Hi there, and welcome to Walt Di$ney World. We hope you have a wonderful, magical, time here at Di$ney, and don't forget to come to our fireworks display each night at the Magical Kingdom, where 20 oz bottles of coca-cola are on $ale at 2 for $14 - just for you!
See you at the parks, Mickey is waiting!!!
Friday night... in my Di$ney hotel room that looked suspiciously like a Howard Johnson's hotel room by the way - until the bill was slid under the door on $unday morning, which showed me the difference between Walt's guest housing and the rest of the civilized world...I was getting ready to go to sleep, so it was time to set the alarm.
The first was the clock radio, and the second was to make the wake-up call on the phone. I set the first for 6:45 on the alarm clock, but I didn't check it...I only set it. I did the phone wake up for 6:55.
On Saturday morning at precisely 6:45 the previously unchecked clock alarm went off at a decibel level exceeding a 767 engine in full flight. BEEEEP, BEEPP, BEEEEP, it sounded like a friggin' air raid siren...and of course, I assimilated it right into my dream. I was having my usual kind of dream where the Banana Band was playing "Free Bird" on spatula guitars - the Mango doing a great Ronnie Van Zandt as lead singer - when suddenly the fire alarm went off in the concert hall as the arson - half man and half tuna - ran away to avoid detection.
10 minutes later, the phone rang and I answered it. The Pirates of the Caribbean were singing,
"Oh ho, doh ho...its great to be a pirate"
"GOOD MORNING!!!!!
...came the booming voice of what I could only assume was the First Mate on the Black Pearl.
I jumped out of bed screaming, "Ok..Ok...I'll get up and buy one of you're $35 ham and egg sandwiches if you'll stop scaring me!!"
And off I went to have another magical day in which I lost 13 lbs in sweat from the 99 degree heat with 98% humidity, and 7 lbs in wallet weight loss as well.
Ho, ho, ho. Mickey damn sure was waiting for me.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Courage, thy name is Jon
On August 23rd of 2006, Boston Red Sox rookie pitcher Jon Lester won his seventh game against two losses since being brought up from the minor leagues in early June. He had an outside chance at Rookie of the Year, and life was good. Except for the pain he had in his back.
July 23rd, 2007. He stood there last night on the back of the mound, ball gripped tightly in his left hand. He lowered his head and took two deep breaths to beat down the butterfly's that were no doubt flying in synchronized formation in his stomach. He stepped up onto the top of the mound, contorted himself into his throwing motion, and fired a perfect strike onto the inside corner of the plate. No big deal, right? From April until late October, this goes on every night all over America.
Nine days after watching Lester pitch his 7th win in 2006, Boston Red Sox manager Terry Francona received some shocking news. His 22 year old star-to-be pitcher was officially diagnosed with Lymphoma, treatable according to the physicians, but his prospects of once again standing on the mound at Fenway Park in Boston a dim reality. To everyone but Jon that is. Apparently, many had discounted the competitive spirit that resided in this kid, and after 6 chemo treatments, and several anxious months of waiting, Jon was declared cancer-free. Now as for baseball...well, let's just say everyone was thrilled that Jon was alive and doing well.
He was a sympathetic invitee to spring training in Ft. Meyers FL, and surprised everyone with his strength and resolve. In the four months of the regular MLB season, Jon labored in Greenville SC, and Pawtuckett MA, trying desperately to impress the Red Sox organization into giving him another chance at the big league level.
Like everyone who knew or knew of him wasn't impressed already.
Last night Jon Lester came back in a big way. His line was immaterial, 5 hits and 2 runs surrendered in 6 full innings, and he even got the win for the first place Sox. Indeed the better line was this:
Good guys 1 Cancer 0
Monday, July 23, 2007
Why Jhony can't speel
Today I read another article in a never-ending litany of articles about how our school systems are failing our children.
While driving less than 14 total miles today, I casually counted so many adults driving without seat belts on, that I can honestly attest to the fact that about 3 out of 10 cars had one of more adults belt-less. And I wasn't really looking that hard. About 1:30 pm, I saw two 20-25 year old young adults swigging one of those large beer bottles out of a brown bag while executing a turn where they passed me and I could clearly see the bottle. I went into a drug store to buy a coke and stood in line for 10 minutes as the clerk handled a language barrier problem relating to the photo department. The clerk spoke English, the customer did not. I listened to a local sports talk radio show where a caller said the following (and I'm trying my best to replicate his dialect and grammar...."they ain't no difference tween Michael Vick anst some other of they folks who be killin' cows an stuff fo food. I ain't not seein no difference at all wif deez two things."
I live in Greater Orlando, a city and related suburbs whose population with all surrounding towns included is less than 400,000. Yet last year we had just under 100 murders.
Oooops, was I not supposed to tell anyone that fact? Too late. Sorry Disney.
The city's murder rate has more than tripled in the past three years. Other violent crimes have spiked as well. Orlando posted the third-biggest jump in rapes and robberies among the state's 10 largest cities and had the largest increase in arson's, according to the report. The number of registered sex offenders in greater Orlando is in excess of 3,400. The key word being registered. The other creeps just haven't been caught yet. The downtown Orlando area and some of the lower income suburbs have alarming single-parent household figures, with studies showing nearly 20% of the homes existing with 1 parent and 1 income to support that family. Youth crime statistics - depending upon which statistic you want to acknowledge as the most accurate - have youth misdemeanor and felonious crime rising nearly 200% since the year 2000.
Now, back to the school system not doing their job to educate our youth. Who isn't doing their job?
I got news for ya, slick. It ain't the school system that's failing.
While driving less than 14 total miles today, I casually counted so many adults driving without seat belts on, that I can honestly attest to the fact that about 3 out of 10 cars had one of more adults belt-less. And I wasn't really looking that hard. About 1:30 pm, I saw two 20-25 year old young adults swigging one of those large beer bottles out of a brown bag while executing a turn where they passed me and I could clearly see the bottle. I went into a drug store to buy a coke and stood in line for 10 minutes as the clerk handled a language barrier problem relating to the photo department. The clerk spoke English, the customer did not. I listened to a local sports talk radio show where a caller said the following (and I'm trying my best to replicate his dialect and grammar...."they ain't no difference tween Michael Vick anst some other of they folks who be killin' cows an stuff fo food. I ain't not seein no difference at all wif deez two things."
I live in Greater Orlando, a city and related suburbs whose population with all surrounding towns included is less than 400,000. Yet last year we had just under 100 murders.
Oooops, was I not supposed to tell anyone that fact? Too late. Sorry Disney.
The city's murder rate has more than tripled in the past three years. Other violent crimes have spiked as well. Orlando posted the third-biggest jump in rapes and robberies among the state's 10 largest cities and had the largest increase in arson's, according to the report. The number of registered sex offenders in greater Orlando is in excess of 3,400. The key word being registered. The other creeps just haven't been caught yet. The downtown Orlando area and some of the lower income suburbs have alarming single-parent household figures, with studies showing nearly 20% of the homes existing with 1 parent and 1 income to support that family. Youth crime statistics - depending upon which statistic you want to acknowledge as the most accurate - have youth misdemeanor and felonious crime rising nearly 200% since the year 2000.
Now, back to the school system not doing their job to educate our youth. Who isn't doing their job?
I got news for ya, slick. It ain't the school system that's failing.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Shaking my head doesn't help...perhaps I should SCREAM instead?
Her name is Ingrid Newkirk, and she is the President of PETA, and her throne is located in their National Headquarters in Norfolk, VA. Miss (Mrs. ? - Ms. ?) Newkirk is a transplant from England, who loves to loudly proclaim her devotion to animals, protecting them from restaurants, grocers, farmers, scientists, anglers, and countless other Americans. This is all done in an effort to "protect" these animals from the horrors of what she calls "The entrapment and slavery of the family house pet." A noble statement, on the surface.
Indeed, over the years, PETA has made some positive steps...making people aware of the lack of need for fur coats, and the spay and neutering process for strays.
On the flip side, PETA has successfully lobbied and shut down medical research operations working on cures for the following: Diabetes. AIDS. Spinomeningitis. Cystic Fibrosis. Each and every type of cancer known to mankind, and other diseases numbering in the dozens, some of them so rare and catastrophic to children it chills me to even list them. All in the interest of keeping animals "safe from human harm."
But methinks there might be a problem, skippy. The chart below indicates statistics through 2005. There is so much litigation in the courts system right now, it is against Judges orders to release anything from 2006 and 2007, because case after case of cruelty to animals are currently in litigation. This chart is the records kept from the PETA HQ in Norflok.
As a reference, in the same time period, the SCPA managed to get 73% of their strays adopted. 73% as opposed to the shocking 17.1% by PETA, the organization that openly states they love these animals. Take a look at the chart again...14,000 + house pets killed by PETA. They shove them into hefty bags and keep them in a huge refrigerated storage facility until a Virginia based company takes them away for cremation.
And as for Doctor Death herself, the fine Ingrid Newkirk? She has stated without remorse under oath that she personally killed thousands with her own hands. For some reasons that defy logic, she's not making these quotes from the Virginia State Penitentiary either. She makes them as a free woman.
Meanwhile children are dying by the barrel-full in the most culturally, medically, and technically advanced society on this planet, all because some outrageous psychopaths known as PETA won't allow these animals to help our children because, "It's cruel."
Death of these animals - at their admission - is acceptable. The third party death of humans - many of whom are innocent children - is acceptable as well.
In closing, let me paraphrase the PETA mantra: Death is ok, and death is ok.
I'll make sure I pass that information on to my 15 year old Type 1 diabetic son.
Avaritia
As defined by Dante Aleghieri in his book, The Divine Comedy, there are seven deadly sins, the third of which is Avaritia - or greed - as it it most commonly called. All seven vices can cause immense problems, but greed seems to be the one that takes the most time and effort to expand upon until those around you are thoroughly convinced you have indeed committed the sin.
It is at that moment - when you have been outed for your greed - that you fully understand the deed is done, and you cannot go back and cover it up. It is that lack of spontaneity that makes avaritia so lethal.
...Or deadly, if you will.
Barry Bonds
Kenneth Lay
Michael Vick
Martha Stewart
I'm thinking I'll pop down upon my bark-o-lounger and watch a ballgame. The extent that sloth will get me into trouble is the lawn won't get mowed for a few more hours. I can live with that.
It is at that moment - when you have been outed for your greed - that you fully understand the deed is done, and you cannot go back and cover it up. It is that lack of spontaneity that makes avaritia so lethal.
...Or deadly, if you will.
Barry Bonds
Kenneth Lay
Michael Vick
Martha Stewart
I'm thinking I'll pop down upon my bark-o-lounger and watch a ballgame. The extent that sloth will get me into trouble is the lawn won't get mowed for a few more hours. I can live with that.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
On the wings of hope
Today is tomorrow, which is yesterday's the day after tomorrow, or tomorrow's yesterday in Iraq and Kuwait.
"M", the topic of many a blog in the past few months, boarded a plane bound for Kuwait this morning in Iraq - which was yesterday's...ahhh, you get the idea.
Right now he should be in the air to West Germany, soon to be in NYC. He promised me a phone call upon arrival, but I told him to spend his cell minutes with the wife and kids, and call me whenever the family is tired of his hugs and kisses. I would expect that will be a long time from now.
Is this blog open again? I don't know about the future, but it is for this one celebratory moment. Another stud has come through for you and I...driven by the simple dedication to an ideal that far too many take for granted or cannot even sniff the meaning of.
Let the freedom bells ring long and loud. I want everyone to hear them.
Peace.
"M", the topic of many a blog in the past few months, boarded a plane bound for Kuwait this morning in Iraq - which was yesterday's...ahhh, you get the idea.
Right now he should be in the air to West Germany, soon to be in NYC. He promised me a phone call upon arrival, but I told him to spend his cell minutes with the wife and kids, and call me whenever the family is tired of his hugs and kisses. I would expect that will be a long time from now.
Is this blog open again? I don't know about the future, but it is for this one celebratory moment. Another stud has come through for you and I...driven by the simple dedication to an ideal that far too many take for granted or cannot even sniff the meaning of.
Let the freedom bells ring long and loud. I want everyone to hear them.
Peace.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
No more blog
This is it for me, at least for a while. I keep finding myself talking about the same things over and over, and no one wants to be known as redundant.
I'm just a crotchety old stick in the mud who never changed with the times...and I'm ok with that.
You say URL, I say U R crazy. He says calculator, I say pencil and paper. She says diversity and I say singularity. It is - and always will be - that way.
It was fun while it lasted, but I've run out of things to talk about.
Take care everybody.
Peace.
JL4
PS Why this song? Who doesn't like U2 live? Therefore, why not?
Packages from there
M sent my company a package from Iraq. Yup...that's right. He sent a package to us as a show of gratitude for the six enormous boxes we sent him and his fellow troops. Evidently, they unfurl and fly a different U.S. flag at the Multi-National HQ in Baghdad. M sent two of them back to the states, each with a formal certificate of appreciation, signed by the unit commander and a 3-Star General verifying these flags were indeed flown.
Remember, I work in a company where about 20% of the people chipped in and supported the soldiers, but the other 80% hovered between "could care less" and "I'm not supporting those people." One person in administration sent an overall e-mail expressing her appreciation of the flag and all it stood for. Then - in what surely surprised me - she asked me in the public e-mail to tell everyone what that flag meant to me. After considerable thought, here is what I wrote, for what it's worth anyways. Once again, the 80% were included in the addressees, so they received this as well:
The first encounter I ever had with the flag was in the 1960's. I took a trip with my school to Washington D.C. We went to Arlington National Cemetery and I saw for the first time the enormous and magnificent Iwo Jima memorial. Most people assume the flag was raised after the island was captured, but that is incorrect. 20,000 Japanese soldiers held that island and its critical airport, but we only had 6,000 marines go ashore. Within days, that 6,000 was reduced to 4,000. As the dawn became the light on the third day, the morale and attitude of the marines had sunk to an all-time low. Five marines and one navy corpsman trudged up that unsecured mountain top and raised that flag, under fire the whole time. The idea was to tell the demoralized marines below that the fight was not only not over, it had just begun. Three of the six that raised that flag eventually died in the ensuing battle, won by the Maine Corps.
The next time was in March of 1969. My brother and his best life-long friend joined the marines together - did everything together as a matter of fact - except die together. I remember the Marine Color Guard presenting the flag to my brothers friend's father, and the weeping and sorrow that accompanied it.
Twenty-two years later, my comrades and I pulled up onto the edge of Rumalaya airfield, in southern Iraq around 1 am. Peaceful and quiet as we crept in, what happened the next 11 hours defies comprehension or explanation. Everything was on fire in mere minutes, as Iraqi tanks, fighter planes, and wheeled vehicles - along with a few of their American counterparts - were blown up and searing hot with the gasoline and diesel fires. To put it mildly, that airfield was a terrifying mess. Everyone was scrambling to find a safe haven, covered in soot, debris, and pretty much deaf from the pounding and bombing each side put upon each other. Sometime near the end - as dawn broke - I looked up from where I was and saw a Humvee racing across the airfield with a big American flag flying from the rear. It was at that moment that I realized just how much of an effect seeing that flag could have.
When I look at that flag, I don't see cloth dyed red, white, and blue. I don't see mistakes made, political shenanigans, or some idiot setting it on fire.
I see a guy wading through hip deep water on Omaha or Utah beach wondering how the hell he ended up there. I see a man frozen stiff in Korea in January, 1952. I see the February 1969 funeral for a brave marine, and I see a Humvee, partially blocked out by the haze, the smoke, and the grime in my own eyes, flying the flag in defiance of whoever was on the other side of that airfield in February of 1991.
And now I see one of my young protégé's raising one of those very flags in Baghdad, taking a stand and saying, "Not me. Not today. Not ever. I'm stronger than you are."
Some may understand what I'm saying here...others will not. But that's what I see when I look at that flag that flew over Baghdad...just like it flew in Brussels in 1918, Paris in 1944, and Baghdad in the present time. I see good, decent, men and women...laying it on the line for you, me, and our children. Protecting and defending millions of people they will never know or meet, even going so far as to protect those who do not understand or do not like these soldiers.
Does this answer your question?
Peace.
Remember, I work in a company where about 20% of the people chipped in and supported the soldiers, but the other 80% hovered between "could care less" and "I'm not supporting those people." One person in administration sent an overall e-mail expressing her appreciation of the flag and all it stood for. Then - in what surely surprised me - she asked me in the public e-mail to tell everyone what that flag meant to me. After considerable thought, here is what I wrote, for what it's worth anyways. Once again, the 80% were included in the addressees, so they received this as well:
The first encounter I ever had with the flag was in the 1960's. I took a trip with my school to Washington D.C. We went to Arlington National Cemetery and I saw for the first time the enormous and magnificent Iwo Jima memorial. Most people assume the flag was raised after the island was captured, but that is incorrect. 20,000 Japanese soldiers held that island and its critical airport, but we only had 6,000 marines go ashore. Within days, that 6,000 was reduced to 4,000. As the dawn became the light on the third day, the morale and attitude of the marines had sunk to an all-time low. Five marines and one navy corpsman trudged up that unsecured mountain top and raised that flag, under fire the whole time. The idea was to tell the demoralized marines below that the fight was not only not over, it had just begun. Three of the six that raised that flag eventually died in the ensuing battle, won by the Maine Corps.
The next time was in March of 1969. My brother and his best life-long friend joined the marines together - did everything together as a matter of fact - except die together. I remember the Marine Color Guard presenting the flag to my brothers friend's father, and the weeping and sorrow that accompanied it.
Twenty-two years later, my comrades and I pulled up onto the edge of Rumalaya airfield, in southern Iraq around 1 am. Peaceful and quiet as we crept in, what happened the next 11 hours defies comprehension or explanation. Everything was on fire in mere minutes, as Iraqi tanks, fighter planes, and wheeled vehicles - along with a few of their American counterparts - were blown up and searing hot with the gasoline and diesel fires. To put it mildly, that airfield was a terrifying mess. Everyone was scrambling to find a safe haven, covered in soot, debris, and pretty much deaf from the pounding and bombing each side put upon each other. Sometime near the end - as dawn broke - I looked up from where I was and saw a Humvee racing across the airfield with a big American flag flying from the rear. It was at that moment that I realized just how much of an effect seeing that flag could have.
When I look at that flag, I don't see cloth dyed red, white, and blue. I don't see mistakes made, political shenanigans, or some idiot setting it on fire.
I see a guy wading through hip deep water on Omaha or Utah beach wondering how the hell he ended up there. I see a man frozen stiff in Korea in January, 1952. I see the February 1969 funeral for a brave marine, and I see a Humvee, partially blocked out by the haze, the smoke, and the grime in my own eyes, flying the flag in defiance of whoever was on the other side of that airfield in February of 1991.
And now I see one of my young protégé's raising one of those very flags in Baghdad, taking a stand and saying, "Not me. Not today. Not ever. I'm stronger than you are."
Some may understand what I'm saying here...others will not. But that's what I see when I look at that flag that flew over Baghdad...just like it flew in Brussels in 1918, Paris in 1944, and Baghdad in the present time. I see good, decent, men and women...laying it on the line for you, me, and our children. Protecting and defending millions of people they will never know or meet, even going so far as to protect those who do not understand or do not like these soldiers.
Does this answer your question?
Peace.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
The important sh**
So what is it with you? And me, for that matter. How often do we prioritize, and then act upon those priorities? Not the easy shit...I have to go to the store, drop off some stuff at the dry-cleaners, etc. I'm speaking of the hard stuff. The stuff we give lip service to, then claim we "forgot" or just "got too busy".
Must have been that last trip to Wendy's that screwed us up.
Did you say "happy fathers day" to your dad, or remember him in a kind way if he's already left us? How about the kids? When was the last time you were so mad at them you wanted to throttle their existence, but instead took 10 deep breaths and let it go? I know it's been a while since I have.
Held a door for someone lately? I did so for an elderly person the other day, and he said to me, "Thank you for being so thoughtful." I said he was welcome, of course, then walked away thinking the reason he was so appreciative is because it probably doesn't happen as often as it should - which when you think about it - "should" equates to "every" time.
The other night I shut off the tv, put away the MP3 player, and walked the dog. In silence. The only sound being him sniffing the grass. I sat down on a curb, and was amazed how he came over and sat right down tight with me. The loyalty of a good dog is so far beyond the loyalty of one human to another, it's damn frightening. In any event, I sat there and listened to the silence. And enjoyed the hell out of it. Man oh man, silence is wonderful sometimes.
My back hurts every day. The Army gives me a 10% disability because of years of pounding on my spinal chord and back muscles has left me in perpetual pain. My left heel hurts so badly each morning I can't walk for 2 minutes. I have some sort of pain shooting from my armpit down my arm to my elbow now and then, making it hard to raise my limb above my head. But you know what? It's ok. If I didn't have the pain, I would be dead, so the alternative is acceptable. And I'm not hungry.
Or poor.
When was the last time you did something unannounced for a friend or loved one, just to cheer them up? Think it's not that big a deal? Think again. I used to be a "Big Picture" guy, and I was wrong.
Life is details.
Millions and millions of details spread over the better part of a century if you're one of the lucky ones. Miss a detail, and someone is disappointed in you.
Do you worry about that? Someone being disappointed in you? 95% of you will say "yes", but I know some of you are lying. Some of you don't care, and are kidding yourself into thinking you're not in that 5% that at least is honest about it.
I guess what I'm saying is, isn't it high time for a gesture that needs no return? Be kind today. Lower your head and privately thank a soldier, a cop, a firefighter, or a nurse for what they do. Say "hi" as you pass someone in the mall, and make eye-contact while you do it. Throw some loose change in the homeless guy's basket, and stop fretting about what he spends it on. If I was homeless, I'd be getting as bombed on Boone's Farm as I could every day too. Somebody cuts you off on the road, let it go. You see someone with 13 eyebrow piercings and a green mohawk, don't be judgemental. You hear someone saying something stupid on TV, shut the damn thing off.
And enjoy the silence.
Peace.
Must have been that last trip to Wendy's that screwed us up.
Did you say "happy fathers day" to your dad, or remember him in a kind way if he's already left us? How about the kids? When was the last time you were so mad at them you wanted to throttle their existence, but instead took 10 deep breaths and let it go? I know it's been a while since I have.
Held a door for someone lately? I did so for an elderly person the other day, and he said to me, "Thank you for being so thoughtful." I said he was welcome, of course, then walked away thinking the reason he was so appreciative is because it probably doesn't happen as often as it should - which when you think about it - "should" equates to "every" time.
The other night I shut off the tv, put away the MP3 player, and walked the dog. In silence. The only sound being him sniffing the grass. I sat down on a curb, and was amazed how he came over and sat right down tight with me. The loyalty of a good dog is so far beyond the loyalty of one human to another, it's damn frightening. In any event, I sat there and listened to the silence. And enjoyed the hell out of it. Man oh man, silence is wonderful sometimes.
My back hurts every day. The Army gives me a 10% disability because of years of pounding on my spinal chord and back muscles has left me in perpetual pain. My left heel hurts so badly each morning I can't walk for 2 minutes. I have some sort of pain shooting from my armpit down my arm to my elbow now and then, making it hard to raise my limb above my head. But you know what? It's ok. If I didn't have the pain, I would be dead, so the alternative is acceptable. And I'm not hungry.
Or poor.
When was the last time you did something unannounced for a friend or loved one, just to cheer them up? Think it's not that big a deal? Think again. I used to be a "Big Picture" guy, and I was wrong.
Life is details.
Millions and millions of details spread over the better part of a century if you're one of the lucky ones. Miss a detail, and someone is disappointed in you.
Do you worry about that? Someone being disappointed in you? 95% of you will say "yes", but I know some of you are lying. Some of you don't care, and are kidding yourself into thinking you're not in that 5% that at least is honest about it.
I guess what I'm saying is, isn't it high time for a gesture that needs no return? Be kind today. Lower your head and privately thank a soldier, a cop, a firefighter, or a nurse for what they do. Say "hi" as you pass someone in the mall, and make eye-contact while you do it. Throw some loose change in the homeless guy's basket, and stop fretting about what he spends it on. If I was homeless, I'd be getting as bombed on Boone's Farm as I could every day too. Somebody cuts you off on the road, let it go. You see someone with 13 eyebrow piercings and a green mohawk, don't be judgemental. You hear someone saying something stupid on TV, shut the damn thing off.
And enjoy the silence.
Peace.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
A Sunday in June
I was always there for you, from day one. Changing diapers, mending broken toys, gently wiping away tears, placing band-aid's on imaginary boo-boo's.
I drove you to - and picked you up from - school, every day for years and years. Drove you to the ballpark and cheered even if you played poorly. Bought way too many Christmas presents, then revelled in the look in your eyes in the morning. Helped you do your homework, even going so far as doing it for you when a little break was in order. Acted cool even though totally choked up when you played the mouse in the pre-K play.
I cried in a bathroom where no one could see me when you won your first sports trophy. Then cried again by myself when you won your tenth...eleventh....and twelfth. My delight at your grade point average in school was even greater, and I hated the unwritten "Parental non-bragging rule." I've wanted to scream out how smart you are for so long, but proper decorum dictated otherwise.
I chewed your ass for the most minor of mistakes, then spent hours wondering if I had pushed too hard. I've mapped out your future so many times I've forgotten which version I was on. I've come to realize your future is yours alone, and it's not my right to dictate which direction you should go. I've learned to answer questions when I'm asked, and I'm still learning to shut up when not.
I hated it when all I wanted was some peace and quiet so I could have my coffee and read the Sunday paper and you decided to play one thousand questions with me. I'll hate it worse when you're gone and all I'll have is a phone call now and then.
I already miss the days when you sat on my lap and kissed me on the cheek. I miss the days when you volunteered that you loved me, unlike now, when I have to read your eyes to gain confirmation. I miss the days when you asked me big-kid questions, even though you were so small and pure.
I have 4 days that will forever be known as the greatest days of my life. December 2nd, November 24th, January 18th, and June 15th...followed closely by the day the oldest of you wore that beautiful white gown.
Just in case...just in case I forget...I think I'll take this time to tell you that I love you, and always have.
And no. I'm not your mom.
I drove you to - and picked you up from - school, every day for years and years. Drove you to the ballpark and cheered even if you played poorly. Bought way too many Christmas presents, then revelled in the look in your eyes in the morning. Helped you do your homework, even going so far as doing it for you when a little break was in order. Acted cool even though totally choked up when you played the mouse in the pre-K play.
I cried in a bathroom where no one could see me when you won your first sports trophy. Then cried again by myself when you won your tenth...eleventh....and twelfth. My delight at your grade point average in school was even greater, and I hated the unwritten "Parental non-bragging rule." I've wanted to scream out how smart you are for so long, but proper decorum dictated otherwise.
I chewed your ass for the most minor of mistakes, then spent hours wondering if I had pushed too hard. I've mapped out your future so many times I've forgotten which version I was on. I've come to realize your future is yours alone, and it's not my right to dictate which direction you should go. I've learned to answer questions when I'm asked, and I'm still learning to shut up when not.
I hated it when all I wanted was some peace and quiet so I could have my coffee and read the Sunday paper and you decided to play one thousand questions with me. I'll hate it worse when you're gone and all I'll have is a phone call now and then.
I already miss the days when you sat on my lap and kissed me on the cheek. I miss the days when you volunteered that you loved me, unlike now, when I have to read your eyes to gain confirmation. I miss the days when you asked me big-kid questions, even though you were so small and pure.
I have 4 days that will forever be known as the greatest days of my life. December 2nd, November 24th, January 18th, and June 15th...followed closely by the day the oldest of you wore that beautiful white gown.
Just in case...just in case I forget...I think I'll take this time to tell you that I love you, and always have.
And no. I'm not your mom.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
25 years....redux
In listing the 25 top stories of the last 25 years http://jl4.blogspot.com/2007/06/25-years.html, I feel it is my obligation to list the top 25 stories you NEVER HEARD OR READ. These are listed chronologically, and therefore are not categorized by importance.
Without further ado...
1982. Nancy Reagan is told "We're just saying no" when she attempts to have The White House painted "a nice shade of seashell green."
1983. Space Shuttle astronauts perform the first space walk. Michael Jackson performs the first moon walk, and the entire group Metallica walks into rehab and stays there for nearly 15 years.
1984. Clara Beller, famous for Wendy's annoying "Where's the beef?" T.V. commercials, dies after a wild night of drinking, sitting, forgetting, losing their teeth, and finally - cow tipping in the pasture located next to the "Olden Times" rest home in Palo Alto California. One of the bovines fell on her, allowing her - once and for all - to know where the beef actually was.
1985. A joint American-French expedition locates the remains of HMS Titanic. Geraldo Rivera opens up the captain's personal foot locker and finds a coupon for $5 off a massage at Rosie's of Brooklyn.
1986. A record 328 millimeters of rain falls on Sydney Australia in a 12 hour period, causing citizens and scientists alike to exclaim in frustration, "Does anyone know what the hell 328 millimeters is?"
1987. The "Assemblies of God" defrocks televangelist Jim Bakker for having too many consecutive "caa" sounding consonants in his name.
1988. Mikhail Gorbachev invents Mapquest, initiating the project by drawing a graphic representation of Albania on his forehead.
1989. The first Global Positioning Satellites are placed in orbit. As of this writing, no American man owns a personal GPS, nor will they stop - ever - to ask directions. The future mirrors the past. Technology be damned.
1990. The first McDonalds opens in Moscow. Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a Bolshevik bun.
1991. The Supreme Council of the Republic of Georgia declares independence. Riots break out in the streets of Atlanta before city and federal agencies convince the citizens it was the former Soviet Union Georgia, not the one in the U.S.
1992. The Socialist Republic of Yugoslavia begins to break up. Slovakia, Croatia, Inertia, Dementia, Minutia, and Militia declare their independence.
1993. Martin Luther King day is celebrated in all 50 states for the first time ever. As an act of retribution, federal law declares that at least 3 streets in cities with a population exceeding 700 residents must be named after Dr. King.
1994. Monika Lewinski is named special counsel to the President on internal affairs.
1995. During the OJ Simpson trial, Johnny Cochran is filmed furiously writing down limerick's on a cocktail napkin. Caught between, "If it's the Juice...ya gotta let him loose" and "If da glove don't fit, you have to aquit." Cochran settles on the latter.
1996. Suspected Uni-bomber, Theodore Kacznynski, is arrested at his Montana cabin. Johnny Cochran takes over Kacznynski's defense, proclaiming, "If his name you cannot spell, you may not condemn him to hell."
Without further ado...
1982. Nancy Reagan is told "We're just saying no" when she attempts to have The White House painted "a nice shade of seashell green."
1983. Space Shuttle astronauts perform the first space walk. Michael Jackson performs the first moon walk, and the entire group Metallica walks into rehab and stays there for nearly 15 years.
1984. Clara Beller, famous for Wendy's annoying "Where's the beef?" T.V. commercials, dies after a wild night of drinking, sitting, forgetting, losing their teeth, and finally - cow tipping in the pasture located next to the "Olden Times" rest home in Palo Alto California. One of the bovines fell on her, allowing her - once and for all - to know where the beef actually was.
1985. A joint American-French expedition locates the remains of HMS Titanic. Geraldo Rivera opens up the captain's personal foot locker and finds a coupon for $5 off a massage at Rosie's of Brooklyn.
1986. A record 328 millimeters of rain falls on Sydney Australia in a 12 hour period, causing citizens and scientists alike to exclaim in frustration, "Does anyone know what the hell 328 millimeters is?"
1987. The "Assemblies of God" defrocks televangelist Jim Bakker for having too many consecutive "caa" sounding consonants in his name.
1988. Mikhail Gorbachev invents Mapquest, initiating the project by drawing a graphic representation of Albania on his forehead.
1989. The first Global Positioning Satellites are placed in orbit. As of this writing, no American man owns a personal GPS, nor will they stop - ever - to ask directions. The future mirrors the past. Technology be damned.
1990. The first McDonalds opens in Moscow. Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a Bolshevik bun.
1991. The Supreme Council of the Republic of Georgia declares independence. Riots break out in the streets of Atlanta before city and federal agencies convince the citizens it was the former Soviet Union Georgia, not the one in the U.S.
1992. The Socialist Republic of Yugoslavia begins to break up. Slovakia, Croatia, Inertia, Dementia, Minutia, and Militia declare their independence.
1993. Martin Luther King day is celebrated in all 50 states for the first time ever. As an act of retribution, federal law declares that at least 3 streets in cities with a population exceeding 700 residents must be named after Dr. King.
1994. Monika Lewinski is named special counsel to the President on internal affairs.
1995. During the OJ Simpson trial, Johnny Cochran is filmed furiously writing down limerick's on a cocktail napkin. Caught between, "If it's the Juice...ya gotta let him loose" and "If da glove don't fit, you have to aquit." Cochran settles on the latter.
1996. Suspected Uni-bomber, Theodore Kacznynski, is arrested at his Montana cabin. Johnny Cochran takes over Kacznynski's defense, proclaiming, "If his name you cannot spell, you may not condemn him to hell."
1997. The world's money markets take a plunge, as thousands of stockbrokers and traders throughout the United States and the Far East receive the news that a Colombian Cartel has been broken up, and the cocaine shipments they were all counting upon would be delayed at least 36 hours.
1998. Apple computers unveil the iMac computer, soon to be followed by the iPOD, iPEE, iBlackberry, iWannacookie, iYayYay, and the iDunnowherethisisgoing.
1999. The groundbreaking British Television show Queer as folk airs in London. Not to be outdone, the United States begins filming for the shows, What not to wear, Design on a dime, House Hunters, Queer guys with chunky thighs, and the establishment of the House and Garden and Bravo TV networks.
2000. Y2K strikes America. Millions begin suffering from malaise, apathetic rejection of commonly held behavioral patterns, frivolous lawsuits, and an addiction to something called "E-Bay." The Y2K bandit (as he is called by the media) is still at large.
2001. George W. Bush is sworn in as the 43rd President of the United States, even though he "Doesn't speak Mexican."
2002. NASA's Mars Oddysey space probe begins mapping out the surface of Mars using something called, "Thermal Emission Imaging System". In Payute Oklahoma, Merle and Ethel Frankenbauer plan a trip to their cousin Bert's 5th [or was it his 6th?] wedding by maping out their trip on line, using the "directions" function of this there new-fangled Mapquest thaaang.
2003. The United States Department of Homeland Security is established, principally to target octogenarians carrying finger nail clippers and wearing large belt buckles at the airport.
2004. 225,000 New Yorkers file IRS paperwork claiming lost wages for unused tickets purchased for the World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals. (Ha! Got another one in!!)
2005. Famed lawyer Johnny Cochran dies of an inoperable brain tumor. At his funeral, witnesses say a loud, booming voice came from the sky and declared, "If you tell a lie, you'll surely die."
2006. U.S. Vice President Dick Chaney accidentally shoots his friend and lawyer (you thought I was going to say Johnny Cochran again, didn't you?) in the face. The attorney suffers brain damage, which is not a disqualifying trait in the law profession.
2007. The International Red Cross and Red Crescent movements merge and immediately change their name to the International Red Crystal Movements, to take away any religious affiliation with their group. In a related story, the Easter Bunny is now called The-Late-March-to-Early-April-dependent-upon-the-Moon-Bunny, and Christmas is lobbying to be called NFL-wildcard-weekend-where-we-put-up-lights-and-stuff-holiday.
Again...Goodnight Gracie. Seriously.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
25 years
The USA Today is celebrating their 25th year in the newspaper business, and as such, they are comprising lots of lists. Lists are lists, and as such, they are open to interpretation and debate. Here is my own version of a list, and in keeping with the USA Today, I'll stay within the parameters of 25 years...for the mathematically impaired, that is 1982 and beyond.
18. March 1989. The oil tanker Exxon Valdez went aground in the remote Prince Edward Sound of Alaska, spilling 11 million gallons of crude oil into the sound. Between 250,000 - 500,000 seabirds, 5000 Otters, 300 Seals, 250 Bald Eagles, 22 Orca Whales, and billions of herring and salmon eggs died immediately or over the following months. As of this writting, Exxon still owes the United States and Alaska $2.5 billion of the original $5 billion in punitive damages.
21. February 2001, Dale Ernhardt dies on the final lap of the Daytona 500. Again, I was never a NASCAR fan....it just wasn't in my DNA make-up. But the outpouring of sadness and mourning over this man's death was stunning, to say the least.
23. March 2003, President Bush appears on an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf and makes his ill-fated "end of hostilities' speech.
24. March, 1989. Pan Am flight 103 explodes in mid-air over Lockerbie Scotland. 276 are killed.
25. October 2004. The world ends. Gas prices drop to 10 cents a gallon. Dogs make nice with cats. Millions roll over and smile in their graves. The skies open up, and a great light appears. Yes...the long-suffering Boston Red Sox and their millions of faithful - albeit suprememly stupid fans - finally find the emerald city.
Say goodnight, Gracie.
"Goodnight, Gracie"
This list is off the top of my head, so if I say "June" and it actually happend in "July", feel free to sue me.
And finally, I welcome any thoughts, arguments, and general mayhem from the peanut gallery.
The 25 biggest stories of the last 25 years (according to me):
1. September 11th, 2001
2. 1995, the OJ Simpson trial
3. April 19th, 1995 Murrah Federal Building truck-bombed
4. 1984, Macintosh introduces something called a "PC"
5. 1987, President Ronald Reagan asks Premier Gorbachev to "Tear down this wall"
6. 1989, Tienamin Square uprising in China
7. 1991-1994, Al Gore "invents" the internet
8. 1983 war in Lebanon reaches out to America. 248 Marines killed in a barracks.
9. August 2005, Hurricane Katrina dies in South Florida, then reenergizes and polarizes the U.S. politically and socially.
10. October, 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake rattles Oakland and San Francisco during game 3 of the World Series. Viewers of the game saw the earthquake live on television.
11. February 1986, Space Shuttle Columbia explodes shortly after lift-off.
12. June 1986, Chernobyl nuclear plant in Russia tries a cooling experiment without permission. The experiment fails.
13. November 2000, President Bush wins the electorate, but not the popular vote. Internet inventor Al Gore goes on a hunger-less strike, vowing to eat non-stop until he's elected again.
14. April 1993, Branch Dividian compound in Waco Texas is consumed by fire, killing everyone inside.
15. May 1988, the Soviet Union begins a hasty withdrawl from 8 years of war in Afghanistan. Part III of the aforementioned #5 and #12, which brings about the end of the USSR as we knew it.
16. Desert Shield, August 1990; Desert Storm, January 1991. Gulf War I.
17. February 1993. A van parked in the garage beneath the WTC explodes with 1700 lbs of explosives in it, in an attempt to bring down the north tower and collapse it onto its neighbor. The plan was master-minded and carried out by a man named Ramzy Yousef, nephew of Kalid Sheik Muhammed, chief strategist and financier of a group known as Al Quaeda.
18. March 1989. The oil tanker Exxon Valdez went aground in the remote Prince Edward Sound of Alaska, spilling 11 million gallons of crude oil into the sound. Between 250,000 - 500,000 seabirds, 5000 Otters, 300 Seals, 250 Bald Eagles, 22 Orca Whales, and billions of herring and salmon eggs died immediately or over the following months. As of this writting, Exxon still owes the United States and Alaska $2.5 billion of the original $5 billion in punitive damages.
19. March 1982, Great Brittan invades the Faukland Islands in South America which results in a four-month war against Argentina for controll of the islands.
20. August 1997, Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales, dies in Paris at age 36 in a high speed automobile accident. Personally, I never cared one way or another, but apparently, it was big news.
21. February 2001, Dale Ernhardt dies on the final lap of the Daytona 500. Again, I was never a NASCAR fan....it just wasn't in my DNA make-up. But the outpouring of sadness and mourning over this man's death was stunning, to say the least.
22. 1993, the Hubble Space Telescope is repaired in orbit, giving the world visions of the universe never before seen.
23. March 2003, President Bush appears on an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf and makes his ill-fated "end of hostilities' speech.
24. March, 1989. Pan Am flight 103 explodes in mid-air over Lockerbie Scotland. 276 are killed.
25. October 2004. The world ends. Gas prices drop to 10 cents a gallon. Dogs make nice with cats. Millions roll over and smile in their graves. The skies open up, and a great light appears. Yes...the long-suffering Boston Red Sox and their millions of faithful - albeit suprememly stupid fans - finally find the emerald city.
Say goodnight, Gracie.
"Goodnight, Gracie"
Monday, June 11, 2007
Our theatrical world
I'm fairly certain it all kicked into high gear with this woman. The so-called reluctant Princess who never saw a photgrapher she didn't like.
In the early to late 90's, we somehow missed out on "celebretizing" this man. Instead, he made his own celebrety later on.
These two couldn't hate each other more than they possibly do now, making their bullshit in 2004 a remarkable thing to see.
This shmuck made a cameo appearance in 2005, but fizzled eventually. Bringing a nation to bankrupcy, citizens starving by the millions, while launching faux missiles into the Sea of China will do that.
Whoda yalla yalla yalla...!!! I will blow your country and all of its non-muhammed fearing infidels into the netherlands...whooooo yalla yallla...you can't hack it...I love my members only jaaaacket, yalla yallla for allah!!!
Which brings us to this...
...and this
Oh hell, perhaps this isn't such a bad thing after all.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Faces in my waffles
Soooooo...I'm at Denny's eating breakfast, and I'm about to dive into my pancakes, sausage, and hash browns when I notice something peculiar.
What did you notice, JL4?
Thanks for asking.
I noticed the image in the pancake was that of Jesus giving the sermon on the mount. But the truly amazing thing about it was who is there. If you look very closely (noooo...closer), you can see Jim Morrison, Frank Sinatra, and Bob Barker (three dead guys) in attendance.
Ok...gotta go now. I need to establish an E-Bay account.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Marmalade - Reflections Of My Life
The changing
Of sunlight to moonlight
Reflections of my life
Oh how they fill my eyes
The greetings
Of people in trouble
Reflections of my life
Oh how they fill my eyes
All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home
All my cryings
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home
I'm changing, arranging
I'm changing, I'm changing everything
Oh, everything around me
The world is a bad place
A bad place, a terrible place to live
Oh, but I don't wanna die
All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home
All my cryings
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home
All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home
All my cryings...
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Americans...correct?
The company I work for recently sent six 50 lb. boxes to M in Iraq. In getting it all ready, I was sent an e-mail with a list of things my co-workers thought appropriate. On the list was cigarettes. I sent an e-mail back to the originator and told her smoking was frowned upon heavily by the military, and had been for about 20 years. So she took it off the list...end of story, right?
Not so skippy. Some time later, another employee walked up to her and said the following: "So...like...our soldiers murder someone and then smoke a cigarette?"
In Washington State this past weekend, a group of recalcitrant's entered a cemetery after dark and replaced over 200 US flags on graves with white, hand-drawn flags bearing a Swastika. Families and friends entered that cemetery to honor their fallen loved ones and were horrified, hurt, and deeply saddened by this act of anonymous cowardice.
In both cases, I'm talking about Americans who did and said these things. Americans...home of the free, land of the....what?
Pop quiz skippy:
Who do you think will be the first group of people that will scream "WHERE IS THE ARMY!?!?" if a nuke goes off in Philadelphia, Chicago, or Kansas City?
Uh huh.
PS A little post-script here. To those who would read this and tell me, "Not everyone is that way", I would obviously respond in the affirmative. But the fact of the matter is, more people are acting that way then ever before in this country. Studies have shown that even though the bulk weight and raw numbers of care packages being sent to service men and women in the Middle East is still as high as it ever has been, the sources for these packages has diminished by some accounts as much as 85%. Which means that 15% of the people are still loading up through the help of organizations like Anysoldier.com, Operation shoebox, etc. who keep the mail and comfort items rolling by petitioning large business as well as the general public.
In my own company's venture, 16 people out of 63 filled those six 50 lb boxes. That's 25%, an extraordinarily low and personally embarrassing number. Some of them were not just co-workers - but were people I considered friends. How much does it take to hit the supermarket and buy a few packs of gum to throw in the box? Not much. It's not because they couldn't either - it's because they wouldn't.
We have reached the precipice. We are now equating the soldiers - our brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, friends and neighbors- with the politics and anger of our own individualistic feelings.
Don't tell me it isn't true, because the statistics speak for themselves. Don't tell me we haven't cut off our nose to spite our political faces, because we have. Read the papers...the letters to the editors...watch the news...it's right there staring us in the face: Faux patriotism - wrapped in a blanket of "I support the troops but not the war or the President". I can clearly see the lack of support for the war and the President, but for the life of me, I'm still searching for something that shows me the troop support...it's just not there as a fact.
Only words, skippy... only words.
Not so skippy. Some time later, another employee walked up to her and said the following: "So...like...our soldiers murder someone and then smoke a cigarette?"
In Washington State this past weekend, a group of recalcitrant's entered a cemetery after dark and replaced over 200 US flags on graves with white, hand-drawn flags bearing a Swastika. Families and friends entered that cemetery to honor their fallen loved ones and were horrified, hurt, and deeply saddened by this act of anonymous cowardice.
In both cases, I'm talking about Americans who did and said these things. Americans...home of the free, land of the....what?
Pop quiz skippy:
Who do you think will be the first group of people that will scream "WHERE IS THE ARMY!?!?" if a nuke goes off in Philadelphia, Chicago, or Kansas City?
Uh huh.
PS A little post-script here. To those who would read this and tell me, "Not everyone is that way", I would obviously respond in the affirmative. But the fact of the matter is, more people are acting that way then ever before in this country. Studies have shown that even though the bulk weight and raw numbers of care packages being sent to service men and women in the Middle East is still as high as it ever has been, the sources for these packages has diminished by some accounts as much as 85%. Which means that 15% of the people are still loading up through the help of organizations like Anysoldier.com, Operation shoebox, etc. who keep the mail and comfort items rolling by petitioning large business as well as the general public.
In my own company's venture, 16 people out of 63 filled those six 50 lb boxes. That's 25%, an extraordinarily low and personally embarrassing number. Some of them were not just co-workers - but were people I considered friends. How much does it take to hit the supermarket and buy a few packs of gum to throw in the box? Not much. It's not because they couldn't either - it's because they wouldn't.
We have reached the precipice. We are now equating the soldiers - our brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, friends and neighbors- with the politics and anger of our own individualistic feelings.
Don't tell me it isn't true, because the statistics speak for themselves. Don't tell me we haven't cut off our nose to spite our political faces, because we have. Read the papers...the letters to the editors...watch the news...it's right there staring us in the face: Faux patriotism - wrapped in a blanket of "I support the troops but not the war or the President". I can clearly see the lack of support for the war and the President, but for the life of me, I'm still searching for something that shows me the troop support...it's just not there as a fact.
Only words, skippy... only words.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Too stupid to ignore
I had no desire to say anything about this, but I just can't ignore it any more. The Miss Universe Pageant was held this past weekend, and...well...just read on.
Miss Sweden withdrew because of nationalistic feelings. It seems Sweden - home to 50 years of pornographic movies once referred to as "Swedish Films" **wink **wink, and long-known as the original home of porn, has objected to this "exploitation". Sweden - the bastion of neutrality that has allowed virtually every tyrannical regime in modern history to pounce all over their neighbors Finland and Denmark in times of world war. Remember the Nazi's? Sweden - the nation that indeed held a Miss Sweden contest a couple of months ago to determine who would represent their country - has declared that the Miss Universe pageant is degrading to women. I have no idea if it is or isn't, mostly because I haven't sat and watched one of those things in about 40 years. I don't care, and never really did. If it's degrading, don't do it.
In any event, you can't speak out of both sides of your mouth, because it's bound to come crashing back into your ass. Feminists were pressuring the Swedish government, as if to imply that women fully volunteering to compete in these things were the same as roosters being forced to fight to the death. They are not, irrespective of what "Inga the man-hater" has to say about it.
Keeping on topic (in case you've forgotten, Stupid is the topic), Miss Tanzania, Flaviana Matata, an electrical technician whose country is participating for the first time, is also challenging stereotypes of beauty with her shaved head. "I never let anyone define me neither by hair nor clothing as I believe God made me perfect as a pure, natural African woman," she said.
Honey, it's a beauty contest. If you were told this was some sort of International Jeopardy competition, you were told wrong. If this were an English grammar class, you'd be getting an "F" for sentence structure and syntax. Given that this is indeed what it is, the fact remains you are judged on your appearance, whether you want to be or not. You can be pure, African, natural, hairless, and give your little "All I want is world peace and kindness to puppy dogs" speech...but it doesn't change the fact that you're judged by what you look like in an evening gown and a swimsuit.
Sorry I had to be the one to tell you...someone should have clued you in earlier.
And lastly, we have Miss Jamaica, 25-year-old Zahra Redwood, the contest's first Rastafarian and the first to appear in dreadlocks. She wants judges to see her as a "Rastafarian promoting the message of peace, love and unity throughout mankind."
Hmmmm...peace through hairstyles. She better get with Miss Tanzania and coordinate their stories. What is best for humanity, Telly Savalas or Bob Marley? While you contemplate the pro's and con's of Vidal Sasoon and the Schick Double Trac, somebody give me a hefty bag full of "Tums", cuz I think I'm gonna be sick to my stomach.
By the way, what's a Rastafarian? Someone from Rastafa?
I know...I know. It's a nice word for "stoner".
Pahhss dee ganga, mahn.
Miss Sweden withdrew because of nationalistic feelings. It seems Sweden - home to 50 years of pornographic movies once referred to as "Swedish Films" **wink **wink, and long-known as the original home of porn, has objected to this "exploitation". Sweden - the bastion of neutrality that has allowed virtually every tyrannical regime in modern history to pounce all over their neighbors Finland and Denmark in times of world war. Remember the Nazi's? Sweden - the nation that indeed held a Miss Sweden contest a couple of months ago to determine who would represent their country - has declared that the Miss Universe pageant is degrading to women. I have no idea if it is or isn't, mostly because I haven't sat and watched one of those things in about 40 years. I don't care, and never really did. If it's degrading, don't do it.
In any event, you can't speak out of both sides of your mouth, because it's bound to come crashing back into your ass. Feminists were pressuring the Swedish government, as if to imply that women fully volunteering to compete in these things were the same as roosters being forced to fight to the death. They are not, irrespective of what "Inga the man-hater" has to say about it.
Keeping on topic (in case you've forgotten, Stupid is the topic), Miss Tanzania, Flaviana Matata, an electrical technician whose country is participating for the first time, is also challenging stereotypes of beauty with her shaved head. "I never let anyone define me neither by hair nor clothing as I believe God made me perfect as a pure, natural African woman," she said.
Honey, it's a beauty contest. If you were told this was some sort of International Jeopardy competition, you were told wrong. If this were an English grammar class, you'd be getting an "F" for sentence structure and syntax. Given that this is indeed what it is, the fact remains you are judged on your appearance, whether you want to be or not. You can be pure, African, natural, hairless, and give your little "All I want is world peace and kindness to puppy dogs" speech...but it doesn't change the fact that you're judged by what you look like in an evening gown and a swimsuit.
Sorry I had to be the one to tell you...someone should have clued you in earlier.
And lastly, we have Miss Jamaica, 25-year-old Zahra Redwood, the contest's first Rastafarian and the first to appear in dreadlocks. She wants judges to see her as a "Rastafarian promoting the message of peace, love and unity throughout mankind."
Hmmmm...peace through hairstyles. She better get with Miss Tanzania and coordinate their stories. What is best for humanity, Telly Savalas or Bob Marley? While you contemplate the pro's and con's of Vidal Sasoon and the Schick Double Trac, somebody give me a hefty bag full of "Tums", cuz I think I'm gonna be sick to my stomach.
By the way, what's a Rastafarian? Someone from Rastafa?
I know...I know. It's a nice word for "stoner".
Pahhss dee ganga, mahn.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Don't forget to r-e-m-e-m-b-e-r
Travis. Left us 12/9/2006
M a few days ago. He needed a ride, and was offered one on an Apache. His fee? Play door gunner.While grilling your hamburgers and dogs, drinking your beer, and laughing it up with your friends and family...try to be cognizant of the fact that you have Monday off for a reason, and it's not because your boss was being nice to you.
It's because this man and his daughter are now - and have for 250 years - been shouldering the burden of courage in your absence.
Yeah, yeah, you're welcome.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Snapshots
For those of you under 27 years of age reading this:
A "snapshot" is what you would refer to as a 15 bit, 296 pixel, digitally enhanced, bi-matrixally loaded, semi-interchangeable, polarized composite image on your Cingular A-68 Top Shot cell phone and portable myspace device that you can't seem to separate from your friggin' ear long enough to pay for your Red Bull - sugar-free of course....unless it's your parents calling - then you act as if you never heard it, and let it go to voicemail.
For the rest of us...a "snapshot" is a photographic image in your brain.
But I digress - again.
When a person reaches middle age, memories become big. Yes, I know memories are just as precious to a teen, a new parent, or even a 10 year old. But not as important as they are to the people who are starting to lose the ability to create their own memories, and are now dependent upon children and grandchildren to produce the memories for them. Anyone who's been on the earth more than a minute or so knows most of these memories aren't actual movies, with talking and sequential action happening inside one's head. Instead, they come to us as 'snapshots', single photographic images that we apply to our consciousness and bond them together with a thing we call love.
Below are some of my snapshots.
**I was in the little league baseball championship game. I was 12, in my second-to-last year of LL, the starting shortstop and combined with the next year, I was to be a two-time All-Star. There were two outs in the first inning, but the other team had runners on 2nd and 3rd. A BIIIIIG kid was up at the plate, and he smashed a screaming ground ball towards me, and I clearly remember being so afraid of the speed of this ball, I kind of stepped to the side and made a weak attempt the grab it on the forehand side.
I did not.
Both runs scored and we eventually lost, 3-2. The next year we played the same team - won the championship - and I was part of the rarest of LL feats - the double play. As a matter of fact, we turned two 6-4-3 double plays, quite the accomplishment since in LL it's only 30 feet from home to first base, and nearly impossible to get the batter in a double play. But we did - I did - twice. And we won what we had failed to the previous year.
My snapshot: Winning the championship, right? Ummm, no. Stepping aside in fear instead of squaring up and taking that 100 mph ground ball....that is the snapshot I'm stuck with, like it or not.
**My Dad throwing passes to us kids in backyard football games. He sure did throw a pretty spiral back then. We used to catch it, then have to do an acrobatic move to avoid breaking our legs on the 3 foot drop off into the neighbor's back yard. Hand-eye coordination and good foot skills were at a premium in those games.
**Throwing a rubber ball against the steps of my parents house, hour after hour after hour...learning how to throw different pitches and catch balls that bounced back to me. The ones where I struck the very edge of the step always came back the hardest, making over the head and diving catches the rule of the day. I sure do miss doing that.
**All the neighborhood kids standing around in the rain, dancing, singing, and romping to the radio announcement that the long-suffering Red Sox had won the 1967 American League Pennant. They would lose the World Series in 7 games, but the loss is not my snapshot. The joy in the rain is.
**My brother sitting on my sister's wedding cake mere hours before the ceremony.
**My sister baby-sitting for the rest of us wild idiots, and putting her hand threw a plate glass door window while trying to keep me from going outside.
**Getting caught by my mom's sister (my Aunt) hosting a rather rowdy party for my high school friends when my parents were away. Ooops.
**Basic Training...wearing a uniform and getting to be a soldier for the first time...a sensation and joy that has not left me to this day.
**Watching the amniotic fluid come rushing out in a waterfall-like affect, 2 seconds before I saw my daughter - my first child - come out and say hello.
**Missing movement for a 60- day deployment to the desert because of my first son's birth.
**Weeping openly at what my wife had created in birthing my second son.
**Hitting the dirt and peeing my pants the first time I was in the middle of an artillery battle. For those in the bungee-jumping crowd who like to experience everything - take it from me - you might want to take a pass on this one.
**Seeing the look and pride on the faces of my mom and dad when they watched both boys play competitive soccer games on the same day they saw their granddaughter AND great granddaughter on the sidelines as well. Four generations represented in the same place and time.
These are some of my many snapshots, melding together as I get older, yet each trying desperately to hang onto their own place; their own individuality. They are mine to keep...no one can wrench them away from me...nothing can taint or ruin them. And only I can choose to delete or save them.
As I reflect on these any many other things, I'm struck by the fact that I am again afraid. The ball racing towards me at lightning speed is life itself. My life; the life of my loved ones; family. It's up to me to stand in front of the ball and square up. It's up to me to bend my knees and lay my glove down, knowing at any second the ball may take a bad hop and hit me right in the mouth. Will this particular grounder be a double play or a two run error?
I wish I could tell you, but I don't know either.
A "snapshot" is what you would refer to as a 15 bit, 296 pixel, digitally enhanced, bi-matrixally loaded, semi-interchangeable, polarized composite image on your Cingular A-68 Top Shot cell phone and portable myspace device that you can't seem to separate from your friggin' ear long enough to pay for your Red Bull - sugar-free of course....unless it's your parents calling - then you act as if you never heard it, and let it go to voicemail.
For the rest of us...a "snapshot" is a photographic image in your brain.
But I digress - again.
When a person reaches middle age, memories become big. Yes, I know memories are just as precious to a teen, a new parent, or even a 10 year old. But not as important as they are to the people who are starting to lose the ability to create their own memories, and are now dependent upon children and grandchildren to produce the memories for them. Anyone who's been on the earth more than a minute or so knows most of these memories aren't actual movies, with talking and sequential action happening inside one's head. Instead, they come to us as 'snapshots', single photographic images that we apply to our consciousness and bond them together with a thing we call love.
Below are some of my snapshots.
**I was in the little league baseball championship game. I was 12, in my second-to-last year of LL, the starting shortstop and combined with the next year, I was to be a two-time All-Star. There were two outs in the first inning, but the other team had runners on 2nd and 3rd. A BIIIIIG kid was up at the plate, and he smashed a screaming ground ball towards me, and I clearly remember being so afraid of the speed of this ball, I kind of stepped to the side and made a weak attempt the grab it on the forehand side.
I did not.
Both runs scored and we eventually lost, 3-2. The next year we played the same team - won the championship - and I was part of the rarest of LL feats - the double play. As a matter of fact, we turned two 6-4-3 double plays, quite the accomplishment since in LL it's only 30 feet from home to first base, and nearly impossible to get the batter in a double play. But we did - I did - twice. And we won what we had failed to the previous year.
My snapshot: Winning the championship, right? Ummm, no. Stepping aside in fear instead of squaring up and taking that 100 mph ground ball....that is the snapshot I'm stuck with, like it or not.
**My Dad throwing passes to us kids in backyard football games. He sure did throw a pretty spiral back then. We used to catch it, then have to do an acrobatic move to avoid breaking our legs on the 3 foot drop off into the neighbor's back yard. Hand-eye coordination and good foot skills were at a premium in those games.
**Throwing a rubber ball against the steps of my parents house, hour after hour after hour...learning how to throw different pitches and catch balls that bounced back to me. The ones where I struck the very edge of the step always came back the hardest, making over the head and diving catches the rule of the day. I sure do miss doing that.
**All the neighborhood kids standing around in the rain, dancing, singing, and romping to the radio announcement that the long-suffering Red Sox had won the 1967 American League Pennant. They would lose the World Series in 7 games, but the loss is not my snapshot. The joy in the rain is.
**My brother sitting on my sister's wedding cake mere hours before the ceremony.
**My sister baby-sitting for the rest of us wild idiots, and putting her hand threw a plate glass door window while trying to keep me from going outside.
**Getting caught by my mom's sister (my Aunt) hosting a rather rowdy party for my high school friends when my parents were away. Ooops.
**Basic Training...wearing a uniform and getting to be a soldier for the first time...a sensation and joy that has not left me to this day.
**Watching the amniotic fluid come rushing out in a waterfall-like affect, 2 seconds before I saw my daughter - my first child - come out and say hello.
**Missing movement for a 60- day deployment to the desert because of my first son's birth.
**Weeping openly at what my wife had created in birthing my second son.
**Hitting the dirt and peeing my pants the first time I was in the middle of an artillery battle. For those in the bungee-jumping crowd who like to experience everything - take it from me - you might want to take a pass on this one.
**Seeing the look and pride on the faces of my mom and dad when they watched both boys play competitive soccer games on the same day they saw their granddaughter AND great granddaughter on the sidelines as well. Four generations represented in the same place and time.
These are some of my many snapshots, melding together as I get older, yet each trying desperately to hang onto their own place; their own individuality. They are mine to keep...no one can wrench them away from me...nothing can taint or ruin them. And only I can choose to delete or save them.
As I reflect on these any many other things, I'm struck by the fact that I am again afraid. The ball racing towards me at lightning speed is life itself. My life; the life of my loved ones; family. It's up to me to stand in front of the ball and square up. It's up to me to bend my knees and lay my glove down, knowing at any second the ball may take a bad hop and hit me right in the mouth. Will this particular grounder be a double play or a two run error?
I wish I could tell you, but I don't know either.
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