August 30, 2003
West Side Market
We decided to make a trip down to the historic West Side Market. We didn't have any plans to get anything in particular, but it seemed like a good place to start the weekend. On the way down, after making the obligatory stop at Starbuck's for mochas, we decided that we would pick up some pierogis and fresh pasta. The wife decided that she would head off among the vendors in search of the pasta and I would wander over to Pierogi Palace with the self-acclaimed "World's Best Pierogis."
Before we got to that juncture, however, we made our way through the produce vendors outside and through the rear door of the building. I always make this mistake. I apologize to fish afficionados everywhere, but why do fishmongers arrange each fish so that thousands and thousands of fish eyes stare at me, watching me with their fish mouths smirking, some showing their little fish teeth, as I walk past the fish stands? Nobody else walking through notices this phenomenon -- and I'm not crazy. Don't tell me that I am because when I was crazy, I could hear the fish talking about me.
I jostled for position at the Pierogi Palace counter, waiting for the bleached-silver-blonde sixtyish woman to finish with the woman who had been there before me. The woman paid the lady behind the counter the $16 for her two dozen; and the lady behind the counter looked at me, inviting me to speak.
I asked her for a half dozen potato-and-cheese. She said that she was out of those. I told her that I wanted a half dozen ricotta cheese, which she retrieved and put in a plastic bag, slapping a small label on the bag. She looked at me again.
"Half a dozen potato, please."
"What kind?" she asked.
Now, you are sitting there reading this thinking that she didn't hear me over the din of the thousands and thousands of people packed into the building on this Saturday of the holiday weekend. And that is what I thought, too.
"Umm ... potatoe," I said, thinking that she might be a Republican and adding the "e" to the end would be appropriate.
Stupid, stupid me. I added fuel to the fire. She was, first of all, upset because she was out of potato-and-cheese. She snarled, "What kind of potato? We have more than one kind." I heard "you fucking moron," but her lips did not move much at all. She pointed to the array of pierogis in the glass case with hand-written little cards indicating the myriad of potato pierogis. Then it happened. She yelled, "Come on! We don't have all day, mister!"
What was I supposed to do? I didn't dare ask her what "French Potato" actually was. Or German Potato. Then there was Sweet Potato, Yukon Gold Pot./Fresh Parsley, another five varieties of "Yukon Gold Pot" that I didn't have time to read.
Then I saw "Potato (Plain);" so, I blurted out, "Potato plain."
She shook her head, since she was right about me being a fucking moron, getting plain potato pierogis when I could have gotten potato/bacon/cheddar, potato/onion, potato/parmesan, potato/roasted garlic, or potato/sour cream & chive.
She said, obviously disgusted by my imbecility, "There's the menu ... for next time," pointing to the Pierogi Palace menu.
Next time, I'll call ahead.
August 29, 2003
The Big Black-Out and Golf
I played golf the other day. The event was for charity and it was called a "scramble." A "scramble" is played thus: Each golfer hits his or her own ball (I say "his or her" because there are courses where, if you want to win, you get a good woman golfer who then is allowed to hit from the forward or "ladies" tees; and on many holes, that creates a huge advantage. Like the other day, the three guys I was playing with probably wished that they had asked a woman to play instead of me. Aaah, bite me -- everyone has a bad day.) The golfers then pick the best shot and each hits a ball from that spot. The process is repeated until one of them hits a ball into the hole.
In any event, I guess I havern't had enough practice. The three of them were whining that I never practice, which is true. As a general rule, I do not go to the golf range and hit dozens and dozens of golf balls. My philosophy is that each person is born with a limited number of good shots. Hitting practice shots at some guy driving around on a tractor covered with chicken wire with some kind of lawn-mower-like, ball-scooping device attached to it (That is the only thing I do at the golf range; otherwise, what is the fun about hitting golf balls? I wish they had those tractors on the course.) wastes those good shots with which you are born. (You golfers out there are probably snickering about this theory of mine. I am right about this. Do you want examples? Ian Baker Finch. Bill Rogers. Tom Weiskopf.)
Apparently, a guy named William S. (why cause him further embarassment?) does not subscribe to my theory on golf and practice, either. Many people were affected by the electrical power failure on August 14. We were without power for 17 hours. One of my golfing buddies in the "scramble" was without electricity for 10 minutes. Another guy in the foursome had his power back on within a couple hours.
Why wasn't power restored to us sooner than 17 hours? There is a generating plant along the lake shore not more than three miles away. You would think we would have been back on line in minutes. Heck, I can see the smoke stack from the second floor of the house.
I found the reason. It seems that William S. was staying at his parents' house when the power went out. Whether he was crazy or just plain angry because he couldn't watch the rest of Dr. Phil, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
He took out his dad's golf clubs and golf balls and started hitting golf balls from the back yard, across the railroad tracks (yes, those railroad tracks), right into the power company's electrical sub-station. The dumb fuck not only exhausted his father's supply of golf balls, both practice balls and brand-new Titleists (which could have cost up to $48 per dozen), but caused several thousand dollars worth of damage to the transmission equipment and glass insulators.
He got charged with two felonies -- vandalism and disruption of a public utility and could face up to two years in prison. If he subscribed to my theory, well ...
THE FRIDGE AND THE FIREMEN
ok. so what happens is lucy posts her dare. her comments section tells the next part of the story. i've condensed them and put them in order here:
ok. it's time, bill. people are embarrassed for you now. it's not just me. have you no shame?
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 03:14 PM
On Billy Day everyone should wear golf shirts cuz y'know, it could be about golf, but it's usually not.
Comon Billy...
Move that fridge!
Move that fridge!
Move that fridge!
Posted by Kathy at March 12, 2003 03:26 PM
ohmygod!!! the dolly is being dragged into the house as i am typing. it's in the basement!!!!!!!!!
it sounds like it's being banged ... not sure ... he's coming up ... now down ... lots of banging ... creepy quiet ......
some dull thumping ... throwing stuff around ... scraping ... rolling sounds ... can't tell if there's anything on it ... more throwing of stuff ... the dull noises again ... a long time of quiet ... scraping ... more throwing ... scraping ... noise at the steps ... ohmygod .. it just may be happening!!! more noise on the steps ... stuff falling ... i hear the dolly, but is it alone? nothing ... footsteps ... a man just went out to the garage. i think i'm going to throw up -- more (?) later.
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 05:32 PM
the dolly is back up here sans refrigerator. but bill is back down the basement ... more noises on the steps ... throwing stuff ... wait -- i'm going to go look ... maybe not .. might jinx the whole thing ... no -- i'll look ... brb ... ok, i'm really scared now ... the dolly is at the top of the steps ... bill is at the bottom of the steps with the refrigerator, but he appears to be trying to tie up the refrigerator for some reason with an outdoor electrical extension cord ??? ... i must not speak, must not question -- he will blow. i know, i know he SEEMS like kind of a mellow guy, but HE IS NOT!!! scraping ... no swearing or yelling yet ... that is a good sign, right? noises ... i am so afraid. why, lucy, why did you dare him to do this? more throwing ... he cannot be dragging the fridge up the steps with an extension cord, can he? can he? no ... scraping ... very loud bang/thump .. another small one ... loud bang ... very, very loud bang ... but no swearing ... the dogs are asking me what's going on ... how can i reassure them ... betsy sounds like she's hyperventilating ... no -- that's me -- she's ok ... bangs ... i need a paper bag. pray to whoever you pray to!
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 05:50 PM
I guess I should be cheering along with the crowd here, huh? Go, Billy, go!!!
Posted by PatCH at March 12, 2003 05:55 PM
i looked down the steps ... the extension cord is off, and it looks like he's got it tied up with the dogs' leashes ... this may work better ... bill is now trapped at the bottom of the steps -- he has removed his shirt ... he has a crazy look on his face ... i'm still afraid to speak ... he may be trapped down there ... i can't figure out what he's planning ... is it to PUSH THE REFRIGERATOR UP THE STEPS? nobody's hyperventilating, but the dogs are experiencing a powerful bout of stress farting ...
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 06:04 PM
no swearing, he's just quietly talking to himself ... i'm afraid to move.
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 06:05 PM
he hit the freon line on something ... freon is escaping into the house ... the fire department is on the way ... bill is furious at me.
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 06:16 PM
I knew he'd come up with some excuse.... "hit the freon line"..uh huh...
Oh no! That's terrible! Hope everything is okay!
Posted by lucy at March 12, 2003 06:19 PM
the fire dept is gone. the big tanker, three firemen in full gear, 2 police cars, and an ambulance. they misunderstood the call, thought bill was UNDER the fridge. investigated, checked gas levels, petted the dogs, giggled a lot, made us vent the house -- it's 40 degrees out there! but they think we'll be ok. fire chief told bill to get it out another day, but he's at it again.
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 06:50 PM
he's upstairs. it's over. the fridge has won again. he's not happy -- said" "i need another person. i hope my back's ok."
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 06:56 PM
And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street....
ROTFLMAO.
Posted by lucy at March 12, 2003 06:58 PM
holy ordeal batman!!
Posted by mark at March 12, 2003 07:26 PM
Billy, I want witnesses. Where was Jackson when all this was taking place. Witnesses ... always have good witnesses.
;-)
Posted by Kathy at March 12, 2003 07:57 PM
he's furious -- our little burb puts these things in the paper, honest to god this is true. but matt didn't believe it either. jackson says write a screenplay -- thinks steve martin might be interested. honest to GOD -- this is my life. he SEEMS kind of smart, doesn't he?
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 08:02 PM
jax left for a meeting at 6:05 -- EASTERN TIME. so that would be 5:05 HERE on lucy's site. i was i-ming with lucy when fire dept was here. i HOPE SHE BELIEVES ME. i know the whole thing seems crazy -- but it is true!
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 08:06 PM
LOL.
Is there video of this footage? A police report we can review? Looking for some evidence. If I have to don a freakin golf shirt this best be for real.
:-)
Posted by Kathy at March 12, 2003 08:09 PM
i'm gonna cry soon if people don't believe me. it's hard enough to have to deal with this shit. i am so pissed i didn't take pictures of the firemen. and all the rescue vehicles. please, please believe me.
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 08:24 PM
I believe you, stacey. And I haven't laughed that hard in I-don't-know-when...
Seriously: fire trucks and ambulance and police cars and then they left and then Billy got on IM and started bitching FIRST THING about how it was going to be in the paper... I told him I want a picture of that fridge outside before I'll believe it's truly out..but here's the funny thing: Billy says, "So I'm on the GE site.."
Fucking freon going everywhere and Billy gets on the web to look it up.
Now that is funny.
Posted by lucy at March 12, 2003 08:27 PM
ohmygods my sides hurt from laughing!
Posted by Kathy at March 12, 2003 08:49 PM
How did Billy get conned into this? If I would have only known about it, I could have tried to talk him out of it, it is at the least a two man job.
Posted by boz at March 12, 2003 08:54 PM
boz. i read your comment to billy; and he said, "one of the guys i used to golf with was in the world's strongest man competition, dave something. and one of the events was a one-man refrigerator move." this is how this man -- oops i WAS going to say "thinks." silly me.
Posted by stacey at March 12, 2003 08:59 PM
you realize you *have* to go to the fireman's ball now. support the local public services. i mean, they saved you from freon for gods sake. maybe the ferret could volunteer to be their mascot. you could get him a little doll sized firemans hat and jacket. a mini truck...the hook and ladder style.
you know, just to show your support.
Posted by Kathy at March 12, 2003 09:08 PM
I hear there's a website that will tell you how to extricate that refrigerator with duct tape and leaky radiator hose.
caveat hernia
Posted by Metta at March 12, 2003 10:03 PM
BWAHAHAHA.....Metta!
Posted by lucy at March 12, 2003 10:05 PM
Damn, Stacey, that was the funniest blow-by-blow description I've heard in a long time. Sorry it had to come at Bill's expense, but I had a good guffaw this morning. Thanks!
Posted by Dan at March 13, 2003 08:45 AM
the next day, lucy posts this.
after all is said and done, the fridge is gone. he got it out the next day.
a couple of weeks ago, one of the burners on our stove blew. we're looking for a new stove. this one's going in the basement.
August 28, 2003
THE REFRIGERATOR
I'M CHEATING HERE AND REPOSTING SOMETHING FROM MY OLD BLOG SITE. THIS POST PROMPTED LUCY TO DARE BILL TO GET THE BEAST OUT OF THE BASEMENT. I THINK KATHY HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT, TOO. HE DECIDED HE WOULD FINALLY DO IT. THE EVENING ENDED WITH A CALL TO THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. THEY BROUGHT THE BIG PUMPER, AN AMBULANCE, AND THREE (OR WAS IT FOUR?) POLICE CARS. I'VE ALSO INCLUDED A COUPLE OF THE COMMENTS FROM THIS POST.
bill's bugging me about when i'm going to update my blog. he says it's cuz he likes my writing, but he can't fool me. i know what he's looking for. he wants a contest. he thinks that i think he was "just being nice" putting that counter on my blog. whatever. i'll show him. i'm gonna write about the refrigerator.
the refrigerator in our kitchen died, oh, i don't know... MAYBE 10 YEARS AGO. and so bill somehow -- my memory fades -- transferred this refrigerator to the basement. i think he needed to make sure it was dead, and the only way to do that is to do what he does with EVERYTHING in the house HE wants to make sure is destroyed (the basement floods over and over again) is to PUT IT IN THE BASEMENT. so after a year or so, when he was sure it was dead and not coming back, i asked him (i'm sure i asked him nicely the first two or three hundred times -- i can't be sure about the next SEVERAL THOUSAND) if we could, please, please get it out of the basement and trash it. "sure. i'll do it."
at some point (maybe in year three. up to that point, it was just laziness), this became a contest of wills. a contest i have to admit that i AM losing. bill says "sure" EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME I ASK. or demand. whatever. i'm entitled. tell me i'm not.
but... goddamn it. sometime in year 9 or 10, the refrigerator started making noises like it was TRYING to work. but then stopped again AFTER THE LAST FLOOD. you ask him why he's kept the thing plugged in all these years -- i'm not getting into that fight. maybe it has something to do with the directive he gave me about how if he was ever in a coma, i was NOT to accede to any pressure to disconnect ANYTHING. he'll die when he's good and ready. so, you see why i won't bring THIS up to him. it will just be an excuse for him to maintain a philosophical position on this. like "i won't be responsible for disconnecting the fridge. it's in a coma."
and it's not like he needs to schedule somebody to come over to help him. well for sure NOW he doesn't. the "kids" are 17, 21, and 22. when the fridge was first moved to the basement, they were A LOT younger, so, yeah, he probably did need help.
so. here's my problem. i need you (all three of you, and that's probably counting bill) to go to his site, and leave a comment to get the fucking, dead thing outa the g-d basement. i know we'll need the haz-mat team to inspect it (at least SOME OF the living organisms inside of it must be toxic). i promise never to bring it up again. he will have WON the refrigerator war, right? is that not enough? does he want to KILL me?
THE COMMENTS:
lmFao! hahahaha.
you see, there are several reasons why the fridge must stay downstairs.
i present you with the top ten:
1. you're right about the coma.
2. it's heavy.
3. when we're home from school, we want to spend quality time with YOU, not the stupid refridgerator!
4. decor - we want the basement to look like an haunted mental hospital, and it's in the area where the kitchen or operating room used to be (we haven't decided yet - we're still waiting on the rusted gurney).
5. storage. we know how obsessed you are with storage space, and we can't bear to throw away such a unique storage unit!
6. pete called us and told us he wanted us to hang on to it. his next rock-opera involves a song set in an 80's kitchen and he wants to use it as a prop.
7. it costs less to keep it in the basement than to haul it somewhere - we're acting on orders from management, man.
8. the dude wouldn't take it out, so why should we?
9. it left no living will or power of attorney.
10. we're just too damn lazy.
Comment By: matt 1/29/2003 12:57:00 AM
***
The Dude abides.
Comment By: Billy 1/30/2003 12:30:00 AM
Any Progress?
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
-- The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., August 28, 1963.
August 27, 2003
WEIRDNESS AND BLOGGING
i’ve been asked the question “why do you blog” many times now. we all have. you can’t answer it simply. there are so many reasons. i started surfing blogs about 2 years ago when i discovered dooce’s site. her links led me all over. matt and mel started a blog around that time, and matt set me up with one; but i didn’t have a clue what i was supposed to do with it. don’t know what the heck happened to it – never touched it.
i loved reading the blogs (well some of them) just cuz i love reading people’s stories. some “trivial,” some important stuff. it all interests me. unless the blog is mean. or arrogant. or immature. or stupid. or icky. you know what i mean. but i’m not getting into that snooty debate about the value or non-value of some blogs. i just figure if i don’t like it, i’m gone. and i hope others have the same reaction here. as i’ve said before, it’s a big www, if you don’t like what you find here, look somewhere else. i’m not looking to attract a big audience – i’m writing for me and my family mostly. and if we’ve come across some really neat people doing this, great!
but...
at the wedding, our friend (well, he’s really matt and mark’s friend) brett asked “which one is –d?” i knew EXACTLY to whom he was referring -- -d of www.kirkwoodinn.blogspot.com. brett has been “trolling” at our sites for the past couple of months and has seen -d’s name on many comments. he assumed we know her. personally. in person. in reality. i told him that we had never met -d, we only knew her from blogworld. and some i-m’s. so we know her, but we don’t KNOW her. he was completely taken aback. we talked about kazoofus, michelle, and others at that point. brett could NOT believe that we did not “know” these people. YOU people.
you see, he just thought it was “weird” the way we are so open on our sites. he told me he felt like he was eavesdropping when he first started reading, but that he wouldn’t feel that way anymore as he REALLY knows us. as opposed to “just” knowing who we are REALLY first before, if ever, we meet.
brett has known jax for a good long time (jax and brett’s younger brother were buddies when they were in early elementary school) but learned for the first time about jax’s addiction and recovery on jax’s site. he learned that mark was MOVING IN WITH KT. i think he was a little shocked at that, too. he’s always known about our politics, but i’m sure he’s learned more about bill and me than he was anticipating.
i asked brett when bill and i saw him a couple days after the wedding, “so, brett, are we like the weirdest people you know?” he replied, “pretty much, but with you guys it IS basically “nothingbutlove.” thanks, brett.
but the blogging thing. yeah, it is weird. i know that combining my site and bill’s is more than a little odd, as we approach this thing so differently. hope you’ll be tolerant of that. skip over my grey stuff if you want and go directly to bill’s black stuff. or vice versa.
this post didn’t come out the way i wanted – shoulda made an outline. but you know what i mean. cuz you know me.
Alas ...
I used the word, alas, today in talking to someone, who said she had been seeing and hearing the word a lot this week, too much, in fact.
I promised her that I would never use it when speaking to her. I got to wondering, though, from whence did the word come.
Shakespeare used it in lamenting about Yorick -- so, the word was in use since at least the time I was in ninth grade. That's when we read the play; and if getting a play published is anything like getting a book or story published today, Shakespeare must have written the story some time before we read it. I'm surprised the guy got the book published at all, what with needing more fucking footnotes to understand it than a Supreme Court opinion.
I looked the word up. It's an interjection, according to Webster, "an exclamation expressive of sorrow, pity, or apprehension of evil"
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition, says much the same thing, especially, that "apprehension of danger or evil" part of the definition. Of course, that's why the guy holding Yorick's skull said it. There was evil portent in that skull. Same as the witches in that other play by the same guy.
The etymology of the word -- or is it "entomology," I can never remember -- one has to do with words and one has to do with bugs -- whichever one it is, now you know what I mean --
Anyway, the origin of the word, "alas," an old English word, is apparently from the French word, helas, meaning "ah, miserable," which doesn't sound anything like Les Miserables, but which comes from the Latin lassus, meaning weary. I think there is a Greek word, lass, which is kind of the same as Latin, but only further over on the map, which means something like "lazy."
Well, that doesn't tell us much about "alas." I don't get the "evil" part of the usage. Just where does that come in?
If I say, e.g. (that means "for example," which is not really the same as "i.e.," which means, "that is," although some people don't know the difference -- more Latin crap or Greek shit -- whatever -- alas, it's the "e" that is confusing), "I wanted to buy the movie, The Little Mermaid, but, alas, it is now out of print until the year 2016," there's nothing evil about that. I am just lamenting the fact that Disney plays that "back in the Disney vault" game just to fu... well, wait ... that mermaid movie is the movie with the male sex organ drawn on the cover of the DVD case -- so, maybe there is some "evil" there.
I can see how this whole "alas" thing can get a little unnerving, not knowing if the speaker has a fear of something evil or is just sorrowful -- or pitiful.
I vow never to use the word again. I will keep my old English use to another four-letter word.
happy birthdays!
it's michelle's birthday today. go wish her a good one!
and kt's, too!
sorry for the crummy gif (although it would have been perfect for you, mark!). internet service was down here all evening yesterday. and i waited to the last minute.
enjoy your day girls!
August 26, 2003
The Tow
I called at noon about a tow for the white Volkswagen Beetle with the "The Who" sticker on the back bumper, which had a glitch of some sort in its computer and would not start. Doesn't it figure that you spend an arm and half a leg on fixing the computers, oxygen sensor, plutonium-powered generator, and some other stuff; and a month later, they are there looking to take the rest of the leg.
The tow truck guy showed up, as promised, "within an hour" (That's tow truck lingo, I guess.) at 2:30 with a 23,000 pound (10,000 kilo) flatbed truck to carry the Beetle to its ultimate destination. Of course, I made the mistake of telling everyone involved that I had to make the 50-mile trip to Sandusky by 3:30. After the third call to the repair department at the car dealer, someone there finally believed me when I said I needed a rental car and that I would pay for it.
I digress here, but this is a temporal displacement of facts of a minor magnitude because the tow (which is the title) is what the story is about. When I arrived at the VW dealer, the rental car guy pounced on me with all the paperwork, having me sign here and here and here and initial there and here and over here. Since when do you get a 2004 Dodge Ram 1500 4X4 SLT extended cab, fully-appointed pick-up truck when you drop off a VW Beetle, especially one with "The Who" sticker on it. This is a huge fucking truck. Whether it would fit in the garage and whether I had to turn into the "Trucks and Busses" lot of the turnpike rest stop would be answered later.
On the turnpike, I passed a Ford F-150 pick-up and waved to the driver, for we had much in common now, except mine was much bigger, extended even, which worked very well under severe conditions with greater power and which had a greater capacity to handle the long haul. I'm sure that on cold nights spent all alone in need of getting to the Heights (that's an area higher than the Flats), I had greater cranking power to get that engine up and firing.
He gave me the finger. Nice. Whatever.
Sorry, I was largely distracted got side-tracked. Where were we ... oh yeah ... the flat bed with the chains.
The tow guy arrived with his flatbed tow truck and hauled the disabled Beetle up the tilted bed.
Barry, the tow truck guy, is 48 years old. He and his wife, who is 47, by the way, have three children. His youngest daughter was born two days after his 22-year-old daughter was married last year. Yes, his youngest daughter is 15 months old. Barry claims that there is a huge difference between disposable diapers now as opposed to 20 years ago. But it is, he claims, much easier raising an infant now, having had the benefit of much hindsight and being financially secure.
Barry's 17-year-old son will be graduating from high school; and, of course, Barry wants him to go to college and does not want him to be a tow truck driver. Barry's son was taken aback, it seems, by Barry's demand, pointing out that Barry is a tow truck driver and has a college degree. Barry decided to leave the rat race in 1989, having been a chemical engineer for over 20 years. He liked the towing business -- and he didn't take "plastic;" so, we pulled into the bank so I could get some cash.
We talked about the increase in violence in society -- he didn't think that the Justice Department statistics were accurate and doesn't believe that video games and movies are the cause of increased violence. It's just the way societies evolve, he said, pointing to the rise in violence in the latter history of the Roman Empire, along with the increase in the spread of diseases in that period as compared to the spread of incurable and/or untreatable diseases now, such as hepatitis, AIDS, West Nile virus, Ebola, although he said that the dangers from the latter two are overblown by the government to cover up its ineptitude in the research for the cure for AIDS inasmuch as that disease was designated by Reagan and Bush the First as the scourge of and cure for homosexuality.
We pulled into the VW dealer with the car on the flatbed. He filled out the invoice, figuring the tax, newly instituted last week, on his clipboard the old-fashioned way, without the aid of a calculator.
I paid him and thanked him and wished him well with his infant daughter and teenage son.
August 25, 2003
Where Are the Body Bags?
The report is that violent crime has decreased a bit over 2000 and 2001 figures; so now your chances of being raped, robbed, beaten, or murdered have decreased from 25 victims per 1,000 people to 23 per 1,000.
The Associated Press pointed that "Attorney General John Ashcroft credited citizens for being more willing to report crimes and said the numbers are a tribute to the work of police, prosecutors and judges across the country."
Now, this makes no sense to me, Mr. Ashcroft. If more people are reporting crimes; then, shouldn't the statistics tell us that more crimes were reported? Or are a bunch of people looking out their windows all calling the police and telling the dispatcher that little Johnny is getting the shit kicked out of him?
I just thought I'd ask.
And I understand that George Bush the Lesser is feeling pretty damn comfortable, fucking invincible, in fact, after the latest poll numbers came out today. It seems that 49 percent of Americans would not vote for George for President if the election were being held today and 44 percent would vote for him. Bush supporters have pointed out that this is exactly how the man got elected. In fact, I understand that many Florida voters are heading for the polls today to try to vote once again -- and once again, many will be turned away.
Does anybody have a clue about what the exit strategy for the Iraq war was before the invasion? How about now? I will point out one cold, hard fact that nobody else has brought to the floor. Every American soldier over there will be killed -- it will take a while, but the way things are going, it will happen. One, two, ten a day -- it'll take a while, but the way things are going, the U.S. will be an occupation force forever -- and everyone will die. I haven't seen many body bags on the evening news -- what, did that go out of style after the Viet Nam War?
Does anyone else wonder why the Iraqi army was disbanded? The lowly private or corporal conscript who was making a decent wage that he could send home to his family, trained to shoot and kill and follow orders, was sent home by the U.S. military without food, clothes, or money to provide for his family. How is he going to do that? Join the Iraqi version of the Crips? And use the skills he acquired in the military -- follow orders, shoot, and kill, and get food and money for it? Hmmmmm. ... Donnie! Donnie Rumsfeld! Is anyone home? Donnie, can you see me? Donnie, can you hear me?
If the Iraqi military had not been disbanded, the soldiers could be taking orders from Iraqi commanders picked by the U.S. military, guarding pipelines, water plants, electrical plants, oil refineries, earning a decent wage, quelling anti-American sentiment, giving the Iraqis the illusion of control. Hasn't George Bush seen The Matrix?
It's about money. Old line -- Follow the money. I used to think it was about the oil, but I admit that I was wrong.
Only Dick Cheney knows for sure, though. His old company, Halliburton, is probably holding that corner office for him -- he'll be back in that office, sitting pretty, pacemaker clicking away, in January, 2005. Maybe George the Lesser can run the pop stand in the basement of the building -- he's getting some good experience.
And you thought it was Nothing But Love.
TIME FLIES
when i spoke with the newlywed, matty, yesterday, he asked that i send him the marriage certificate that he gave us at the wedding to hold onto for him. got me to remembering.
i was 19 when i married bill in 1974. i worked as a secretary in an industrial design firm in downtown cleveland. i made $450 / month salary. thought it was big time. there used to be a very cool department store right across the street from our office – halle brothers. halle’s to most. mr. jing-a-ling’s place to greater clevelanders of a certain (read that older) age. i loved this store. everything about it. when i first got my job, i went over to halle’s and applied for my very own halle’s charge card. was very proud of it.
but when i married and took bill’s name, i was anxious for EVERYTHING to show my new name. so i called over to halle’s credit department and asked that my card be reissued with my married name. the lady on the other end of the phone said, “you’ll have to have your husband come in and reapply for the account. we don’t issue credit to married women, but you will be able to use your husband’s card.” i told her that i was the major earner in the household as my husband was still (and would likely continue to be) a college student. she told me that a wife’s income was irrelevant in a credit situation as a married woman’s employment and earnings status were considered temporary and likely to change if and when she became pregnant. i told her we would not be having children for quite a while until my husband completed his education. she said that didn’t matter.
yes, this was legal at the time. within a year, the laws changed. this kind of thing always gets me to thinking about how much “things” have changed in my lifetime.
most of the time, i don’t FEEL old. until i remember something like this.
August 24, 2003
Butterscotch Schnapps
It's Sunday. The grass is going dormant. It took a few years and a few families moving out, but I am slowly winning the turf war. I'm looking at the first six houses on the other side and the first four houses on our side of the street with the grass going dormant.
We went to an office barbecue yesterday. We brought Caramel Corn on the Cob. And one of the sales engineers (I don't know much about engineering sales, but he does have a line of bullshit every time I see him.) asked me what was in the caramel sauce. If I told him, he would have made a big deal about it because his brats whining kids were there. Cook the stuff for a half hour and the alcohol boils away, but how would I know that? He has a chemistry degree -- ethanol, boiling point, STP, whatever -- and I'm just a shyster lawyer.
Here's the recipe.
Caramel Corn on the Cob
Cook your corn on the cob any way you like, and then brush the following mixture on generously and add more from a squeeze bottle:
2 cups butter (1 pound)
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup butterscotch schnapps
1/2 teaspoon each salt and pepper
Melt butter in pot.
Add brown sugar, schnapps, salt & pepper and stir well.
Bring to boil. Watch carefully as it tends to bubble up and boil over (And you have this sticky mess in your burner and on your stove that burns your skin right off if you are stupid enough to touch it, thinking, "Oh, I wonder how that tastes.").
Reduce heat to a low simmer. Simmer for a half an hour, stirring occasionally. It will be the consistency of caramel sauce. Pour into squeeze bottle.
August 22, 2003
I'm a Fair Guy, But This Fuckin' Heat's Making Me Absolutely Crazy
I coached this guy's son in T-ball for a couple years. He helped me at practice few times. Granted, this was about 10 years ago. And his kids and my kids played hockey against each other and on the same team with each other as recently as three years ago.
I saw him yesterday. He was running in the 97-degree heat (Hey, Canadians!! I'd put that in Celsius, but I can't remember when I should subtract the 32, before or after multiplying by 5/9ths.) I have never seen him running before, but I think he is the kind of person who would run when it's 97 just to say that he did. It doesn't matter that he doesn't run on a regular basis.
He is the kind of guy who, when I have said hello to him at the store or on the street, he has ignored me. He has not acknowledged me at all. He acts like he doesn't know me.
I don't understand.
I saw him on the way to the doctor to get another shrink. He asked me about exercising. I told him that I did some running a couple hours before. He asked me if I was crazy, confirming my suspicion about the guy with the T-ball son; and I told him that I was kidding. He asked me whether I was eating. How was I supposed to answer that question?
"Like am I supposed to actually tell you that I had Ruffles potato chips and Diet Mountain Dew for breakfast?"
And he replied, "Yeah. So no appetite problems? You like eating?"
"Uhhh, ... yeah. I have been trying to lose some weight, though. Is that okay?"
We went on to other topics of interest, you know, "issues," in the psycho-vernacular, delving deep into my psyche, I guess. We talked about a lot of things, but I was careful not to tell him about one major thing.
He didn't need to know about that particular problem I have with browsing through the Levenger's catalog and website. Well, I suppose that browsing is not the real problem. The real problem is that the package from Levenger's was delivered by Federal Express (And yes, Fed Ex can get costly, but I figure that the plane with Tom Hanks on it went down and another crash isn't likely.) I got a nice pen ... and a couple other things. I also got a couple people birthday gifts and other stuff to keep around as potential gifts. As one of our blog friends said, "Christmas will be here before you know it." And that is a good excuse to browse through the catalog that came with the stuff that was delivered.
And I still have stuff stashed away for gifts from the last order.
Weird.
August 21, 2003
A Tuesday Interview on Thursday
I have been a fan of This Girl Thinks since I started with this blogging stuff, and now I get to answer her interview questions.
1. Why did I think you lived in California?
A: I know I told Joel at Pax Nortona that I'd help build his cabin in Mexico in a comment. You are on Joel's server; so, maybe you read that. Other than that, I don't know because I have never even been to California.
2. What is the greatest myth mainstream television projects about drug addiction?
Television gives people the idea that drug addicts have a certain appearance, that they talk a certain way, and that they can be picked out of a crowd. Not true. Drug addiction cuts across class, racial, and ethnic lines. And almost all addicts take showers and go to work.
3. What is a huge fact about addiction that everyone should know but the media never mentions?
Many of the media personalities we see and hear and read are addicts.
4. Even though we've been given the all clear to drink water out of the tap again, do you have a hard time doing so because 1) It's tastes like crap compared to bottled water, and/or 2) Ew, raw sewage?!
I have not had water out of the tap or from a drinking fountain yet. One of the guys I play golf with is the head of municipal utilities. He swears the water is the same as it was before the power failure, but that raw sewage thing really bothers me a lot.
5. If you could make one famous lawyer burst into flames and disintegrate before our very eyes, who would you choose and why?
Kenneth Starr. He's arrogant and exceeded the scope of the authority he was granted with impunity and without regard for the law. Then he whined about it.
THE RULES
1 -- Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2 -- I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3 -- You'll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
4 -- You'll include this explanation.
5 -- You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
IT'S THE WEEKEND! for ME anyway...
it's my last summer friday tomorrow, so i have two long weekends in a row. my plans:
1) SEVERAL trips to starbucks with bill
2) some pool time?
3) some riding around in a golf cart time?
4) office barbecue saturday afternoon
5) sleep in at LEAST twice
6) late nights at LEAST twice
7) birthday party saturday night (one of jax's old good buddies -- parents invited us)
8) i'm in the mood for ...
baking. scared you there, huh?
9) and cooking something good. maybe some risotto, maybe some polenta with a mushroom ragout. maybe just some fried ravioli for bill and me.
10) can you tell jax will be away all weekend?
11) so bill and i are having FUN this weekend. not that we don't have "fun" when jax is around, but, well, umm, you know. shut up -d.
12) i always expect too much. if i get 5 or 6 of these, i'm happy.
13) oh yeah. i have "book club" tonight. we call it book club cuz we all read books -- not very often the same ones though. and then we get together for coffee once a month to talk. not much about books.
what are YOU doing this weekend?
Interviewed, Plague Dogs and Mosqui-toes, and Leftover Salmon
I volunteered to be questioned by Adam over at Words Mean Things, where I am not a visitor often enough. Please check him out. Here goes:
1. What makes you laugh?
A: I do. I have run out of gas seven times. How can I not laugh at that idiot?
2. What's the best advice you ever got from your parents?
A: Never swing at a breaking ball on the first pitch.
3. What's the difference between dog people and cat people, apart from the obvious?
A: It seems to me that cat people are more inclined to like dogs than dog people are inclined to like cats. In addition, it seems to me that cat people are less likely to loathe dogs than dog people are to loathe cats.
4. What's the story behind your site title?
A: It used to be Slowly Going Over the Edge -- then I had a bad reaction to some prescription medication and don't remember much of what happened, made it back with only minor damage. So I am "Back From the Edge."
5. You're transformed into a woman for one day. How do you spend that day?
A: Give birth vaginally without too many drugs.
THE RULES
1. Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond; I’ll ask you five questions.
3. You’ll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You’ll include this explanation.
5. You’ll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
And I see Stacey has posted about the dogs. Sheba sneezed in my face. I've gotten a few mosquito bites. I slashed my big toe open.
And here's the report: Not infected, yet.
As if I haven't said enough. You really need to read this to the very end, dear Reader, because ... well, it is drivel. I'm entitled to rant a little. It is disconcerting that one company in this country has taken over so many media outlets. Clear Channel Communications owns or controls 39 television stations and 1200 radio stations. It owns Premiere Radio Network that has syndicated radio shows on over 7,800 stations (Rush Limbaugh, Dr. Laura, etc). It owns or runs over 100 arenas or theaters in the U.S. for live performances, like the Palace at Auburn Hills outside Detroit, the Greek Theater and the Fillmore in San Francisco, Target Center in Minneapolis, Hyundai Pavilion in L.A., Tweeter Center in Chicago and Boston, among others.
So, does this mean that Clear Channel can regulate programming and control what is said on the air and in their forums?
I haven't given it much thought, but what I do know is that I have to buy tickets for the Leftover Salmon concert on October 4th and the Bowling for Soup concert on October 5th at the Odeon in Cleveland through Clear Channel.
SICK AS A DOG
the dogs have been sick for 11 days now. on meds since monday. damned kennel cough.
i thought the worst part was when a dog comes up to your face -- you're thinking hmm dog kisses -- and she surprises you (disgusts you to the very center of your being) by sneezing directly in your face. from 6 inches away. oh god. now, understand. this hasn't happened to ME. this is me empathizing with bill. well sure i laughed. hard and long. i mean who wouldn't? but really, i'm only human. but i feel bad about it now. god, i hope he doesn't start sneezing and coughing.
the worst part, however, is the med-induced dog farts. and not just cuz the experience is shared. oh. my. god. when it first started happening, i thought bill was just pretending to search for a dog accident. you know. you're both sitting there trying to pretend you don't smell it. trying to be polite. oh yes, i CAN be considerate. but between the two dogs, the offensive olfactory experience is nearly CONSTANT. no man -- not even bill -- could produce that much gas.
and the dogs do not seem to be responding to the meds. well except for the the flatulence. it's so bad that i don't think we can have anybody over to the house until it's over. it's that bad.
and sheba has learned how to untie a pill tied up with bacon so she can spit out the pill and eat the bacon. it's now a contest of wills. bill will not give up. he's stopped with the bacon thing. [evidently matt has suffered some sort of permanent trauma from the time we slipped a tylenol in a piece of macaroni in his dinner -- he brings this up to us still. he has trust "issues."] now he just rolls around on the floor wrestling with her and shoves it like 6 inches down her throat. i think he's still mad about the sneeze.
update: the number of comments on this post (1) made me realize i needed to let you all know that the dogs seem to have "turned the corner" with the kennel cough. the sneezing and hacking have decreased tremendously. the flatulence seems to have stopped, too. i do not have any idea why. cuz they're still on the meds.
August 20, 2003
I'M AN ALIEN
Sting - Englishman In New York lyrics
I don't take coffee I take tea my dear
I like my toast done on one side
And you can hear it in my accent when I talk
I'm an Englishman in New York
See me walking down Fifth Avenue
A walking cane here at my side
I take it everywhere I walk
I'm an Englishman in New York
I'm an alien I'm a legal alien
I'm an Englishman in New York
I'm an alien I'm a legal alien
I'm an Englishman in New York
If, "Manners maketh man" as someone said
Then he's the hero of the day
It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile
Be yourself no matter what they say
I'm an alien I'm a legal alien
I'm an Englishman in New York
I'm an alien I'm a legal alien
I'm an Englishman in New York
Modesty, propriety can lead to notoriety
You could end up as the only one
Gentleness, sobriety are rare in this society
At night a candle's brighter than the sun
Takes more than combat gear to make a man
Takes more than a license for a gun
Confront your enemies, avoid them when you can
A gentleman will walk but never run
If, "Manners maketh man" as someone said
Then he's the hero of the day
It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile
Be yourself no matter what they say
I'm an alien I'm a legal alien
I'm an Englishman in New York
I'm an alien I'm a legal alien
I'm an Englishman in New York
August 19, 2003
French Is a Loud Language
Dear Francois,
I have never played golf in a group behind a Frenchman before. From what I saw, you played fairly well. I saw you in the woods a couple times, and I should have warned you that there may have been poison ivy where you hit your ball on the 7th hole. I didn't want to yell to you to be careful because we just don't do that in the States.
I wanted to yell to you to shut your fucking mouth a couple times when we were on the green and you were on the next tee yacking to the other guy riding in your cart. But again, that would have been impolite.
And who were you talking to on the telephone? You reminded me of my grandmother, who died a couple years ago at age 93, when she would talk on the phone. There were times she yelled so loud into the mouthpiece, I thought my phone was going to break. The person to whom you were talking must have been partially deaf. And if the person you were talking to didn't understand French, talking louder doesn't help translate French into any other language. Or is that what telephone communication is like in France? You need to yell into the phone to be heard? I swear you didn't need the fucking phone. That person would have heard you if he or she was in Normandy.
Change your cell phone service to Sprint. Isn't that the company that says you can hear a pin drop?
Better yet, just shut the fuck up when you are playing golf. One bit of advice -- the golf balls in the U.S. do not understand French. And they don't understand English, either, especially if you have any kind of accent at all. Another bit of advice -- yelling at the golf ball to do whatever you wanted it to do -- I don't know French -- doesn't do any good. Golf balls in the U.S. do not respond to yelling. I have never been to France, but I know that golf balls do not hear when yelled at from my American experience. If anything at all works, it is leaning one way or the other. You see all the pros doing it. Lean this way; lean that way; bend your knees; fall to the ground; fall in the sand trap. That's what you need to practice.
Keep your mouth shut. You may say "Fuck" or "Shit" or the French equivalent, but you must not say those words, or any combination of them, without quiet and careful contemplation. Then you can say one or the other of them or a combination, but quietly.
Sincerely,
Billy
P.S. -- Head on over to the Kazoofus archives, by the way, for poison ivy advice. That was poison ivy on the seventh hole where you were searching for your ball. And you didn't wash your hands; so, I'm sure you're going to have it all over your ear and face because of the phone call. Good luck!
August 18, 2003
Dork?
Here's the warning I got moments ago: "The MSBlast.exe virus or LovSan Web Worm may enter your computer through a vulnerability in your computer's Microsoft Windows®-based operating system. According to current reports, this virus or worm is designed to cause computers to launch an electronic attack against Microsoft's Windows® help web site on August 16, 2003."
I've never been to the MS Windows help web site; so, that wouldn't make much difference to me. Of course, this would probably be the time I might use the help desk inasmuch as my computer help site is now lounging around the pool with a martini, shaken, not stirred, in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic.
But then I checked the calendar and realized that this virus or worm was supposed to strike this past Saturday. Maybe it's about time to check to see if I'm Y2K compliant, too.
I could avoid the nerd or dork label in high school because I was the number one singles player on the tennis team (Considering that I never played tennis before, the team must have been pretty bad.), and I was on the baseball team, which went to the state championship. I could avoid the nerd or dork label in college, even though my GPA was very high, because I was on the baseball team that went to the small college world series in Springfield, Illinois, the farthest west I had been to that point in my life.
Whatever. We went to Costco to pick up a few things like pretzels, Rice Krispies Treats, and beef jerky tonight. In addition to that I found some cool, impulse-buy stuff. I picked up a Kensington PocketMouse Pro Wireless and a Kensington USB PocketHUB. I had a wireless mouse, but the thingy that received the signal from the mouse had this long-ass wire on it. This Kensington mouse thingy is like a little antenna that stickes in a USB port -- no wires. The PocketHUB has four USB ports and is smaller and thinner than a cigarette pack or Eclipse Polar Ice gum pack.
And I got this thingy that is smaller than a Bic lighter called a Cruzer Mini USB Flash Drive. It sticks in one of the USB ports. It has 256 MB of memory. So, now I got this memory thing that I can wear around my neck on a lanyard that came with it.
Man, it feels just like I got a new 34-inch, 32-ounce Louisville Slugger.
BIG MOUTH
a two-month cocaine binge -- $8,000
intensive out-patient treatment for 8 weeks -- $6,000
two-months of drug rehab in the utah desert -- $20,000
the look on an old friend's face when you tell them your son's a recovering drug addict -- say it with me -- PRICELESS
you see, this is the weirdest part of me. part of me knows this is strange, but it REALLY is that i am not ashamed of this kid. i'm incredibly proud. i do believe this addiction was the greatest gift of his life. "god" said: "fix yourself or die, kid. you've got problems. THIS one will lead you to people and strategies that will help you fix YOU."
but i DO know i freak people out, and i'm always kinda sorry for that. i guess not TOO sorry, cuz here i am maybe freaking out some of you who don't know about this.
but that's probably why i started this thing -- a lot of the reason for it anyway. there are a lot of addicts out there and a lot of kids with problems. they've -- i hope -- got parents who see the real kid and adore that kid and won't give up on that kid. i hope.
cuz most of the rest of the world already has.
Sick Dogs and Hot Dogs
The dogs picked up "kennel cough" while staying at a different kennel over last weekend since the inn, at which they normally stay, was full, which hasn't gotten a whole lot better; so, I went up to the vet to get the medication.
There was a silver Saab with the "Indiana Basketball" license plate frame next to which I parked the white VW Beetle with the black "The Who" sticker on the rear bumper. After getting the cache of drugs, I was hopping into the Beetle when I noticed that in the back seat of the Saab was a three-, maybe four-year-old boy sitting next to two infants strapped in car seats.
At, least, the two infants were in car seats. And at least, the windows were open. And at least, it was only 82 degrees and sunny. And at least I wasn't some crazy fucker (although there is some debate going on about that), who was looking for small children suitable to snatch and sell on the black market.
What possessed someone to do this?
I was actually on my way to the grocery store when I took this excursion to the vet. I picked up some grapes and was in the "health food" aisle. What? Why? Don't ask. I saw some very strange things, though.
Here are some of the things I saw, which I will name by the names I saw on the packges: (1) Veggie Beef & Rice; (2) Veggie Meatballs; (3) Ground Round; (4) Veggie Bologna Slices; (5) Veggie Ham Deli Slices; (6) Canadian Veggie Bacon; (7) Veggie Chick'N & Rice; (8) Veggie Turkey Deli Slices; (9) Veggie Pepperoni; and (10) Veg Chick'n Nuggets.
I have researched this matter. Bologna is defined as "a seasoned smoked sausage made of mixed meats, such as beef, pork, and veal." Pepperoni is defined as "a highly spiced pork and beef sausage." Canadian bacon is "cured rolled bacon from the loin of a pig." Bacon is "the salted and smoked meat from the back and sides of a pig."
I think those definitions are pretty clear. I do not see one vegetable or vegetable filler in any of those definitions, which would allow a food maker to describe its vegetable matter as meat.
That does not strike to the heart of my complaint. If you are a vegetarian (Veggiemama -- You seem to have it all together. Explain this so that I understand. Am I missing something? Oh, I know I invited some comment there.), isn't there something anathema to your food-eating philosophy to make believe you are eating a ham sandwich or succulent chicken nuggets or a pepperoni pizza or a fried bologna and cheese on white bread sandwich?
I'm inclined to come down on the affirmative side of that question.
August 17, 2003
George Bush the Lesser Revisited for the Last Time
Here we go -- I hate talking politics. But I got a comment from one of our readers, who doesn't comment much. But when he does comment, he does it from the heart, whatever the subject. I happen to think this guy, even though he is a staunch Republican, is a wonderful, sensitive, and intelligent human being.
He posted a comment to my recent rant about El Presidente very early Saturday morning. Why would I ever criticize Mr. Bush? I must have been drunk at the time. (Aside to Hank, if he is reading: That was a joke about being drunk -- sarcasm. I could see, though, how you might try to use that statement against me, if we were going to court. Gee, then I'd have to bring in a bunch of witnesses to refute that notion. I wonder what they would say? Okay, sorry. I strayed from my outline.)
His comment was:
Perhaps I shouldn't start, but:
We did free a nation from a cruel tyrant-- liberation of the children's prisons came at no extra charge-- and the British stand by the authenticity of the Niger uranium charge.
Children's prisons exist in every city in the United States -- they are called underfunded public schools, where our children's brains are wasting away, instead of being cultivated as one of our greatest natural resources to develop and ensure the future prosperity of the country.
And what about this cruel tyrant, who was just as cruel back when the U.S. supported him in the Iran-Iraq war. What changed? The U.S. aligned with Saddam when it was expedient and ignored the children's prisons and rape, both literally and figuratively, of the citizens of Iraq. For what? The United States has fomented unrest in the Middle East for years in an effort to control the flow of oil in that region.
And the cruel tyrant, who just happens to be non-Christian and has ruled an oil-rich nation that has been coveted by George the First and his autocrats, Dick Cheney, Paul Wolfowitz, et al., could have been terminated by a small band of mercenaries paid a little less by the CIA than the hundred billion bucks that have been spent on men and equipment killing a bunch of Iraqis and getting a bunch of G.I.'s and Brits killed.
The balance of the billions and billions, realizing we'd still have to pay the soldiers' salaries whether at peace or war, could have been spent more wisely on our children's educations. ... And health insurance for those who could not afford it. ... And prescription drug coverage for everyone. ... And food and jobs for the poverty-stricken in the United States.
Oh, yeah ... re-distribution of wealth. Couldn't it be a dirty little secret?
August 16, 2003
On the Road or Jack Kerouac, Eat Your Heart Out
Me: Hello.
Dr. Cyborg: Bill-l-l-l.
Me: Scott. What's up?
Dr. Cyborg: Too late to call?
Me: Watching the Tribe game.
Dr. Cyborg: What's the score?
Me: Nothing-nothing, 11th inning.
Dr. Cyborg: I'll have to turn it on. Hey, you're still up for going to Terre Haute?
Me: Oh, yeah. You know me.
Dr. Cyborg: Yeah, nuts. You think this is a dumb idea?
Me: No, Scott. It'll be fun. We'll have a good time.
Dr. Cyborg: I just want to go there, stay at the Holidome, see my old house, then head back.
Me: Sounds good to me. When do you want to go?
Dr. Cyborg: You don't mind going like on Saturday and coming back Sunday cuz Shane's got football games on Fridays.
Me: No, that's fine with me.
Dr. Cyborg: Leave at 3 or 4 on Saturday.
Me: We'd get there just in time to go Wabashin'.
Dr. Cyborg: We'll have to drive the pick-up, then.
Me: Lawn chairs in the back.
Dr. Cyborg: Hahaha! So, what do you think about September 6th?
Me: That works for me. I'll mark it on the calendar.
Dr. Cyborg: You sure you want to do this?
Me: Yeah. I'm sure. Anything for you, man. Hey, what about Houston?
Dr. Cyborg: We'll have to plan that for October or November so we can get a better airfare.
Me: True.
Dr. Cyborg: Where I lived, there was woods to the west. It was like on the outskirts of Houston. Someone told me that it's now in the middle of the city.
Me: That'll be cool, seeing the change.
Dr. Cyborg: And it would be kinda dumb to go check out where I used to live without seeing some sights. It's not like driving to Terre Haute. We oughta see some other things.
Me: Yeah, we could do that.
Dr. Cyborg: Like we could go see the Astrodome.
Me: Yeah. But didn't they tear that down and build a new stadium?
Dr. Cyborg: Did they?
Me: I think so.
Dr. Cyborg: We could check out Gilley's then.
Me: That closed about 10 years ago.
Dr. Cyborg: Oh. Shit. What's there to see, then?
Me: Fuck if I know. There's gotta be something that people do down there.
Dr. Cyborg: Yeah, going to see my old house and jumping on a plane to come back would suck.
Me: Hate to bring it up, but is the house still there?
Dr. Cyborg: I think so.
Me: We'll figure out something. It'll be cool. It's something you want to do. We'll do it.
Dr. Cyborg: You think it's crazy to go?
Me: You are asking the wrong guy. By definition, anything I do is crazy.
Dr. Cyborg: Hahahaha! End of October or beginning of November.
Me: After football.
Dr. Cyborg: O.K. It's a deal!
Me: Turn on the game.
Dr. Cyborg: You're crazy for wanting to go with me.
Me: Fucking lunatic. You asked me to go for a reason. You knew I would do it.
Dr. Cyborg: No doubt about it.
Me: Hey, we had fun in Steubenville; we'll have fun in Houston.
Dr. Cyborg: And Terre Haute.
Me: Well, maybe not Terre Haute. Hahahaha!
Dr. Cyborg: Hahahaha.
Me: September 6th. Can't wait. We'll get together before then.
Dr. Cyborg: I'll call ya.
Forestry
Stace wanted pizza. I headed to A & J's Grill, also with a place in Endicottville, NY. We met J-dogg and two of his friends, Chris and Jimmy, there, who wanted pizza. I ordered them a pizza.
She ordered a cheeseburger. I mean -- what the heck? Speaking of heck, if she wanted a burger, I would have taken her to Heck's Cafe, the best burger place on Earth.
But then I figured out why she wanted to steer me to A & J's. She knew I would wash my hands. And there, at eye level, was the little wood block print of a nice evergreen forest. Oh, she is so devious at times. It was a very nice wood block print numbered and signed by the artist, and there was something written in a neat, cursive hand:
If a man says something in a forest and there is no woman to hear him, is he still wrong?
SATURDAY MORNING, PART 2
ok people. this is a joke. you're supposed to laugh. i'm not seriously thinking i'm martha stewart. i just thought it would be funny to post a staged picture of the peach crumble along with the recipe. it's funny cuz we're really such a weird family. k? got it? the whole time i'm taking the picture, jax is sitting in his beater car smoking a ciggy talking to his a.a. sponsor, and bill's swearing at the pool pump cuz it got messed up in the "big blackout." me? i'm wearing pearls and my apron and heels. what? you don't believe me? what?
ok. here's the crumble:
and here's the recipe:
peach crumble (robin benzle of cleveland's wdok radio station: chow time)
6 ripe peaches, sliced, into buttered casserole dish
mix: 1 c flour with 1/2 c brown sugar
cut in: 1 stick (1/2 cup) butter
add in to the butter, flour, sugar mixture: 3/4 c quick cooking oats
pour over top of peaches
dot with pats of butter if you want more butter -- who doesn't?
bake 25 minutes at 375 deg.
top with whipped cream
SATURDAY MORNING
ok, so it's not as good as watching saturday morning cartoons / talking chimp shows, but it's my saturday morning.
canceled the girls' appointment at barking barber as they BOTH have a pretty good case of "kennel cough" going. crap. sheba sounds like she's trying to cough up a CAT. a big, yucky, hairy cat. scout is just softly hacking and sneezing. they were improving til the power went out; but the hot, muggy cleveland weather messed that up. poor babies. the barking barbers were happy that we canceled though.
off for starbucks (duh), bagels, and peaches at our favorite little stand. i'll post the peach crumble recipe i use later.
geting hungry?
George Bush the Lesser
"We cannot let our enemies strike first....
"To forestall or prevent such hostile acts by our adversaries, the United States will, if necessary, act preemptively."
– 2002 Bush administration National Security Strategy
I'm just a-wonderin' -- those weapons of mass destruction. Where are they? Have they been found yet? Maybe I missed it when the power was out.
And whereabouts is that weapons-grade uranium? Oh, yeah, that stuff was found in a fake report generated 10 years ago by British Intelligence.
The only weapon of mass destruction that was unleashed in Iraq was the United States military. Fuckin' A -- what a weapon!!
How much is this debacle costing the American taxpayer every day in dollars? I lost track of the last figure. Ask Dick Cheney -- his buddies at Halliburton might know. They are getting a huge chunk of that money.
How much is this debacle going to cost in lives? We will never really know.
And the Education President? Where is he? He, who could have acted pre-emptively in forestalling or even preventing the disintegration of our educational system by allocating some or all of the tens of billions spent on the "war" to that system for improving the lot of inner city children in Chicago, Oakland, Cleveland, and any city you want to name, is nowhere to be found.
Aaaaah -- the re-distribution of wealth. I forgot -- that was a radical idea back in 1972 and times haven't changed much.
No, on second thought, times have changed. The body counts today are much less than they were back then; and for that, we should be grateful. What did the philosopher Charlie Brown say? "Some people just don't know sarcasm when they hear it."
Georgie, can you hear me?
Report From Knox County
I love this guy, D.T., and have since I met him during our freshman year in college. He was funny, sincere, country smart, and unassuming. He's the only guy I know whose brother shot him in the butt with a .22 rifle -- they were just playin' around. D.T. missed; his brother didn't. He was married to Lee way back then, and she fixed some great meals when I went over to their place to visit.
I got an e-mail from D.T. this evening, part of which I'm sharing with you. I hope he doesn't mind; otherwise, he might shoot me in the ass. All I got to say is, if he does, he better not miss again.
Topic of interest, periodically when we get laundry out of the washer and put it in the dryer we get shocked. Lee got it good enough monday that it numbed her arm. Which gave her the incentive to call the repair man. He came out tues. and got the shit shocked out of him, which was really funny because i had him in school. He got shocked about ten times before he would believe me. Dumbass hasn't gotten any smarter! We finally unplugged both appliances. He really got lit, I had to go outside, really fuckin funny, he doesn't swear. I'm still laughing. dumbshit. I would have cussed my ass off. He would jump every time he got hit. Anyway we hunted all over the place for a wire touching a gas line or water line. Didn't find anything. i got him to ground the dryer too and that stopped it. Something is still fucked up though it looks really weird to see something unplugged and to still get shocked. Maybe that is what caused the blackout. We didn't lose our power hope you didn't either. We are going to my neice's house sat. to redo her bathroom. My brother and I should be fun. later d.t.
That's the report from down in Knox County out in the country.
August 15, 2003
POWER'S BACK ON -- KINDA SORTA
power went out -- as i'm sure EVERYBODY knows -- about 4 p.m. yesterday. hot and muggy here in cleveland, ohio. yuk. took over an hour (usually 20 minutes) to get home with all the ASSHOLES on the road who've never heard of coming to a stop at a traffic light that's out. i guess it started coming back on in different places by early evening. not us. hot, sticky night. yuk again.
but -- and i'm not sure this is good news -- it WAS on at work when i arrived this morning. finally came back on at home at about 9:30 his morning.
it's not on fully anywhere, and rolling blackouts are happening all over; so the traffic situation sucks. don't know how long it'll take to get home, but we'll (bill's using my car today and picking me up) make it sooner or later.
mark says matt was trying to reach us last night after hearing about the blackout down in the dominican republic. we're fine, bud. not exactly cool, but fine. don't worry about us -- get back to the honeymoon. hope your ear's better, mel.
more good news: bill found an open starbucks! mmm. mocha.
August 13, 2003
Driving in the City
I made the drive into the big city this morning for a hearing and saw a couple motor vehicles that looked like what I can only describe as down-sized armored cars without the Wells Fargo or Brink's logo. I didn't want to get close for fear that the gun ports would open and the white VW with the black "The Who" sticker on the back bumper would take some automatic weapons fire.
I did get close enough to note that each of the vehicles, one all black with black tinted windows and the other red and black and gray with black tinted windows, carried the Honda insignia, obviously a derivative of the Japanese defense arsenal just like the Hummer is in the U.S. Each was called "ELEMENT."
The Honda ELEMENT surely rivals the Chrysler PT Cruiser as the ugliest vehicle on the road.
Oh, I almost forgot. I had to stop for gas; so, I went to my favorite filling station, BP, where I have had a number of run-ins with the wise-ass girl behind the counter. She apparently does not work there anymore. How do I know? The warning sign on the pump clearly says, "TURN ENGINE OFF." I didn't. Left the Beetle running while I filled up. I did not get censured.
AND there was an employee emptying the garbage cans. He wore the pukey green BP vest and the same-colored hat -- very stylish in gas station circles. He had a haircut where the barber, probably his mother or girlfriend, put a bowl over the top of his noggin and shaved the rest of his head. And here is the clincher for me that the wise-ass, punk girl doesn't work there anymore -- he was smoking.
Now, either he could have blown us all to smithereens or that "NO SMOKING" plastered all over the gas station landscape is a bunch of crap. I am inclined to think the latter and that the signs are a hold-over from the time of topping off tanks and no fancy gas fume recovery pump systems.
Now, I'm wondering about whether my cell phone can cause the whole country east of the Mississippi to explode if I talk on it at the gas station while filling the tank. I'm not going to chance that one.
And before I forget, the wedding was at Hidden Valley Resort in the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania. We had this nice three-bedroom condo at "The Summit," which was cheaper than getting three rooms at "The Inn." Can anyone tell me why the water had a greenish hue. I took a shower, but used a lot of soap, which Bath and Body Works will be happy to hear, because I wanted to make sure what hair I have left didn't turn green.
Give me Great Lakes water any day of the week.
WHAT THEY SAID
if you want to spend some time with a couple of my favorite blog haunts on the subject of the new gay episcopalian bishop "thing," check out christine's entry and dan's entry on the subject.
August 12, 2003
MORE WEDDING / NEWLYWEDS STUFF
here are a couple pictures from saturday. sorry to say i won't be bored with this subject matter for a while.
here's a bit of an e-mail we received from matt yesterday:
hi -- honeymoon is going awesome...except for this morning!
mel woke up and her ear was bleeding...long story short, we had to spend about 6 hours this morning travelling to the nearest city, waiting to see a specialist in a dominican clinic, and catching the bus back. it turns out her ear drum has a small perforation, but will heal before we have to travel back to the states. crazy, eh?
Number 78
We went to a local sit-down eatery that closes at 8 during the summertime for a late dinner. It's a sandwich place with a bakery on the premises, and it should really be doing a lot better than it is. We were the only two people in the place and ordered our sandwiches at the place-your-order-and-pay counter.
The restaurant should be doing better than it is because of the hours it is open. It opens at 7 in the morning because bread and pastries are made fresh and the breakfast crowd rolls in for their bagels, cinnamon raisin toast, and egg-on-bagel sandwiches that are all the rage at every place you go to eat breakfast. The place closes at 8 in the summertime and at 6 p.m. in the Spring, Fall, and Winter. It has always been my feeling, and I'm no expert in restaurant operations, that the place should be open later, like until midnight or so, during the school year because the place has a liquor license and, at least, on weekends, it can cater to the after-high-school-sports-events revelers, who are mostly adults, who have made high school sports in this town the biggest thing since sliced bread and celebrate victories with great cheer and drown their sorrows after losses. Of course, the place might slip up and sell a beer to a minor here and there, just like the other places in town, who just happens to be one of the football, basketball, hockey, volleyball, track, baseball, or softball heroes.
In any event, summer should be the slow time -- and it is. We had ordered lattes and picked those up at the pick-up-your-latte counter, which was another counter in the establishment. We took a table near the pick-up-your-food counter and waited for the avocado-and-provolone-on-white and the ham, turkey, swiss cheese, lettuce, mayo, hot mustard, and pepperocinis on a crusty, French roll to be made.
Seconds later, over the public address loudspeaker, I heard, "NUMBER 78, NUMBER 78!" which was exactly the number on the receipt the young woman at the order counter gave me. I looked around. Nobody else had snuck in while we were not looking.
I pushed back my wooden chair from the table, which was in full view of the young woman at the pick-up-your-food counter, who was the same woman who had taken the order. I guess she was playing dual roles here.
It was strange in an X-Files kind of way that she just did not swing around the counter with the tray and walk the fourteen steps to our table and give us our food. Habit, I guess. I could understand -- S.O.P. She was probably ex-military -- or, more likely, ex-school cafeteria. No problem. Really. I could understand.
I walked up to the counter and reached for the tray with our sandwiches. Her hand moved to hold on to the lip of the brown plastic tray. I looked at her, and she asked, "Number 78?"
August 11, 2003
Snippets of Conversation from the Wedding Weekend
1. This is bad. Hope it's not raining like this tomorrow.
2. He said to dress casual. You think a Pokemon T-shirt is too casual? It's the rehearsal.
3. No, you just sit up here. You're the groom's parents.
4. It's raining like a mother-fucker out there.
5. You better try on your tux, Bill. My shirt -- one arm was longer than the other. I tried it on yesterday, and they fed ex'd me a new shirt.
6. I never try new foods, but I tried the fried ravioli. I gotta have this again!
7. I don't like the polenta.
8. Will you cater our next party?
9. Damn, it's foggy. It shows a lake on the scorecard. Where's the fucking lake?
10. Is that the sun?
11. La Gloria Cubana?
12. Umm ... Dad, you're not supposed to inhale. You're gonna puke. You're fuckin' nuts, y'know?
13. What are French cuffs?
14. C'mon, we gotta go already!
15. Who's playing guitar? Is that really Jackson? He's so good!
16. They look just like you.
17. Is that thunder?
18. Oh, look at the spots on my dress from the raindrops!
19. Think we can all fit in that gazebo?
20. The minister's a woman?
21. Oh, look, he's crying. He's so cute.
22. She looks beautiful.
23. Was that lightning?
24. Yes, I do.
25. I sure do.
26. I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Lang.
27. Don't they look great?
28. I had them both in class, and I could tell from their writing that she loves him and that he loves her; and I'm so happy to be here to celebrate their wedding.
29. I'm Jewish. You're not, but you're acting like it. This is what old, Jewish women talk about at weddings. I'm not into that.
30. The DJ doesn't have "Have I Told You Lately That I Love You."
31. The wedding was so pretty out by the lake; and actually, it was better being overcast and not real, real bright.
32. It's raining again.
33. We've been through a lot together, including being held at gun point one night on the side of the road by state troopers.
34. It's crazy, isn't it, Dad?
35. Now, which one is "-d?"
36. Who's the blonde, the one who looks like she used to be a pole dancer.
37. They really do love each other.
38. Where's Punta Cana? Like somewhere near Cancun, man. I heard the Holiday Inn is nice there.
39. What the fuck is the Dominican Republic? That's a new country, right, man?
WARNING: MAY CAUSE DIABETIC COMA
kathy asked me this:
Tell me, mom, what types of emotions did you go thru watching your child take such a momentous step. I realize it is emotional, but can you pin point it a bit more?
i wept the entire ceremony, as did matt and mel. bill would have – and knew it – so he could not look at matt or mel (the couple times that he risked a looksee, he teared up); he looked everywhere else – at me, mark, jax.
my emotions: pretty simple. basically i was full of joy and pride.
it was impossible not to see how much in love matt and mel are. it was one of those weddings. so i was ecstatic for them. to see them each burst into tears at the sight of each other was beautiful. to share in their excitement and love at this moment was a gift.
i was proud to watch my baby as such a fine young man making this commitment. it’s an amazing thing to experience and appreciate.
i was so proud and in love with my entire family. most of all, bill, my husband. how lucky we are. of jackson. watching and enjoying his gift of music to matt and mel’s special day. seeing how much this meant to them. of mark. how lucky we all are to have him in our family. the love these guys share is incredibly moving. and to be able to share this moment with people who love us and have known and loved matt forever was indescribeable. my sisters and bill’s family. our dear friends and some good friends of matt, all of whom traveled at least 4 hours (some much longer distances) to be here with us.
we are not your typical “perfect” family. we’ve fought drug addiction, depression, and illness. we’ve added another son to our family (mark). we are outspoken, tattoed, long-haired, no-haired, gimpy, and pierced. but we are crazy in love with each other. this was one of the big moments of our lives. and we were there. in every way. i’m grateful and full of joy for the gift.
August 10, 2003
WEDDING DAY PART ONE
we are exhausted. though i'm sure we're not nearly as exhausted as mr. and mrs. matthew lang. they are in punta cana, dominican republic right now. matt brought his laptop, and matt and mel plan to post some while on their honeymoon.
we left friday morning. it took two cars to pack all we THOUGHT we needed to bring. as usual, we brought too much. when we hit the pennsylvania border, it started to rain. it didn't stop until sometime very early saturday morning. the rehearsal was, therefore, held indoors, as it looked like the wedding might not be possible at the gazebo outdoors.
the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner went smoothly and was, if i say so myself, very nice. i'm not sure what time the last person left the condo where we were staying, but i do know that bill and i were EXHAUSTED and asleep in bed by 9:15 a.m. the guys (matt, mark, jax) and kt were up a bit longer.
we all got up early to have our little golf outing. we headed to the golf course in deep fog. optimistically, we loaded up the carts (in the fog) and took off for the first tee (at the top of the mountain). the guys all teed off into the fog. only two balls were not found; but as this was not a good beginning, the guys all headed back to kt and me (and the carts), and we decided to call it quits. bill went into the pro shop and told the guy we couldn't play in the fog and asked him what he could do for us. his response: "well i can give you your money back." his tone suggested that he thought bill was asking for more than that. we decided that he was afraid we wanted our money back AND the option of giving him a beating. we took the money. and headed out to breakfast.
the weather cleared up, and by 11:30, we actually saw the sun! it looked like we'd have an outdoor wedding!
back to the condo. male bonding. showers. nerves frazzled. and some early pics. i have a couple to show you here. i have NONE on my camera from the wedding, as my sister had a problem operating it, and i was crying and watching the entire time. duh!
here are some early-in-the-day pics:
View image: what i found on the deck after showering #1
View image: what i found on the deck after showering #2
View image: mark and kt before the wedding
View image": jax and matt before the ceremony
mel looked so beautiful -- i don't have any pictures as i gave up my camera before she appeared. the photography from that point on was in other hands. i'll show some when i get them in upcoming entries.
the ceremony and vows were beautiful and moving. matt started weeping as soon as he saw mel, she did the same. EVERYBODY cried. matt and mel's love for each other was very touching. it was lovely.
August 08, 2003
Medical Ethics 101
The New York Times on-line edition arrived with all the news that is fit to print. I read an article about an advance made in treating the Ebola virus, as the movie Aliens was on the tube.
I'll reprint parts of the article here, since you need to be registered to link there:
Federal scientists have developed a fast-acting, single-shot vaccine that makes monkeys immune to the Ebola virus six times as fast as an earlier version.
If the same approach works in humans, it could control or prevent outbreaks of the rare infection that causes high fever, severe pain, bleeding from the eyes and usually death within a few days.
***
Researchers tested the vaccine by giving eight macaque monkeys a single injection of a weakened virus modified with a protein from the Ebola virus. Twenty-eight days later, the monkeys were injected with an Ebola virus strain taken from a human who died from the disease in 1995. All eight monkeys remained healthy. All the monkeys in a separate control group that were not given the vaccine died after they were exposed to the virus.
Here's the hypothetical in medical ethics: The last outbreak of Ebola was in Africa, but I'm in Reston, Virginia, outside a commercial animal laboratory, when a monkey walks out the front door of the lab and bites me. The lab tech running after the monkey yells to me that the monkey is infected with Ebola virus.
You're the doctor who examines me, and you have access to the experimental vaccine. What do you do? What do you do?
August 06, 2003
One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer
The blues hit Bardstown, Kentucky, yesterday. There was a fire at a Jim Beam warehouse and about 800,000 gallons of bourbon went up in smoke. During a storm, the warehouse was apparently hit by some white lightning.
Bourbon flowed. The EPA and the ATF (and George the Lesser was chomping at the bit to make a campaign visit) prevented an environmental disaster of biblical proportions by damming up the creek nearby, stopping the flow of bourbon downstream.
There's nothing in the story I read about what the EPA and ATF people did with the bourbon they corraled.
There's nothing in the story about the disappointed local residents who had massed by the banks of the creek downstream, expecting to have to help clean up the spill, buckets of ice and glasses ready in hand.
5 QUESTIONS FROM -D
1. What do you remember about your wedding day?
my little brother, joey, was 6 and thought that since it was my wedding day that our collie, bonnie, should have a haircut cuz yaknow EVERYBODY gets haircuts for a special day. so he cut her hair.
we got married outside, and joey thought she should be there, too. so she was.
i remember that neither bill or i could understand a word the minister said (he had a very pronounced west virginia accent) so we just waited for him to pause and look at one of us and whoever he looked at would say "i do!" i think we did it right. hope so.
i remember the way that bill kissed me sweet first. and then crazy wonderful second.
2. If you could guarantee that your sons would know one thing about you... what would it be?
that i tried. hard. that i really tried to do the right thing.
3. What do you remember about your first date with Billy?
a lot. we went to see space odyssey 2001. double dated with my little sis and bill's friend, jeff (who, bill tells me now, really wanted to go out with me). i remember what i wore. remember this was october 17, 1970, so here goes: purple denim hip-hugger bell bottoms, purple paisley blouse, wide leather belt. bill wore plaid pants and a mock turtleneck shirt. we musta looked groovy. we went to burger king afterwards. i went out with him cuz i was friends with him and his friends. but i knew that night that i'd marry him. he felt so RIGHT to me.
4. You know I'm afraid of ducks... Are you afraid of anything?
i'm afraid of a lot of things. heights. deep, deep water. flying.
5. Do you worry about "EMPTY NEST" syndrome?
you know what? i don't know why, but for some reason, that doesn't bother me at all anymore. i really have a good time with the guy (bill). and i'm looking forward to the next phase. the boys making their own lives. and bill and i taking back our own again.
5 QUESTIONS FROM KAZOOFUS
from kathy howe:
1. “What is your favorite time of day and why?”
quitting time at work. i don’t really feel like me at work. i just don’t. walking down the hallway to leave the building is such a cool time for me. shrugging off that other person and leaving just me. the person that wants to go home.
2. “When I think of Stacey words like faithful and strong come to mind. What words to you use to describe yourself?”
i think i’m kind of a pisser in a lot of ways. sometimes i think that’s all people see about me. so i’m always surprised when they see the soft and vulnerable side. so vulnerable and pisser. i think the pisser part is a defense mechanism because i AM so vulnerable.
3. “Boo Bear is getting married this weekend. Tell me one of your favorite stories about him as a child.”
he spoke very well and early (yes, in complete sentences!). when he was just a year old, bill and i were getting dressed to go to my 10-year high-school reunion. i came out of our room all dressed up, and he said to me “mom, you look like a DANCER!” he was almost freakish in terms of his intelligence and heart. it was so moving to me. a one-year old doesn't know about fake compliments, and i was so beautiful to him at that moment. ok. thanks. you got me crying.
4. “What food or beverage are you most likely to crave?”
potato chips.
5. “Define the word "Family".
whoa. doesn’t mean perfection. not in the sense most people understand perfection. it means COMMITMENT. absolute commitment. never give up. love. honor. keep trying. advocate. laugh.
HERE ARE THE RULES:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "interview me".
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
DREAM A LITTLE DREAM
last night i slept great. except for the weird, weird dream.
bill, jax, and i are driving the beetle through minneapolis (wtf?) on our way back from a wedding somewhere. jax is driving. a big, shiny, black suv blows past us. jax says, “bummer. i thought that might be kazoofus, but the license plate doesn’t seem right for her.” her last name isn’t spelled like THAT. i say, “what did the plate read?” jax: “ANDHOWE.” me: “that’s how she spells it! what did the driver look like?” jax: “red-haired lady.” me: “kathy’s got red hair!” so jax starts flying, i mean flying to catch up with kathy. we pull up next to her and yell: “we’re the langs!” kathy: “pull off!”
so we exit off this super highway in the middle of a large city directly into a city-park like setting. hugs and craziness abounds. we find a picnic table where we park ourselves. but i need some gum. there is a drug store in the middle of this park, and bill, jax, and i walk in looking for my eclipse polar ice gum. nobody’s in the store. so jax starts pulling out plastic bins that appear to be filled with prescriptions, and one bin has my gum. i grab two packs, and bill puts them in his pocket. i yell at him that we haven’t paid, and he protests nobody’s here to pay! i look across the street, see that there is another place open over there and tell him that we’ll pay for it there. jax goes back to kathy.
bill and i enter the place across the street which appears to be a small cafe. bill and melinda gates are sitting in a big wing-back chair necking. (#1: is bill gates’ wife’s name melinda? i don’t know if i know that or if i EVER knew that. #2: they’re necking???) we pay the cashier for the gum. on the way out i say to the gates: “thank you for your philanthropy.” wtf??? i shake their hands and then say: “we’re big microsoft fans.” wtf??? he (bill gates) gives me a little salute. i continue with “except for the no open-source code thing.” wtf??? this is most disturbing to me of all as I HAVE NO FREAKING CLUE WHAT OPEN SOURCE IS!!!
and then bill (my bill) woke me up. i don’t know if i was shaking or moaning or what.
kazoofus, suv chases, eclipse polar ice gum. melinda and bill gates. necking. philanthropy. open source code??? i think i’m stressed out.
Questions From Kathy Howe
I made a terrible mistake. I volunteered. The inimitable Kathy Howe decided that I should answer these questions:
1. Your original blog was named Golf Blogger yet you rarely wrote about golf (of course that was the tagline wasn't it). Why was it named Golf Blogger?
A: Golf is a game that is impossible to master, just as living life is impossible to master. The golfer is imperfect; but however imperfect that golfer may be, the golfer may enjoy the game and strive to ever improve. So too with life. Uhhh ... yeah, right ... sounds good to me. The words flowed well. I like golf.
2. Besides getting married, having kids, buying a house...the traditional memories & experiences, what is one great memory or experience you have from your past?
A: I drew the plans and built a crib for Matt and then refurbished it for Jackson.
3. How do you think people that know you best would describe you?
Intense, emotional, caring, and quietly observant, but sometimes a selfish, inconsiderate jerk.
4. If were given two million dollars and had to donate 1 million of it, who would you donate it to?
I guess that means I have to donate the million to one organization. If that's the choice, even though I'm a member of Amnesty International, I'd give it to Doctors Without Borders (Médicins sans Frontičres). Then I'd give a lot of the second million to some friends and relatives.
5. If you could make a career doing anything at all, what would you do?
I could say writing, but carpentry and woodworking would be what I would really like to do if I could make a living at it. In fact, if I got that 2 million you talk about, after paying off the bills, I would do it.
In conformity with the rules of the game:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "interview me".
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
August 05, 2003
Beach Combing
She is going to be very sorry she invited me to set up shop here. I came across this news story. It must be a hoax, but you never know about those Brits. It seems that 37 Chinese immigrants were arrested for grabbing cocks on a beach in Lancashire. Ignorance of the law is no excuse. I would be pretty damn upset if I was at a beach and ... ummm ... what the hell is a cockle?
Golf Balls Cause Dents
First of all, I don't know that I like this dual blog experience. It reminds of the time I had a severe staph infection and nearly died -- no visitors allowed.
What is the answer? I must return to my roots and write about golf. This is a challenge because I don't want to bore the non-golfers who might chance upon this site thinking it's about taking a detour into the woods during the mixed couples league and, well, ... it's not about that, but keep reading.
The putting greens on golf courses are expensive to build properly and maintain. Most course managers consult with agronomists for advice in maintaining them free from pests and pestilence. The guy in hip boots from Chem-Lawn really isn't much help.
I'm lucky enough to have a very nice golf course down the street about a half-mile away, part of which is newly designed and constructed and meanders through a housing development, where you must make an appointment to have your financial statements reviewed before you can make an appointment to tour the multi-million dollar models with putting greens and home theaters in the basements.
The course is public, but it costs a little more to play there than it does at other public tracks nearby. Maybe I expect too much, but I would think that if you pay more, then you would be more cognizant of the niceties of the course and want to preserve the course for the next time you play. But I fear that I am wrong and the converse (or is it inverse?) is true.
Generally, and this is for the non-golfers out there, if you hit a golf ball -- a nice, high, arching shot while practicing in your front yard because you never hit them like that on the course -- and the ball hits your neighbor's car on the roof, you're going to leave a dent about 1.68 inches in diameter or maybe even bigger. That makes sense, does it not?
What would you do if you are like me and do something ultra-stupid like that? You offer to fix it; and if you are lucky enough that the vehicle is not an '03 GMC Hugefucker XXL, your neighbor will likely say to forget about it instead of saying, "What are you going to do about the two dents in hood?"
And you say, calmly, "What about them?"
And he says in that weasly voice that you hate, "You're paying for them, too, you cocksucker."
And, mildly incensed by your neighbor's use of profanity, you say, "At least I don't prance around in women's clothes. By the way, I like the reddish color of the Mary Janes you're wearing."
And he says, taking a step toward you, "If you didn't have that club in your hand, I'd kick your ass."
And you say, flicking the head of the club so that it sticks into the ground because the guy's lawn is wet and very mushy because he has the sprinklers on a timer and they run every morning despite the fact that it has rained the last few days, "No problem, man. Whatever."
And he says, eyes averting their gaze, revealing the hint of glitter on his upper lids, "I really don't want to fight."
And you say, "I figured as much."
And he says, "Just get the roof fixed by one of those dent repair guys who come out to the house."
And I you say, "Okay. But just to make sure -- not the hood;" and you pull the golf club out of the ground.
And he says, "Right."
Well, the same kind of thing happens to a putting green that happens to the roof of a GMC Suburban XL. The ball puts a big dent into the the putting green and many times rips up the grass, making what is called a "ball mark," which, when a golfer causes that to happen, the golfer is supposed to fix.
The golf course supplies ball mark repair tools (it's nothing special, just a two pronged fork would be how I would describe it), which are made of brass and have the course logo stamped on them, which are very classy and much nicer than other tools I've seen at posh clubs.
If everyone just fixed the ball mark each made, there would be no problem; but golfers, for whatever reason -- probably because they don't see pros on TV doing it (Hell, TV golf is so damn boring already without having to watch a man or woman pro bending over and fixing ball marks. It's bad enough we have to look at their asses when they bend over to get the ball out of the hole.).
So, I end up, being the conscientious guy I am, fixing my own ball mark and six or seven others besides. And that's one of my pet peeves. Fix your damn ball marks!
We'll take up the subject of replacing divots next week.
August 04, 2003
30 YEARS APART
i found these photos while cleaning out a drawer. the first is bill 30 years ago. second is jackson about 2 years ago.
5 MORE DAYS!
matty and mel’s big day is saturday!
i cannot BELIEVE how excited i am getting. this is one of those HUGE life events, and i’m so pumped! i’m being so weird. i’m telling perfect strangers that MY SON IS GETTING MARRIED ON SATURDAY! god, what a dork.
my sisters and i are putting on the rehearsal dinner on friday night at the resort where the wedding is being held. bill and i have rented a 3-bedroom condo where we’ll host the dinner on friday evening, an after wedding party for our friends on saturday (the real reception ends by 6 p.m.), and have bagels, coffee, and orange juice on sunday morning after golf.
here’s our rehearsal dinner menu:
fried ravioli appetizers; polenta, chicken, or beef shishkabobs; italian potato salad; caramel corn on the cob; grilled pineapple with chocolate sauce; bill’s chocolate chip cookies; matty’s favorite chocolate cream pie; beer, pop, iced tea
we’re keeping it simple for saturday night: a big pot of jambalaya, chips and dips, whatever goodies we have left, beer, pop, iced tea. bocce and euchre planned.
here’s the schedule for this week for ME (and as the mother of the groom, my schedule is EASY!):
tonight: alternate shoe shopping, rehearsal dinner outfit shopping
tuesday night: lists, planning before rest of the week frenzy
wednesday night: grocery shopping for rehearsal dinner, make desserts for rehearsal dinner
thursday night: cook and prep like crazy, i should have lots of help (my sisters, bill, jax, maybe mark and kt, and some friends. i also have to get my nails done at 7:45! then we’ll have to package everything up and refrigerate it before packing up in coolers on --
friday: pack up, make the drive to hidden valley (about 3 hours), check in, unpack, dress, rehearsal, and then dinner, CRASH!
saturday – THE BIG DAY!: my guys are having a round of golf early that morning so they’ll have plenty of time to get ready for the 2:00 ceremony, reception immediately following, and then our after-wedding little party, CRASH!
sunday: matt and mel will leave for punta cana very early, bill’s golfing again with friends, our little breakfast, pack up, head back to cleveland, CRASH!
tmi, i know. sorry. i’m so excited it was either start calling friends to talk about this stuff or blog.
Beards and Shaving
I have been cultivating this beard I have since 1993. We went on a family vacation, I think, and I didn't shave. I had a beard before that, too, but it's so hard to remember that far back; and I'm too lazy to figure it out because I would have to go through the years I was at a couple law firms. Then I would have my beard resume -- and some partner in charge of hiring would say, as one did to me, that the beard has to go if you want the job. I could then pull out my beard resume and show her that the beard had no effect on my performance, and that, in reality, my performance as a trial lawyer was better when I had a beard as opposed to when I didn't have a beard.
Why did I grow the beard? I hated shaving every day. I hated shaving whenever I did it. Most of the time, I missed a spot or cut myself or had razor burn or shaved off some skin with the whiskers or just plain forgot to do it.
Now, every couple (or three or four or five) days, I pull out the Braun clippers with the 1/4th-inch guard and just trim my beard and what little hair decides to show up on my head and then jump in the shower. I find it tolerable, but barely.
Every other guy on the street I see has some kind of beard. Back in '93, very few men had beards. Well, Isaac Hayes had a beard, and he was cool. He had a beard when he wrote and sang the Oscar-winning "Theme From Shaft." Fucking cool. Isaac Hayes, that is. Well, Shaft was cool, too. I remember catching some heat from friends for wanting to go downtown to the Hippodrome to see the flick -- what with me being a white boy from the 'burbs and all. I went.
Getting back to the beard, I decided that I'd do a trim Thursday morning. The electric clipper -- I clicked it on, but it just hummed and didn't make that BRR-R-R-R-R noise that causes deafness. The clipper parts, the metal thingys that move and actually do the cutting weren't moving; so, I figured that they needed to be oiled and put a couple drops of oil on the metal thingies, but nothing happened except for the hum.
I took the little, plastic quarter-inch guard off and unscrewed the two screws holding the clipper parts together, which fell on the floor because the vibrating thing inside the clipper that makes the metal thingys move was now free to make the BRR-R-R-R-R sound and scare the crap out of me. I moved the switch to "off" and cleaned out the whiskers that had accumulated, blew on the vibrating thing to make sure it was clean, picked the metal thingys off the floor, put them back where they were supposed to be, screwed them down, and turned on the machine.
On reflection here, I should have unplugged the little bastard while I was working on it and oiling it, but I didn't. I didn't get shocked or anything like that. I just should have unplugged the electrical appliance, that's all.
After I turned it on, I ran the thing from my Adam's apple, which really isn't an apple on me because it doesn't stick out, to a spot just under my chin. That was an awful lot of whiskers that came off. In the mirror, I noticed a big, white track, like a runway, under my chin. Shit! Forgot the damn guard!
Panic rose within me -- this would look pretty funny at the wedding coming up. So, two choices ... (1) Continue on this course and hack the whole thing off, or (2) figure out something else. #2 was the better choice, as I saw it.
I figured that I would make the beard real, real short and blend in the runway area so it wasn't as noticeable -- and that worked out pretty well. And this morning, I notice that it's almost grown back. Under the circumstances, it pays to be hirsute.
Speaking of hair, I was watching Bull Durham. We all know, and if we all don't know, now we will, that Kevin Costner is a bald guy. I noticed that he has a hairy chest, too. Sean Connery falls into that category, too. The question arises, actually two questions arise, in my mind; and I figure that this is as good a place as any for a poll. If I get like 11 commenters who cast their votes, isn't that like the same number of people who are asked about stuff in exit polls at voting places with an error margin of plus-or-minus nine per cent, which is why we thought Al Gore was the winner in Florida (Well, that and the fact that they were asking people who thought they voted for Gore and really voted for Lamont Cranston or some other guy because the ballots were misleading ["Oh, you still believe that, Bill, you hippie freak?"]?
In any event, I pose two questions to my two faithful readers (and Stacey's minions): (1) In your experience, have you found that bald men have hairy chests? and (2) In your experience, have you found that men with hairy chests are bald?
August 03, 2003
Warner Brothers, Where Are You?
Sometimes it is just too disturbing to read the news. I have eschewed the print media (Well, okay -- I admit it already! I read the horoscope that is posted at Starbucks when I go there. That's not like reading the newspaper. Okay, yes, I look at those tabloids in the supermarket check-out line; but what am I supposed to do? See, these things are forced upon me. It's not like I want to read these printed materials.)
Maybe some of it has to do with the fact that I got trashed by several newspapers for doing my job; but then the papers failed to report that the prosecutor didn't do her job and the appeal was dismissed. Whatever.
I was quite distressed because scientists are claiming that there is nothing they can do to combat a cancer-causing virus that is infecting the Tasmanian devil. The world's population of Tasmanian devils is being decimated by cancer.
Warner Brothers has made a lot of money off the Tasmanian devil without paying any kind of royalties or use fees. You can be sure that if I was charging you for T-shirts I was making with the unlicensed image of the Tasmanian devil, Warner Brothers would be slapping restraining orders on me and wanting millions of dollars. Don't let them know your neighbor has a tattoo of the Tasmanian devil on his calf -- WB will sue to have his leg cut off.
Yet, Warner Brothers paid nothing for use of the image and personality of the Tasmanian devil, which counts only the island of Tasmania as its home. It is now time for Warner Brothers to do the right thing. It is time for Warner Brothers to ante some of the millions of dollars of profits it has enjoyed at the expense and loss of this doomed critter.
Please write to Sander Schwartz, President, Warner Bros. Animation, and Barry Meyer, Chairman & Chief Executive Officer, Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc. c/o AOL Time Warner Inc. at 75 Rockefeller Plaza, New York, NY 10019, or call at (212) 484-8000 to voice your support for the survival of the Tasmanian devil!
my blog is cool!
i now have the coolest blog. new design. bill here. i love it! gimme some love! and my web wizard, matt, too. he's getting married in 6 days and is the greatest for spending all this time on this project!
soon to be added: our old archives from old sites, "100 things" lists, contact info. anything else?
Friday -- It Sucked
Wow! Look at this shit here! Man, I've never been on a .net domain site. This is really cool. I'm going to set up shop here. I negotiated a sweet deal. It's like plane fare -- flying on Saturday is cheaper or staying overnight on Saturday is cheaper -- whatever. It was cheaper. Except it is kind of like feminine-sounding, like lunanina, except I'm comfortable in my skin and with my sexuality and am not threatened by something like that.
So, I want to tell you that Friday sucked big time, personally and professionally.
A hearing was scheduled on a criminal case of the guy who stained our deck as a part of his fee, and I was hoping to get a couple bathrooms painted in the process. I'll get to him later.
First, there was a little marital misunderstanding, if you know what I mean, a little "I told you that -- No, you didn't, you ...."
So, the marital thing would have been resolved much more quickly if I didn't have to be in court with the painter dude. And if my cell phone had not been confiscated by the wise-ass homeland security woman at the front door of the court house. And if my damn text-messaging pager didn't run out of battery power after I sent a couple e-mails. I can't send anything out without power. That much is obvious, but I don't know what happens to e-mails that get sent to my pager with the little keyboard when the batteries die. I think they are lost in the ether, never to be recovered again. To the rescue, though, unbeknownst to him, came the bailiff, who was kind enough to let me use the phone in the court room -- where there were several people sitting in the gallery.
Now, getting back to the painter dude, he led the police on a high-speed chase in the middle of winter driving his full-size van on snowy side streets for 10 blocks, careening off a couple parked cars and hitting a pole while coked up after shoplifting $100 worth of stuff from a suburban mall.
He went through drug rehab and was doing the out-patient thing and going to AA meetings and was working with the hope of staying out of prison. He had a prior robbery on his record and a drug conviction and a failure to support charge. I was hoping to convince the judge, who worked for me a few years ago, that the painter dude should get probation, especially since I needed those bathrooms done; but she didn't like him barreling down the streets of the suburb where she lived at one time.
She told me she'd give him a year, and when I asked her about referring him for a presentence report and probation, she said, "Do you really want me to read about this guy's criminal history before I sentence him?"
So, there I was in the court room on the phone. The judge walked into the court room. Everyone stood up. She looked at me. Not smiling. Bad move, especially when my client was being sentenced. Do not piss off the judge. But I was already standing; so, that was one good thing.
So, I said, "Judge, I'm sorry. I'm on the phone with my wife."
And that was the second good thing brilliant legal maneuver because she said, "Let me know when you're ready," smiled, and went out the door.
And I finished the call, which was another good thing, and then the painter dude got his year in prison, which, thinking back on how he could have gotten five years on the fleeing and 18 months on the coke charge, which was dropped, was a good thing.
Well, ... umm ... maybe not for him; but in a couple years, he'll think so.
I made my way back home, hoping to get wireless on the deck by the pool, catch some rays, and try to move stuff from my old, new site to nothingbutlove.net to save a little dough because the good fellas at TypePad were going to start charging soon, unless I misunderstood the e-mail that I got. It takes a damn lawyer to interpret that kind of stuff, and the day they taught that stuff in law school, I was absent. So, I was fiddling about with the old, new site and didn't realize that stuff would be lost in oblivion if I hit a button that said "Yes." Or was it "No?" Well, poof! That was bad. I don't think I did anything at all wrong, and it was really a CIA covert domestic operation inasmuch as I criticized George Bush the Lesser in my last post. So, I'm back on the DOJ hit list, apparently. And you know what? That's a good thing.
And here I am --
And when I look back on Friday from my vantage point over here, it really didn't suck big time.
August 02, 2003
LIKE YOU DON'T ALREADY KNOW HIM: here's bill
i have no idea what this blog will look like by the end of today. after matt finishes. and at the end of tomorrow. when bill finishes. but the bottom line is that bill's moving here to nothingbutlove. cost-effective, you see. so we're working on a redesign of a redesign.
most of you visit us both, so it should work out fine; we'll see.
latah. going to starbucks!