in the present to make you realize how stupid you've been in the past too. Be good to everyone. |
| You should have seen that monster! |
| 05.06.08 (9:03 pm) [edit] |
|
Good evening Boys and Girls.
Just went to my kid's website and saw this. Someone did a weird youtube video to one of Ryan's strangest songs. If you're interested, go to ryanparmenter.com (He's not in the video at all, but it is him singing.) |
| Everyone likes a quickie every now and again, right? -Here ya go. |
| 05.04.08 (3:41 pm) [edit] |
|
Good afternoon Boys and Girls. A quick note from the I-80 truck stop on my way back to Michigan. It's a busy place on Sunday afternoons. I'm trying to get energy for the drive. Only been on the road a couple of hours and I'm dragging already. Met Sweet Lady's Mom this weekend over in Lincoln, Nebraska. That was fun. We finally got around to watching Sweeny Todd last night. I enjoyed it, but it's definitely wayyyyy darker than the play, even though the story was identical. The music was outstanding. I'll try to write a post tomorrow at some point. Enjoy your Sunday afternoon and evening folks. Be good to everyone. |
| Mike Tiabbi's article. My take. |
| 04.30.08 (10:33 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. I've thought about this post for a couple of days, and, as usual, it won't get through to anyone who needs to understand what I'll write here... Maybe if I start it out as though it carried great weight. Maybe if I plagiarize a half a line or so.... When in the course of human events, it is discovered that a wrong is being perpetrated on the people, it is the responsibility of any and all to point it out to both the folks on whom the wrong is being perpetrated as well as the rest of the populace. So, how is it that wrongs are discovered within a largely closed mini-society? Well, in the case of the polygamist bunch in Texas we've seen so much about in the news of late, it was brought to the attention of the outside world and the authorities - though to my way of thinking, it's hard to understand how no one in authority knew about the situation long before - by a poor young girl, a victim, who made a phone call herself to complain about what was going on there. Meanwhile, because it took so long, hundreds of other children were also victimized for YEARS by people who held sincere beliefs that their way of life, and what they believed, were no one in the outside world's business. I'm sure millions of people in this country, would conclude that since these people did what they did out of religious conviction - and as I mentioned before, I don't doubt for a second that their convictions WERE, in fact, sincere - that the state had no business interfering, ESPECIALLY since the way they lived was entirely based on their faith. I'm sure that had any reporter infiltrated the little closed society and written a piece about it - a piece that surely would have cast aspersions on the thinking and actions of those same sincere believers - evidently, some silly folks would have considered the reporter dishonest, and that, I'll guess, that a disservice had been done to our precious freedoms. After all, they'll say, where's the harm? What's the problem? The problem is, for example, there is no such thing as speaking in tongues. It's a sham. Oh, I'm SURE there are people who are convinced they do it all the time, but it's simply not real. There's also no such thing as a philosophy demon. There's not even such a thing as a demon of alcohol, or lust, or any of the other demons that the preacher Mike Tiabbi describes in his article claims to have helped the folks, (those who attended the weekend getaway his article focuses on), rid themselves of. No matter what they claim, it's pure hogwash, and only fools will conclude otherwise. Am I calling those who believe it to be so fools? Alas. I suppose I am. I'm not calling them hypocrites, mind you, that's not my point. Yes, I think they're plain silly people, however, I think they're sincere as can be. In fact, I don't doubt for a second that the preacher who led the weekend retreat is himself sincere, or that that he thinks he is indeed doing the Lord's work when he engages in this sort of "instruction", OR that many of the people who attend churches that encourage this sort of behavior feel far better about themselves after having attended such shindigs. They FEEL the spirit; they FEEL the demons - often demons they didn't even know they had - exiting their bodies. They FEEL that they've found out something new and wonderful and uplifting. Fine. I have no problems with it, at least on it's face. It's meant to make them feel better about themselves, and because of the way our psyches work, it does just that. What I do have problems with is that just because all this stuff makes them FEEL what they feel, doesn't mean what they feel has any basis in reality, (hence, by the way, the need for constant reinforcement and repetition of the same sorts of events over and over again; hence the deliberate shutting out, to whatever extent is possible, the "world.") Why do I care? I care because people who either don't or, more often aren't able to understand (or care) that what they've come to feel is so easily explainable (given any sort of desire to explore the phenomenon), probably won't question much else they're told either - which is, of course, the simple explanation for why it's so easy for the leaders of the religious right to motivate (read "manipulate") the faithful into such a powerful, and largely monolithic, voting block; a voting block that could very well sway elections in this country for the foreseeable future, and may very well, in time, turn our wonderful - if flawed - country into a place that is dangerous for not only free-thinking and truly thoughtful people, but, once it's too late, even dangerous even for those who think "all we need to do is to create one big happy Nation 'fer Jesus". They'll deny it of course - pshaw, they'll say - as we all say goodbye to habeas corpus; as we, for the first time in our history, actually engage in a national debate as to whether we ought treat torture as a necessary evil, or as we long have, treat it as something to be avoided at all costs simply because it's wrong and evil; as we allow these folks to rewrite history, turning our Founding Fathers into a single group of born-again 20th century evangelical Christians, instead of the diverse rag-tag bunch of men from more than a dozen religious backgrounds, (and remember, back then, even two churches of the same denomination situated right down the lane from each other, were often as different as they could possibly be, because of the lack of organization within the various denominations, which in turn explains why those same dozen or so denominations would split into well over two hundred over the next century and a half); as we justify killing thousands and thousands of other people - nothing new about this one, of course - in the name of, or supposedly, with the tacit approval of Jesus, whom, these folks will tell you sincerely, was far more concerned with racking up large numbers of "saved souls" than he was about our loving one another, (despite his own words to the contrary); even as we actually debate whether it's good and proper for one person to tell another what they can do to and with their own bodies. Mike Tiabbi did the piece on this church because its leader and founder has said some pretty scary things, one about an entire group of people, claiming Old Testament wrath had been shown to an entire city because the city hosted a Gay Pride parade. He, Reverend Hagee, was probably simply unintentionally wrong because he believes foolish things. After all, I doubt he lied intentionally. Either way, what he said was hateful, hurt people and was patently "dishonest." It's important to have such people "outed" and to keep the people who think like them from ever getting a chance to make policy for the rest of us. Remember, this is important. Just because charismatic leaders, by their very nature, have the ability to convince people to believe something - 'til their followers eventually hold those beliefs with all their heart - doesn't mean those leaders have the right to pass out killer kool-aid, or make their followers think that when they off themselves they're going to meet a big comet in the sky - or that they can have demons cast from their bodies by holding their mouths open while a list is read, or create communities where incest and pedophilia run rampant. So here's the thing: since it's impossible for anyone to know anyway, never trust ANYONE who tries to tell you they have a clue about what God wants, no matter what authority they claim, especially when they claim Jesus or God as that authority. You hear that from anyone, run fast, but yell out to everyone while you're running too. Here's why: You show me a defender of any religion's right to unfettered practice - without occasional oversight from the outside - or someone who uses the Bible as their authority to claim they have even the slightest clue about what God wants with regard to any specific situation, and I'll show you someone of whom any thinking person ought be very, very wary. Be good to everyone. |
| The composer keeps eating my titles.... |
| 04.27.08 (7:48 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Up early this morning. Went with Sweet Lady's family to a neighbor's monthly get-together last evening where the featured entertainment for adults was playing a game called Catch Phrase, which was akin to a cross between a group version of "the Twenty-five Thousand Dollar Pyramid," and "Hot Potato." A little portable CD sized gizmo is passed from player to player. Once its start button is pushed, a phrase appears in it's little digital window, which you must get your teammates to say without using any of the words within the phrase. Once that's accomplished, you pass it on to your opponents who now try to guess the next phrase. All the while, with growing intensity and speed, a little beep emanates from the damn thing warning all that time is short. Once it buzzes - with death-like finality, I might add - the round is over, and whichever team is holding the little grenade at the time, loses a point. Fun. During the party, the kids seem to divide themselves into three groups by age. There's a pre-teen bunch that runs around with abandon, (til some tragedy strikes), the young-teen video gamers, and the night strollers. This bunch, the night strollers, which last night varied from four to six strong depending on the pull of the video games in the basement - it's hard to let go sometimes - go for half-hour long walks around the neighborhood, returning to check in from time to time, and, more importantly, to get more food. The party broke up by eleven-thirty or so because all three family groups there had plans for this morning, but it was a lovely time. The host and hostess are very nice people who live just a wall away from Sweet Lady in the other half of the duplex. Ever since they moved in a few months ago, I've been thankful they're here. Their youngest and Sweet Lady's youngest are in the same class at school and their older ones are close to Sweet Lady's son's age. At some point last night, I made a comment to Sweet's fifteen-year old niece about something - can't even remember what it was about - but in it I mentioned, Guns and Roses. "Did you know that's the name of a famous Rock band?" she asked me seriously. "Really?" I said, acting shocked. Exactly how old does this girl think I look? Oy. Be good to everyone. |
| The zig-zag life. |
| 04.25.08 (8:15 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning boys and Girls. |
| It's the little things... |
| 04.23.08 (8:14 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Another day is dawning... Well, really, I guess it WAS dawning. Now it's done dawned, and in fact the whole dawn aspect of the day is now just a fleeting memory from an hour or two ago. The sun has risen about ten degrees above the horizon and the clouds that blocked my view of the first bit of that ever-so-dependable daily celestial phenomenon this morning have also given way to blue skies and... Oh wait, there's another cloud. Shit. Little sucker's just sitting there, acting as if it belongs in my sky. A few minutes ago two turkeys walked along the ridge out back. One of them came down to see if I'd put out food last night - they, along with the squirrels, steal the dear feed as though they can't read the hand lettered neon "FOR THE DEER" sign I painted just to head off this sort of pilfering - but I hadn't put out any, so he, (or she - I can't sex turkeys from a distance this time of year), wobbled back up the hill and shrugged at the other one, who'd waited for a signal or a wave. I got the distinct impression the shrug signified the one turkey saying to the other, "Nah. 'Cheap a-hole must be saving his corn for posterity." Last night there were ten deer out there grazing on the hill and taking turns using the salt lick. They too seemed a little annoyed I hadn't fed them, but screw'em, it's spring. They can damn well eat shoots and sprigs and whatever the hell else they're supposed to eat. Bastards. That friggen cloud. Here I was in a great mood, but now there's that one little puffy sucker getting in the way of a perfectly blue sky. Thanks a lot cloud. Now how am I supposed to have a good day? Huh? HUH? Bastard. Be good to everyone, (except those who annoy you - whom you may now curse upon.) What? |
| You can't cook stew in ten minutes and still call it stew... |
| 04.20.08 (8:40 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Back in Michigan. Saw an interesting quote on someone's blog the other day. If it was on yours, sorry I'm not giving you credit, but the quote didn't make a huge impression when I first read it and I can't seem to find it again now, plus a quick-ish Google search didn't provide the originator, though I think the person who said it first was also listed on the blog where I found it. Here's the quote. "Failures like pretty processes. Successes like pretty results." It's cute. -A little bromide that perhaps has a little truth in it - I thought it sounded like something Ben Franklin might have said, but had it been him, it would have been worded more cleverly and probably would have brought a little ironic smile to my face. This didn't. I think whoever wrote it meant it to be, simply, the cold hard truth. Regardless, about an hour after I ran across it, it popped back into my head and it's stayed there the last few days, popping to center focus every now and again accompanied by some project or business from my past dragged out from the cluttered attic of my memory banks against which, I assume, I've been meant to measure the truth of the words. More than a few times where I knew I was doing something very well in my life - making sure the quality of whatever it was, was as high as I could possibly make it - I'd watch competitors all around me, whose work was often obviously inferior - get rich. Oh I'd always be fairly busy at whatever it was, but I couldn't compete in volume since I'd usually be forced to charge more just to get by, and price is, after all, a huge consideration for most folks. Last week, I ran across a situation that I'm sure had something to do with this having gotten caught up in my brain. I met a fellow in the same business I'm in, and he's been at it for a long time - though only about half as long as I have. He charges about a quarter less than I do and he works at least twice as fast, meaning he certainly does more jobs per day than I'm able to do. Here's the thing. I simply could not charge any price for the sort of work this guy seems to think is acceptable. What's even more interesting, is that some folks have absolutely no issues whatsoever with his quality, which, to me, looks amateurish and sloppy. But know what? I'll absolutely guarantee he makes a lot more money than I ever have or ever will. I couldn't do it. I mean I know that if I wanted to, I could rush like that, not check my work, and call good enough, good enough. I could probably do my work much faster than he can and without any more effort than I expend now, but there simply isn't any way to rush and end up with truly professional results - which is what I aim for each and every time I do a job. Am I a failure because I'm doomed to take this attitude? -I mean, I really don't have any choice, it's just the way it is - and I'm okay with it. It's like this: If you make bread for a living, and you decide it's more cost effective to bake it and sell it before it's had a chance to rise properly, I promise there are a lot of people who won't notice, and you'll get away with it; you'll be able to sell your bread cheaper, and you'll likely make a lot more money than the baker who insists that everything be just so. This isn't news. But to me, the local baker isn't a failure because he doesn't do the same volume of business as the other guy. It's just a decision about what we want to be proud of. The local baker wants to be proud of his bread, while the other fellow wants to be proud of how much more quasi-bread he sells and therefore, how much more money he pockets as a result. Pretty results? Hmmm. I think it depends on what your aims are. I'm cursed. I respect pretty processes, and therefore? -I'll always be a failure. Like I said, I'm okay with that. Be good to everyone. |
| Life; a sliver of a slice... |
| 04.18.08 (8:30 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Still in Iowa. Was supposed to leave by yesterday morning but work's been busy and now I don't think I'll get under way till this evening. My son called last night to thank me for his goofy birthday present and bring me up to date on his comedy ventures. He's doing improv four nights a week and loving it. Says he's making all kinds of friends and feeling better about things than he has in a long while. I'm thankful. He's back with long-time girlfriend Michelle and his job remains challenging. Not all bad. He hasn't been writing any music of late, but there are, after all, only 24 hours in a day. Haven't spoken with my Daughter in a couple of weeks. I'll have to call her later, maybe on my way home tonight if she's available. Don't think I've talked about it on here much, but I dealt with a scary medical thing for a few weeks that some strong antibiotics seems to have knocked out pretty well. The symptoms were very much like those of a blood clot, but thankfully it was a strange bacterial condition called cellulitis that did all kinds of strange things to the tissue inside my left leg, including, because of the swelling, reducing blood flow and causing the whole of it to swell very oddly. Me, being the idiot I am, put off going to the doctor too long til I was, ah, gently persuaded, that if I didn't, I'd be shot anyway, so I finally went in and literally took my medicine. I only bring this up because after I'd gone, my Daughter called to express concern and to make sure I was okay, but that was the last time we spoke. It's weird to go so long without speaking to them. Life gets sooooo busy. I've never felt like the character from Harry Chapin's "The Cat's in the Cradle" song, but I sure do miss them. It's one thing to know they're okay and doing well, but I really miss the warmth and familiarity that can only come with daily interaction. The good thing is that I'm getting some of that with sweet lady's family. While I'll never try to be "the Dad" here, it's really fun to be included in meals and everyday life, and to watch the way everyone gets along. It's really pretty cool, what with two young teenagers and a six-year-old, how smoothly things flow. The love within the household is a wonderful thing, even if the two older ones do occasionally go into "surly teenager" mode - which I've been told, (if I remember correctly,) is an important part of growing up, and therefore not to be discouraged too much. Then there's this pretty woman who just came downstairs and gave me a morning hug and made me feel really special. Hmmm. Hard to take. Be good to everyone. |
| 04.15.08 (10:01 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. From "Get'em out by Friday" by Genesis from 1972 "This is an announcement from Genetic Control: It is my sad duty to inform you of a four foot restriction on humanoid height." I'm reminded of these old lyrics every now and again when I hear another story about some public process becoming less personal; some institution creating or modifying its rules in a way that depersonalizes the world just that little bit more. In the song, an old couple is shuffled from their long-time home into smaller and smaller apartments, each coming, obviously, with less space along with higher rents, until the time arrives - more quickly than anyone suspected, assuming anyone suspected anything at all - that poor John and Mary are unable to fit into the newest complex, part of a new paradigm being created by the powers that be. They are normal sized people, and therefore, simply too big. It has been decided; it's simply impossible for them to exist any longer. Matters are handled efficiently and without any further thought; they are, for lack of a better term, dispatched. I've been long accused here of being a weeny liberal - something I'm not really, though neither am I a conservative - but I don't consider myself anything more than a pragmatist. I think we need to offer universal health care to our populace - a cause that near and dear to my heart. Sure, I certainly worry that medicine could become even less personal; less attuned to the needs of the individual than it is now, though, for the life of me, I can't figure out how that could be possible. My problem is that I don't like the idea that health care has become a profit center, and while we hear complaints about litigation causing the steep rise in costs over the past twenty-five years, frankly people in the know do it with a wink and a nod, because let's face it, while we now face test after test after test when there's anything at all wrong with us - to ensure that no stone has been left unturned that might leave our providers vulnerable to any legal complaints we might make against them - if and when they screw up - we must remember that those tests are also a profit center for the very people complaining about the necessity of performing them. We now end up with a vicious tug of war between the health care insurers bellyaching about paying for such tests (they want their stockholders happy too) and the doctors and THEIR insurers - often the very same people, once you climb the ladders high enough. Here's the thing. I'm no socialist, (neither big nor little "s") but I also feel like this country has enough smart and good hearted people to figure out what's worked well in other countries that offer universal health care to their citizens (dozens of them), and what hasn't, in order to come up with a real solution to this problem. I entirely reject the "slippery slope" argument with regard to this issue because if we're thoughtful and careful, I sincerely believe that not only could we pull it off, but we could do it in such a way that people don't feel like poor John and Mary in the old song from which I quoted above, and without "going socialist." The "it hasn't worked in other countries," argument is spurious, since it certainly has, but it's fair to point out what we, with our good old American ingenuity, could improve upon. We just can't be afraid to upset the apple cart, wave away the bees buzzing around the rotting fruit, and replace everything, including the cart itself. Be good to everyone. |
| Another beautiful day in her neighborhood... |
| 04.12.08 (10:07 pm) [edit] |
|
Good evening Boys and Girls. Okay... So I'm at Sweet Lady's house. It's Saturday evening now. We spent a nice day running our butts off and now we're sort of relaxing. She's cleaning out a cupboard as I do the actual typing, but from here on out we'll take turns writing paragraphs and see how it comes out. She'll start now: E: "Wait, now you're going to type, so I'm supposed to dictate? I'm not sure I know how to do that." s: "Look, you just say whatever comes into your head and I'll write it down." E: "I do not like Pina Colladas or getting caught in the rain, and I really hate that song. Last week, my classmate Bobbi was singing it at school and now it's stuck in my head. It makes me inclined to take a rubber mallet to school and strike her with it when I see her on Tuesday." s: "I'm not sure this is what I had in mind. I was hoping for some profound wisdom from you; maybe a couple of examples of how you've come to be the woman you are; maybe a few bromides that might explain to people what makes you tick." E: "Wait, I'm not sure I was even done. Read to me what you wrote. No, asshole, don't type that.." (okay, she's not happy with the setup and wants to type her own paragraph because she doesn't like the way I type EXACTLY what she's said. She feels the need to edit.) E: "Now that I've edited what he typed for me (he missed half of it because he can't hunt-and-peck as fast as I can string words together), I want to state something for the record. I didn't call him an asshole. I'd never let something that obscene pass across my chaste lips! OK, back to sorting through the junk drawer in an attempt to discover why I need 10 different brands of lip balm and 20 super balls." s: "Sure, maybe she didn't say the WORD asshole, but it was in her tone. The woman definitely called me an asshole under her breath. It's just the kind of woman she is, ya know, the kind of woman who would make us jump though a million hoops to replace a watch battery this afternoon only to come home and find she already had one in this damn junk drawer she's cleaning out." E: "According to my counselor, assigning motives to me based on tone of voice or what you think was implied is WRONG. You can thank me for that little tidbit later (wink). As for the junk drawer, the watch battery was as much a surprise to me as to anyone else. I don't think I owned a watch prior to being required to get one for clinicals at school. Being the OCD person that I am, everything in that drawer is organized into little tupperware containers. I tried to group like items together. Once I had all the lip balm in one bin, I realized that one of those things was NOT like the others. I'm pretty sure it would seriously mess up someone's day if I left the tube of super glue in with the lip stuff! Is that my text message alert sound I hear?....." s: "I'm sure it's your damn text message alert. Hasn't another five seconds gone by since the last one?" E: "And to think, I INVITED him here for this! Is it MY fault I'm popular? Is it MY fault you can't tolerate my attention being diverted for one millisecond? How can it be all about me when you insist that it's all about YOU? I suppose now you want me to type Be Good To Everyone so you can pretend you know what that means. Oh wait, I have another text." s: "You always get the last word too, don't you?" E: "Yep." |
| Thirty years... |
| 04.11.08 (7:53 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. I'd been married just seven months. We owned a little house just a few miles from where where we'd each grown up - maybe two miles from her folk's place and three from mine. We'd had the date set for six months when we found out she was pregnant just a few weeks before our scheduled wedding date, and the debate for us was whether to tell people prior to the wedding or wait till afterward. We opted to wait - a huge mistake, according to her folks, though I still - all these years later - have no idea why it mattered. Oh hell, I might as well say it. It didn't matter - or it shouldn't have, but her folks - her Mother especially - was often an unyielding pain in our behinds; a busybody supreme who seemed to enjoy nothing better than finding fault with the way anyone in her acquaintance handled just about any situation, which, in turn, led to her finding fault with the people themselves. -Not that I'm bitter. That morning, after a five week wait beyond my wife's due date, they finally decided to take our baby by C-Section. They were afraid he'd set up an apartment in there complete with a sectional couch and a stereo system. He was born on April 14th, 1978. We named him Ryan and he's been a joy to me every single day for twenty-nine years and three-hundred sixty-three days. I can't even think about him - or his sister who'd come along a couple of years later - very long or hard without getting choked up and teary. I swear it simply cannot be thirty years ago. Life has been both good and bad for me - like everyone else I'd guess - but I can't even fathom my life without Ryan - his smile; his laugh; his good heart - having been a huge part of it. Happy Birthday son. I love you. Be good to everyone. |
| Next on the tee, from God knows where, here's sur-ro-gate... |
| 04.10.08 (9:18 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. The Masters starts this morning. I know. Who cares. Um. Me. I'm excited about it. I love this weekend. Not only is it the first Major of the year for the greatest players on the planet, but it's usually the first weekend I play - even at my age, pretending I too am at Augusta ready to take on (and foil) Tiger, Ernie, Phil and the boys. This year I probably won't play my first round of the year for at least a couple of more weeks, though I've been trying to figure out if I have room to take my clubs with me to Des Moines tomorrow - ya know, on the off chance I could sneak away. Hmmm. Maybe on Sunday morning while Sweet Lady is at church, I could go worship on green grass for a few hours. Think that'd fly? "Where ya going sur? Why do you have those crazy pants on?" "Um... I, uh, have some chores to do. Got to go check out some places I'm thinking about working this next week." "Sunday morning? This early? Hey, why the glove? Why only one?" "Um... Blisters?" No. Couldn't lie to her. Maybe I'll just tell the truth. "Um hun, I have to go do some research on the local topography. I'll be back in four or five hours..." What? Be good to everyone. |
| Life rolls on, but over a new rise in the terrain. |
| 04.08.08 (9:16 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Well, the decision has been made to end our time at Wilderness Ridge, possibly as soon as June 1st. While it's possible I'll stay through September in some capacity, my good roomie Dot will be moving back to the apartment complex she lived in before we moved here, but this time with her beau Terry. I'll be moving to Iowa to be close to Sweet Lady, whom I miss a lot when I'm here. I will miss this place though. I've grown to love the rural setting; the deer; the hills, the trees, and the house itself, which is easily the nicest in which I've ever lived. Roadie, our beloved cat, will be going with me. Dot can't have animals at her place and Sweet Lady has assured me that we can give Roadie a new home with her two cats, Shadow and Dax. I hope they all adjust to each other. I'm a little concerned that, as the intruder, and a much smaller cat, Roadie will be at risk if the other two feel threatened by her presence. In my experience though, it seems cats find each other tolerable in very little time - once they realize there's enough food and water for all of them. I'll remember this place fondly, as it's the first time I've felt like I've had a real home since my family busted up, and I'm pretty sure the tone of "Alma Matters," was shaped by the peace I've felt while living here. While Dot and I haven't been romantic, we've been very good friends, and I'm thankful to have had her in my life the last couple of years. She's always had my back, something else for which I'm very thankful. I hope she and Terry are happy together. He's a nice guy and they're really smitten with each other; something, it seems to me, that's not only a nice thing, but something they both deserve. So, the winds of change blow through here; a spring zephyr signaling new growth; new buds and blooms, and all in the very near future. Be good to everyone. |
| "Soylent Green is PEOPLE!" |
| 04.06.08 (8:41 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Was trying to decide what to write about when I noticed Charlton Heston had died. Thought maybe I could write something about my memories of some of his movies. Unfortunately, I don't ever remember seeing him deliver a single believable performance, despite his being cast in so many of those big historical epics of the fifties and sixties. I liked him well enough in "Planet of the Apes," when I was a kid. His life may have been one of the more stunning examples of the phenomena that seems to bear out that many people get more closed minded and crazier as they age. He went from walking in civil rights marches in the fifties to becoming a parody of himself in the eighties during which he railed against affirmative action, unions of any kind and then, in what seemed to be his crowning glory, became the president of the National Rifle Association for five years. He tried to convince America that President Clinton wanted to take away all guns - a stupid lie, but one that resonated with those goofballs who are still convinced that we each have the right to keep as many weapons as we decide we need and of any sort as we desire; people whose answer to the awful amount of gun violence in this country, is that we need MORE guns; ya know, morons. (I'm holding out for a bazooka.) Their answer to the tragedy of school shootings? Arm teachers - ya know, to create a good learning atmosphere. No limits, they cry, or the second amendment is in dire danger. Habeas Corpus? Who gives a shit. Do away with it. But don't you DARE put limits on a right instituted when America had about two million people living in a largely rural country, and guns took a half a minute to load PER shot - and that was by people who did it a lot and were pretty quick at it. Somehow, the idea of adjusting the law to more closely fit our current situation in an affront on a system designed to be adjustable. I'm sure his family is feeling real loss, and I'm sure Charlton Heston was a decent man, but Lord, was he ever deluded. Be good to everyone. |
| "They killed Doctor King..." |
| 04.04.08 (9:00 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Today is the fortieth anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. I was eleven years old that day. I'd gone through a bit of a growing spurt the previous few months, and my Mom had taken me to Hudson's Department Store to buy me a couple of new pairs of pants. We made our way toward the escalator to go to the basement - the bargain area where all my sister's and my school clothes came from in those days, and a place I dreaded. It wasn't that I minded the clothes my Mom finally picked out, but I couldn't stand trying on ten pairs of pants for her to choose two she thought would fit the bill. I distinctly remember being pissed off because it was a beautiful spring day, and I'd planned on playing in a continued ball game in the street with my friends. We'd been in the midst of it when Jeff, who was on the other team, and I were both called for dinner at five o'clock sharp. My three-man team was two runs behind, but we had two guys on - one invisible - (you'd have to know the way street baseball was played to understand that,) and one out in the second-to-the-last inning. We had a good shot. So? -I didn't want to be there. I don't think the big display of televisions we walked by was in the department that usually sold electronics. It must have been a special sale or something, but there they were in the middle isle; all on and turned to the same station. A small crowd was gathered around them watching the screens. I remember that no one was talking. Faces looked tight; grim. My Mom noticed too and we stopped momentarily to find out what was up. The woman next to my Mom had tears running down her cheeks and my heart sunk a little. It was obvious something very bad had happened. My Mom touched the lady's arm and asked for the news. "They killed Doctor King," the woman said, turning her head toward us, her bottom lip quivering. And I remember seeing my Mother's eyes close in instant grief. I thought she was going to fall over and I put my arm around her. She was shaking but she was okay. I lead her over to a bench or a couch or something and we sat down. After a couple of minutes she said she was feeling sick and needed to use the restroom. When she came out, we left the store and went home, where my Dad stood on the lawn with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped - a posture I remember him affecting very few times. He'd obviously heard the news. I remember my Mom getting out of the car and running into his arms, overcome. None of the kids were playing ball in the street. I can't think about this awful event in American history without remembering the way it affected my Mother. Be good to everyone. |
| Can you hear your drummer? That's some crazy rhythm! |
| 04.01.08 (12:24 am) [edit] |
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Good evening Boys and Girls. I just finished listening to a wonderful book, an American classic, written a hundred and fifty years ago. This means that for certain, of course, the author never dreamed his work would ever be listened to by anyone at all, let alone someone so ready to hear his words as I've been these past few days. I'd read Walden before, though saying "I read it," means very little, because it was for a class I took many years ago in which the professor tore the thing apart a chapter at a time, while both forcing us to analyze that which we had no business analyzing and discussing that which, (I anyway,) had no business discussing. He also gave us his own learned opinions on this or that phrase, sentence or paragraph, that, even if valid, have disappeared from my memory, and probably did so the minute after he uttered them. In short, the flow of the book's prose was so ruined for me that all the glowing optimism the author conveyed to me this time around; all his revelations and the wisdom he imparts so cleverly; were so wrecked by our naive parsings, that I remember thinking of the book itself as nothing more than wordy ramblings from a pompous man - which in turn made reading the thing the way we did it an ordeal; an excruciating exercise entirely devoid of pleasure. Well let me say this: it's a wonderful book. I'm sure none of you need me to tell you a book revered by millions as being great is exactly that, but just in case you've never read it - or listened to it, as I did - make an effort to do so. He's funny, self deprecating, and argues with himself from chapter to chapter, a real hoot. An example: Thoreau takes three or four chapters to explain how and why he went to Walden Pond to live - he wrote the book about five years after the fact - but of his decision to leave, says only that his reasons were as valid and well considered as were those for his going in the first place. That's it. He gives no further explanation whatsoever. This struck me as especially interesting, and I've found myself wondering all day what it was that was so pressing as to make him give up the place he seemed to love so very much. Guess I'll never know since he's probably a tad moldy by now. Most importantly, he confirms something I strongly believe, which is that we must be true to ourselves; that we need to be who we are unapologetically; giving no thought at all to what others think of us; a difficult prospect, but something I hope to work at even harder during what is left of my life. I will seek joy where I can find it. I will love as much as I can; and if you happen to see me walking down the street one day wearing a bell-bottomed bathing suit with one of those Russian styled fur hats and sporting an extremely cool walking stick, it will only be because that is who I'd have decided I am, at least for that day - or at least for that trip down the street. You may call me surrogate the free. You may call sir-nut-bag. Just call me. Be good to everyone. |
| ...and a good time was had by all. |
| 03.29.08 (3:00 pm) [edit] |
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Good afternoon Boys and Girls. Waiting for a pizza to come out of the oven here. Sweet lady has been dealing with an amazing little snafu caused by a careless person who loves to assign blame for situations of his own making. It's actually been funny to listen to one half of the phone conversations as she carefully avoided saying anything to cast aspersions on the other party, while simultaneously eluding the offered "bait"; a sketch. *** Well, got interrupted. Just ate the Za. Really good. Her brother made it at his pizzeria and sent it home with her last weekend as a half-baked job, which she froze until this morning. Cream cheese and green olive; an odd combination, to my way of thinking, but great. Now the phone calls are ending with the situation resolved for the time being, and a much more relaxed Sweet Lady now sits beside me. There was a birthday party here the other night for her now six-year-old daughter - a gem of a child with a smile that melts hearts - with a half dozen kids from the kindergarten class. Wow. I've never seen so much energy confined into one living room. At one point I walked out into the kitchen and mentioned to Marissa, the fifteen year old niece of Sweet Lady who lives here, that I bet I could tell her something that she just wouldn't believe. "What?" she asked. "The party's only been going for an hour and fifteen minutes. There's still forty-five minutes to go." "No WAY!" she said. -I think we both felt like it had to be close to over, so busy had the kids been for the whole of it. Man-oh-man, at that age, they pack an awful lot of fun into short periods of time; really something. I had a blast myself, but I was truly worn out afterward feeling like I must have expended energy by osmosis, since I did absolutely nothing that OUGHT have made me tired. What fun it was. Hope the weekend's being good to those who peruse here. Be good to everyone. |
| Fizzled Bottle-Rocket Condition? |
| 03.26.08 (8:29 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Yeah, I know, wouldn't my talking on the phone have woken the guys up? Hey, it was a dream. Anyway, as time wore on I ended up bitching about how it was so incredibly unfair that my life had come down to this sort of employment. She, showing no sympathy, told me to shut up; that I should feel lucky to be working at all; that I had a soft job and should stop complaining. |
| Doctor, what do you mean my arm looks fine? It's my LEG, you idiot. |
| 03.25.08 (8:57 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. I've had a medical scare the last ten days or so, centered around my left leg. Found out yesterday it's not as dire as I'd come to believe it might be, thankfully, but it has caused me some stress and no little amount of pain. Hopefully, it'll be better in about ten days. Today, of course, it's snowing. I'm glad. That way I won't have to feel guilty about not working a full day. I'm feeling pretty relieved right now. Hoping to leave for Iowa in the next couple of days, but I'll wait if I'm not feeling up to it, and Sweet Lady will have to do her daughter's birthday party without me, a disappointment since I've been looking forward to helping out a little and watching all those kids run around like crazy - systematically tearing the house apart. I've always loved that stuff for some reason. Time will tell. Be good to everyone. |
| I forgot to buy a Chocolate Easter Bunny. |
| 03.23.08 (9:39 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. For me though, I really think what Jesus had to say about how to live while he was alive is far more important than the story - as wonderful as it is - of his resurrection. |
| Goodbye Hal. |
| 03.21.08 (7:44 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Another icon of the 20th century has faded into "once was" status. Arthur C. Clarke died the day before yesterday. I only read a few of his more than 100 books, the first of which for me was, of course, "2001, A Space Odyssey," when I was in high school, I think, though it may have been the summer just afterward. It was just last Saturday evening at Sweet Lady's house when, during a deliberate clean-sweep of the hard drive on the family desktop computer - due to an administrator password problem - that she decided to rename her hard drive, "Hal," a reference to the cranky computer aboard the ship in Mr. Clarke's most famous book. As for me, I can't even think about the guy without hearing Richard Strauss's "Also Sprach Zarathustra" used as the opening theme in Stanley Kubrick's wonderful 1968 movie adaptation. Duuuuhh Duuuuuuuhh Duuuuuuuuuuuhh Da Duuuhh.... You know how it goes. We ALL know how it goes. The hard drives on my computers are always named "Fred." I can't remember how this started, I'll have to ask my son. So there on the desktop, you always see the little hard drive icon labeled "Fred." I used to number them. I got up to about "Fred 6" before I stopped and just went to calling them all Fred. I'd guess these two would be about "Fred 12" and "Fred 13" if I'd kept it up. Yeah, it's bad. I drive old cars, but I tend to keep fairly up-to-date with my Mac's. Usually I'm only a generation or two behind, though this particular one I'm typing on this morning is three years old now. It works so well that I don't really have need of a better one yet. That's a good thing since I'll probably have to get a new car sometime this year. Mine just turned over 300,000 miles a couple of weeks ago - though it too seems to be working fine for the most part. It has aches and pains like any old thing, but I dare not hint to it that it might be on the chopping block lest it overhear and decide to take matters into it's own engine or transmission - or maybe the Jeep's little computer will cause the brakes to fail... "I'm sorry surrogate. I simply can't allow you to make a change. If I go, we go. Maybe over a cliff? -or into a tree together? We go together. Got it?" I'm so glad I don't name my cars. Be good to everyone. |
| End of the rainbow... |
| 03.17.08 (8:50 am) [edit] |
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Top o'the mornin' to ya, Boys and Girls. There. That's it. A one sentence reference to St. Paddy's Day. Maybe I'll wear a green shirt if I have a clean one. Let's see... I do. For my part, I'll treat the day like New Year's Eve and get my butt home later today before the drunks hit the roads. Very nice week in Iowa - both pleasurable and productive - and a very nice drive home yesterday. Even though I only drive about 63 miles an hour, I still made it in less than nine hours including the three quick stops for gas, grub and restrooms. Now, Sweet Lady made the drive in eight hours both ways two weekends ago when she came to my place, but she drives about ten miles an hour faster than I do, and would bitch like crazy if I happened to be on the road in front of her. "Get the hell off the road Mofo, you crazy old man!" I can just hear it. Finals week for her. She'll do great. Catch-up week for me here. I think I'll be busy as heck AND it looks like the weather will cooperate. Yippee! I'm sure we'll get another significant snowfall or two before this winter calls it quits, but surely not many more than that. Surely. Surely Shirley. Surely Shamrock Shirley sees Her green shoes on her shelf. Sadly, Shamrock Shirley smiles, said shoes are sized for elves. Silly she, she'd seized them fast at a super sidewalk sale. now Shamrock Shirl' can't squeeze them on her own huge feet, a missed detail Then an idea struck her hard, and joyful eyes filled up with tears She tried one on, looked in the mirror it FIT! She'd wear them on her ears! She grabbed her coat, a nice green tweed and made a bright green button. "Kiss me, I'm Irish," it would read, "For green beer, I'm a glutton." With coat, and badge, and shoes on her ears She proudly walked outside She smiled broadly, and strutted tall Showing off her Irish pride. Too bad twas late October then -not St. Paddy's, but Halloween Too bad our Shirley'd got it wrong Too bad kids called her "Frog Queen" Shamrock Shirley rued the day She'd ever seen those shoes But eventually, she's learned to sing And now cranks out green blues. Be good to everyone, even green-clad women. |
| The thing is... |
| 03.14.08 (11:44 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. I'm tired and cranky this morning. Been to work already, and have to go back in bit, but I'm checking out of the hotel and thought I'd take a minute to check in before I lose the internet. Probably won't post till Monday after this. So far this year I've written a meager 88 pages on my new book, and frankly, what I have written, I'm not thrilled with. I thought it was going along pretty well, quality-wise till I listened to a book this past week by Barbara Kingsolver - called "The Prodigal Summer" - and was once again reminded just how incredibly weak my skills are compared to the better writers. My only hope is that I can find an audience who enjoys my sparse prose and simple plots and who don't expect to be moved by every damn sentence, the way I was while listening to this book. Oh, I know. There are as many styles out there as there are people who decide to attempt a story in long form, but really, I so want to have more talent than I have - more patience to find that "just so" way of saying things. I too want to write something that makes one hope the story never ends simply because the language used is so engrossing; the rhythm and cadence of the words matching perfectly the meaning of the sentence in which they're included. Starting next week, I'm going back to work on the thing in earnest. I have to. I want to write a book a year till I kick, hoping that by then, at some point, I'll have found enough people who think at least one of them is worth the time that maybe the rest will get published posthumously and that the royalty checks earn my kids enough for a night out at Denny's every year - including dessert. Enjoy your weekend folks. I intend to. Be good to everyone. |
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