Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

IT'S GO TIME

i had big plans for today. i wanted to get a lot of prep work done for our big dinner tomorrow. it's only going to be 10 people, but i'll make enough food for 30 (unless more rational heads can prevail).

we did most of the shopping yesterday at sam's and costco, so bill and i started off the day with a very short list at the grocery store. that done, we came home and made a quick lunch, settled in with some "family guy" videos, and subsequently fell fast asleep. perfect. when we woke up, bill worked on some "lawyer stuff," and i watched crap tv. perfect. then out to drop off a present for bill's mom at the fedex box and an eggnog latte. and one more little trip to the grocery store.

so NOW (8 p.m.) i've got to get started on my "work." i've got ravioli to boil (the breading and frying will wait until tomorrow). i've got a chocolate "pizza" to make -- we have to deliver it tomorrow morning to bill's cousin. bill's going to start on the egg nog and ANOTHER cheesecake. i've got beets to roast for the salad. i've got a marshmallow rice krispie "wreath" to make. this one's just plain going to be silly.

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i haven't been posting much, cuz i've been busy. and a slacker. friday night mark came home, and we headed to pennsylvania to have lunch with matt and mel to celebrate matt's graduation. he wound up graduating with honors, with a 4.0 in his major. he's the man! we had a nice lunch -- the company was nice, the food was crappy, the service was weird. but it was great to go up and see them and celebrate in this way with them. jax didn't even complain too much about 7 hours in one car. four of us. in the beetle. jax and mark in the back seat.

sunday morning jax invited us to come to a meeting where he was giving a "lead." he's led a half-dozen times before; but he was finally ok with us coming. so bill, mark, and i headed up to starbucks for fortification. jax had left much earlier as he drives anybody who needs a ride to meetings, and so he had to have his OWN car.

as soon as jax was introduced, bill, mark, and i each started quietly weeping. he was nervous, you could tell, yet more comfortable in the role than i could ever have imagined. amazing. and then the comments. whoa. the love and respect these people have for my son is overwhelming. all ages. all kinds of people. an 80 year-old-man in a wheelchair couldn't even speak he was so moved by his feelings for jax that all he could do to express his love for him was to blow him a kiss. too, too sweet.

what jax has found in those "rooms" has been the greatest gift of his life. he found himself. the jax we (his family) knew was there; but he needed these people to help him accept and embrace that person. i'm more thankful than i can ever express.

wow. a graduation and a lead. what a weekend. and it's not christmas yet!

Rule #2: Wear Dark, Non-Reflective Clothes at Night

It's not very Christmas-like here in northern Ohio with the rain coming down in buckets. The temperature is dropping into the lower 30's, and it is dark out there. We drove up to the grocery store to get an ingredient that I forgot to pick up for the cauliflower risotto that Stacey is making -- the cauliflower.

I drove up the driveway headed toward the street and nearly nailed two kids on skateboards. Now, I know times have changed a little since our kids were 10 or so, but they weren't allowed outside after dark unless one of us, meaning the adults, irresponsible as I might be, were with them. And that was the rule when they wanted to go play in the yard after dark or go in the pool. If they wanted to go to someone's house, they stayed indoors; and if we called to check up and the parent said they were outside, one of us was on the way in the car to pick up our kid.

Sometimes, even eternal vigilance doesn't keep them out of trouble.

I am trying to figure out what conversation went down with these kids' parents:

Kid: Mom, Dad, anybody home? Oh, Dad, there you are. How do you like that Chardonnay?
Dad: It's okay. A little flat, though. What do you want?
Kid: I'm going out.
Dad: Whaddaya askin' me for?
Kid: Mom said I should tell you.
Dad: It's dark out there.
Kid: I'm not scared of the dark any more.
Dad: It's raining, ain't it?
Kid: Yeah, I got my navy blue hoodie on and my black pants on.
Dad: Good. Stay outta trouble.

Stop in the Name of the Law

Tell me why I should stop in the middle of the road when being signaled to do so by a guy with a leather aviator's cap, sporting a scraggly beard and mustache, wearing a dirty, grease-streaked cloth jacket, mud-spattered jeans with a hole in one of the knees, and muddy boots, taking a drag on a cigarette?

Was I absent on the day Mr. Wise taught us in driver's ed to stop for this guy? Have new laws been passed that vagrants and bums are now able to control traffic? And he didn't have a squeegee in his hand ... or towels ... or a squirt bottle.

So, y'know, I slowed down a little. I mean, I am kind of careful when I'm driving. After all, my senses are sharp since we are on heightened alert level orange. And because of that, I was wary about stopping for this guy who had his hand extended, palm toward me, just like we practiced in the sixth grade when I was a crossing guard. I was Guard of the Month once -- November, I think. Mr. Sikler said I would have been Guard of the Month an unprecedented second time, but my captain fucked me over because I reported that he went in early one day -- well, he didn't exactly say that, but that was the real reason.

So, I drove right on past his outstretched hand, and he screamed at me to stop, using some obscenities, which was to be expected, including the big one in my book, the one that will get you tossed immediately, no questions asked, by any umpire.

I slammed on my brakes, not because I was upset with the guy who screamed the big one at me and was now gesturing at me, but because a flatbed trailer with one of the biggest bulldozers I had ever seen in my life was being backed up into my intended path of travel and lightning quick calculations indicated that decapitation was more likely than not.

The scraggly beard, appearing larger in my side view mirror, yelled at me. I couldn't understand him completely. It was difficult to understand just what he was screaming because the windows of the white VW Beetle were closed and the tractor-trailer carrying the humongous bulldozer was making an awful racket at that point, but he had apparently formed an opinion with what scant information he had at his disposal that he could call a bald guy with a gray beard driving such a vehicle "a god-damned, mother-fuckin' idiot."

Now, in this time of good will toward men and all that, there are still days when confrontation is not a wise choice as a course of conduct. This happened to be one of those days.

Then I heard a knock on the window at my left ear, and he was motioning at me to roll down the window. I shook my head disgustedly, not really replying to his request, more so commenting on the entire situation. What the heck. There was a huge bulldozer on a trailer stopped there in the street, blocking all traffic; and this guy was part of the problem, not part of the solution.

And the scraggly beard was now wanting me to get out of the white VW Beetle. I should have called the police at that point, but it being the Christmas season, why would I bother the police with such a trivial matter.

I'm thinking that nobody had ever obliged the grungy gentleman and did as he requested because the look on his face, eyes wide and big and mouth open, teeth needing some work, and his back-pedaling, all while looking up at me, gave me the distinct impression that he was surprised that someone had taken him up on the offer.

And he said he didn't have a problem when I asked him. He even asked how the Beetle drove after he apologized for stopping traffic like he did. It wasn't supposed to go down the way it did, he said.

I bet.

Pecan Pralines

We made some pecan pralines today. I had forgotten just how long it takes to make them, standing over the stove, stirring the sugary mixture over medium heat until it reaches 240 degrees F, the soft ball stage. I must have been standing and stirring a good 17 hours.

The actual goal was to make pecan praline cheesecakes. We made two of them, one six-inch and one nine-inch. They look good.

But this is not about the cheesecakes, this is about the two dozen pecan pralines, which were a secondary benefit of making the cheesecakes, that we left on the counter when we went up to Starbucks about an hour ago.

Dogs love pecan pralines.

My Rush Limbaugh Rant

Many of you know that my teenager is a recovering drug addict, who went through out-patient treatment, then spent a couple months wandering through the desert and mountains of southern Utah about a year and a half ago, then went through intensive out-patient treatment, and now is involved in AA, attending meetings at least six days a week, working hard on his sobriety and his life, part of which is helping others fight their demons.

A few years ago, I would catch snippets of Rush Limbaugh's radio show from time to time. It was hard to listen to him. Consequently, I haven't listened to that show in a few years. I didn't like his philosophy or his political leanings. William Brennan, former U.S. Supreme Court justice, had a definition for obscenity: "I know it when I see it."

I found Rush Limbaugh's rantings and ravings obscene. I chose to turn him off. That's how I feel about Rush Limbaugh.

And I haven't paid attention to his travails. I know he admitted to having an addiction problem. I have represented a few Oxycontin addicts, not having been arrested for being addicts, but for other things. One guy who had prescription pads that were stolen from a doctor's office and forged, trying to obtain the drug from a dozen pharmacies, was indicted for several dozen offenses. Another altered prescriptions, adding a zero to the number of pills that the physician prescribed. Blue ink and black ink are distinguishable, as are photocopies another person tried to pass off as real. Taking grandma to get pain prescriptions works, but taking each of your kids in with sprained ankles doesn't. I could go on. Addicts go to great lengths, whether or not rational, to feed the monkey. Have they committed crimes? In our present system, you bet. Many get treatment as a part of the legal process; many go to prison, where they have little problem getting drugs.

Stacey turned me on to a couple articles on CNN.com about the D.A. getting search warrants to obtain Rush Limbaugh's medical records to determine whether Limbaugh was breaking the law.

I'm on Rush Limbaugh's side on this one. It seems as if he's getting a dose of his own ultra-conservative philosophy, and I could easily jump on the anti-Rush-Limbaugh bandwagon and say it serves him right.

It doesn't serve Rush Limbaugh, and it doesn't serve many in the same predicament. The answer is not arresting Rush Limbaugh or even spending gobs of cash from the public coffers to investigate, especially after he has admitted that he is an addict and has been through an extensive treatment program. Okay, maybe he broke the law. Maybe he didn't. Should our scarce resources be spent on prosecuting Rush Limbaugh and others like him, whether they be rich, poor, and middle class, or on programs to treat individuals with addictions.

Is prosecution of Rush Limbaugh or any of the others I mentioned the human thing to do? What are we doing with the modern theory of addiction -- disregarding it and seeking to imprison addicts? Where is our compassion?

Blog It Forward -- Stylish Travels

I don't know what the heck I am supposed to do here, but two very nice people, one over at Kazoofus who goes by the strange tag, Kathy Howe, and the other with a picture of her bare feet, named -d, directed myriads of people here last week by "blogging it forward." I know I am not deserving of such an honor, but my better half certainly is.

It's my turn to blog it forward; so, I will tell you that there is a funny, intelligent, innovative superwoman over at Traveling in Style, whose nom de plume is Suzette, and who has actually locked lips with Wayne Newton out in Vegas and shopped after midnight with Elvis. She can't be all bad because she likes dogs, Welsh (is there any other kind?) Corgies, to be specific.

I would add that she often links to interesting soup recipes and Martha Stewart has copied her so often that Martha was indicted -- oh, that stock thing Martha whines about is just a cover story. Suzette is the real reason.

Please take her for a test drive.

After you've done that, check her links for Chucklehut, where you can look up this bald dude, owner of the Hut. All I can tell you is that when I grow up, I want to be just like him. He is indescribable, sometimes indecipherable, ever insightful, and never boring.

Show Me the Money!

Finally. After 7 long years. I saw the envelope. Excitement rippled through me. You know, that shiver shoots through you just like a fucking electric shock. Thank God it didn't go through my heart. I would have croaked right there at the mail box.

Fuck it, I thought. I'm going to the bank. I'll deposit this baby and surprise my wife. Diamond ring. Then I thought, "No, won't be enough. Maybe one of those fancy flat screen monitors or something like that."

The money from the lawsuit came today. Oh, I was pumped. I got to the bank and opened the envelope.

And looked at the check.

What the fuck? I meant to say, "What the fuck?"

I took it over to Molly, the teller, who laughed and said, "I can't cash this, Billy." She handed the check back to me.

She was right. Everyone knows that the law of negotiable instruments says that the words denoting the amount on a check will be paid if there is a conflict between the numbers indicating the amount and the words.

It's not even 17 cents I get. I get 17 fucking MILLS. Not even one red cent. 17/100ths of a cent. Mother-fucking lawyers.

My letter to the god damned administrator of the fucking fund will cost 37 fucking cents to mail. There's no phone number on the letter.

Fucking jackasses. I'm filing a fucking class action suit.

JAX

this is going to be a little (ok. a lot) long. first is a post jax made at his old site. it blew me away. #2 is my post on my old site reacting to that. third comes my commentary (there’s a reason i posted these today – you’ll have to read to the end for it to make any sense). i know i’ve ALREADY lost some of you.

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#1 : Friday, April 4 : posted by jackson

Right now I am sitting here in my room listening to Stevie Ray Vaughan playing live. The cd is a two-disc set from the Montreux Jazz Festival in '82 and '85. The sounds that are coming out of the speakers are that of a hot summer thunderstorm. They blow you to the back of the seat like a wind gust of a hurricane. Yes. . . a guitar hurricane. Everything in a jumble but still making sense to the trained ear. To a lot of people, it would sound the same. The same old chord changes and turn-arounds. You know -- all that crappy talk. It makes you want to throw up when you hear someone say that "Texas Flood" is the same as "You Better Leave My Little Girl Alone. " They are different. Similar but different. That is the beauty of his playing. He can take the same chord changes and the same timing and make it sound completely different. Different emotions and different effects on the brain. It cuts into your heart like a freshly sharpened butcher's knife. The kind you chop through bones with. The strat has never been used to such limits as SRV has used it. It has never been so abused and humbled. Before Stevie came along, the strat thought nobody could conquer it and push it to the limits. Stevie Ray Vaughan practically blows the pickups out of the body. I wonder what would happen to a Washburn or an Ibanez. They would probably crumble in his hands after one searing note from his finger. All I am trying to say is that Stevie Ray Vaughan is so out of this world. He makes sitting around doing nothing feel like Heaven.

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#2 : Saturday, April 5 : posted by stacey
AT SEVENTEEN

4:50 p. m. edited: title changed and lyrics added

THEIR SMALL-TOWN EYES WILL GAPE AT YOU
IN DULL SURPRISE WHEN PAYMENT DUE
EXCEEDS ACCOUNTS RECEIVED AT SEVENTEEN

from janis ian's "at seventeen"

this is why i'm freaked out today! start reading at "yesterday's news. " i am awed on a daily basis at SOMETHING from this kid.

this is one of the throw-away kids in our school district. you know what i mean: one of those kids they feel right off is not only NOT WORTHY AS A PERSON, but not worth their time and effort. easier to insure that he fails in their tiny, irrelevant chunk of the world than look a little deeper merely by OPENING THEIR EYES and doing THEIR FUCKING JOBS (i know that this is a novel idea -- i need to come down off my cloud)! most teachers just collect a paycheck. they COULD be doing something really important and making a difference. but noooo. . . and when this kid makes it -- and he will -- they'll be crawling out of the woodwork to own a piece of it. how will i be able to keep my mouth shut? how? i don't want to want to.

oh. and thank you god, for the FEW teachers that deserve and have earned for the rest of them their coveted and nauseating "martyr" status. i counted ONE at our local high school. you know who you are who deserve it -- AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE THAT DON'T. don't think for ONE SECOND that it was YOU who taught this kid anything about writing, music, literature, history, or even MATH. don't think you had ANYTHING to do with teaching him that he is a person that can do SOMETHING, say something, teach something, BE something. you looked at him for one minute and quickly ascertained that he deserved NONE of your priceless attention and figured it all out. he was NOTHING to you. and he would NEVER be more than NOTHING.

my friends say: let it go, get over it. i will. but YOU WILL KNOW WHAT IT IS I'VE GOTTEN OVER. and then maybe YOU will have learned something. to open your fucking eyes and heart. gah. forget it. you either have it in you, or you don't.

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#3: Thursday, Decenber 19 : the big pay-off posted by stacey

2 weeks ago jax picked me up from work and told me that he called mr. h. and left a v/m message for him that he’d like to sit down and talk to him about “a couple things.” i, DUH, said what “things?” he said that he wanted to make amends through mr. h. for the way he treated both the high school and mr. h. personally. my response: pfffft. you don’t owe any of them shit, jax. they let YOU down. he proceeded to tell me that it wasn’t really FOR them, it was for HIMSELF. he needed to know that he did the right thing, whether or not the school administrators / staff / teachers behaved righteously or not.

oh man. god DAMN it. i wanted to be RIGHT. i wanted them to know what they missed about this kid.

he met with mr. h. today. now they know.

it wasn't MY way, but it was the RIGHT way.

CALL ME OSCAR

i am ready to run out of my office screaming – either that or go into felix unger’s office and start making head contact with my cane. over and over again. i’m having fantasies – like john cusack in “high fidelity.” if i could pick up an air conditioner and bash his head in, i would. ok. maybe not. but i’d daydream about it.

i do NOT think that having allergies – or a cold -- entitles a person to drop all pretenses of civilized courtesies that normally surround the expelling or clearing of mucous secretions from the nose or throat. i’m not talking about sniffing, sneezing, coughing, or blowing your nose. i’m talking about snorting and hocking. every goddamned 30 seconds. i am not kidding you. go down the hall to the men’s room and have it out. go twice an hour, i don’t care. go every 15 minutes. whatever. just cut it out. you are making me physically ill.

other things i want you to stop – immediately:
• popping bubble wrap until all bubbles have been popped
• eating whatever it is you eat every morning in your office so loudly. stop scraping the tupperware bowl you brought it in like it’s a snare drum and you’re in the ohio state marching band
• sending out morse-code messages with your click-top pen (i don’t stock the office with those – where do you get them?)

phone calls are in a separate category. stop immediately:
• asking EACH AND EVERY person in the company what their 401k plan is worth
• asking same people what their interest rate is on their home mortgages
• asking those with college-aged kids what the kids scored on the sat’s and what scholarship money, if any, the kids received
• settling nintendo arguments between your 5 year old and 6 year old

other miscellaneous complaints:
• does your cousin think you won’t know who he is if he leaves a message for you to call him by leaving only his first name? who the fuck does he think he’s impressing when he says “dr. first name last name.” give me a break.
• when i bring in donuts to share, do NOT ask if they are “fresh” or “old.” just. do. not.
• ask personal and very nosy questions to jen about the cost of her upcoming wedding, her newly purchased home, her car, when she’s getting a ring, etc.
• when jen and i have made other plans for picking up lunch, act like it was our responsibility to make sure you had something to eat. you rarely return the favor.
• stop behaving as though you are a member of a “protected class” because you have small children and are thus deserving of special consideration for each and every office event, including arriving at work by 9:30, instead of 8 or 8:30, every day. when my children were small, i don’t remember bill behaving in this manner. i don’t know anybody else who does this. including your boss, who continued her very busy travel schedule, all though her kids’ young years with grace and without sacrificing a very close and involved mothering relationship. i do NOT know why she cuts you such slack. she IS a better person than i am. this is the woman who took your place in an important meeting with a customer because you “burned the bottoms of your feet on the sand at the beach.” give me a break. and still, she thinks you’re the bomb. the fact that she can do this is not reason enough for me to re-adjust my thinking about YOU – it only serves to have me admire HER even more for her good nature.

bah. humbug.

Tank Tops and Chains

To: Guy With Problem With Metal Detector

I couldn't help but notice that you were having a problem getting past the metal detector at the Justice Center. The machine you were trying to walk through detects metal. The large medallion around your neck and outside of your tight-fitting tank top is METAL.

To: Uniformed Guy Guarding Entrance of Justice Center

The machine that people walk through is a metal detector. It beeps loudly when it detects metal. The large medallion around the neck of the man wearing the tight-fitting tank top is METAL. It’s a wonder that the hand-held metal detector allowed you to discover it and determine that the medallion was, indeed, made of metal.

Sending the guy back and forth through the metal detector five times does not TRANSMUTE the metal to another form undetectable by the metal detector.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, TOO!

the other night i dreamt that someone was coming to town to try to kill me on 12/22/03. all i have to say is “bring it, bitch.” do not underestimate THIS gimp.

ok. maybe i take my dreams a little too seriously. maybe not. because...

last night i dreamt my boss who was scheduled to fly to chicago today never made the trip because she was sick. and guess who just e-mailed me from home with this: “Just to let you know that I didn't make my trip today and am staying home. I'll be on e-mail frequently and anyone can call me at home if you like (although I don't have much of a voice).”

i’m just warning you. i’ll have three big guys with me at all times on monday. even though i’m pretty sure i could handle you all on my own. i think they want a piece of you, too. yeah, that’s right.

ok. i’m really not this scary. not all the time anyway.

Rules of Etiquette

I've been in trial since last Wednesday. Tomorrow, the case goes to the jury. I went to the grocery store after "work." I have been using the self-serve check-out scanners at the grocery store with more frequency in the last couple weeks than I have before. It's the holiday lines, I guess. If I have a few items, I just head over to one of the self-serve stations without having to wait. Except for today. Although the rules of etiquette for the self-serve check-out lanes are still in their infancy, I think we need to get one of those rules straight right now.

You must admit that there is a difference between the self-serve check-out and the regular attended check-out.

With the attended check-out, it is axiomatic that control of the entire check-out process devolves upon the cashier. The customer abdicates all control over the process and the line, except, of course, when the customer with a bulging, overflowing cart allows someone with one or two items to go ahead. On one occasion, however, I witnessed a cashier nullify such a move and direct the customer with only a couple items to the "12 Items or Fewer" line, thereby asserting absolute authority over the entire check-out process. The customer's choice to allow someone to cut was illusory.

Here is where the problem lies. With the attended check-out, oftentimes the cashier permits a customer, during check-out, to retrieve an item from the shelves that he forgot to get. I say "he" because invariably it is a man who has overlooked an item on a list he was given or, having eschewed a list because he believes himself to be of superior intellect, forgot what he was supposed to get until he saw the item in the cart of the woman behind him in line.

If you are not a novice, you know that the experienced cashier, at busy times, elects to ring out the customer and upon his return then total up the items. Today's memory cash registers allow this to be done very easily. The cashier takes the next person, the woman, and they make fun of the guy who forgot the item.

What procedure is in place if this occurs at the self-serve check-out? I went to the self-serve check-out and found that a lot of stuff was on the rollers at the end of the conveyor and the screen was in the middle-of-the-order configuration. I assumed that the customer had forgotten something and went on a search mission to retrieve the item or items that were forgotten. How is one really supposed to know that, though? An unscrupulous individual could scan the two cartons of skim milk and box of Rice Krispies, bag them, and leave before the customer returns from his mission.

I didn't do this. I went over to the express lane, at which there were several people in line; however, at the time I paid the cashier, the person still had not returned to the self-serve check-out, perhaps lost in the organic produce or frozen foods section.

It is my opinion that the rule of etiquette should be that the check-out process must be completed, even if an item is forgotten. That's why convenience stores are located on the way home. Pick up the forgotten item there -- oh, yes, the price for the item will be higher, but that's the penalty that should be paid under the circumstances.

U.L. Approved

Stacey picked out the Christmas tree. I drove onto the lot and back to where the trees were standing. She saw two of them that fit the bill. I did not pick out the tree. I got out of the car and shook the snow off of both of the trees, and she picked out the tree. The tree looks great. The two guys at the tree lot tied it onto the top of the white VW Beetle. I figured I could drive the 1/4 mile home without incident rather than pay the $25 ransom on top of what the tree cost to deliver it from captivity.

I put the tree up with the help of the boy. Now, I know some of you will criticize the manner and method employed by yours truly in lighting the tree, but you must understand that there is no other way. We strung the lights onto the tree and plugged them in. Half of one string of lights didn't work. And those colored mini-lights are made to do stuff like that -- and after years of experience, I know that if I would have performed the ritualistic laying out and testing of the lights that they would have been lighted during testing, but would have gone out when strung onto the tree.

I was not thrown by the light failure and replaced that string with a right-out-of-the-box, brand new set of indoor-outdoor white mini-lights, 150 of them. Cool. They worked.

Stacey told me to trim some branches off one side because of a "bulge." So, I got the kitchen shears to trim the "bulge." I snipped off a little branch and then another one, both falling to the floor. The green wiring on the lights really blends in well with the green color of the tree. Modern color plastics technology is impressive in this particular application. I snipped again and the brand new string of lights went dark. I waited a moment to see if the entire eastern seaboard would blink out. Fortunately, it did not.

WTF. I said it out loud, though. I admit it. I know that's like a mortal sin, saying that when putting up the Christmas tree. She laughed. The boy laughed. Funny.

I needed tape. It was a brand new strand of lights. I was not going to unstring it from the tree. Again. And I have dabbled in the electronic arts from time-to-time. The novice should unplug the lights so that he or she will eliminate the possibility of electrical shock. But if you strip the insulation off the wires , twist them together, and tape them, then plug them in and they don't light up, you've wasted a whole lot of time and tape, and you have to start over again.

So, I left the string of lights plugged in. Stripping the insulation off the wires is a necessary step, so that the wires can be spliced together. And the wire stripper ... that was in the cold garage in one of the tool boxes or upstairs in the drawer of the dresser on my side of the bed or in the cupboard above the washer in the laundry room. Or it could have been in the pool box which is still outside because I did do some electrical work out by the pool. So, I used my teeth to strip the green plastic insulation off the wires.

To be frank, I don't know how it happened, but I should have been okay. I mean, electrically speaking, I did nothing wrong. It's like the birds perched on the high-voltage wires way up there in the sky. Same principle ... I think. And there was no problem here with the technique. Sometimes though, there are distractions which occur -- the chair you're standing on wobbles a little; the dog jumps on your leg; or, as in this case, she says something cute about some ornament and I look over, just with my eyes, mind you, just with my eyes, and well ... electrically speaking, something happened because I felt like I had a mouth full of buzzing and stinging bees that were not only in my mouth but dancing back and forth across my face real fast and up and down my arms, almost like that guy wearing the suit of bees I saw in Ripley's Believe or Not Museum in Niagara Falls would feel if they were, in fact, stinging him.

Having discovered which was the live wire, the rest was easy.

Electricity can be your friend.

I'M NOT DEAD YET.

it’s been REALLY busy for me, thus the lack of postings from me. here’s a picture of our tree which we just got up yesterday.

i’m not the kind of person who believes there’s only one perfect tree, so it’s usually a quick trip to the guy from whom we usually get our tree; but this time it took us 2 outings to find a tree. i know, i know, that doesn’t sound too bad; but i HATE wasting an errand and coming home empty handed.

saturday was kind of frustrating in general that way. we spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME looking for two dvd’s: “mickey’s magical christmas (which we wanted ONLY for the “mickey’s christmas carol” chapters, and the 1970 “scrooge” starring albert finney. bill and i LOVE that movie, as it was just out that first christmas we were dating. i remember what we wore that date. you don’t wanna know, but we looked pretty groovy back in 1970!

we finally found the disney video, and came home and ordered the “scrooge” on line.

i did have a very nice, quiet, christmas luncheon with two of my sisters (one’s not around – she’s in north carolina). we spent some time after lunch browsing a couple neat stores in shaker square. i found bill a couple funky pairs of reading glasses – i was going to put them in his stocking, but we are so bad with not being able to wait, so i asked him if he wanted what i bought him, and he said yes. bad. i also found a fun present for mark and a picture frame for my mother-in-law for our new family photo.

i also found a place online to order some ghirardelli chocolate and caramel sauce – bill is determined to perfect our own coffee drinks!

the tree setup had only one small mishap (as far as bill goes – it was small). while trimming some branches, bill cut right through a light cord and had to reconnect. i wasn’t paying attention, heard a loud “OH!” (just like homer without the “d”). he hadn’t unplugged the cord (DOH!), and OF COURSE, HE SHOCKED HIMSELF. OF COURSE he did. hrmmmm.

*****

oh. and some really nice news: matt is a college graduate! he chose not to attend the commencement ceremony as it’s not the same as the spring commencement; so instead, we’re all heading up saturday to celebrate and spend the day with him and mel. god, am i old. my baby a college GRADUATE. too many of the ornaments brought me to tears yesterday. more than once, jax asked me, amazed, “ARE YOU CRYING???!!!” yup. i was. i earned it.

IHOP

We went to IHOP yesterday for the second time for breakfast since the place opened about six months ago. We went for dinner once late at night. After those visits, I have devised the IHOP Theory.

IHOP Theory: If you have ever been to a dentist, you cannot work at IHOP.

I'm sure that this is a local anomaly. It can't be like this all over.

On Running Out of Gas

My best friend, Dave, told me that mandatory flying lessons for me will be starting up after the first of the year. I am looking forward to it in the extreme.

He assured me that my first lesson will be to learn where the gas gauge is, to check it, and to make sure the tanks are full of the right kind of fuel. Being the ever-reliable friend that he is, I had called him for help on several occasions when I ran out of gas.

Since he will be my flight instructor and he knows my history with gas and ground transportation, I should be okay.

Now, about using the cell phone ...

The Legal System By Numbers

I started with the title, having the idea that I would do that idiotic MasterCard-commercial-type thingy with the "priceless" thing at the end; and it got me to thinking about the last three days I spent at the court house waiting to start the trial of a kid accused of a couple counts of armed robbery and a couple counts of kidnapping. His buddy pulled out a gun; so, he has three-year mandatory prison terms tacked on to a couple of those counts if he is found guilty. My client has a defense. That's why we're having a trial.

He's looking at a lot of years, a minimum of 12, most likely, in the big house if he's convicted. The plea bargain offered to him would give him six years. The potential jurors -- well, enough got excused by the judge that he decided we would start Monday with a new batch; and that, I felt, was a good thing. There's all kinds of jury selection "experts" out there -- that's what Dr. Phil used to do -- but after doing this for so long, it's the feeling in my gut I go with.

The other guy took the deal -- it was his gun and he confessed -- and he took a deal on the robbery he did of the same establishment a couple weeks earlier. He had another guy with him on that one and he's testifying against that guy as part of the plea bargain. So, he's getting nine years.

We start up again Monday morning.

The MasterCard thing just wasn't that funny aftyer thinking about this stuff. I hate those commercials anyway. I'd rather see that stupid-ass Fran Drescher Old Navy commercial than another MasterCard commercial.

Hey Brother, Can You Spare a Can of Gasoline

I walked out of Marc's discount store this evening empty-handed. I wanted to buy a few boxes of Rice Krispies cheap. The place had some kind of "Rice Krispies Treat" cereal, which is little clumps of Rice Krispies held together with marshmallow. Why this is a cereal, I don't know. That's one of the things I wanted to make, however, the Rice Krispies marshmallow bars or whatever they are called along with some chocolate things with Rice Krispies mixed in.

In any event, I got near the car and two guys were standing behind it, one with a shopping cart full of blue bags and assorted boxes that didn't fit in blue bags, the other empty-handed. As I got closer, the empty-handed guy with a red baseball cap, blond hair sticking out at odd angles, and a drooping blond mustache, was doing the talking, explaining to the guy with the cart, who blocked my exit, that gas stations didn't lend out gas cans anymore.

He said that it was ridiculous, especially at this time of year, "the time when charity toward all is supreme," for the gas station owners not to trust people to bring back gas cans.

He said that gas stations were not the same anymore and that gas stations wanted to make a dollar off of people's misfortunes and charge $4.99 for gas cans.

The guy with the shopping cart was nodding and said that it was a terrible state of affairs, especially when Halliburton was raping the government with the gas prices it was charging in Iraq -- well, maybe not the last part, but he meant to say it, I know he did. He had that look about him, but the empty-handed guy in the red baseball cap and white hooded sweatshirt interrupted him.

I was getting into the car at that point, and the empty-handed guy with the red baseball cap and dirty blue jeans said that he couldn't buy anty gas if he bought the gas can. I slid into the seat and looked in the rear view mirror. The guy with the cart had some paper money out and was counting out one-dollar bills. I don't know how many, probably five. He gave the one-dollar bills to the empty-handed guy with the red baseball cap and fingerless ragg-wool gloves, who vigorously pumped the guy with the shopping cart's hand.

I count myself as one of the few experts in this area, that is, running out of gas and having to buy gas cans from the gas station. I have four of them in the garage -- well, three, now. I lent one to the neighbor across the street, and he never returned it.

I have four of them -- well, three now -- because I had to get gas cans on four of the seven times I ran out of gas. The last time I bought the gas can for $2.49 (admittedly, the cheaper model) at Speedway (or Starvin' Marvin's, I can't remember what they call it). The same kind of gas station, a franchise operation, can be found right across the road from the shopping center. I doubt that the price of gas cans has doubled there in the last year or so. After all, I haven't run out of gas lately, so the demand is way down.

I would say that the guy with the shopping cart full of blue bags has little or no expertise in this field and that he had been unfairly taken advantage of. The empty-handed guy with the red baseball hat went off in a southerly direction and the guy with the shopping cart full of blue bags went off to the north.

I pulled the car out of the parking space and drove up the aisle to the north. I checked my rear view as I passed the guy with the shopping cart and he had a satisfied smile on his face in the spiri9t of the season.

Liar

Two guys are accused of armed robbery. The case was scheduled for trial today. The prosecutrix told one of the lawyers that one defendant was going to testify against the other. The following conversation took place in the conference room between their lawyers.

Ty: Y'know, she's a fuckin' liar.
Billy: I know she's a liar.
Ty: I'm not one to spread false rumors, Billy.

It's an SUV World

The new 5th 3rd Bank branch opened recently, I do not do my banking there. I'm into more traditional bank names, like U.S. Bank. There's an original name for a bank. Or National City Bank. Or the World Bank. I have never seen or heard of the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th 3rd Banks, though; so, I looked on the Internet and found someone who had done some research.

I went to the new 5/3 Bank (that's what the sign says, which actually makes it the One and Two-Thirds Bank) because I didn't feel like getting out of the car and running in to the grocery store where one of my bank branches is located to use the ATM because it was cold and I didn't feel like getting out of the car because the seat was already heated up (I have the seat heater set on 3, on a scale which goes up to 5; so, the seat was heated to 3/5.). I went to the drive-up ATM at the 5/3 Bank.

As usual, I was driving the white VW Beetle, the one with the black "The Who" sticker on the back bumper just to the right of the license plate. I pulled up to the ATM. I looked up to the ATM. The slot into which I was supposed to stick my ATM card was way up high, not for someone sitting in a car like the one I was driving. And I had to be as tall as Zydrunas Ilgauskas to even begin to reach the buttons alongside the little TV screen to get my money.

Well, it turns out that I pushed the wrong button because the choices on the screen were not lined up with the buttons because of the angle. I'm sure that there is some kind of mathematical formula that explains that kind of thing.

I got a piece of paper that got spit out of a slot at the eight-foot level, and I had to like stand up with my head and upper body out of the window, all the time keeping my foot on the brake, to reach the damn thing. It was as I slid back down into the seat to start the process over that I saw, at convenient eye level, the white-and-red placard with the 5/3 stylized logo on it over a blurred image of a woman looking at an SUV. Get a new SUV with a home equity line of credit.

So, that's the game. The whole ATM experience was an advertisement for financing a new SUV. Genius. Whoever thought of that must get a year-end bonus. Probably the same one who thought of the name of the bank.

The Law Is A Ass, Part 12,675

On the fiftieth anniversary of the arguments before the Supreme Court in the Brown v. Board of Education cases, in which the attorney for the Topeka, Kansas, Board of Education, in a tour de force performance admired by the Oscar people to this day, actually broke down and cried for the little black boys and girls who would never be able to compete with the white children if there was integration of the races in public schools, Stacey pointed out that the Supreme Court refused to take the appeal of a record company, thereby allowing 90-year-old civil rights activist Rosa Parks to maintain her suit against LaFace Records and the group, Outkast, over the hit song, Rosa Parks.

Shit. She might sue me for using her name here.

So, it seems that we are talking about really, really stupid legal stuff; so, how about that Doug Baker. He’s claiming that because he consulted a white witch and four psychics and spent 20 g’s in doing so to find his lost dog, he should be able to recover $160,000 from his dog-sitter. Oh, let’s not forget that Baker’s lawyer, Geordie Duckler, nobly hopes to redefine personal property laws. The only personal property that Geordie wants to redefine is the cash in his pocket from a settlement.

And Geordie – you are obviously an ambulance chaser of some repute out there in Oregon. Why not try to expand your sphere of influence on a global scale? There’s a woman in Spain who gave a pay phone the finger after she lost her money who will need your services. The pay phone retaliated and would not let her finger go, an obvious defect in the product. Perhaps, you can ring the bell on this one, too. She surely suffered a permanent loss of the use of her middle finger and will suffer immeasurable economic and psychological losses because her ability to drive her car and signal to others will be grossly impaired.

Is it any wonder people think lawyers are assholes?

IT'S THANKSGIVING ALL OVER AGAIN

saturday i used the rest of what can be described as “leftovers.” i’ve got a couple full meals in the freezer, but i consider those “make-ahead meals.” you see, some of the people in my house have a problem with that word – leftovers. i made a couple things that came out really nice, and i thought i’d share the recipes i came up with.

thanksgiving in a pot soup

3 c turkey and gravy (this was the pulled-apart last bits of turkey, stored in about a cup of gravy – so it’s about 3 cups that was left in the container, along with about
1 ½ c left-over stuffing, broken up into bite size pieces
1 ½ c left-over cooked corn
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 cups diced potatoes (about 1” cubes)
½ stick (4 T) butter
½ c flour
2 c half-n-half
½ gallon hot water or chicken stock (i just used water cuz my gravy was pretty intensely flavored)
1 packet of gravy mix (mine came with my butterball turkey, so you could consider it a leftover)

saute the onion and potatoes in the bottom of your stock pot for about 5 minutes in the ½ stick of butter, stirring often. add the turkey w/gravy, the stuffing, and the corn. saute for another 10 minutes, stirring often. stir in the flour, saute another 5 minutes. stir in the half-n-half, mix it up nice. add the water, season very lightly with salt and pepper, stir in the turkey gravy packet for extra flavor. simmer for about 30 minutes. taste, season again if necessary.

i also had a couple cups of mashed sweet potatoes and some cranberry sauce, so i made some

sweet potato pancakes

1 ½ c mashed sweet potatoes
5 eggs, separated
2 cups milk (you might need more, but start with one cup. you’ll want this to be a loose batter. not as loose as pancakes, but close)
1 bag of traditional flavor turkey stuffing, you just those crispy flavored bread cubes
1 c crushed walnuts
½ c leftover corn
salt and pepper

smash up the stuffing cubes so you have bread crumbs. add everything EXCEPT the 5 egg whites. mix nicely. whip up the egg whites to soft peaks. fold the whites into the potato mixture gently.

using a ¼ c measuring cup, add to hot vegetable oil. fry until a nice deep golden brown. turn over, repeat.

serve these with a dollop of your leftover cranberry sauce on top. this recipe makes a lot of these pancakes. so now you’ll have these as leftovers!

Deprived As a Child?

We were wandering through Costco a couple weeks back, getting turkeys and stuff, and there was a huge display for the Hasbro Easy-Bake Oven. I didn't know that the oven was still being marketed after all these years. My sister had one. I think that's why she's a vegetarian. The hamburger took several hours to cook.

On NPR this morning, there was a story about the Easy-Bake Oven.

And I read a couple posts on a certain website and got to wondering whether the writer needs to start small. After all, she nearly burned down half of the upper Midwest trying to make popcorn.

Did our friend, KathyHowe, own an Easy-Bake Oven when she was a young girl? It's just a theory, mind you, but I believe that she was deprived of the joy of cooking brownies and the satisfaction of sharing an English muffin pizza with her Chatty Kathy doll when she was in her formative years.

But there is still hope for anyone who was deprived. The oven space is now larger. It still uses an inexpensive 100-watt bulb (And KathyHowe, do not cause a meltdown by substituting a 300-watt bulb.). The instructions are so simple, a 10-year-old can understand them. There are recipes at the website you can print in the form of recipe cards. Create luscious desserts for your friends.

A cookbook specifically written for the oven with recipes by great chefs is available.

There is still time to learn. Or just order out.

The Deer Hunter

Deer-hunting season with shotguns and deer rifles has come to an end, and my friend, DT, concluded his unsuccessful quest for the big buck he spotted before the season began, reporting to me by e-mail from rural central Ohio:

From: DT
To: Billy
Sent: December 6, 2003, 4:11 p.m.

Damn near got run over this morning. 12 does and a buck just came out of nowhere. the buck was nice but wouldn't let me shoot him. Kid I been taking hunting got a little six point. but no luck the rest of the day. Deer kill in the county is way down. Still got muzzle loader season, that's my favorite, so will get rested up for that. Lee is PISSED cause I am going to run for county commissioner again, big time Pissed!!!!!! She won't tell me why, she says I promised but that was the night of the election and she caught me in a moment of weakness. Have to decide for sure by tuesday.

To: DT
From: Billy
Sent: December 6, 2003, 10:12 p.m.

Go for it, dude. But buy her a present. Too bad about the deer. At this point, you cannot convince me that you like to shoot the deer. You just like being outside and running around and sliding -- hey, that sounds like baseball -- you used to strike out a lot there too. HAHAHAHA :^)

From: DT
To: Billy
Sent: December 7, 2003, 7:36 p.m.

It is a lot like baseball. You are still a wiseass. Byte me! I really do like hunting better than killing the deer. I actually think they are cute, keep that one to yourself please. They are fun to watch. I should hunt with a camera. Had Jr. Miss stuff today. one of the girls is from Wapak and Buck is her counselor. Might get them to come down in Feb. that would be a blast. Will keep you posted. Did you miss the snow we got about 2 inches was fun hunting with it on the ground. Could have shot a big buck, but only ever saw his eye and rack. Sneaky Fucker.

I'd say another successful gun-hunting season ended for DT.

Music

I finally put the CDs in the disc changer for the white VW Beetle with "The Who" sticker on the bumper. Here's the line-up:

1. John Denver & The Muppets -- "A Christmas Together;"
2. "Rockin' Little Christmas" with Chuck Berry, Brenda Lee, and others;
3. "Johnny Mathis For Christmas;"
4. Nat King Cole - "The Christmas Song;"
5. Vince Guaraldi -- "A Charlie Brown Christmas;"
6. Barbra Streisand -- "A Christmas Album."

Georgia On My Mind

I must be honest here. I didn't read the article. No time. Have to go to Starbucks.

Here's the headline and little recap from the e-mail I get from The New York Times on-line edition:

Rumsfeld Visits Georgia to Bind a Strategic Partnership
By THOM SHANKER
The defense secretary expressed support for Georgia in the
face of secessionist sentiment and the presence of Russian troops.

What is going on down there in Georgia. I know about the flap over the Confederate flag, but is that any reason to secede from the Union? And they've hired Russian soldiers? What happened to Hessians? Oh, that was Revolutionary War.

Will Donald Rumsfeld really be able to quell this uprising?

And what about flights that go through Atlanta? The Delta website says nothing about this.

Children's Crusade

This is not a humorous or witty post, but I hope that you stick with me.

I hope that you stick with me to the end and then look in your medicine cabinet or the junk drawer, wherever you keep your little blister packs of cold and flu medicine, check the ingredients, and take inventory.

I've written about this before, but I know a lot of readers of this site have young children and not-so-young children and some readers are new; and cold and flu season is in full swing in New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado (where 5 children have died), and about to strike in January in other parts of the country, which means that the cold-and-flu over-the-counter (OTC) drugs will be in the home and easily available and the subject of intensive marketing with sniffling, sneezy kiddies and cuddling, caring moms in commercials.

I saw an advertisement for Coricidin HBP, which is being touted because it allegedly does not increase blood pressure in those with hypertensive disorders.

There are a variety of types of Coricidin HBP, but several of them have dextromethorphan (DXM) as the major component; and the "Maximum Strength Flu" type, which people are likely to buy during the season, contains, along with DXM, another active ingredient called Chlorpheniramine Maleate, an antihistamine.

I don't want to steer anyone to websites that offer advice on the doses necessary to gain the maximum effect of DXM, how and where to order DXM on-line, how to distill DXM into a pure form, or what OTC products give the most bang for the buck, but those sites are out there; and even these websites attempt to steer DXM users away from Coricidin with the antihistamine because the stuff can cause brain, liver, and kidney damage and death; so, even the drug culture, in attempting to save their own from serious problems, lobbies against its use.

I can tell you from personal experience that the professionals at the treatment facility, where my teenage son went through drug rehab, were less concerned about the effects of his cocaine use that was greater than football star Lawrence Taylor's and more concerned about his abuse of Robitussin and Coricidin, checking him in his first five weeks for cognitive deficits and finally satisfying themselves that he had dodged a bullet, as sure as if he had a gun to his head and playing Russian roulette.

The problem of DXM abuse spans the globe from the death of a college kid at Illinois State University a few weeks ago to the hospitalization of a high school kid in Georgia a couple weeks ago to the recent hospitalizations for "Skittling" of two girls, 15 and 16, in Milwaukee, a teen in Evansville, Indiana, and an American teen in Seoul, Korea.

My family lives in a suburban community where the police chief refused to acknowledge that drugs were a serious problem until recently when the fourth methamphetamine lab was closed down. School administrators have underestimated drug abuse, which is open and rampant in the local high school. I imagine that my community is not dissimilar from other suburban communities, such as Waukesha, Wisconsin, around the U.S.

In the case of DXM, children need not catch a ride to the big city to find what they want, they need only go to the local Walgreen's or CVS or to your medicine cabinet or junk drawer.

And is Schering-Plough, the maker of Coricidin, and other drug-makers trying to educate the purchasers of their products about the dangers associated with the abuse of their products? You tell me. Is contributing to the Council on Family Health or "approach[ing] the Office of National Drug Control Policy enough? Or should these companies be more aggressive in their "educational campaigns?"

I implore you to learn about Dex, DXM, Robo, Tussin, C-C-C, Triple C, Red Devils, and Skittles, the sources, and the symptoms of abuse of DXM, and pass on the knowledge to your neighbors and friends.

It's For Women?

Scene: Bath & Body Works
Time: Present Day

Billy: I have a bottle of shower gel and the dispenser top won't open. Do you have a top laying around to replace it.
Stupid Girl: Men's or Women's
Billy: Ummm ... what do you mean?
Idiot Girl: Men's or women's shower gel?
Billy: Ummm ... what do you mean?
Dumbass Girl: Men's shower gel or women's shower gel?
Billy: I didn't know you had such things. I really don't know. It's coconut lime shower gel. Over there.
Bitch: That's for women.
Billy: Gee, I never knew that it was for women.
Stupid Bitch: It is.
Billy: I use it all the time.
Dumb Bitch: Er ... just bring it back and we'll replace it.

So, what difference did it make if it was "for women?"

Signs

In the countryside, the aliens make those weird-ass crop circles. I've been doing research on crop circles, you know, watching Signs every time it's on one of the movie channels, and there are a lot of them; so, it seems like I'm watching all Signs all the time. Except, of course, when Spy Game with Brad Pitt and Robert Redford is on; then it's clicker abuse to the extreme. And except when the better half is home, then it's ... well, you know, Dr. Phil and cooking and home improvement shows.

And with Dr. Phil and cooking and home improvement shows comes that fucking commercial with the fucking nasal-voiced operator on a fucking switchboard. There is no operator on a switchboard with a nasally voice like LILY TOMLIN. Old Navy, I like shopping at your stores, but why didn't you get Lily Tomlin? Too fucking old for Old Navy? If you are going to make a stupid fucking commercial, go all the way and get the original nasal-voiced switchboard operator. Or bring back the stupid fucking commercial that you played during the baseball play-offs, which fucking jinxed the Giants and the Red Sox.

Sorry, I got side-tracked. I forgot the cardinal rule of blogging made up by KathyHowe, and why not say it's "cardinal" because she loves red ... I was saying -- crop circles are rural phenomena.

In the city and suburbs, aliens have another means of signalling their cohorts in space. I saw them scattered here and there tonight, definitely signs, usually in pairs or threes. I know they are signs to those circling above because they look like nothing natural, at least on this planet. And I have no other way to describe them but to say that they are lights that spiral up a pole, formed something like a cone.

I asked a guy at the gas station because there were six of them, in two groups of three (apparently, aliens have some respect for that notion that stuff happens in threes, you know, like that celebrity death thing that people always come up with when celebrities die), and he said they looked like Christmas trees and I told him he had been smelling gas fumes for too long and he said the new federally-mandated gas pumps prevent that from happening and I said that if he's right then why the hell can't I use my cell phone when I'm pumping gas and he asked me if I was some kind of nut and I told him that I wasn't the one who was taking an indefensible position and then he said that I should get the hell out of there.

Christmas trees, my ass, man. If you look at them from above, they look like bull's-eyes! Go ahead. Check it out. And people think I'm fucking nuts.

Folsom Prison Blues

Mr. ***** ****
No. ******
****** Correctional Institution
**********************
*******, OH 44044

Dear ******:

As you know, I filed the motion for judicial release on your behalf despite the fact that you indicated to me while the deputy sheriff had his hands around your throat and was holding you against the wall and off the floor that I was fired. I thought that the stress of being sent to prison for six months had caused you to go berserk in the hallway after sentencing, which required three deputies to subdue you and carry you down three flights of steps, and which caused you to say some intemperate racial remarks to the deputies, in addition to other things to the deputies and to me.

The motion for your early release was denied. I realize that this was your first offense, although it did involve the theft of well over 200 DVDs and CDs from local libraries, which are supported by taxpayers; however, you did have a lengthy list of misdemeanor convictions for much the same thing, which obviously impressed the judge negatively. In addition, the judge was aware of your demeanor in the hallway inasmuch as he had to adjourn proceedings because of the disruption. This also had a negative impact upon the judge. You are quite fortunate that you were not charged with several counts of assault upon law enforcement officers, which would have been very serious and would have carried mandatory prison terms had you been convicted.

I wish you success in your rehabilitation.

Very truly yours,

Billy

MINOR DETAILS

i write often and at length about the big things that are important to me and for which i’m extremely grateful. i’m not gonna bore you with that today. today, i’ll bore you with the little things that i appreciate. little products or solutions i’ve discovered.

i started thinking about this list the other day when i discovered on the way home from work that a cold sore (eww), a whopper of a cold sore (ewwwwwww) was “starting” on my lower lip. those of you who suffer from cold sores know EXACTLY what i’m talking about. the tingling. feels like little worms are swimming under your skin. i know – tmi. i used to start right away at the first sign by freezing the afflicted area with an ice cube. don’t know why, but this doesn’t work for me anymore. i remembered that my friend, marg, uses acidophilus as recommended by her pharmacist. i had picked some up a while ago so i’d be ready when i needed it. i took two tablets as she instructed me. within 10 minutes, the “tingling” stopped. completely. it looked better, too. within 10 minutes! by bedtime, it was GONE! to those of us who suffer from cold sores, this is major news. so number one on my list is:

1. acidophilus – as a cold sore treatment – dare i say remedy?
2. number 2 on the list is another treatment / remedy. for night cramps. i get them bad. and not in the usual calf muscle either. that one’s easy to relieve by pulling up your foot. i get them in muscles on the bottom of my foot. on the top of my foot. behind my knee. places where i have no clue which way to move to relieve the muscle tension. i try every way possible, i think, but wind up walking around the bedroom weeping in pain. i eat bananas. a lot. because i know about the potassium “thing.” i drink orange juice before bed. again for the potassium. if i don’t do these things, the frequency of night cramps increases; but i can still feel every night the “possibility” of a cramp if i forget and stretch my toes. somebody told me to take tums. so i do now. two of the big ones. every day. and they’re gone. the cramps. amazing. so that’s why tums (as a muscle cramp treatment) are number 2.
3. bonne bell lip smackers – watermelon. pink lemonade. i can’t live without ‘em. i’m one of those people who has to wear lip balm (or blam as we call it) CONSTANTLY. i’ve tried many, many different brands of blam, but nothing is as good as lip smackers.
4. cover girl under eye concealer (color: illuminator). no big story here, just a warning. do NOT apply right before having your photograph taken. not unless you – or your son – is proficient at photoshop.
5. schwan’s express meals for one. lots of choices. i grab one from the freezer in the garage most mornings to take to work for lunch. really good. very convenient.
6. bath and body works stuff. i love it. bill loves it. my favorite bbw items: red apple foam soap, coconut lime creamy body wash, the soy (i think they’re soy) candles in the glass jars. yummm.
7. starbucks. nuff said.
8. last night bill and i bought a bag of coffee to try. not starbucks. ghirardelli chocolate caramel. haven’t tried it yet, but ohmygod, the smell of the beans in the car was worth the $4.99. looking forward to a cup during dr. phil this evening. which brings me to
9. dr. phil. i know, i know. a lot of you hate him. bummer. too bad. i LOVE him. don’t be dissin’ dr. phil on nbl now.
10. car books. i ALWAYS have to have a book in the car to read while i’m waiting for bill. this habit started when the boys played hockey. rather than sitting in a freezing cold rink talking hockey for hours while the boys practiced, i’d sit in my heated car with a cup of coffee reading. my last car book was “stones from the river” by ursula hegi. loved it. right now i’m reading kurt vonnegut’s “timequake.” am enjoying it IMMENSELY. having a car book allows me the time to really spend with a book as these days often i’ll get only 5 or 10 minutes a day to read in the car. so i wind up thinking about the story a lot while away from the book. if it’s not a “car book,” i’ll finish it much quicker.

ok. sorry. that was much longer than i planned. i wish i could blog short and quick. i’ll work on it. next year.

Deer Hunter

My good friend, DT, e-mailed me late last night. You are acquainted with him if you've been visiting for a while. If not, here's a brief description of DT: I went to college with him. He's a country boy. His brother shot him in the ass with a rifle when he was 16. He's a school teacher. He and his wife have been married 34 years, having married when still in high school. They live on a 110-acre farm in rural Ohio. He taught me to shoot my first gun a year ago. He likes to hunt. He likes the hunting part more than the killing part. He is a liberal Democrat living in a conservative area, which drives him to just this side of lunacy. He is funny. His family is the most important thing in his life. He helped me through a bad time. I admire him. I consider myself blessed to have him as a friend.

I copied the e-mail as is:

we saw about 35 deer on monday. Tuesday we saw one in the woods and I chased a buck all over an open field trying to chase him toward the 2 guys sitting and ended up running my ass off. Sweat like a pig, ended up sitting on my ass with my hat off trying to catch my breath while the fucking deer stood about 200 yards away looking at me like I was a dumb ass. Really pissed me off. Tom was watching with his binoculars and said I was really hauling ass but that was because I was running downhill and couldn't get my fat ass stopped, thought I was going to die. I will be sore as hell tomorrow, but we are going to kill something. we have about 150 acres of corn across the road and I think all the deer we saw on monday are hiding in it. Except for the arrogant son-of-a-bitch I chased tonight. He went back in the woods I chased him out of. I think i will shoot him just on the principle of the thing. Fucker thinks he is smarter than me. Will keep you posted I think I know who is going to win, won't be me. that's why they call it hunting. anything else would just be killing.

It's deer hunting season in Ohio, folks.

FROM RELIGION TO POLITICS IN 700 WORDS OR LESS

i wrote yesterday about a teacher at st. ed’s who died recently. i wondered this morning if you thought that we were a “catholic” family because matt and mark went to st ed’s. so i thought that i’d write today about that and offend a lot of people, you know – the writing about religion thing.

no, we are definitely NOT a catholic family. i was raised as a catholic and attended mass regularly until i was 13. my sisters and i did this on our own. my parents were divorced, drunks, and excommunicated. when my sister pj was denied absolution when she was 12 because our mother was “living in sin” because her new marriage was outside the church, i stopped going. damned idiot, that priest. gave up on our souls, and the church sure as hell didn’t care about what the hell else was going on in that house. but it sure as fuck was brilliant, wasn’t it? take a little girl, pj, who loved the church, took great comfort and refuge in it, and throw her out, too. i wasn’t the kind of person who had a tremendous amount of “faith” in these people, even before this happened, so it didn’t hurt me as bad, but i sure wasn’t playing the game anymore.

i’ve known some truly great people of faith. jews, buddhists, muslims, yes, and even some catholics. faith is just that – faith. deeply ingrained. a part of a person. if it’s real. and those of profound faith work every day to live up to that. it’s not a badge you wear because you’ve completed the steps satisfactorily (like a boy scout merit badge). in the catholic church, those steps are the sacraments of baptism, communion, confirmation. you’re still considered a catholic before then as a child, you’re just a “cub scout.”

we ALL know catholics and others (oh boy, just call yourself a christian in the usa and it’s like the sky is supposed to open up with the sound of angels singing – all the while behaving like the biggest whore, thief, molester, liar, etc) who wear their religion like a badge. means nothing. at least to me. my god would prefer to see sit beside him my matthew, who, while not a catholic in ANY sense of the word (was never baptised, etc) was the student head of the retreat program at st. ed’s, handpicked by another angel on earth, mr. c., one of the most devout and steadfast men of faith i’ve ever met. matt is not even a christian; i’m still not sure what he is – he gave me a mathematical formula once to try to explain it to me. i didn’t get it. but he IS a good man, a strong man, a young man who had a lot to teach the other kids about goodness, kindness, compassion, and strength. traits mr. c. evidently felt worthy of his respect. there were plenty (duh!) of “catholic” boys he could have chosen, but didn’t. i don’t wonder why, do you?

and i don’t doubt for a second that on the other side, he’d seat jax, my recovering drug addict, the kid who hopes his hugs and love can help try to sooth the pain of a heroin addict in the midst of severe withdrawal. you see, the heroin addict is penniless, trying to get clean on his own, cuz we don’t have enough free beds to offer those who want/need to get clean (i’m pretty sure jesus didn’t lecture / condemn the beggars that they did this to themselves) can you imagine how hard this must be? how much you must want to be clean to put yourself through this hell? do you have it in you to be compassionate? does your “religion” allow (compel) you to try? if you say no, you’re fooling yourself. just like the men who flew jets into the world trade center towers “in the name of religion.” just like our own deeply “christian” president. he doesn’t give a fuck either.

Civil Disobedience

You are a student at a pricey prestigious private college in a small town in northeast Ohio. You hail from a place on Long Island that I heard was a pretty nice place to live.

Your lawyer, who would be me, tells you to wear a white button-down collar shirt and tie, khaki pants, and a navy blue blazer because the judge will like the respect you accord him when you enter your guilty plea and request to be placed in the diversion program so that when you complete the diversion program, the charge of underage drinking, for which you can get 6 months in jail and get fined $1,000, will be dismissed.

Did you think that getting you into the diversion program was automatic? Did you hear that from other students? I told you what to do.

I told you to thank the judge for allowing you to participate and dismissing the case when you complete the requirements and thank him for the opportunity to work at the food bank as your community service. You didn't say what I told you to say. Back in the day, we argued that if 19-year-olds could die in Viet Nam, 19-year-olds should be able to vote. Imagine my surprise when you came up with the clever argument that since 19-year-olds could die in Iraq, 19-year-olds should be able to get shit-faced. I'm really, really stupid. You'll have to explain why those arguments are substantially the same.

Then at that point, after you said such an "inciteful" thing, you moved. It was difficult for me to block the judge's view of your very colorful Budweiser frog tie. I guarantee that he would have overlooked the tie had you not complained about the state drinking laws. And I'm almost positive I would have convinced him to overlook your dislike of the state drinking laws, if you hadn't mentioned dying over in Iraq when you're in this expensive, exclusive private college with no chance of having to go over there and risk your life. I'll ask him next time I see him.

I'm thinking that Henry David Thoreau would not have considered getting hammered at a frat party to be civil disobedience. I might be wrong, though. You're the college boy. But I'm betting that if Thoreau did consider getting wasted an act of civil disobedience, he wouldn't have gone into a diversion program. He would have complained to his lawyer that he got only 10 days in the can.

Beagles Are Not Stupid

We invested in a Beagle. There are pictures elsewhere. When she came into our home, a friend of ours told us that we made a huge mistake. She said that beagles can't be house-trained. She has a beagle. We have not visited there in years. Now that the pig is gone, well ...

People said that beagles stink.

And people told us that beagles were just plain stupid. For instance, they don't come to you when you call them by name. I don't know what else they meant by that, unless it was that they can't be potty-trained house-trained.

Whatever.

Scout lets out a little yelp and sits at the door when she wants to go out. If I don't let her out, she barks loud. I then let her out. No questions asked. (Before I was so well-trained, she used to find me and kick my ass. I have learned my lesson.)

Comparing Sheba, a boxer, and Scout, a beagle, I concluded that neither of them smell bad; and if dog smell is a matter of degree, they are light-years from being as bad as Dr. Cyborg's dogs, last time I checked. This is no reflection upon Dr. Cyborg, just his dogs; and truth be told, I haven't smelled his dogs lately. (I'll check them out when I go over to plan our trip to Houston, which we have put off until late January or early February.)

Scout knows her name. She is not fooled when we call her different names. I kept calling her Betsy, and she shot me very dirty looks until I got it right. And she knows which bowls are hers -- she knocks it all over the kitchen when she wants food; and she shoots me very dirty looks until I get it right.

And the invisible fence? She learned very quickly about the invisible fence and the collar. Last night, she made me take the collar off of her to check to see if the invisible fence was working. It was working. It was a lousy practical joke, if you ask me.

A LIFE WELL LIVED

bill sent me an e-mail yesterday at work that brother bennett, a well-loved teacher at st. ed’s, where matt and mark went to high school, died recently. brother bennett taught history at ed’s. he was past the age where most teachers retire, well into his 70’s when matt and mark had him. the boys loved him. matt had him in 9th grade, would come home everyday with a story. brother graded with an unusual scale. i remember that the highest grade was a “humdinger.” can’t remember the others.

st. ed’s is one of those high-profile all-boys catholic high schools in the area. a very good school. serious academics. a “blue-ribbon school” (an award given out by u.s. dept. of education, i believe) while the boys were there. one of 2 schools in the state that was awarded the highest medal for their literary magazine the year the guys graduated (ahem. matt was editor in chief, btw). very serious athletics. it’s highly unusual when ed’s does NOT win the state championship in wrestling. hockey, football, basketball, baseball. none of them too shabby. there are already several of the boys my guys graduated with who are in the nfl, nba, nhl (an ed’s grad scored the game-winning goal in the stanley cup last year). the point is: this is an highly testosterone-charged school.

brother bennett was one of many gifted and giving teachers at ed’s. however, they taught the boys so much more than they could learn on the football field or ice. they created a “safe” place for them to experience what it was like to be real men (if they had it in them to see that). i remember matt coming home from school and telling me that there had been a school assembly to honor brother bennett because he had received an award from the local newspaper. matt said that the clapping started very slowly and built to a thundering, hooting, standing ovation. he said there were lots of tears.

thank you, brother bennett. god bless you.

related, kind of.

i was talking to a dear friend of mine this morning who was feeling REALLY bad about herself. worthless. unworthy. all this because she had read jax’s blog entry this morning.

got me thinking about stuff. this is what i think.

the most “worthless” person can change another person’s life in the blink of an eye. those addicts who gave and gave and continue to give to jax when his “bank” was completely empty. overdrawn even. i love dickens’ “a christmas carol.” i love what it teaches us – that as long as you’re alive you can live a life worth living. if you choose it. we ALL have problems (i know some are bigger than others), we’ve ALL made mistakes. big deal. you live, you fuck up. ok. deal with it. check yourself. correct your course. it’s all new again. next.

Christmas Decorations

I saw a blurb for the local news in which President Bush said, "The economy is strong ... (pounds lectern with shoe) and getting stronger!" I changed the channel to FoodTV.

The economy in this area is not doing well. I give you one major indication: Hooters in the Flats closed.

On the drive to work (Stacey's office), there was a house with some great Christmas decorations, which was done over the weekend. The big inflatable snow man and some reindeer and a sleigh with a bunch of lights on the house.

And two pumpkins on the steps leading to the front door.

Halloween, a pagan celebration, is over. Why are those pumpkins still there? They spent all that time putting up decorations for Christmas and stood back by the road to see how the decorations appeared to those driving on the road. Why are those orange pumpkins still there?

Just wondering.

Posted by Bill at 06:33 PM | Comments (2)