Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Don't Know Much About Ontogeny

Very early yesterday morning, when I thought everyone was asleep, I sat in front of my laptop at the desk KathyHowe instigated (I must say that I did a nice job making the desk.). I heard a slight noise. It's difficult to describe the sound. It was not a tapping sound, but like a light, very slight, thump, more like a vibration that somehow makes it through to the lowest register of one's hearing, the kind of sound about which one wonders if it was imagination or ... reality. And what would it mean if it was my imagination.

I looked a little to my right, wondering whether I would find anything "real." And there she was, Freddy the Frog, standing on her hind legs, her front legs stretched overhead, her little hands on the side of her aquarium, looking at me. Then she jumped into the side of the aquarium. Yes, I said "she." And I don’t mean this in the Germanic sense of the word, like this is a feminine noun for some odd and ancient reason that goes back to the days of Charlemagne. I finally determined that Freddy is a "she."

Of course, it is difficult to tell the gender of a frog by gross physical examination.

Sometimes this is made even more difficult by exposure to octylphenol, which is produced by the breakdown a chemical widely used in the pulp and paper industry, which is is also found in many common household cleaners and some personal care products, like shaving cream or spermicidal cream (Who knew?), and which can mimic estrogen, which, in turn, affects the growth of tadpoles and their metamorphosis into frogs.

Also, the weed killer, atrazine, causes male frogs to "have ovaries in their testes and much smaller vocal cords" (Emphasis added). I think that the last part of that statement is a misprint, which should read "much smaller male sex organs." This, of course, could be used by human males by way of explanation, if necessary, for a relatively benign or insignificant state of manhood. I've used this fucking excu

Damn, I've strayed from my theme here ... I mean, it would be very easy to go off on a tangent about anti-fouling strategies in marine systems and degradation of unfiltered complex hydrocarbons in water distribution systems by UV radiation ... If you want to get involved in this kind of stuff, I urge you to attend the upcoming Amphibian Conservation Summit, to be held in Washington, September 17th to 19th.

So, Freddy the Frog was standing there, pounding on the clear plastic side of her aquarium. Stacey has told me that the frog never did that when Freddy was in her office. So, Freddy did not try to boss her around. There you go ... the women stick together.

But Freddy, when in my custody, makes demands upon me. Freddy, when in my custody, keeps me awake and directs me to get her highness food. Freddy, when in my custody, makes fun of me ... well, she's laughing at me. I can tell. Bubbles, y'know.

Then Stacey cross-examines me, "You fed Freddy, right?" See? That's how I know Freddy is a female. I don't have to measure the tympanic membrane and compare it to the size of the eyeball to know her gender.

It's fucking obvious.

Big Chief

My Big Chief Retro motor scooter arrived at the freight terminal Friday. I borrowed Dr. Cyborg's pick-up truck to get it. Looking ahead, I decided that maybe I shouldn't listen to the guy across the street and avail myself of some of my ... skills ... and figure out if I needed to get the lime green and white thing titled and registered so that I could legally ride it. On Thursday, I did some legal research; and, sure enough, the guy across the street who works at the power plant steered me wrong. The scooter is a motor vehicle that needs to be titled and registered.

I called the title bureau. It's gratifying to discover how I could brighten the day of a bunch of civil servants. The guy started to chuckle as I asked him what he needed to generate a certificate of title. "He wants to title a motor scooter," he called out, whereupon the several people working there, if they were indeed working, commenced to laugh, as if on a sitcom sound track.

When he stopped laughing hard enough to get some words out, he said, "Bring in the Big Chief paperwork, and we'll see what happens. You never know."

... Which sounded like a goddamn lawyer answer to me. I have a trial set to start tomorrow. I'll head over to the title bureau while we wait for my client, who, I suspect, will not show up.

Don't laugh ... 80 miles per gallon. Six mirrors. The Who stickers, front and back.

IF I RULED THE WORLD

on the drive in to work this morning, i spied a license plate covered with some kind of dingy yellow plastic, ostensibly applied to “protect” the license plate from the elements. i guess it did a pretty good job, taking all the damage itself, with the result that one could barely read the letters and numbers on the plate. i said to bill, “i wish the police would issue tickets to these people who do this.”

“and to people who have only a decorative plate in the front of their cars.” in ohio you’re supposed to have proper plates on back AND front.

“and to people who have their windows tinted too dark.” again, in ohio, there’s a law limiting the degree of tinting.

“and to those who turn left in front of you when you’re going straight because they don’t want to wait their turn.” i’d have a SPECIAL torture ticket for these people.

and then, since i was on a roll, i thought, i’d make a list. because i’m kind of cranky that way today, and because i haven’t blogged for a while. here’s my list of infractions that i’d like to see punished.

Garbage In, Garbage Out

I see trouble on the horizon. I skipped my meeting tonight. I pulled into the driveway, and the Rubbermaid garbage can lay on its side. The garbagemen had been to the house, taken the bags, emptied the can, and removed the old large chair I had taken out of the basement last night. And an old couch. One of the bags was heavy. If it ruptured, it's lights out for me.

It reminds me of the de-humidifier battle. I prevailed over the garbagemen in a four-week battle of will and wits. The de-humidifier remained on the tree lawn after their first visit. I put it in a garbage can the next week, but they dumped the de-humidifier out onto the tree lawn. Bastards. I left the thing laying in the grass, which is what the garbage guys also did the next Monday. I put the de-humidifier in a garbage bag. They took it. Finally.

Now, here's the situation I have. The bottom of the Rubbermaid garbage can is broken, probably from the garbage men slamming it down. That's an old garbage men's joke. They learn that the first week on the job. So, I have a garbage can that is useless. I'll buy the replacement.

Here's the question. How do I throw out a garbage can? You know damn well the fuckers will laugh and leave it there. They will never take the garbage can ... unless ... I put it in a garbage bag. A huge fucking garbage bag. And it will be very heavy. Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Oh, how it helps to be slightly insane!

"... they here gave the last full measure of devotion."

I find it interesting that the news releases from the Department of Defense state that "terrorists" kill the coalition forces in Iraq. So, in accord with President Bush's war on the truth and consistent with the propaganda being disseminated to support that war, the government's semantic games now try to link the war in Iraq to the war on terror.

Obfuscation is the real name of the game.

Instead off raising a couple million bucks at a Republican neighbor's dinner party while relaxing down at his ranch in Crawford, Texas, President Bush could have attended quite a few funerals up here in Cleveland and around the Philadelphia area, but I guess he is afraid of encountering some major hostility. Killed in Iraq in July and August, where major hostilities were concluded over two years ago, as announced by our President:

Spc. Michael J. Stokely, Spc. Joshua P. Dingler, Spc. Jose L. Ruiz, Sgt. Paul A. Saylor, Sgt. Thomas J. Strickland, Spc. Toccara R. Green, Staff Sgt. Asbury F. Hawn II, Spc. Gary L. Reese Jr., Sgt. Shannon D. Taylor, Spc. Brian K. Derks, Spc. Rusty W. Bell, 1st Lt. David L. Giaimo, Sgt. 1st Class Michael A. Benson, Lance Cpl. Evenor C. Herrera, Spc. Miguel Carrasquillo, Pfc. Nathaniel E. Detample, Spc. John Kulick, Staff Sgt. Ryan S. Ostrom, Spc. Gennaro Pellegrini Jr., Sgt. Francis J. Straub Jr., Staff Sgt. Ramon E. Gonzales-Cordova, Spc. Anthony N. Kalladeen, Pfc. Hernando Rios, Pfc. Seferino J. Reyna, Lance Cpl. Chase J. Comley, Sgt. Brahim J. Jeffcoat, Spc. Kurt E. Krout, Gunnery Sgt. Terry W. Ball Jr., Sgt. 1st Class Robert V. Derenda, Sgt. 1st Class Brett E. Walden, Staff Sgt. Chad J. Simon, Pfc. Nils G. Thompson, Lance Cpl. Timothy M. Bell Jr., Lance Cpl. Eric J. Bernholtz, Lance Cpl. Nicholas William B. Bloem, Lance Cpl. Michael J. Cifuentes, Lance Cpl. Grant B. Fraser, Spc. Jerry L. Ganey Jr., Spc. Mathew V. Gibbs, Sgt. Bradley J. Harper, Sgt. Justin F. Hoffman, Cpl. David Kenneth J. Kreuter, Lance Cpl. Edward A. Schroeder II, Lance Cpl. Aaron H. Reed,Cpl. David S. Stewart, Lance Cpl. Kevin G. Waruinge, Sgt. 1st Class Charles H. Warren, Lance Cpl. William B. Wightman, Petty Officer 1st Class Thomas C. Hull, Staff Sgt. James D. McNaughton, Cpl. Jeffrey A. Boskovitch, Lance Cpl. Roger D. Castleberry, Jr., Sgt. David J. Coullard, Lance Cpl. Daniel N. Deyarmin Jr., Sgt. James R. Graham III, Lance Cpl. Brian P. Montgomery, Sgt. Nathaniel S. Rock, Spc. James D. Carroll, Sgt. 1st Class Victor A. Anderson, Sgt. Jonathon C. Haggin, Staff Sgt. David R. Jones Sr., Pfc. Jason D. Scheuerman, Sgt. Ronnie L. Shelley Sr., Pfc. Robert A. Swaney, Lance Cpl. Christopher P. Lyons, Cpl. Andre L. Williams, Spc. Adrian J. Butler, Capt. Benjamin D. Jansky, Spc. Edward L. Myers, Spc. John O. Tollefson, Spc. Adam J. Harting, Spc. Jacques E. Brunson, Spc. Ernest W. Dallas Jr,Staff Sgt. Carl R. Fuller, Sgt. James O. Kinlow, Staff Sgt. Jason W. Montefering, Sgt. Milton M. Monzon Jr., Sgt. John F. Thomas, Sgt. Christopher J. Taylor, Pfc. Ramon A. Villatoro Jr., Sgt. Bryan J. Opskar, Cpl. Steven P. Gill, Petty Officer 3rd Class Travis L. Youngblood, Staff Sgt. Jefferey J. Farrow, Pvt. Lavena L. Johnson, Sgt. Arthur R. McGill, Lance Cpl. Efrain Sanchez Jr., Staff Sgt. Frank Tiai, Spc. Ronnie D. Williams, Staff Sgt. Travis S. Cooper, Pvt. Phillip Hewett, Staff Sgt. Jorge L. Pena-Romero, 2nd Lt. Richard Shearer, Pvt. Leon Spicer, Sgt. 1st Class Ronald T. Wood, Spc. Jared D. Hartley, Sgt. Davide Casagrande, Pfc. Timothy J. Hines Jr., Staff Sgt. Tricia L. Jameson, Cpl. Clifton B. Mounce, Cpl. Christopher D. Winchester, Spc. Benyahmin B. Yahudah, Sgt. Timothy J. Sutton, Staff Sgt. Joseph P. Goodrich Lance Cpl. Ryan J. Kovacicek, Spc. Hoby F. Bradfield Jr., Pfc. Eric P. Woods, Staff Sgt. Scottie L. Bright, Cpl. Lyle J. Cambridge, Sgt. Deyson K. Cariaga, Spc. Christopher W. Dickison, Pvt. Anthony M. Mazzarella, Staff Sgt. Jeremy A. Brown, Spc. Ryan J. Montgomery

Killed in the war in Afghanistan, that goes on and on, in July and August, except for the four more Americans killed today:

Sgt. Robert G. Davis, 1st Lt. Laura M. Walker, Cpl. Daniel Abreu Fernandez, Pvt. Isaac Calvo Pineiro, Pvt. Jesus Casal Rivera, Pvt. Gonzalo Casalderrey Nazara, Pvt. Pedro Fajardo Cabeza, Sgt. Alfredo Francisco Jodar, Sgt. Jose Gonzalez Bernardino, Pvt. Diego Gonzalez Blanco, Lt. Javier Gonzalez Hernandez, Capt. David Guitar Fernandez, Pvt. Pablo Iglesias Sanchez, Pvt. Jose A. Martinez Parada, Brigade Juan Morales Parra, Pvt. Jose M. Moreno Enriquez, Pvt. Diego Prado Lopez, Pvt. Pedro San Marin de Veira, Pvt. Ivan Vazquez Nunez, Capt. Jeremy A. Chandler, Sgt. Edward R. Heselton, Spc. Christopher M. Katzenberger, Staff Sgt. Christopher M. Falkel, Gunnery Sgt. Theodore Clark Jr., Pvt. 1st Class Damian J. Garza, Pvt. John M. Henderson Jr., Staff Sgt. Michael W. Schafer, Sgt. Jason T. Palmerton, Petty Officer 2nd Class Matthew G. Axelson, Petty Officer 2nd Class Danny P. Dietz, Lt. Michael P. Murphy.

I feel the same way I was feeling back in the Viet Nam War days. The government is out of touch with the American public. Oh, well ... lessons of history not learned.

Intelligent Design and Lessons from History

Let's talk about intelligent design. The producers of intelligent design are always changing up on the scientists like Lawrence Krauss, the arguments they make in support of intelligent design ever evolving. Krauss, an astrophysicist at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland and a "Trekkie," reconciles the existence of a Supreme Being with evolution by natural selection and also modern research by the scientific method.

The problem with the purveyors of the idea of intelligent design is that they categorize all scientists as anti-God and anti-religion. The distrust of science, of intelligent discourse, of research methodology is not a new phenomenon.

The Cultural Revolution in China in the late 1960's was partly a campaign against intellectuals and those considered elitists, who were killed or herded into the countryside to be re-educated by the peasants. Works of art and historical artifacts were destroyed. Books were burned. Universities were closed. school curricula were changed. This was a triumph over intellectualism.

In Cambodia, in 1975, Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge seized power and began a pogrom, exterminating more than two million Cambodians, out of a total population of just over 6 million. The Khmer Rouge outlawed stores, banks, hospitals, schools, religious groups, and families, killing anyone who was educated, who was of a different ethnic or cultural group, who resisted being transported to re-education camps, who resisted the breakup of their family unit, or who was disliked for any reason whatsoever. This was a triumph over intellectualism.

Are these historical events of the recent past too remote in time to be considered valuable lessons from which those who believe intellectualism and scientific thought are threatening their way of life can learn?

I give up. If God had meant for mankind to play golf, He would have given us all swings like Annika Sorenstam.

Tomorrow: A list of those Americans sent to their deaths in Iraq in the continuing Bush Crusade.

On Golf

As you all know, I play golf. And although absolutely nobody has taken me up on my offer of free golf lessons, I will forgive you and keep you apprised of the latest news in the world of golf. I know you live for these informative and helpful updates.

I now lay to rest a controversy among golfers and non-golfers everywhere. When you go to your favorite pub tonight and the topic comes up, as it invariably comes up in daily conversations all over this fine land, you can definitively state that your suspicion has been confirmed by scientific studies and golfers who have low back pain have lower trunk flexion proprioception than golfers without low back pain.

It’s true!

On Maintaining Journalistic Integrity

Okay, you got me. I hope you feel good about it. Of course, it really doesn't take very much to amuse you, does it. And you know what they say, don't you? They say that you should laugh with people, not at them.

But go ahead. It doesn't bother me. Really, it doesn't.

I admit it. I picked the potential cover of Weekly World News with the exclusive story entitled "Coyotes Protect Alien Baby From Gov't Agents" as the one I liked best, not because it was simply better than the other two, but because I really liked it. How someone got the photo of the big-headed, bulging-eyed alien baby with its Oshkosh jeans and little sweatshirt surrounded by three snarling coyotes at the water's edge I don't know. I leave that to the photographer. I'm just a journalist.

I know you want this gig I fell into. It's a stepping stone ... that's how I look at it. Really, raucous laughter doesn't bother me; I get that a lot.

De-Evolution

One of Jackal's friends said that he was headed off to "journalism school" down in South Carolina. The conversation turned to blogging at one point. He said that most "adults" don't know how to write well. So, I figured I better post some artwork ... and not embarrass embareass embarass humiliate myself.

Performance-Enhancing Drugs and the Man

It's about time I weighed in on Major League Baseball's Rafael Palmeiro steroid scandal ... future Hall-of-Famer Palmeiro's suspension for testing positive for banned steroid use is over; and he can return to playing baseball for the Baltimore Orioles. Are we supposed to believe Palmeiro's claim that he didn't knowingly take the performance-enhancing drugs?

He denied taking steroids in testimony before a Congressional committee; and now, he's claiming that "diet supplements" he was taking were adulterated. Surely, he has some competent proof of this. I'm of the opinion that he should sue the company that made the supplements. After all, he did lose a lot of money in salary as a result of the suspension and has suffered a blow to his reputation.

There's talk of a perjury charge for lying to Congress. There's talk that he won't get into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Why? This is baseball (James Earl Jones voice-over), folks. This is important stuff here, people. The American Pastime. I mean, if he would have lied to Congress and the American people and the United Nations and then invaded Iraq, there wouldn't be any problem at all. But he didn't ... he tested positive for steroids.

I think that he knew he was taking steroids. After all, he has a history of taking performance-enhancing drugs. If you will recall, this is the guy who shilled for Viagra, appearing in TV commercials and the print media, a couple years ago.

I Eat Heavy Metal

Dude ... I wanted to stop and chat, but I was in a hurry and you were on your way out, because I couldn't help but notice that you were wearing a 2001 Ironman Triathalon Florida cycling jersey; and I know this woman in my therapy group on Mondays nights who finished the Ironman Triathalon in Lake Placid a couple weeks ago, and I thought maybe you knew her.

She's about 5-8 or 5-9, you know, like 8 or 9 inches taller than you. And she's pretty muscular, probably got 40 pounds on you. Oh, that's not to say you're not muscular, dude. For your size, you probably are pretty strong. No doubt about that, dude; they say that about ants, don't they ... that they're strong for their size.

This lady I mentioned ... she's got really short, dark hair ... like I say, maybe you know her. She says that she thinks her OCD, that's obsessive compulsive disorder in psychology parlance, contributes to her competing in the triathalons and other demanding events she has entered.

I guess then, dude, that particular fact really begs the question of why you got into the 2001 Ironman Triathalon Florida. I see the teenager socks you're wearing, like the socks I wear for golf when I also wear shorts, nothing like the skin-tight spandex shorts you're wearing ... those teenager socks have 2001 Ironman Triathalon Florida printed on the little ribbed tops. Did you have to buy those socks? I wonder.

It seems like you're really proud of being in that event ... and, believe me when I say this, well you should be proud. It's really amazing, kind of like climbing Mount Everest and risking your health and well-being ... some people say that takes courage. Guts. I guess you got that going for you.

Hemingway, I think, said, or maybe he wrote, "Guts is grace under pressure." I've often thought about that phrase since I first heard it way back in the day ... I personally have seen only one situation where I think the definition could be used. That's not to say I haven't heard of people in other circumstances where the definition applies ... William Foster covered a live grenade with his body and saved a lot of lives -- that would be "grace under pressure."

I'm sorry, dude. What you did wasn't courageous. What my wife did ... what women do when they give birth -- that is "grace under pressure."

So, dude, the question remains open. Why did you do it ... and why do you continue to wear the uniform, the outfit, some four years later?

I'll tell you. It's the same reason you believe you have some badge of entitlement granted by the Almighty allowing you to call the gawky bagger kid an idiot for smashing the bread with your wheat germ ... or whatever the fuck you were buying.

Now, dude, I’ve had some experience concerning the diagnosis of psychological disorders, but there’s no diagnosis in DSM-IV that covers your particular problem, but there should be. I guess it could be subsumed under some type of adjustment disorder; but I have a specific name for the specific problem you have … you, dude, suffer from "The Small Man Syndrome."

The End Is Near

It has been my custom each month to memorialize the men and women who have been killed in the "war on terror" in Iraq, as I guess George the Lesser wants to now classify the Crusade on which he and his cronies have taken this country and the rest of the world, a plan that has been in the making for over a decade and that has cost almost $200,000,000,000.

The monetary costs for long term medical treatment and rehabilitation of the physically and psychologically wounded will be felt for decades. The loss of life and quality of life inflicted on the people in this country, Iraq, and all across the globe is incalculable.

Well, I'm really tired. The rosy picture of the killing painted by Bushites makes me ill. The rosy economic picture painted by Bush cronies is belied by the men, women, and children sleeping in doorways on the streets of Cleveland. Where is the prospect for a brighter future? The schools suck. The economy sucks. No wonder the heroin trade in town is brisk. What else is there to alleviate the pain but self-medication?

I'm done. I quit. Fuck it. Have a nice life.

Yoga -- Part 2

I tell ya -- people read this blog. And they get ideas.

Blossom Music Center

DT's daughter came to town to attend an evening of Gershwin with the Cleveland Orchestra at Blossom Music Center with Stacey, a longstanding Gershwin lover, and me. The guest conductor was Loras John Schissel, who, in addition to being a well-regarded bandmaster, is also a musical historian of note. He opened the evening with The Star-Spangled Banner, arranged by Arturo Toscanini.

Toscanini hated Hitler and Mussolini with a fervor unknown in other musicians and wanted the two leaders to realize, when they heard his arrangement, they were in for some real trouble with the USA.

Schissel, who works at the Library of Congress, and is the foremost expert on John Philip Sousa, researched the Gershwin archives and found the original score for An American in Paris, which he enthusiastically conducted and the Blossom Festival Orchestra performed with equal enthusiasm and precision. If ever given the opportunity to attend a concert at the summer home of the Cleveland Orchestra, seize it for a musical experience you will long remember, no matter what the Orchestra plays. Summer Friday evenings on the lawn with a picnic dinnerwith the two boys was a weekly occurrence for quite a while for our family. I opted for tickets in the pavilion for DT's daughter's first experience.

In 1924, Rhapsody in Blue put American classical musical composition on the world map. Schissel had obtained from Gershwin family members a copy of the original score penned by George Gershwin for the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. The piano parts were left blank by Gershwin ... he actually did not have time to complete the transcription ... and Whiteman wrote "wait for George's nod" in the margins as a signal for the small orchestra of 34 to join in.

Adopting the original version and disregarding all of the changes over the years made in the original composition by those other than the 26-year-old Gershwin, Conductor Schissel used the same number of musicians and instruments that Whiteman employed back in February, 1924, for the debut, leaving the Blossom stage quite empty.

The opening clarinet climbing magically, seamlessly, up the scale announced the treat we were to hear and see. Canadian pianist, Ian Parker, played with gusto, animation, and love that transported us all the way back to Aeolian Hall in 1924.

The other musical treats we had tasted and were about to taste were all desserts to this main course. And the cherry on top that ended it all for the evening was Stars and Stripes Forever, introduced by Bandmaster Schissel, "Sousa did not know Gershwin, but admired him greatly."

I thanked DT's daughter for mentioning a few months ago that she wanted to see the Cleveland Orchestra; this was a great musical experience, and we'll go to stuffy Severance Hall for the Orchestra another time.

Creative Journalism 101

I was bamboozled into fucking blog world with the dumb fuck story that you know my writing would like totally improve and I'd like get my fucking stuff published and be all professional and not have to roll around in the mud and muck with umm you know other dumbass lawyers arguing about shit like the husband wants like two fucking thousand dollars more from the wife just cuz she’s got a job and he fucking doesn’t and all ... dumb shit like that.

So, here's the news. I have written like three novels and you know how many were fucking published? Zero. One fucking nibble ... the editor like writes back and says it's too bloody. Too gory. It's a fucking vampire novel, bitch. What the fuck do you expect, graphic realism or pussy shit. Everybody knows that vampire shit is not pretty. It's totally bloody. Like this editrix didn't know that. Heh ... whatever. Bite me, bitch.

Who gets the last laugh? I get my you know e-mail yesterday. Totally fucking cool. Like this is THE BIG TIME, not something like that bullshit Ace Books ... no, sir. Blow it out your ass, Ace Books!!

We need your help in making the Weekly World News even better. That's why we want you to join our Weekly World News reader panel. Each week, we'll send you our ideas for upcoming covers and other features, and you'll get to vote for the ones you like the most. It will only take a minute or so of your time each week.

Yes, the mother-fucking Weekly World News ... needs ... me. They totally know writing talent when they fucking see it. I know that story I sent in about the secret battle on Mars between the European Space Agency Mars Explorer and the fucking Jet Propulsion Laboratory’s Mars Exploration Rovers would get me somewhere. Sweet.

POST THIS

you missed me, dincha? admit it. i knew it.

wow. the last time i blogged was july 10. yow. i admit it. i’m a bad, baaaad blogger. really. i know it. sometimes i just don’t feel like blogging. and i really haven’t felt like it much lately. i feel bad about it, and i don’t feel bad about it. i know that you have to keep writing and posting to keep your traffic stats up, but i find it really hard to care about that. i just don’t. i’m just not that sociable, i guess. i don’t NEED a HUGE circle of friends. i’m happy at a party to sit and talk one-on-one with people in whom i’m interested. that’s what drew me to blogging. reading other people’s stories. and sharing mine. they may not be of interest to everybody, and i don’t care.

july 10. i was coming “down” off the steroids. bummer. since, i’m “off,” the knee pain’s back (really – it’s pain from the tendon that the surgeon had to cut, reposition, and reattach. i guess the tendon’s going to take quite a bit longer to heal than the new knee. wow that was really interesting. not.) and i’m back to “normal” energy-wise. normal for me means very, very, very low energy. i’m gonna talk to my regular doctor about this. i can’t stand it anymore. i had a taste of the good life, and i want it all the time now.

i turned 51 on the 23rd of july. had a very nice birthday. very, very nice.

we redecorated (refurnished) the living room.

we’re continuing to work on the new guest room – the east room (jax’s old room). we hope to have that done soon. very soon. one houseguest this weekend. more next weekend.

bella’s “mostly” housetrained now. “mostly” is about all you can expect, imho, from a puppy under a year old. she’s figured out that she’s much, MUCH bigger than scout. scoutie doesn’t like it. one. bit. go scout. sheba’s mostly aloof and above it all. empty nest? whatever.

jax had his first gig a couple weeks ago. very cool. he’s been spending a lot of time in the studio working on his cd. he hopes to have four songs ready by the end of the week.

i’m having a garage sale this thursday, friday, and saturday. i am NOT looking forward to it. it’s supposed to be the hottest days of the year. pffft. jackson is coming to help, though; maybe i’ll leave him to the sale, and i’ll go work on the east room. hmmmm.

we went to a wedding of a son of a dear, dear friend saturday. old, old friend. seated at a table of ten with old high-school friends. lot of history (not all positive) with some of these friends. and, like i said, i prefer the one-on-one... it was a very nice wedding, though.

i’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the wedding “experience” since saturday night. i have to admit that it really, REALLY bothers me to see people whom i haven’t seen in a long time and “see” reflected in their eyes the new picture of me. the gimpy stacey. the stacey that they feel compelled to help. shit. i think i’ve pretty well adjusted to this new(er) status. and then something like this happens. and i KNOW it’s me. i KNOW it’s my problem. blah, blah, blah.

my brand-new (bought in january) computer is fucked up. still under warranty, so i’m not worried about the computer. it’s just that i added about 60 whole cd’s to the music library and then got rid of the cd’s before backing up my hard drive. in the meantime, the computer malfunctioned. heh. dumbass = me. AND. i had to reset my treo phone, and the back-up’s on that computer. fuck. contacts. memos. checkbooks. all kinds of shit. tech support at medion is supposed to call me if they have to reformat the hard drive (i had to send it back). pray god they’ll let me talk them into backing up the hard drive for me BEFORE they WIPE OUT EVERYTHING. pray god.

so basically, life’s been going on with me while i’ve been away. some tough stuff that i won’t talk about here. but we persevere. got to keep moving. and there’s so much good stuff in our lives – all the time – that i WON’T stop moving.

i bet you wish i took a longer hiatus, doncha?

Yoga Update

Yesterday, I picked up ingredients at Home Depot for the bed I'm going to build this week. I also need to calculate how much laminate flooring to get for the new floor in the new guest room, once inhabited by the J-dogg. I'll get that today. You would think she's still on those steroids, but at least I enjoy doing stuff like this.

I have had several hundred e-mails from people all over the world wondering how I am feeling. I assume they want to hear about what happened at my yoga class when they ask about my health; so, because of the great interest in my health, I'll let you know what happened at yoga class. First, though, before getting to that, in response to specific suggestions by some of you about improving the quality of my life with pharmaceuticals, I am not in the market for any on-line psychotropic or gonadotropic drugs. Now, on to yoga.

I know I'm old. That doesn't mean that I can't do things as well as the younger chicks individuals in my yoga class. I was doing this weird back-bending, stretching, almost-falling-down thing; and the instructor comes over and says with great compassion, "You shouldn't be going that far if it is causing you pain."

And I said, on the out breath, of course, "I'm not in any pain."

She replied, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be assuming things."

It wasn't all like that, though. There was one pose where from a kneeling position, I was supposed to reach back and grab my heels and I couldn't do that. I'll attribute that inflexibility to my Tae Kwon Do career ending injury suffered before I lost a lot of weight. That's something I'll need to work on before next week.

But all things considered, I came out of yoga class intact and feeling refreshed. While I was preparing to leave, one of the young chicksyogini approached me, "My boyfriend is embarrassed to come here with me." I'm guessing she wanted some advice about compelling him to attend, but I didn't have anything for her.

"Bummer," I replied in the parlance of younger days, while rolling up my red yoga mat.

"What?" she asked with a quizzical look, to which I replied, "I mean, that's really too bad he lacks the self-confidence and strength of ego to try to reach a higher level of consciousness about his body and strive for inner peace."