Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

CROSS YOUR FINGERS

if the stars, god, luck, AND dog are with us, by this time tomorrow jax will be on a plane most of the way to a treatment center in montana. say a prayer, light a candle, put a rock in your pocket, whatever. just do it. pretty please?

never mind. wasn't meant to be. for some reason, they want $20,000. now. i've got some more calls in elsewhere tomorrow.

all is NOT lost yet. talked to people at center. keep praying.

your prayers are helping; if we can get the plane ticket in time, he'll be off to montana by 5 p.m. treatment center ok'd insurance copay as downpayment!

ARGHHHHH!

what the fuck is wrong with my fucking printer???!!!

On Spelling

H: So, you want some avocados?
W: Yeah. Do I need to write that down?
H: No. I'll remember.
W: A lot of people get the spelling of "avocado" wrong.
H: Really?
W: Do you think they confuse it with "Avagadro?"
H: I'm sure it's constantly on their minds.
W: Fuck you.

DAY 12

he's still in jail. still waiting for a bed at treatment center, which apparently nobody's in any hurry to give to him. go figure.

but his spirits are ok. if i can believe anything he says. which is pret-ty hard to do anymore. go figure. bill and our neighbor, james (an addiction counselor), discussed the fact that he just might be in a hurry to get into treatment to bolt. again. i -- dummy me -- had not considered that possibility. so i brought that up to jax when he called last night, and he said, "what? are you kidding me?" which didn't bring me any comfort. fool me once -- shame on you. fool me 3, 472 times -- shame on me.

one good thing: HE'S READ TWO BOOKS! holy crap! jackson's READING.

so i guess we'll see what we'll see.

on a better note: matt and mel are on vacation in mexico [no, the irony does not escape me that one kid's at a resort in mexico with his beautiful wife for a well-deserved respite; the other's in jail for a well-deserved respite. and although he won't have the company of a beautiful wife, he's got company. heh.] although it looks like ernesto's made the turn northward and the resort's not in the way, the weather looks pretty -- well -- unsunny.

little miss sunshine (no pun intended) am i. the fact of the matter is that although i'm functioning pretty well right now, and you might not even notice my dismal frame of mind if you saw me; i'm really feeling pretty poorly right now. not sleeping. weeping in the shower. weeping while bill's out with the dogs. bill's out with the dogs right now, so guess what i'm doing as i type this? YOU GUESSED IT! WEEPING.

really, though. your many e-mails and supportive comments, and particularly one phone call from a blogger friend who let me weep and cried with me, means more to me than i can say. i've not had the energy to call friends because i really don't want to talk -- as opposed to write about it. so then i feel worse. alone. alienated. abandoned. and i know it's me. i know it. but i don't feel it.

i suck.

Quarterly Candy Post

For the better part of a half-century, and some would say it was not the better part, my grandmother filled the candy dish in her home with assorted types of candies. During the winter, in honor of Thanksgiving and Christmas, I suppose, it was hard candies, not wrapped, with little pictures on them, like snowmen and evergreen trees, or autumn colors, black, brown, orange, white, swirled around, which often went untouched by human hand for many months.

It was tradition, though, just like the aluminum tree, all the branches of which were the same length, whether at the bottom or the top, making it a cylindrical, aluminum Christmas tree, along with the light with the rotating color wheel. Every year, the candies coalesced into a large chunk; and, eventually, my grandmother cleaned out the two-sided, glazed, ceramic candy dish with the braided handle and filled it in the Spring with wrapped candies.

She was a Brach's candy woman, I guess, because she'd fill the dish with inch-long flavored caramels with different colors in the middle in wrappers twisted at the ends and round red-and-white peppermints. From time-to-time, however, she got the coconut things, the sticky pink, white, and brown coconut things, onto which the clear wrappers always stuck. I'd get most of the wrapper off, and then it would rip; and I could never be sure if I got all of it off. And it wasn't unusual that accompanying the coconut things in the dish were white things contaminated with tiny, colored, Dot-like, jelly things, which didn't seem to have much of a taste. The coconut things were my favorites, which was one of the reasons I could tolerate involuntarily going to my grandparents' house every Sunday.

After my grandfather died, my grandmother moved to an assisted-living place. That worked well for her for a long time, long enough that when her money ran out, the owner was enamored with her to the extent that he waived any fees above and beyond what her monthly social security and retirement covered; and she passed away a few years ago. She loved it there, but she didn't take the candy dish with her.

Yesterday, I was wandering around a grocery store that I had never visited before ... and I don't know about you, but I have to check a new grocery store out before I get anything. I saw the bulk candy display, and in one of the bins I spied the coconut things.

They have a name ... Neapolitan Coconut Sundaes. The wrapper still sticks. And they still taste the same.

Pre-empt Pluto

I trained my telescope on Pluto last night. You recall Pluto, which was the ninth planet in the solar system, with its three recently-discovered moons. As you know, Pluto is no longer a full-fledged planet after a couple hundred astronomers, who hung around the hotel where the International Astronomical Union held its convention until everyone else, believing there were 12 planets, left town and then counted the votes in true Bush v. Gore democracy-in-action fashion, throwing out the ballots of those who left.

As I reported to you yesterday, I was convinced that the sentient beings on Pluto, identified in a secret letter Carl Sagan sent to me right before he died, when they discovered that Earth had taken their planet status away, would attack. I thought that I would be reporting to you that Plutonian rocket ships had blasted off and were headed toward Earth to enforce Pluto's right to be called a planet. I was so sure of this that I had drawn what I had expected to see through my telescope, since nobody got me the camera attachment for the telescope to take accurately digitally record the event.

I spent the whole morning drawing diagrams and pictures and expected trajectories on my Levenger note cards and calculating when Plutonian warships with their advanced laser and atomic weapons would be in range of Earth. Of course, the sentient beings on Pluto have advanced laser and atomic weapons, since they have space ships that can travel to Earth. A friend of mine, who used to work for NACS, wrote a report describing the Plutonian technology and how all the data collected by actual experts, who might try to discredit my work, was totally inaccurate. The report is on "Namibia Astrologics and Cosmological Society" letterhead. What's not to believe about that. Namibia is a country in Africa, and NASA has a tracking station there. Larry already faxed the letter to a Japanese news reporter with whom he got a degree at the University of Berkley, all quite legit, who is going to turn it over to someone he knows at NASA.

That should get the ball rolling. An interplanetary war with that pesky planet Pluto! Ha! What a joke! We can roll right over that fucking iceball. Then on our way back to Earth, after spending way more than ever before, we can stick it to Uranus. President Bush would love it!

Oh! The Places You'll Go!

I went down to the prison in Mansfield, the old one, the one that was used in the filming of the movie Shawshank Redemption, to see a client once. The prison, which has since been replaced, was not adequately or accurately depicted in the movie ... unless you have Smell-a-Vision and a wide-angle lens that lets you take in the whole scene. I had to strip to get in ... no cavity search, but I did get down to my underwear.

Last night, I didn't have to strip, just empty all my pockets and have my social security number run for outstanding warrants and such, to get into a small room with a window made of a double layer of scratched and clouded plexiglass, behind which was my son in an orange, Tivek shirt and pants, for a half-hour visit with him.

Aaaaahhhh ... another new life experience, difficult to describe. So many curious adventures have happened on this path.

Lessons Not Learned

Well, you asked for it. We haven't learned anything from U.S. foreign policy, which has gotten us bogged down in Afghanistan (Lost that war, according to today's New York Times, for lack of sending in a Ranger battalion to clean up over there 5 years ago) and embroiled in a war in Iraq against anybody shooting at or looking crossed-eyed at Americans. It has fanned the flames of Israel's desire to crush any and all democratically-elected governments in its neighborhood. It has ignited a new newk-you-lerr arms race with North Korea (caused by the U.S. refusal to talk to the North Koreans and its previous cutting off of oil and food to that nation, reminiscent of the treatment of Japan back around 1940) and Iran (caused by threats to destroy the Axis of Scott Evil by George the Lesser).

I thought the other people of the World would be a bit smarter than the guy in power in the fractured United States of America ... after all, there are astronomers and physicists and hybrids, like astro-physicists, out there directing things.

But no, they are no more savvy about foreign policy than Mr. Bush the Lesser.

They go and smack down Pluto, for chrissakes, the fucking idiots, which, in my opinion, creates quite an interplanetary problem, whether they want to admit it's interplanetary or not.

All I know is that in about 5 hours, if my calculation is correct (and I'm not a mathematician ... the extent of my higher mathematics education is how to multiply by 1/3rd), the beings on Pluto will hear about this development, this slap in their planetary puss, so to speak, at which time the attack will begin.

The lessons of history have been ignored once again ... prepare yourselves ... you know the drill ... plastic and duct tape.

JACKSON, CHAPTER 73

in much improved spirits. not bitching, more introspective and forward looking talk. he also spoke to his sponsor today. then we got a call that he'll be out of there just as soon as a bed opens up at treatment center. we had been more recently worrying that he'd be held much longer than that if his attitude didn't improve.

stress level: yellow

we went to our second al-anon meeting today. i wept through most of it. quietly, of course. shut up. it will get better. it -- heh.

bill's got a cake in the oven, and i just put some breaded chicken tenders in alongside (ok. not really alongside -- on higher shelf). interesting mix of odors. wish there was room for a double oven here!

the republican convention site selection committee was in town today to tour cleveland. right now there's a fireworks display for the committee. we can see it out our windows. nothing to write home about.

Incongruities

My plan was to take Bella (yes, that one) out for a walk by herself, but that wasn't in the cards because the other two were very animated in conveying their desire to go outside; so, I took the whole crew. There are those out there who believe that people and their dogs look alike. First of all, I have been told that Bella is like a ditzy, long-legged fashion model; and I have never been described in quite that way. To further dispel the notion, there are many men out there walking miniature Dobermans and Chihuahuas, far too many to lend any support to such a hypothesis.

I make no judgments about the guy I saw on this warm evening walking his tiny, little Chihuahua. He was about 6 feet, 7 inches tall, and he would have been taller if he had a neck. I will not venture a guess about his weight. It's hard to tell with NFL linemen because many of them are hardly svelte ... perhaps the added weight gives them middle-body strength and leverage to go along with the biceps that might just have been the size of my waist and the sequoia-trunk-sized legs.

And as I told Stacey's Beagle to stop yapping, a feeling shot out from somewhere deep in the dark recesses of my mind, along with shadings of a gruesome image that I fought off, a feeling of hope that the lilliputian dog has its own bed.

Living in the Past

"If we ever give up the desire to help people who want to live in a free society, we will have lost our soul as a nation," George the Lesser said today in a press conference about how goes the illegal, undeclared-by-Congress war in Iraq, in which four more American GI's were killed today.

We lost our soul as a nation when we sold our freedom because of "terrorists," spending over 300 billion dollars on an illegal war unrelated to the "terrorists," instead of taking care of the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I have run into a number of them on my walks around town, and I am ashamed of the manner in which many of our citizens are forsaken and discarded. I suspect that there are many more here than I have seen and much more in other cities across this country.

EVENING UPDATE

i put $15 on a credit card yesterday so we could accept collect phone calls from jail to my cell (we don't have a land line). i put $15 TODAY on my credit card. i'm NOT doing it tomorrow. i think there's enough left as of now to enjoy one more very short call from him.

the boy must have cojones the size of bowling balls. i don't know how he pulls his pants up over 'em.

what he wants is for bill and me to start looking at different treatment centers so he can get out of jail NOW. i told him we wouldn't do that, that he could if he wanted to, that he might be right, just maybe the director of the center where he WAS isn't jumping through the hoops for jax as fast or as high as he could if it weren't for the fact that he might not be thrilled with jax for his shit attitude (which he mentioned to j's sponsor) and the little "escape." that just because he has damaged this "bridge," we weren't going to go looking for other bridges for him to burn up.

he says to me, "what am i supposed to do here?" i said, "time to spend some time thinking."

this is where the balls come in. he says, "sure, whatever. i'll go back to my one-inch mattress on the floor and try to think!" and hangs up.

i burst out laughing. he's trying to make me feel guilty? ain't gonna happen. not right now. and he hangs up on me? dude's got balls, i tell ya.

the next time he calls, i tell him that he better NOT do that to me again, else i'd not be accepting any more calls from him. he was sorry.

anger sure feels better than sorrow and fear. but i sure as HELL don't feel guilty.

ALL JACKSON, ALL THE TIME

for those who are following the jackson story:

no warrant had been issued for his arrest by either jurisdiction, so he is being held in jail until bed opens again at treatment center. so he's gonna sit. bill and i decided last night that if it was decided that he had to sit, then it would be fine with us. we weren't going to be upset. jax made his choice. oh well. and it was too easy for us to look 2 months into the future and see that it was possible if he got in right away that we'd be saying "damn! wish he would have had to sit for a week or two!"

so he -- and we -- will have to bite the bullet for a while. better now than later.

he's pissed. oh well. oh well is my favorite saying right now. he's safe. he's being fed. he's gonna have to deal with it.

They're Watching

There are times when people need diversions in their lives. I was perusing the stats for this site, as limited as they might be, to take my mind off other things. And I came across this: sgzero.llnl.gov (128.115.27.10). I knew they were lurking out there ... on the fringe, checking, always checking up on me.

Stop your snickering ... you, you know who you are ... they are out there. Checking, always checking up on me. And don't give me that fucking "conspiracy theory" bullshit sarcasm ... yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about. Even when I played in the boys' baseball league back in the day, my team was backed by the company called Check's Printing. I told you, but you never listened. Maybe now ... maybe now ... before I am silenced.

It's like when the Justice Department was visiting this website regularly ... checking, always checking up on me. That was a couple years back ... when I was a subversive ... when I went public about the dangers of using those inkjet refill kits ... and when I disclosed the use of discount shopping cards so that the FBI could track grocery purchases ... and the secret of the glue residue left by those little fruit stickers. You're suppressing that chortle, that cute little laugh of yours, just like they are trying to suppress my lonely voice in the ether.

They? They? You're asking stupid questions now. You ... you know who you are. It's not the unidentifiable "they," about which all those conspiracy theorists whisper. This THEY is real, readily identifiable ... checking, always checking up on me.

Why, you ask, with that wry smile of yours ... always on the edge of laughter. You ... you know who you are. That's right -- I can hear you asking so sarcastically (and don't you dare take that tone with me), "Why you?"

Why me? Why me? Ask them ... they're out there. You have their IP address: sgzero.llnl.gov (128.115.27.10). And they are easy to track down ... PHYSICISTS.

I told you they don't like me revealing their little secrets, the secrets of ... physics ... I told you it was dangerous, but you didn't believe me. You laughed ... yes, you ... you know who you are ... you laughed. And now, proof that they are here ... checking, always checking up on me -- always ... checking ... never ... ending. Physicists ...

SIGH.

ok. so we start out to columbus yesterday morning to lunch with matty and mel. while bill is on the phone with napster TRYING to cancel j's account -- for the third time --he misses a call. he checks his voice mail. probation officer left message that j left treatment center thursday night. the information she has is that drug dealer picked him up. warrant will be issued for his arrest. oh god.

we decide to press on to columbus and try to enjoy this little field trip. j made this decision. we are powerless, remember?

lovely time -- as always -- with the matt and mel. delicious lunch. i can't say that much hilarity ensued; but i do believe that bill and i -- and matt and mel -- did a pretty good job of just being in the moment and enjoying each other's company.

thought we left with plenty of time to make a leisurely drive, but the stop for gas and ensuing desperate attempt to avoid the traffic line to escape gas station took a freaking 45 MINUTES! so we were late. our friends whom we invited to attend pig roast with us had to wait about a half hour for us. but we got here. and had a great dinner and time with skip and candy (and met some other nice people who lived in our building). walked in the door to the apartment to find that bella had made a snack of a corner of bill's beloved buck rogers cartoon book. bitch.

my phone rings. it's jax.

me: hello?
j: hey. what's up?
me: just getting ready to sit down to watch football game. what's up with you?
j: i really fucked up. scared myself last night.
me: yup. what scared you?
j: i did a LOT of shit.
me: you ok?
j: yeah, i'm ok. just scared myself.
me: so what are you doing now?
j: somebody's giving me a ride. i'm trying to get home?
me: here?
j: yeah.
me: jack, we won't let you come home. we can't. YOU DON'T EVER WANT TO KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO HAVE TO SAY THIS TO YOUR CHILD. I'M HAVING A HARD TIME WRITING IT DOWN HERE.
J: i need some help. i don't know what to do. let me call you back from a pay phone -- i'm on some guy's cell phone.
me: ok. call me.
j: i will.

bill takes dogs out. i go to bed. hours, i think, pass. phone rings.

j: hey.
me: hey. where are you?
j: i'm at starbucks on clifton. i've been sitting here with ben talking. ben is an old friend from a.a. this is good. what should i do?

i can't remember the rest of the conversation or the sequence of events from this point. it all ended up with jax in the car with bill. bill having me call suicide prevention hot line, the woman calling bill's phone to talk to j, and hours of us insisting that j could not come home, that he had to turn himself in. oh god, this was hard. finally, he did. bill brought him in to police department, asked for a suicide watch (thank god the police were very kind), and left our son. oh god, this was hard. bill came home ENTIRELY drained.

god? are you there? please, god, PLEASE let me put jax in your hands. please? i know it's all i can do, but i'm scared. for the first time in my life, i'm starting to wonder if you're really there. i know that faith isn't about getting what you want. i know that putting j in your hands doesn't mean that you'll take care of him. i just can't think this through. i just can feel right now. and all i feel is bad. please help me.

I'm No Dummy

I bought a bag of Dum-Dum suckers, only the Spangler Candy Company calls them Dum-Dum Pops. I unwrapped one of them ... pineapple, which is one of my favorite flavors. What the fuck?

I want to know what the hell happened to Dum-Dum suckers. At least they still offer stuff to buy. Send away 20 wrappers with some money, and they send you your stuff. That's still the same.

I want to know what the hell happened to Dum-Dum suckers. The suckers are like way smaller than they used to be ... well, maybe not way smaller ... but smaller. At the website, the company addresses the question of why the suckers are so small; and the answer some wise guy gives is: Most of our customers feel Dum Dum Pops are just the right size for a perfect treat. It's quick, convenient, and packed with flavor. It's just right for kids (and big kids too)!

That is bullshit! I took my own informal survey this afternoon, handing out a few of the suckers to the guys and the woman hanging out at Settlers' Landing. All of them ... and I believe them to be a representative sample of the American population ... said they remembered the suckers being slightly larger, except the one guy who said his mother never stole candy when he and his sisters were growing up and couldn't give an opinion. He did ask for a second sucker ... he wanted red. I obliged.

I'm not talking like they were huge or anything like that. They were just slightly larger.

Also, there is a ridge around the sucker. I recall that the stick was stuck right into that ridge that ran north-south parallel to the stick. Now, the ridge is around the equator of the sucker, perpendicular to the stick. Why is that? Granted, I haven't had one of these suckers in like 20 years ... since ripping them off from Matt and Jackson at Halloween ... until Matt became aware that the bootie was all his ... and Jackson's, and that even though I came along with them, whether or not I was dressed for it, I could not claim any title whatsoever to the candy he and Jackson collected.

I want to know what the hell happened to Dum-Dum suckers. The memory of those suckers may have faded a little, but I'm quite sure of the ridge being parallel to the stick. And I'm quite sure that they are a little smaller in size. Why?

BLACK MOOD

this is how i feel today. i'm going to go do some cleaning and maybe some baking. that's usually a mood lifter for me. tomorrow we head to columbus for lunch with matty and mel. have to be home to meet friends for our building's pig roast before the browns' game. so it'll get better and better.

go here to make your own.

STEP ONE

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol -- that our lives had become unmanageable.

today we went to our first al-anon meeting. wait. that's not quite correct. we went 4 years ago to 3 or 4 or 5 when jax was newly sober and just 16. i didn't like it. i couldn't admit i was powerless over jax's addiction while he was still a kid. i had stuff to do as a parent. i had to have power.

now i'm in a different place. i'm pretty sure i'm mostly powerless, but i still believe in some small part of me that i can manipulate or affect jax to a commitment to sobriety. that's gonna be pretty hard for me to admit or believe. if it's true. and i'm pretty sure it must be true. but. BUT. i keep thinking that i'll come up with the perfect, magical thing to say to jax that will cause him to say, "HOLY SHIT! HOLY COW! WHAT THE HELL HAVE I BEEN DOING? of COURSE i want to be clean! of COURSE i can do it! thanks, mom! what would i do without you?"

but the fact of the matter is that i talk more than 3 people put together; and if he hasn't heard it by now, he needs to figure it out by himself. so, i'm gonna think and think and think on this, and i hope i'll believe it soon.

if this is a race to work these steps, bill's ahead by one. pffft.

Forbidden Planet

Angry? Yes.

I am also fearful. Why?

I fear for tiny Pluto. Back in 1930, the planet was discovered, as astronomer Percival Lowell had predicted before the turn of the 20th Century. Pluto has not completed one orbit around the Sun since it was discovered; and, yet, a group of self-annointed gods of the universe, the International Astronomical Union, here in the 21st Century, will announce whether Pluto will remain one of the nine planets or whether it will become just another hunk of rock and ice unworthy of the mantel it has so proudly worn for the past 75 years. In fact, scientists have discovered not just one moon circling Pluto, but three moons ... certainly, this should confirm Pluto's original planet status.

How did we get to this place, where the International Astronomical Union wants to reduce the number of planets to only eight? What's wrong with these so-called scientists?

Well, there's some controversy as whether a frozen hunk of rock and ice slightly farther away from the Sun and slightly larger than Pluto, designated 2003 UB313, discovered by a group at the Instituto de Astrofísica de Andalucía under suspicious circumstances, should be called a planet. Why not, I want to know. 2003 UB313's got a moon ... definitively detected by the Keck Observatory. Make it planet number 10 ...

Leave Pluto alone ... there's something to say about 75 years of history. We've grown up with Pluto, the ninth planet. If they vote to strip Pluto of its title, what will we call it ... Pluto, the trans-Neptunian object with its three fucking moons? If it's not a planet, how can it have moons? Where is the order in the universe, I ask. I mean, we are not talking quantum physics here.

And what if some day scientists find life on Pluto ... what then? What will we call the guy, The Brother From Another Planet ... the Trans-Neptunian Object?

Don't fuck with Pluto.

ANGER

bill and i picked up jax today and chauferred him to a court hearing on his inability to pay his fines while he's in treatment and not working. i guess being in treatment and not working is better than NOT being in treatment and not working.

can you tell i'm angry?

bill and i are both in this weird, PISSED-OFF stage. we are just soooo tired of all of this shit and, well, pissed off.

here's how i responded to an e-mail inquiry as to how j's doing:

Jax is doing ok. What do I really know? I'm just trying to deal with it, trying to learn to let go. bill and i are going to an al-anon meeting tomorrow. we have done EVERYTHING we can. unfortunately, we can't control the decisions he makes. it's up to him now. and, honestly? I don't know what he'll do. but i've got a lot of years -- and blessings -- ahead of me. and I want to be able to enjoy them. I can't be jax's rag doll anymore. i CAN'T let every bit of my happiness be completely dependent on where jax is in HIS life. so i need to learn to deal with it. he says he knows he wants to be clean for the next year. but he doesn't know if he really wants to be clean after that; so, i think, that until he makes a lifetime commitment to at least WANT IT, i need to work on distancing myself. sucks. cuz that's not really me. but it fucking is what it is. it's not fair to bill and matt and mel and to my future grandchildren to be dragged down by this one person. i owe something more to them. and to me. so i'm planning to work on that. and if he stays clean by making the right decisions, yay!

life sucks today. i don't know if i can do this.

Burning Issues

There are a lot of things going on in the world. An 81-year-old guy was stopped at the border down in Arizona with about 150 pounds of cocaine in his car ... gotta make a living because those prescription drug costs'll kill ya.

And if you read the left half of this blog ... that's my right looking out at you ... you might have the sense that a lot is going on under this roof ... and that, in fact, is the case.

But there is one thing of extreme importance that I need to point out to all of you. There is a product on the market, of which I own a pair, which were a gift from the giver of pain and delight for Christmas, called the Ove Glove. The Ove Glove really works. I handle pots and pans out of the oven with the gloves without any problem. If you are interested, you should get one for each hand that you have. The gloves are made of Kevlar and Nomex.

We all know that Kevlar is a component of bullet-proof vests; so, I should have no problem now catching a bullet using these gloves. And Nomex ... I had to look that up ... well, it seems that Nomex has some electricity-insulating properties that have piqued my curiosity, so much so that the next time I have an electrical project to work on, I'm going to test out the gloves on a live wire just to see how well they work in that application.

This morning, I made a huge pan of brownies - a 16"x24" pan. The Ove Gloves, like I say, are the ideal tools to use to remove the hot pan of brownies from the oven. The 325 F temperature is well within the range that the gloves are designed to handle, as long as the gloves are not wet. If the gloves are wet, you might as well take the pan out with your bare hands that you have run under water -- it burns a little and you might drop whatever you are holding; but that didn't happen today, I am pleased to tell you. The gloves were dry.

This morning, I burned my index finger. How could that happen, you may ask yourself, if the fucking asshole idiot was using the Ove Gloves? And I was using the Ove Gloves, to be sure. But if you don't slip them onto your hands like you're supposed to do and, instead, use them like a regular potholder, then the floppy fingers don't stay together, one of them invariably flops down, exposing the human flesh to 325-degree stainless steel; and you burn your finger.

Always put the gloves on before you try to take the pan of brownies out of the oven.

YAWN

up early yesterday. first to bank, then manicurist, costco, target, pick up j's car, drop off j's car, back to apartment, meet friends, head to danny boy's, head home, head to mike the hatter (jax had his head shaved -- pffffft -- and wanted us to bring him a hat later), meet dog walker, out to pick up j, drop off j at starbucks to go to a meeting, back home to BED.

i ran through that so quickly that you may have missed the "meet friends" part. the friends are dana (whom we've met several times before), her husband, jeff, and their 4 kids. awesome! we had lunch at danny boys (i'm STILL stuffed). it is sooo much fun to spend time in person with blog friends. dana is a very special woman. what a kick to meet her family, especially garrett and kenzie.

update on jax: says he's starting to feel much better. he -- and, therefore, we -- had a couple of REALLY bad days earlier this week. it was a real pleasure seeing him yesterday as we chauffeured him to meet up with a.a. buddies. he looks good (except for the bald head. pfffft). nice to see those beautiful eyes clear. good color in his face. we see him tomorrow. get to bring him back here for a quick visit with dogs, out to lunch, and then bring him back. i'll take a picture of the blues man in his new hat. i'll see if i can get a good one so you can see those eyes.

MOM 101

one hopes that with age comes wisdom. pfffft. i know i had thought that i might have something to offer by this age. that i'd have some answers. all i've got is questions. maybe some observations. but no answers.

i like to read what young moms say on their blogs about being a mom. i started off on this blogging adventure with dooce. i ran across her site maybe 5 years ago (before marriage and motherhood for her). i e-mailed bill and matt the link to this cool "blog thing" i had discovered. bill thought it was cool, too. matt said "duhhh." whoops, i got off track a little bit there. point: i love, love, LOVE her "mom" observations. more to the point: i ran across a post by a young mom that got me thinking about the issue.

i thought about how i finally stopped worrying about that issue (i did at first) and decided that it would all work itself out as long as the kids experienced me. i think they learned that i was a stay-at-home mom cuz i wanted to be. i know they learned that i cooked because i love cooking. and i know they learned that i cleaned because i'm anal like that. they all learned to cook because they were required to help. they all learned to clean well because i'm anal like that. and even though i'm one hell of a cook (qualitatively and quantitatively), they saw bill as the cheesecake and cookie man of the family -- not to mention the fact that he cooks breakfast for me at least 4 or 5 days a week. point: these were roles we chose -- not sex-assigned or inferred.

when matt was 8 (jax was 4), bill went "out on his own." rented a small office in town; but for the most part, bill worked out of the house. so for the most part, we were both home for most of their young lives.

matt gave me the greatest compliment of my life about a year ago when he told me that he loves his work (he's working on his phD at osu in computer science) but that's not where he lives. he lives for picking up groceries on the way home and cooking and having a nice dinner ready for mel when she gets home. and that he may be a stay-at-home dad for a while after they have a baby. it all depends on what's going on in their careers and for whom it would work out easier and best. cuz that's important to him.

so matt got the cooking gene. and the "daddy" gene.

now, my observations on the drug-addict thing. i've said before that we've been damned good parents. shit happens. i was talking to matty about this today and now i want to put it to paper. i'm hyper sensitive to any hint that this is our failure as parents AND EVEN MORE SENSITIVE to hints that jax is a failure/coward/non-loving/immoral whatever. here's what i have to say about that. ever hear the phrase "monkey on his back?" i've heard it hundreds of times in my life and never thought one bit about the metaphor until i had a child with an addiction problem. think about it. a monkey climbing, scratching, screeching, making your life a freaking living hell. if you have even the slightest urge to feel self righteous, stop. make better use of your time -- not to mention your soul -- and think instead about starting each day giving thanks to whomever you give thanks that you or your children don't have that monkey on your/their back(s). because you/they have the luxury of being normal. whatever that means. go hug an addict or alcoholic in recovery. because THOSE are the people who are courageous. you have no clue how hard they must work every day of their lives (sometimes every freaking minute) to fight/ignore the monkey on their back.

and the not-loving-us thing? it's a great blessing to jax to have those of us loving him, pulling for him. and it's also the greatest curse. jax hates himself for disappointing/hurting us. i don't use those words lightly. he hates himself.

hang on jax. hang on.

Cell Phones

I have a Motorola Q phone now. It does not have Pocket Word; so, that's a drawback. The instruction book is 652 pages long; so, that's a drawback.

And I have a Mini Mac desktop computer ... you've probably seen them. It's a white and silver little box 6 1/2-by-6 1/2-by-2 inches. If anything goes wrong with it, it is very easy to throw it at the person who tells you to calm down. The phone number to call for help with my Apple Mini Mac is 1-800-APL-CARE.

So, instead of throwing the CPU, I try to call Apple on my Motorola Q. And here's another drawback of the Motorola Q -- there are no letters on the numbers. That's not exactly true ... maybe, I should say that there aren't any numbers on the letters. Whatever. You can't push the letters APL-CARE and get Apple. And the numbers don't have ABC, DEF, GHI, JKL, MNO, etc., on them like on the old rotary phones that I learned phone back in the day, back in the day when "O" meant OPERATOR, not "0," the number, back in the day when the letters had some meaning ... you dialed exchanges, such as MOntrose 2-4312, which then became 662-4312 at some point in the remote past, which is the time when remote controls became popular.

And those office telephone directory programs that ask me to type in the first few letters of the employee's last name ... that won't work on my Motorola Q. Who knows what person will answer the phone when I start guessing.

I am not going to memorize the anachronistic ABC's of the telephone company. This is, after all, the 21st Century. For crying out loud, we have flying cars ... and time travel ... and invisibility pills, and all sorts of modern marvels. I shouldn't have to know the ABC's.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, SWEETHEARTS

today is matt and mel's THIRD anniversary! have a beautiful day, guys. i am so proud of you. the first picture was taken in may by our friend, same photographer who did the black and whites you've seen below. the second picture is of mel and one of their new cats, taken by matt, a pretty good photographer himself. i just love both pictures!

DORKS ARE US

bill and i sit less than three feet apart when at our computers. today, i commented on his post.

stacey (comment): what the hell does THIS ("I got a real good example about what I'm talkin' about" mean?

his response (via e-mail): You forgot the close parenthesis; therefore, I will not read your comment. This is an automated response. Do not even try to send a return e-mail because your computer will become virus central!

my response to his response (via e-mail): like you knew how to use a semicolon before i came along. what. ever.

his response (verbally): you win.

damn right i win.

UPDATE

we're hanging in there.

jax is hanging in there.

as of now, sobriety date is 7/31 -- NOT my birthday. pffft. i ask for so little. shutup.

we spent the weekend in cincinnati with OLD friends, soaking up the love.

opera ear worm seems to be mostly gone. now it's michael feinstein "puttin' on the ritz/slumming down park avenue." i'm going ca-razy, despite the fact that i LOVE these lyrics:

Come, let's mix where Rockefellers
Walk with sticks or "umberellas"
In their mitts
Puttin' on the Ritz

pfffft again.

dana and her gang are visiting cleveland this coming weekend. we'll have lunch friday -- i hope at danny boy's. we've decided that every time we meet a fellow blogger, we'll take them to danny boy's*; and even though we've met dana a handful of times, we've not taken her to danny boy's. this time we get to meet her husband and kids, too.

told drew to get his butt and his stuff out. he's drinking (maybe using). we won't deal with our own kid using -- not doing it for someone else's kid. he knew the rules. no surprises.

and ... matty and mel are celebrating their THIRD WEDDING ANNIVERSARY on wednesday! what the hell? three years FLEW BY! i am so proud of these two -- they rock! we got to grab a cup of coffee with them yesterday in columbus (on our way home from cincinnati). they are both sporting new tattoos.

life. she is running full speed. we barely keep up.

*so far, it's only two: chucklehut and kazoofus. consider yourself invited.

Vasectomies for All!!!

I'm finding that like when there were no women out there doing research and shit like that, the world was more ordered and stuff wasn't all like blamed on me men. But now, there's like all these women out there doing all kinds of fucking research and getting ... umm ... y'know, degrees and shit, like P ... H ... D's; and, of course, when they're educated like that, they gotta justify themselves; so, they're gonna like skew the data and fuck with the standard deviations to totally blame males for all their fucking problems. You know how it is, dealing with these women ... they all think they're so-o-o-o-o together and smart and they're like God's gift to man ... I got a real good example about what I'm talkin' about.

Women with partners ages 35 or older had nearly a threefold increase in spontaneous abortions compared with women whose partners were younger than 25 .... The increased risk was independent of maternal age and was not confounded by diabetes, smoking, parity, or previous spontaneous abortions. [Emphasis fucking added]

Can you fucking believe that? Karine Klienhaus ... oh, sorry ... Doctor Karine Kleinhaus claims that her research shows that. Yeah, right ... Y'know, it used to be that like they got blamed for this kind of stuff ... you know, they had it last. To analogize to football, how could men like fumble the ball when men don't even have the fucking ball?

But this wise-ass woman researcher from, get this, the Mailman School of Public Health (Can you fuckin' believe that ... mailman?), has this clever fucking bullshit retort that like takes the proverbial cake, like we don't know bullshit when we hear it:

"This is not as surprising as it may sound at first, as it was already shown by other researchers that older men have more abnormalities in their sperm, and that their children are more susceptible to certain birth defects," said Dr. Klienhaus.

Yeah, other researchers ... where's your proof, Doctor ... just say it like it's some kind of fact with no footnotes or other proof. That's good research. And "their children," like the men are the ones who have the children ... you see how it is? Sounds like Weekly World News to me.

DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR EAR WORM UNTIL YOU HEAR MINE

La donna è mobile
qual piuma al vento,
muta d'accento
e di pensiero.

except for me it sounds like

la donna e mobile
la la la la la la
la la la la la
la la la la la

BELIEVE me, it sounds better that way. i TRIED to learn the real words and sing them. bill begged me to stop. so i did. for the meantime.

this is caruso singing it. from wikipedia.

City Shoes

I finally found something to wear on my feet while walking the dogs around the city.

I fully appreciate the Octogrip tread morphed into new and diverse shapes for multi-surface grip.

Off Track

I realize that maybe they are from out of town and don't know and wanted to figure it out themselves without asking or maybe they are from the suburbs and don't know because their parents didn't allow them to wander far beyond their homogenous neighborhood and wanted to figure it out themselves without asking or maybe they are just plain stupid and wanted to figure it out themselves without asking.

There is no third rail for the rapid transit train. The wires that power the trains are overhead. You cannot get an electric shock by touching both rails at once. There is no power in the rails.

You can, however, get run over if you are facing the wrong way, intent upon electrocuting oneself, and ignoring the horn that is blaring ...

I See Dead People

Al Qaeda was never a political organization. That is a fundamental difference between Hezbollah and Al Qaeda and Hamas and Al Qaeda. Hezbollah and Hamas, while termed terrorist organizations, are part of the governments in their respective regions of the world. Hamas won the Palestinian Authority's general elections in January. Hezbollah has several seats in the Lebanese parliament.

That President Bush compares Hezbollah and Hamas to Al Qaeda shows his ignorance of the political situation in the Middle East, the history of these organizations, and the facts. Of course, he uses this tactic to continue to prey upon the fear generated by the September 11 WTC attack for whatever purpose he deems important on any particular day.

Despite what the news media is reporting about Israel, Lebanon, and all the shit going on over there, George the Lesser still has his little war raging over in Iraq, where the following U.S. soldiers were killed fighting for freedom democracy Bush: