Another one for the record books.
On paper, using broad strokes - not a bad year.
The devil's in the details, however.
And the details.... bastards, frequently.
Happy to be showing 2013 my backside as I move forward.
Look at my bum, Dennis! look at it!
And for those who got the old SNL Evening Update reference - you're old. And I like you.
New Year's resolution - take up smoking.
Nope. Made that up.
New Year's resolution - Accentuate the positive.
Work to ensure that I do not, in a few short years, become the guy who screams "Get off my lawn!" at random passersby.
The guy who wins the lotto and bitches about how much he has to pay out of it in taxes.
Not sure what all it will take to NOT become the cane-waving curmudgeon that lurks inside, but I AM sure it's worth trying to figure out.
I believe it'll have a lot to do with remaining facing forward instead of looking back; suffering fools more painlessly until I'm not suffering them at all; and lots of.. accentuating the positive.
Appreciate the beauty and wonder and humor and love that comes my way in 1000 small ways, instead of allowing the negative stuff to clog my heart and mind, taking up too much of my time and energy.
So, suffering fools, accentuating the positive, and appreciating the little things.
And maybe medication.
We'll adopt a "wait and see" on the medication.....
More time outside, camping, fishing, walking...
More focus on little victories
More time making my daughter laugh
More time making sure my wife knows how great she really is
More time just... breathing. In and out, focused on nothing else.
More time NOT worrying about the shit I can't change, of which there is legion.
Less time playing "What if _____" games with myself.
Oh, and I'm going to try to learn how to play the guitar, and write more often.
Even if ultimately I do end up being the cane-waving curmudgeon, I'll be the cane-waving curmudgeon that can play Mull of Kintyre and Whole Wide World on the guitar, and turn a pithy phrase.
And I really think that will shine through, when I'm screaming "Get off my lawn!"
Take THAT, legion of crap I can't change!
In your face.
Wishing everyone a happy and positive 2014.
Wish me luck.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Yay, puppies!
Had a shockingly good time listening to the news break on WXRT this morning, at 6:30.
Mary Dixon is enjoyable, do not get me wrong. the shocking part is that all the news made me smile.
It was a banner news day in the medical / science field.
1. One of the huge pharma companies is vowing to change how their reps are compensated. No longer will they be given bonuses based on how many prescriptions their client doctors write. Additionally, it sounds like the pharma company is drastically scaling back perks for physicians, junkets and trips and such. This drastic change in direction has nothing at all to do with some huge legal issue they're having in China right now, we are assured. Just a coincidence.
2. The FDA is finally getting around to questioning the validity of anti-bacterial soap. Seems perhaps the claims of the soap makers have never really been supported by research / science. "Prove it" is the edict coming from the FDA. Show proof that the anti-bacterial agents in the soap are providing benefit, without harm.
A few days ago, they finally started voicing concern about gross overuse of antibiotics in factory beef and poultry farms. Yay, FDA. Glad to see you... still exist.
3. Puppies. A Study was done to show the effects of puppy hair and dander in the onset of asthma in babies and toddlers. Turns out - helpful! Granted it was mice (no babies were harmed in completion of this study....), but the group subjected to puppies, hair and dander, had lower occurrence by far of asthma than did the group NOT exposed to... puppies.
Yay, puppies!
Yeah, I could spend a lot of time hunting down links to each of these stories for you, the reader. But I' not gonna. Google it if you want to learn more.
So, pharma is on record as saying that they'll stop paying doctors to crank out prescriptions; the FDA is showing that they still... exist; and puppies make babies and toddlers healthier.
That, my friends, is a good news cycle.
Tomorrow's another day.....
Mary Dixon is enjoyable, do not get me wrong. the shocking part is that all the news made me smile.
It was a banner news day in the medical / science field.
1. One of the huge pharma companies is vowing to change how their reps are compensated. No longer will they be given bonuses based on how many prescriptions their client doctors write. Additionally, it sounds like the pharma company is drastically scaling back perks for physicians, junkets and trips and such. This drastic change in direction has nothing at all to do with some huge legal issue they're having in China right now, we are assured. Just a coincidence.
2. The FDA is finally getting around to questioning the validity of anti-bacterial soap. Seems perhaps the claims of the soap makers have never really been supported by research / science. "Prove it" is the edict coming from the FDA. Show proof that the anti-bacterial agents in the soap are providing benefit, without harm.
A few days ago, they finally started voicing concern about gross overuse of antibiotics in factory beef and poultry farms. Yay, FDA. Glad to see you... still exist.
3. Puppies. A Study was done to show the effects of puppy hair and dander in the onset of asthma in babies and toddlers. Turns out - helpful! Granted it was mice (no babies were harmed in completion of this study....), but the group subjected to puppies, hair and dander, had lower occurrence by far of asthma than did the group NOT exposed to... puppies.
Yay, puppies!
Yeah, I could spend a lot of time hunting down links to each of these stories for you, the reader. But I' not gonna. Google it if you want to learn more.
So, pharma is on record as saying that they'll stop paying doctors to crank out prescriptions; the FDA is showing that they still... exist; and puppies make babies and toddlers healthier.
That, my friends, is a good news cycle.
Tomorrow's another day.....
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Christmas thoughts, 2013
Not saying there won't be more posts this month, but regardless....
Christmas season is upon us.
We fought it off until AFTER Thanksgiving.
See, by doing this, we could feel all good about ourselves and our priorities and values.
Oh, and because we really DO hate how Christmas has crept and spread until it's crowding Halloween.
I don't do great with Christmas, and I've spent countless time puzzling over it.
Because... it's a puzzle. I like giving and receiving gifts, and my adult self has grown to appreciate the idea that they're physical manifestations of the love we have for one another. It's not just a bauble or warm pajamas or the right book. It's the effort, and the understanding of what makes the people in my life tick, what makes them smile, makes them.... them. See I pay attention, and you're worth the effort...
And in turn, I'm shown the same thing. And I'm grateful for the people in my life for which I put in the effort, and they - me. I can't imagine how this season would be if I didn't have them.
I love being a Dad and a Husband on Christmas morning. I longed to be a dad for so many years, and I've not yet taken the fact that I finally get to be one, for granted.
And so I struggle to not let the crowds and the chaos and the chore list and the stress and everything else get the better of me, year in and year out. Every year I work hard to make sure that I do not lose sight of what Christmas is all about, and about what it means to me and my family.
But, Fuck.
People, mankind... they really know how to mess up a good party.
People getting stabbed, fighting over towels at Walmart.
Folks waiting for you to get done with your insane-ass midnight shopping, so they can steal your purchases and go home.
Shoplifters shutting a cop's arm in a car door and starting to drive off until they take one in the shoulder.
Over $50 worth of clothes from Kohl's...
Last year it was people stepping over a dying man.
A few years back, the first year it seemed we all truly crossed some line, it was footage of some old woman getting trampled outside a Grand Rapids area Walmart on friday morning, while trying to keep her bad wig in place.
West Michigan - REPRESENT!!
And it's become so commonplace that we're not even outraged any more. Jesus, we should be....
"Oh, the bad drunk's crying about nothing and hanging on everyone and trying to goad people into wrestling and will either pass out or throw up or both in the next little bit..." and we just roll our eyes and try not to get too close as he starts the big fade.
It's a big party, live music, great food, lot's going on...
But he somehow becomes the story every time, just the same.
The story.... The media's complicit in this crime against my soul. They're the ones keeping the spotlight on the drunk at the party. Hey everyone, look at this guy acting the same way he acts every time there's a party. But keep looking! Over here!!! Looky!!!!
I was watching Elf the other night.
(Gotta watch the first christmas movie of the season after putting up the tree and decorating the house.)
And, not surprisingly, I got a bit choked up at the end, when the crowd began singing christmas carols, causing Santa's sleigh to fly solely under the power of christmas spirit....
While this scene always seems to effect me, it's nothing compared to Scrooged, when Bill Murray gives his big speech at the end. You know the scene. It's a good 'un.
These are expertly crafted pieces of storytelling, designed to tug on heart strings. And they succeed.
Niagra Falls, Frankie Angel.....
But then I find myself with a lump in my throat, watching some FB posted video, of a flash mob in a crowded mall, breaking into christmas carols. Not because of the singing, but because of the huge crowd's gradual change from self-involved hyper consumers, to... people. Real freakin' people. The mall grows quiet, people stop moving, and let themselves be taken over by the moment.
And I'm finally able to verbalize the underlying issue.
I want that.
That moment, that epiphany, when everyone realizes that it feels soooo damn good to get out of your own head and out of your own way for a few minutes. To put aside your own selfish agenda, and simply be part of some organic life-affirming moment. The people who happened to be at the mall that day, didn't go home and tell everyone about the drunk at the party.
"You'll never guess what happened.... it was beautiful... "
My god, but I want that. I ache for it.
And if the opportunity to have it presents itself, I can only hope that my mind and heart are open to it.
This is my christmas wish this year.
For myself, and for all of you.
Christmas season is upon us.
We fought it off until AFTER Thanksgiving.
See, by doing this, we could feel all good about ourselves and our priorities and values.
Oh, and because we really DO hate how Christmas has crept and spread until it's crowding Halloween.
I don't do great with Christmas, and I've spent countless time puzzling over it.
Because... it's a puzzle. I like giving and receiving gifts, and my adult self has grown to appreciate the idea that they're physical manifestations of the love we have for one another. It's not just a bauble or warm pajamas or the right book. It's the effort, and the understanding of what makes the people in my life tick, what makes them smile, makes them.... them. See I pay attention, and you're worth the effort...
And in turn, I'm shown the same thing. And I'm grateful for the people in my life for which I put in the effort, and they - me. I can't imagine how this season would be if I didn't have them.
I love being a Dad and a Husband on Christmas morning. I longed to be a dad for so many years, and I've not yet taken the fact that I finally get to be one, for granted.
And so I struggle to not let the crowds and the chaos and the chore list and the stress and everything else get the better of me, year in and year out. Every year I work hard to make sure that I do not lose sight of what Christmas is all about, and about what it means to me and my family.
But, Fuck.
People, mankind... they really know how to mess up a good party.
People getting stabbed, fighting over towels at Walmart.
Folks waiting for you to get done with your insane-ass midnight shopping, so they can steal your purchases and go home.
Shoplifters shutting a cop's arm in a car door and starting to drive off until they take one in the shoulder.
Over $50 worth of clothes from Kohl's...
Last year it was people stepping over a dying man.
A few years back, the first year it seemed we all truly crossed some line, it was footage of some old woman getting trampled outside a Grand Rapids area Walmart on friday morning, while trying to keep her bad wig in place.
West Michigan - REPRESENT!!
And it's become so commonplace that we're not even outraged any more. Jesus, we should be....
"Oh, the bad drunk's crying about nothing and hanging on everyone and trying to goad people into wrestling and will either pass out or throw up or both in the next little bit..." and we just roll our eyes and try not to get too close as he starts the big fade.
It's a big party, live music, great food, lot's going on...
But he somehow becomes the story every time, just the same.
The story.... The media's complicit in this crime against my soul. They're the ones keeping the spotlight on the drunk at the party. Hey everyone, look at this guy acting the same way he acts every time there's a party. But keep looking! Over here!!! Looky!!!!
I was watching Elf the other night.
(Gotta watch the first christmas movie of the season after putting up the tree and decorating the house.)
And, not surprisingly, I got a bit choked up at the end, when the crowd began singing christmas carols, causing Santa's sleigh to fly solely under the power of christmas spirit....
While this scene always seems to effect me, it's nothing compared to Scrooged, when Bill Murray gives his big speech at the end. You know the scene. It's a good 'un.
These are expertly crafted pieces of storytelling, designed to tug on heart strings. And they succeed.
Niagra Falls, Frankie Angel.....
But then I find myself with a lump in my throat, watching some FB posted video, of a flash mob in a crowded mall, breaking into christmas carols. Not because of the singing, but because of the huge crowd's gradual change from self-involved hyper consumers, to... people. Real freakin' people. The mall grows quiet, people stop moving, and let themselves be taken over by the moment.
And I'm finally able to verbalize the underlying issue.
I want that.
That moment, that epiphany, when everyone realizes that it feels soooo damn good to get out of your own head and out of your own way for a few minutes. To put aside your own selfish agenda, and simply be part of some organic life-affirming moment. The people who happened to be at the mall that day, didn't go home and tell everyone about the drunk at the party.
"You'll never guess what happened.... it was beautiful... "
My god, but I want that. I ache for it.
And if the opportunity to have it presents itself, I can only hope that my mind and heart are open to it.
This is my christmas wish this year.
For myself, and for all of you.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Anti-Santa and the best christmas ever.
Seems I've been remiss of late. It's been nearly 3 months since I last published anything.
I've been busy, you see.
Life does that. When you're not watching, it fills up your waking hours with stuff.
Who'm I kidding? It does so while you watch.
But I've been hiding my light under a bushel, and not sharing it, which must stop now.
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine....
Enjoy the ear worm.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine....
Life fills your waking hours with stuff......
The idea of "Stuff" came to mind today, When Wendy came in from the mailbox, holding a pile of holiday catalogs. I ignore them, by and large. fiona LOVES them. Wendy largely is apathetic, but will leaf through a couple, and think about stuff. New stuff for the house, or for Fiona.
"Like we need more stuff..." she said.
And THAT begat chit chat, which in turn begat... The Anti-Santa.
"What we need is less stuff." I said.
Wendy started laughing.
"Imagine THAT letter to Santa."
Not santa, we eventually decided. Filling our christmas wish would require the actions of...
The Anti-Santa.
A skinny middle aged guy in blue coveralls. He flies through the night on christmas eve in a magic dilapidated pick up truck, unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, going to the homes of all the good adults, and hauling away unwanted... stuff.
You write him a letter.
Dear Anti-Santa, I've been a good husband, father, and corporate lackey this year, yadda yadda, and for christmas this year I'd really like you to come take away all my shit. Here's an itemized list... hugs and kisses, your pal.......
You put out a Bud Light and some beef jerky on christmas eve, and hope for the best.
You wake up the next morning and find your bedside table is free of clutter, and you know it's gonna be the best christmas ever.
You've got two almost empty book cases in the basement all the sudden. Your clothes closet is roomier. All the left over paint and nuts and bolts and nails and acoustic tiles and such - gone. The stuff from your camping supplies that you've not used since 1997 - gone, baby. Your cassette and vhs tapes - history.
You get really excited, run out to the garage and throw open the door. It's... beautiful! You peek through the passenger side window of your car, and see all the gum wrappers and pen caps and pebbles and crumbs.... all gone. All of it.
For christmas this year, you received....space. and order. and peace of mind. At minimal effort and inconvenience to yourself.
And it is good, so very good.
If you're an adult.
We would need to fight the urge to keep Anti-Santa away from my daughter's stuff.
She's not to the point in life yet where she'd appreciate Anti-Santa.
It would, in fact, likely result in a future santa-related incident that would get us all banned for life from boy scout pancake breakfasts, or the mall.
Banned for life from the mall?!?!?!? hmmm......
.........
I've been busy, you see.
Life does that. When you're not watching, it fills up your waking hours with stuff.
Who'm I kidding? It does so while you watch.
But I've been hiding my light under a bushel, and not sharing it, which must stop now.
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine....
Enjoy the ear worm.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine....
Life fills your waking hours with stuff......
The idea of "Stuff" came to mind today, When Wendy came in from the mailbox, holding a pile of holiday catalogs. I ignore them, by and large. fiona LOVES them. Wendy largely is apathetic, but will leaf through a couple, and think about stuff. New stuff for the house, or for Fiona.
"Like we need more stuff..." she said.
And THAT begat chit chat, which in turn begat... The Anti-Santa.
"What we need is less stuff." I said.
Wendy started laughing.
"Imagine THAT letter to Santa."
Not santa, we eventually decided. Filling our christmas wish would require the actions of...
The Anti-Santa.
A skinny middle aged guy in blue coveralls. He flies through the night on christmas eve in a magic dilapidated pick up truck, unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, going to the homes of all the good adults, and hauling away unwanted... stuff.
You write him a letter.
Dear Anti-Santa, I've been a good husband, father, and corporate lackey this year, yadda yadda, and for christmas this year I'd really like you to come take away all my shit. Here's an itemized list... hugs and kisses, your pal.......
You put out a Bud Light and some beef jerky on christmas eve, and hope for the best.
You wake up the next morning and find your bedside table is free of clutter, and you know it's gonna be the best christmas ever.
You've got two almost empty book cases in the basement all the sudden. Your clothes closet is roomier. All the left over paint and nuts and bolts and nails and acoustic tiles and such - gone. The stuff from your camping supplies that you've not used since 1997 - gone, baby. Your cassette and vhs tapes - history.
You get really excited, run out to the garage and throw open the door. It's... beautiful! You peek through the passenger side window of your car, and see all the gum wrappers and pen caps and pebbles and crumbs.... all gone. All of it.
For christmas this year, you received....space. and order. and peace of mind. At minimal effort and inconvenience to yourself.
And it is good, so very good.
If you're an adult.
We would need to fight the urge to keep Anti-Santa away from my daughter's stuff.
She's not to the point in life yet where she'd appreciate Anti-Santa.
It would, in fact, likely result in a future santa-related incident that would get us all banned for life from boy scout pancake breakfasts, or the mall.
Banned for life from the mall?!?!?!? hmmm......
.........
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Mid-life Crisis
Claire Colburn: [voice over] Some music *needs* air. Roll down your window
-From the movie Elizabethtown
I've been experiencing a mid-life crisis of late.
I've started listening to music and bands for which I had no use, 30 years ago.
Loudly, in my car.
Specifically, ACDC and Rush.
Those of you that are fans are all "Yeah, so? cool!"
But I'm.... not a fan.
Except I sort of am, now.
Not "go see 'em live next tour" fan. or even "Snap up their back catalog on iTunes" fan.
But, if I happen upon Limelight or New World Man or Highway to Hell or Thunderstruck when surfing the pre-sets, I no longer keep going.
I stop.
And turn it way up.
And, weather permitting, roll down the window.
On truly special days, I'll open the sun roof.
Sometimes music DOES need airing out. Kirsten Dunst was right.
I do not know how this has come to be.
I expect, in large part, it's due to what I CAN'T expect to hear, when pre-set surfing. If Husker Du, Chris Whitley, The Jayhawks or The Replacements were on the radio regularly, I'd likely not be writing this.
But the aren't.
For whatever reason, one day I said "nope" and kept hitting the buttons when I came across Freewill, but the next day I didn't.
So, there I am, middle aged guy, blasting Rush out of the open windows of his car, kids booster seat, granola bar wrappers, stuffed dog and a single glove from last winter, loose in the back seat.
Of COURSE I'm singing along.
(Turns out I already knew most of the lyrics, having picked them up via osmosis somehow, 30 years ago.)
I can live with that, I think. To hell with the other cars around me at the stop lights.
They can sing their own songs...
But I WILL continue to blow past Zep, Floyd and the Nuge, without hesitation.
Gotta have standards.
Those of you that are fans are all "Yeah, so? cool!"
But I'm.... not a fan.
Except I sort of am, now.
Not "go see 'em live next tour" fan. or even "Snap up their back catalog on iTunes" fan.
But, if I happen upon Limelight or New World Man or Highway to Hell or Thunderstruck when surfing the pre-sets, I no longer keep going.
I stop.
And turn it way up.
And, weather permitting, roll down the window.
On truly special days, I'll open the sun roof.
Sometimes music DOES need airing out. Kirsten Dunst was right.
I do not know how this has come to be.
I expect, in large part, it's due to what I CAN'T expect to hear, when pre-set surfing. If Husker Du, Chris Whitley, The Jayhawks or The Replacements were on the radio regularly, I'd likely not be writing this.
But the aren't.
For whatever reason, one day I said "nope" and kept hitting the buttons when I came across Freewill, but the next day I didn't.
So, there I am, middle aged guy, blasting Rush out of the open windows of his car, kids booster seat, granola bar wrappers, stuffed dog and a single glove from last winter, loose in the back seat.
Of COURSE I'm singing along.
(Turns out I already knew most of the lyrics, having picked them up via osmosis somehow, 30 years ago.)
I can live with that, I think. To hell with the other cars around me at the stop lights.
They can sing their own songs...
But I WILL continue to blow past Zep, Floyd and the Nuge, without hesitation.
Gotta have standards.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Can you please describe him?
So, I'm sitting on an off ramp yesterday afternoon, on my way to pick Fiona up from day "camp".
I've just exited southbound I-294, and am toward the back of a long line of folks waiting for the light to turn green.
I was quite surprised, to see someone riding their bicycle toward, and then past me, continuing on toward the highway itself.
"Well." I said aloud, a habit I need to be more careful about, "That's f*cked up."
Thought about it for a few seconds as the light turned green and traffic started to move, and then dialed 911.
Explained what was going on to the operator, who responded with "Can you describe him?"
Uh, sure. He's the kid riding a bicycle along the shoulder of an interstate. Duh. You need to narrow that down further?
"Oh, if he's no longer on the road, but on the interstate, I'll have to pass you to the State Police."
Well, I'm not charting his progress, but... do what you need to do. And she did
And they answered, and I explained that there's a kid, probably 13-14 years old, riding his bike northbound on a southbound exit ramp, toward the actual interstate.
"Can you describe him, and his bike?"
Uh, sure. HE'S THE KID RIDING HIS BIKE, A TWO WHEELER if that helps, ON THE #$^W$%&#$&% INTERSTATE!!!!"
I, for many reasons, did not actually respond in this manner.
But it made me think. What if the police, while responding to my call, came across someone else riding their bike ON THE #$%^$#%& INTERSTATE, NOT the kid I described?
"Oh, hey, Burt - up ahead on the right. someone's on a bike."
"Yeah, Ernie, wait.. wait.. never mind. it's a girl, and the bike's the wrong color." and they drive by, letting her continue on un-challenged.
Last summer, I was walking the dog around 8p, and when I did the lap around the school and the field next to it, I see two high school age kids park their car behind a classroom trailer, so that it's not visible from the street. They got out and walked over to a drain pipe that was mounted on the school wall. One kid's in an overcoat, the other kid's got a video camera. As I watched, they started looking around, and looking up the drainpipe at the roof of the school. The kid in the overcoat was tentatively tugging on the pipe as I walked around the corner, out of sight.
I called 911, they asked nature of my call, I explained to them what was going on.
"Can you describe any of them?"
Uh, sure. One of them WILL BE STANDING ON THE ROOF OF THE SCHOOL IN AN OVERCOAT!!!! Hopefully he will not have removed the overcoat, as then he'll just be a kid STANDING ON THE ROOF OF THE SCHOOL WITHOUT AN OVERCOAT, and the police will let him go, because they're only looking for a kid on the roof of a school wearing an overcoat.....
I know all about phone protocols and procedures, and why you don't necessarily want the person who answers the phone when you're reporting a crime or an emergency to wing it, improv-style.
I GET it. But that doesn't mean I can't laugh at the stupidity of the questions, in these particular situations....
Conversely... 15 years ago, when I was living in MS, we got whacked, HARD, by hurricane Georges.
The news stories that came out after the storm were, occasionally, some real gems.
One of which has remained with me.
There were repots of emus, escaped from god knows where, running around in peoples yards and fields in Bay St. Louis, and the police and animal control were called in to capture them.
There was question as to whether or not the police and animal control folks new the physical attributes of an emu.
"Well, no, not really." was the approximate response from the police department.
But I'm pretty sure we'll know it if we come across any of them."
Awesome.
"911, what's your emergency?"
I'm headed northbound on I-57, near 159th street, and a car just pulled off the road, because it was on fire.
Can you describe the vehicle?
Uh, I'm pretty sure I just did.....
I've just exited southbound I-294, and am toward the back of a long line of folks waiting for the light to turn green.
I was quite surprised, to see someone riding their bicycle toward, and then past me, continuing on toward the highway itself.
"Well." I said aloud, a habit I need to be more careful about, "That's f*cked up."
Thought about it for a few seconds as the light turned green and traffic started to move, and then dialed 911.
Explained what was going on to the operator, who responded with "Can you describe him?"
Uh, sure. He's the kid riding a bicycle along the shoulder of an interstate. Duh. You need to narrow that down further?
"Oh, if he's no longer on the road, but on the interstate, I'll have to pass you to the State Police."
Well, I'm not charting his progress, but... do what you need to do. And she did
And they answered, and I explained that there's a kid, probably 13-14 years old, riding his bike northbound on a southbound exit ramp, toward the actual interstate.
"Can you describe him, and his bike?"
Uh, sure. HE'S THE KID RIDING HIS BIKE, A TWO WHEELER if that helps, ON THE #$^W$%&#$&% INTERSTATE!!!!"
I, for many reasons, did not actually respond in this manner.
But it made me think. What if the police, while responding to my call, came across someone else riding their bike ON THE #$%^$#%& INTERSTATE, NOT the kid I described?
"Oh, hey, Burt - up ahead on the right. someone's on a bike."
"Yeah, Ernie, wait.. wait.. never mind. it's a girl, and the bike's the wrong color." and they drive by, letting her continue on un-challenged.
Last summer, I was walking the dog around 8p, and when I did the lap around the school and the field next to it, I see two high school age kids park their car behind a classroom trailer, so that it's not visible from the street. They got out and walked over to a drain pipe that was mounted on the school wall. One kid's in an overcoat, the other kid's got a video camera. As I watched, they started looking around, and looking up the drainpipe at the roof of the school. The kid in the overcoat was tentatively tugging on the pipe as I walked around the corner, out of sight.
I called 911, they asked nature of my call, I explained to them what was going on.
"Can you describe any of them?"
Uh, sure. One of them WILL BE STANDING ON THE ROOF OF THE SCHOOL IN AN OVERCOAT!!!! Hopefully he will not have removed the overcoat, as then he'll just be a kid STANDING ON THE ROOF OF THE SCHOOL WITHOUT AN OVERCOAT, and the police will let him go, because they're only looking for a kid on the roof of a school wearing an overcoat.....
I know all about phone protocols and procedures, and why you don't necessarily want the person who answers the phone when you're reporting a crime or an emergency to wing it, improv-style.
I GET it. But that doesn't mean I can't laugh at the stupidity of the questions, in these particular situations....
Conversely... 15 years ago, when I was living in MS, we got whacked, HARD, by hurricane Georges.
The news stories that came out after the storm were, occasionally, some real gems.
One of which has remained with me.
There were repots of emus, escaped from god knows where, running around in peoples yards and fields in Bay St. Louis, and the police and animal control were called in to capture them.
There was question as to whether or not the police and animal control folks new the physical attributes of an emu.
"Well, no, not really." was the approximate response from the police department.
But I'm pretty sure we'll know it if we come across any of them."
Awesome.
"911, what's your emergency?"
I'm headed northbound on I-57, near 159th street, and a car just pulled off the road, because it was on fire.
Can you describe the vehicle?
Uh, I'm pretty sure I just did.....
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Elevator life lessons
We’re all going to die!!!” she yelled.
“We are NOT all going to die…” I answered, dismissively.
“Yes we are!”
“Jesus Christ” I thought to myself.
Of all the people with which one CAN be stuck in a
malfunctioning elevator, 3-4 stories off the ground, I had to get her.
And half a dozen others, but they were not sounding
the alarm for our impending death, at least not yet.
It was the “half a dozen others” that were the root of the
problem to begin with. And the fact that
the elevator was hit and miss, as far as being operational, to begin with.
It was an elevator by an elevated train station. Glass walled so you could see the interstate, and how high off the ground you were... And it had weight restrictions, which were
regularly ignored.
Shockingly, it broke
down frequently.
I never used it,
unless it happened to be right there the moment I was walking by it, and empty.
It was both of those things that morning, so I hopped on, and as it was shutting,
someone called out to have it held, and I did so.
And the panicky woman got on.
And the door started to shut again, and someone else
hollered, and the panicky woman held the door, and someone else got on.
And that person stood in the doorway for what seemed like a
very long time, to make sure that all of her friends from the train could hop
on the elevator too, as opposed to having to wait the 2 minutes for it to go
down and come back up, or opposed to having to… use the damn stairs.
So, there we were, jammed in like sardines, when the door
finally shut, and we began to… bounce.
Up and down, herky jerky.
We were still at the elevator doorway, stuck there while the elevator protested the size of load it was being asked to carry.
Up and down, herky jerky....
We were still at the elevator doorway, stuck there while the elevator protested the size of load it was being asked to carry.
Up and down, herky jerky....
And my fellow elevator rider began to lose her cool, and
predict our deaths.
“No, we’re not.” I
said again, with an inflection that hinted at a roll of the eyes.
And there we all stood, as the elevator continued to bounce. And she continued to predict that we would
plummet to our deaths, and I continued to, with increasing impatience, tell her
we would not…
“We’ve just got to open the door.” I finally said to the people in front of me, who
were all too busy fretting to one another to have heard me.
I spoke louder, asking if any of the people in front of me could try
to manually open the door, and they looked at me as if I was insane.
Open the door?!?!?!?!?
“How else to you expect to get off the goddam thing?”
I nudged my way
through to the front, put one hand on each half of the door, and strained to pry
them apart.
And… it worked. The
bouncing stopped, one of the other people decided I wasn’t going to kill everyone
after all and came forward to help out, we got the door all the way open, and everyone
stepped out.
“Oh my god, thank you so much, thank you!” Said the predictor of our doom.
“No problem” I said, over my shoulder, as I headed down the
stairs in a hurry, trying to not be late for work.
And I mentally dismissed both her, and the intellectually-challenged bunch that were getting BACK on to try it again.
In the re-telling of
the story to my wife and friends later that evening, I spoke of the woman who
freaked out with a combination of amusement and disdain. Then, like now, she was the linch pin to my whole story.
I'm a pretty entertaining guy when it comes to story time, and everyone got their chucks.
I'm a pretty entertaining guy when it comes to story time, and everyone got their chucks.
The life-lesson, BIG POINT part of the story came weeks after the laughter whilst re-telling over beers.
A couple of weeks later, I’m walking down the hallway from the
train to the stairs, high above the highway and the bus depot, and I hear
someone holler.
“Excuse me!”
I assumed that someone was hollering out to someone else,
not me, and kept walking.
I always assume they're hollering out to someone else. I'm usually right....
I always assume they're hollering out to someone else. I'm usually right....
“Sir, excuse me! You in
the brown coat!” Hmmm…. I have a brown
coat… I stopped and turned around. Oh god, it was the panicky lady from the
elevator. Great….
“I just wanted to thank you again for what you did.”
“No big deal.” I said, again dismissively.
For me, it was just one El-train commute-related incident in a long line of them. Crazies on the train; getting caught in a closed door, on the OUTSIDE as the train started to pull out; 911 calls due to very suspicious behaviors; getting hit on by middle aged teachers visiting town for a conference; young guys whipping each other with their belts in crowded car; baby geese on the interstate on my walk to the station... The broken elevator was barely a blip on the "big deal" radar.
For me, it was just one El-train commute-related incident in a long line of them. Crazies on the train; getting caught in a closed door, on the OUTSIDE as the train started to pull out; 911 calls due to very suspicious behaviors; getting hit on by middle aged teachers visiting town for a conference; young guys whipping each other with their belts in crowded car; baby geese on the interstate on my walk to the station... The broken elevator was barely a blip on the "big deal" radar.
Turns out, it was a big deal, to her.
She explained that she was severely claustrophobic, and that my saying "we're not going to die!" or whatever, over and over, and calmly trying to get others to help me open the door, were the only things that kept her from completely losing it - screaming, crying, trying to push her way out, possibly hurting herself and others. I was the linchpin to HER story.
You don't ever REALLY know how any of your actions, pronounced or seemingly insignificant, will effect others. I got lucky that day, with my barely-on-the-polite-side-of-surly responses to what I thought was simply another's propensity for drama.
You, at least most of you, can't count on being lucky, most times. I sure as hell can't.
So perhaps, as they say, you should try to be good. It's hard for me, but... I'm always trying.
You don't ever REALLY know how any of your actions, pronounced or seemingly insignificant, will effect others. I got lucky that day, with my barely-on-the-polite-side-of-surly responses to what I thought was simply another's propensity for drama.
You, at least most of you, can't count on being lucky, most times. I sure as hell can't.
So perhaps, as they say, you should try to be good. It's hard for me, but... I'm always trying.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Fishing Weekend 2013, or - If I hadn't walked home early, I'd have gotten the "Cousin Paulie's a F*cking Pimp!!! " reference. Maybe.
Another fishing weekend on the books.
The 6th,
almost annual Winneconne fishing weekend is now historical.
And why haven't you
come along?
Lots of laughs, as
always, and I'm really glad I have the opportunity every year to set up the
trip.
That’s how I started last year’s review, save for the “6th,
almost annual….” part.
I couldn’t come up with a better one this go ‘round, so
maybe I’ll just use the same opening, every year.
Two vehicles, Six guys, three cabins, in two different locations. What could be simpler?
Why, yes!
Yes there WAS a fair amount of standing around, wondering where some of
the others were.
So be it.
New this year - one
of the new participants is a big fan of cleaning fish and cooking.
It’s been six years since I ate my
catch. Tasted pretty damn good
.
We hit the road early Friday morning, and drove 3.25 hours
north in a never-ending light rain.
God
laughs.
Got to town shortly before 10a, and as we started across the
bridge, I looked over, and spotted one of the guys who came up the night
before, fishing the bank next to the bridge.
I stuck my head out the window and yelled his name, as loud as I could,
causing him to jump a goodly distance, straight up in the air.
And he’s not much of a jumper, normally, I’d
guess.
The guys in the car with me turned to stare at me.
“Well, he said to give him a holler when we got to town…”
Rain let up by early afternoon, but had stuck around long
enough to mess up the bite. Six guys, three boats, and… two fish for the
basket. We caught a few more that went
back into the river, but wasn't a great showing, overall
.
Then the aforementioned cooking/fish-cleaning god, ran to
the grocery and brought back chicken and brats and baking potatoes. Good food was consumed. And beer. Beer was consumed, too. Quite a bit, for some in the group....
Around 10p, finding no dependable drivers, I decided
to walk the 4-5 blocks back to my cabin, as the rest of the goofs were trying
unsuccessfully to play poker. Having
spent a fair amount of time walking around this tiny little town over the last
seven years, I’ve come to realize that, while I would not want to ever LIVE
there year ‘round, it’s a fine town in
which to walk semi-inebriated at night.
Little traffic, and neighborhoods where most everyone seems to be asleep
by 10p. You feel like you have the whole
place to yourself.
Nice.
I took a slightly longer than necessary route back to my cabin, I was enjoying it so much....
Saturday was a beautiful day, spent trying everything we
could think of, to catch fish.
We didn’t
have much to show for our efforts, save for sore asses, and some sun.
4-5 more fish for the basket, with best boat
being one I was in. we contributed three
toward dinner, and I caught biggest fish of the weekend.
Sadly, was not a species we were targeting. But it was a hell of a lot of fun to wrestle
for 10+ minutes. I had a large, captive
audience for the first half of the fight.
Fishermen in other boats, guys fishing from the bridge, groups of people
walking to town for breakfast… They heard the sound of fish stripping line from
a reel, and stopped to watch the show.
Until the first time I brought it to the surface, and it was
clear that it was a sheephead (Freshwater Drum). You could
almost HEAR everyone mutter “Oh, never
mind then” and go about their day.
Saturday evening was fish tacos with cilantro, avocado,
tomato, and rice. And beer.
Five of us ended up sitting by the river
with a cooler and a couple of fishing poles, From 9:30-12a, give or take. Was the perfect way to finish off the
night.
A fantastic night, the exact type of night I always picture
when I think about organizing next year’s weekend. Great sky; reflection of lights from
the Fin and Feather(on the other side of the river) reflecting off the water; And the occasional holler of someone on the
bridge as they hooked into a walleye, all while drinking cold beer and making
each other laugh.
Sunday we got up late (understandably) fished for a bit, and
settled up our bill, while reserving for next year.
May 16-18, 2014 by the way.
Room for 6-9 guys.
What’s my takeaway this year? Waxing philosophically about death and the
true point of fishing weekend, like last year?
http://patrickosplayhouse.blogspot.com/2012/05/here-fishy-fishy-fishy-fish.html
Nah.
This year’s takeaway comes courtesy of some
nice guys I met Sunday morning.
1 1. Floating jig
heads.
2 2. More importantly - A camp stove, coffee pot, campfire toaster, bread and breakfast sausage would be a great addition to my fishing weekend next year.
Next year, shore breakfast’s on me, everyone.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Shell fragments, Driftwood and Vertebrae - Oh my!
My daughter's been requesting that I read her my "stories on the internet" a lot lately. Especially the ones that involve... her.
So it was not surprising when, as we gathered together (PILED) everything that we were going to take with us on our annual trip to MS gulf coast, she told me I needed to bring the laptop, so I could write stories about our trip. While I didn't bother with the laptop, I did take copious mental notes....
Trip down was uneventful. Fiona showed everyone her bear, and told them that I had gotten it for her, and I felt like a great dad. While waiting to disembark the plane in Gulfport, she told everyone within ear shot about the St. Patrick's day party. Glad she doesn't know grandma's address....
First day of spring, and we spent an hour or two on the beach, later in the afternoon, while grandma napped.
68 and cloudy, and it was 4pm, and I didn't even think about sunscreen for my bald head.
oopsie.
Lots of detrius down by the water's edge.
Shell fragments and driftwood and various sized vertebrae (no idea...) - Oh My!
Closer to the beach hwy, the sand was criss-crossed with bulldozer tracks, from the annual "rebuild the beach before spring break" efforts.
Fun fact - if they didn't bring sand in and re-build the beach every year... there'd be no beach. it would be silt and plants, thanks the row of barrier islands that line the water a short distance from the mainland, all the pretty sand stays well away from coast, and all the silt from rivers and such stays close to shore.
Do NOT swim in the gulf from shore, if you happen to be visiting. Look, but don't touch. You can, if you really want, but it's shallow, silty bottomed, crazy warm and... kinda ew-y.
Pockets full of "treasures", we walked back to grandma's and... sat around.
Day two... nothing. Li'l Ray's for lunch at least. If you find yourself in Long Beach, MS around lunch time, you can do worse. They'll probably screw up your order, but once it's sorted... Fried pickles and po' boys and gumbo.... Oh my!
Day three - New Orleans. I love New Orleans. For a few hours, on a nice day...
Great to see the French Market fully re-opened and operational. And up-scaled! gone are the hot sauce stands and the boxes of random produce, replaced by... dining options and decent seating. The back half is still a flea market full of tacky tourist crap, of course. A gen-U-wine baby gator head will cost you $12.99, but you can get a plastic one for about 1/3 that amount.
Gatorheads, offensive T-shirts and cheap-ass sunglasses - Oh My!
Jackson Square has gotten seedier, though the gardens are still beautiful. Fewer street performers and fortune tellers and such, and more... un-washed, un-friendly people loitering on benches.
"Your bird's really pretty" Fiona said to one of them, who happened to have a pet macau.
She received no pleasant answer. Step away from the scary man, sweety,...
As we walked away, a N.O. cop came up to the bird man, and started talking to him. We walked a way a bit faster...
Audobon Aquarium - our first time there. Can't believe we've never checked it out before. Seemed a bit pricey, for the size, and for what they have, but it was actually really cool. It's designed to lead you from beginning to end, very organized in lay out. Penguins were a big draw, as they liked to swim to the edge of the glass and stare at you. Seems only fair.... Fiona's (and my) favorite - There was an owl. Just kinda hanging out on some rocks near the end, where they were featuring local fish and flora.
Fish and penguins and Owls... Oh my!
And that's pretty much it. There was a very quiet, sparsely attended St. Patrick's party that weekend. Elderly irish nuns hollered out requests to Betsy, the musician from New Orleans that comes over to play the party every year. Betsy's fantastic, but doesn't play music full time any more, so has forgotten some of the songs...
Everyone was gone by 9:05, sober and well fed.
How times change....
So it was not surprising when, as we gathered together (PILED) everything that we were going to take with us on our annual trip to MS gulf coast, she told me I needed to bring the laptop, so I could write stories about our trip. While I didn't bother with the laptop, I did take copious mental notes....
Trip down was uneventful. Fiona showed everyone her bear, and told them that I had gotten it for her, and I felt like a great dad. While waiting to disembark the plane in Gulfport, she told everyone within ear shot about the St. Patrick's day party. Glad she doesn't know grandma's address....
First day of spring, and we spent an hour or two on the beach, later in the afternoon, while grandma napped.
68 and cloudy, and it was 4pm, and I didn't even think about sunscreen for my bald head.
oopsie.
Lots of detrius down by the water's edge.
Shell fragments and driftwood and various sized vertebrae (no idea...) - Oh My!
Closer to the beach hwy, the sand was criss-crossed with bulldozer tracks, from the annual "rebuild the beach before spring break" efforts.
Fun fact - if they didn't bring sand in and re-build the beach every year... there'd be no beach. it would be silt and plants, thanks the row of barrier islands that line the water a short distance from the mainland, all the pretty sand stays well away from coast, and all the silt from rivers and such stays close to shore.
Do NOT swim in the gulf from shore, if you happen to be visiting. Look, but don't touch. You can, if you really want, but it's shallow, silty bottomed, crazy warm and... kinda ew-y.
Pockets full of "treasures", we walked back to grandma's and... sat around.
Day two... nothing. Li'l Ray's for lunch at least. If you find yourself in Long Beach, MS around lunch time, you can do worse. They'll probably screw up your order, but once it's sorted... Fried pickles and po' boys and gumbo.... Oh my!
Day three - New Orleans. I love New Orleans. For a few hours, on a nice day...
Great to see the French Market fully re-opened and operational. And up-scaled! gone are the hot sauce stands and the boxes of random produce, replaced by... dining options and decent seating. The back half is still a flea market full of tacky tourist crap, of course. A gen-U-wine baby gator head will cost you $12.99, but you can get a plastic one for about 1/3 that amount.
Gatorheads, offensive T-shirts and cheap-ass sunglasses - Oh My!
Jackson Square has gotten seedier, though the gardens are still beautiful. Fewer street performers and fortune tellers and such, and more... un-washed, un-friendly people loitering on benches.
"Your bird's really pretty" Fiona said to one of them, who happened to have a pet macau.
She received no pleasant answer. Step away from the scary man, sweety,...
As we walked away, a N.O. cop came up to the bird man, and started talking to him. We walked a way a bit faster...
Audobon Aquarium - our first time there. Can't believe we've never checked it out before. Seemed a bit pricey, for the size, and for what they have, but it was actually really cool. It's designed to lead you from beginning to end, very organized in lay out. Penguins were a big draw, as they liked to swim to the edge of the glass and stare at you. Seems only fair.... Fiona's (and my) favorite - There was an owl. Just kinda hanging out on some rocks near the end, where they were featuring local fish and flora.
Fish and penguins and Owls... Oh my!
And that's pretty much it. There was a very quiet, sparsely attended St. Patrick's party that weekend. Elderly irish nuns hollered out requests to Betsy, the musician from New Orleans that comes over to play the party every year. Betsy's fantastic, but doesn't play music full time any more, so has forgotten some of the songs...
Everyone was gone by 9:05, sober and well fed.
How times change....
Monday, March 25, 2013
Airports and such.
So, I’m sitting at C3 at O’Hare
airport, waiting to fly to Detroit for a conference.
Aprox. 18 hours ago, I landed in
Midway, having been on a trip to see my wife’s mom for a few days.
By the time I get back to the
office on Thursday afternoon, I will have been on six different planes in eight
days. And walked through 5 airports...
Between work and trips to see
family, I probably only log 4-5 round trips via air a year, which isn’t that
much flying, compared to many.
But the thing is – I hate
it. Not the “paralyzed with fear that
I’ll crash and die and they won’t be able to find a big enough piece to ID me”
kind of hate.
More the” hurry up and wait and
take your shoes and belt off and lug your shit a city block through crowds of
people that all appear to have their heads up their asses, so you go sit on a
bench for an hour” kind of way.
Whilst spending large sums of
money to be treated shabbily.
Hey you just dropped $500 to fly
with us. Here’s a tiny bag of pretzels,
a small plastic cup of water and…. WIFI will cost you.
I live in fear of the day when they realize
they can charge you for the security check,
and that toilet paper will be sold by the square.
While not traveling as much as
some, I sit here at gate C3, on the blue vinyl bench, having just ate my
(overpriced) lunch out of my lap, pondering the numbers.
I’ve spent time, as far as I can
recall, in the following airports.
Chicago O’hare, Chicago Midway,
Tucson AZ, Hartford CT, Detroit Metro, Atlanta, Atlanta Atlanta..sorry.. St
Thomas AVI, Miami, Memphis,Lansing, Houston, New Orleans, Dallas (Love Field I think),
Savannah GA, Indianapolis, Ottawa ON,Toronto ON, Shannon Airport in Ireland,
Dublin Airport Ireland, Orlando FL, Pensacola FL, Gulfport MS, Washington DC
(Reagan)…
So 24 airports, and I probably missed a couple there
somewhere. Like it matters. My point’s made.
I’ve spent way more time in way more airports
than I’d like. Even though I like the
convenience and efficiency of flying.
Lessee, so far today, just since
clearing security…
I’ve had d 3 different people
walk right into me in the last hour, because they were on their phones and
can’t talk and pay attention at the same time.
I’d hate to be next to them on the highway. I was standing off to the side at the time,
near.. nothing. I’ve had 2 people stop
dead in front of me, in the middle of the concourse, in traffic in otherwords,
to make a call. Apparently the call
could not wait for them to step aside, out of traffic.
And while in security line, the
woman behind me bumped into me so many times, I had to tell her to stop, and
had to make sure she wasn’t trying to steal my wallet. When I told her to stop, she acted
surprised, like she had no idea she had bumped me >10 times in <5 minutes.="" nbsp="" o:p="">
Space people. Personal Space. You’re invading Patrick Land, and I do not
like it.
Oh and I’ve eaten a crappy lunch from a
restaurant I Never eat at, except when I’m at an airport.
Soon it will be time to board,
and everyone will surge toward the gate, regardless of whether it’s time for
them to board. There will be at least 2
people that will appear to have never ever been on an airplane before, and
incapable of understanding how seats and rows are laid out. The little map will confuse them. They will sit in the wrong row AND the wrong
seat. It’ll be time to leave, they’ll
announce that everyone needs to turn their crap off, and the flight attendant
will still have to tell some self-involved jack wagon to… turn his crap off.
My daughter LOVES to fly. She loves the airplane ride, the airports,
saying hi to…everyone. She loves the
turbulence, the view out the window, the take off, the landing..
It’s all one big amusement park ride for
her. Whereas for me, it’s the 75 minute
wait in line in 90 degree heat, behind some foul mouthed cracker, to get ON
that amusement park ride.
And I'm jealous, as I often am, of her simple and innocent and non-jaded outlook on life.
Many hours later....... We boarded, three people didn't know their numbers or letters
Plane was too full for all the carry ons, so mine ended up being stowed in baggage. And then... we set for almost an hour, without access to electronic devices, and without any indication whatsoever as to why we were just... sitting there. No extra beverage, no pretzels (at all, for the entire flight,cheap b*stards) , no cool air nor announcements nor apologies.....
My daughter probably would have been cool with it.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
We're screwed. OR: Ted Nugent and the Dixie Chicks walk into a bar...
I stand before you today, my friends, with a troubled heart.
Brothers and Sisters, our society makes less sense with every passing week, and this weighs heavily upon my furrowed brow.
can I get an Amen?
Not too long ago, at least not too long ago for those of us who are of a certain age, there were three women, my friends. Three women who possessed great talent. God had blessed them with the ability to play multiple musical instruments, write music, and sing like angels.
Halleluia.
Halleluiah
And the lord above brought these three women together, and their parts blended together to make a better whole, and they became famous, sold millions of records, sold out arenas world wide, and won prestigious musical awards and accolades. Testify!
Friends, they were so popular that radio executives and concert promoters and corporate sponsors from around the world happily would have stood in line to hold the three women's hair back, while they threw up. And it was good.
If you like that sort of music. I honestly don't know any of their songs, but that's not the point here....
Until one night, my friends, when on stage during a concert in a land far away, one of the three women told the crowd that, gasp! Horrors!!!! She was ashamed to be from the same state as the president of the United States. EGADS! Gadzooks!!!!
This, at a time in history where americans who traveled abroad would, when asked, regularly claim to be from Canada, because of how unpopular that president and our politics were, globally.
Oh, my brothers and sisters, punishment for such blasphemy was swift and terrible.
Overnight, their music was pulled from rotation at country stations around the country. People were encouraged to boycott their concerts. There were even, if memory serves, cd burnings. People were calling for them to leave 'Murica, if they hated it so much. Such a swift and total change in fortunes has rarely been witnessed, 'lo these many years.
And if that were not enough, my children, all of the sudden, it was decided that the woman who had uttered the blasphemous statement, was deemed to be... physically unattractive, and should be told about it.
They became punchlines for pundits, and were all that was wrong and unpatriotic about some people in this great country of ours, can I get an amen?
Fast forward to a few days ago. I'm punching pre-sets on my drive home, trying to find music.
Classic Rock station #1 had just started STRANGLEHOLD, by Ted Nugent.
It is, quite possibly, one of the longest and most repetitive songs in the history of rock and roll. It's a nice little jam for the first couple of minutes, and then it just repeats itself over and over and over and over... And the drum fills are uninspired at best, down right annoying at worst....
Anyhow, beyond thinking about it's mediocrity, and the fact that I was due to come across my daily Pink Floyd song (not cause for celebration in my car) on one of the stations at any moment, I didn't give it much more thought.
Until the very next day, when classic rock station # 2 played the same damn song, at roughly the same time. I can state with all honesty that I'd gone 20 years or longer without hearing this song, until this past thursday, and here it was, 2x in 24 hours.
To be honest, if it wasn't for the digital display on the radio, I wouldn't even have known it was the Nuge...
The Nuge......... a B list guitarist of mediocre musical fame, 20 years past his last hint of mainstream success, 30 years past the prime of his career, whatever that may have been....
The Nuge, who, not too long ago my friends, said in an interview or while on stage that he thought that the current president of the United States should "suck on my machine gun."
The Nuge, who had been so inflammatory in interviews, that he came under the scrutiny of the US Secret Service, shortly before the election of 2012, and was investigated as a possible threat to the well being of the president of the united states.
And oh, my brothers and sisters, punishment for such blasphemous and un-american behavior was swift and terrible, praise the lord!
He was not asked to appear on talk shows anymore.
The dozens and dozens of people that own his cd's got together and burned them, after washing their ears out with holy water.
The reaction from radio stations across the nation was so swift and so harsh that he took one of his machine guns and shot the radio out of the dash of his pick up truck.
And it was goo... what's that? It didn't happen like that at all?
He got more offers for talk radio than ever before?
Some cracker politician even went so far as to invite him to attend the State of the Union address as his personal guest?
Surely, brothers and sisters, thou are bullshitting me, right?
Can I get an amen?
Please?
Pretty please?
No "amen"on the whole "bullshitting me" thing?
Oh, dear.
He's touring with two other nostalgia acts this spring and summer, and the classic rock stations in Chicago are not only promoting the tour, and putting his two almost hits from 35 years ago back into heavier rotation, they appear to be putting him forward as the face and voice of that tour?
Heard Bobby Skafish announce it thusly (I paraphrase):
"Ted Nugent announced today that he'll be touring with REO and Styx again this year, and was quoted as saying 'Those guys deserve me'...
Why are they even mentioning his name on air, let alone playing his music and supporting his tours?
Jesus Willy Christ, he said the president should suck on a machine gun!!!! Surely that's worse than "I'm embarrassed to be from the same state...."
New rule, commercial radio stations across the country. If the secret service investigates someone for threats against the president of the United States, you should not be enabling his career.
And, my friends, you're telling me that many of the same folks who felt that "I'm embarrassed to be from the same state as our president" was un-American and wrong, and should be punishable by death, and all held hands as they got high off the fumes of burning compact discs, and screamed "if you don't love 'Murica, you can leave! Oh, and you're ugly"...
Are the same members of god's flock who are now saying "Yeah, terrible Ted! that's tellin' him!!!! USA USA!!!!" and can be found running out to Walmart to see if they have restocked the firearms department since their last visit?
Brothers and sisters, they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I fear we are a bit light on good intent at this point, and have started to pave it with ignorance and hypocrisy.
Go in peace, brothers and sisters. I need some quiet time to reflect on this. And perhaps enough brown liquor to get my hands to stop shaking.
Brothers and Sisters, our society makes less sense with every passing week, and this weighs heavily upon my furrowed brow.
can I get an Amen?
Not too long ago, at least not too long ago for those of us who are of a certain age, there were three women, my friends. Three women who possessed great talent. God had blessed them with the ability to play multiple musical instruments, write music, and sing like angels.
And the lord above brought these three women together, and their parts blended together to make a better whole, and they became famous, sold millions of records, sold out arenas world wide, and won prestigious musical awards and accolades. Testify!
Friends, they were so popular that radio executives and concert promoters and corporate sponsors from around the world happily would have stood in line to hold the three women's hair back, while they threw up. And it was good.
If you like that sort of music. I honestly don't know any of their songs, but that's not the point here....
Until one night, my friends, when on stage during a concert in a land far away, one of the three women told the crowd that, gasp! Horrors!!!! She was ashamed to be from the same state as the president of the United States. EGADS! Gadzooks!!!!
This, at a time in history where americans who traveled abroad would, when asked, regularly claim to be from Canada, because of how unpopular that president and our politics were, globally.
Oh, my brothers and sisters, punishment for such blasphemy was swift and terrible.
Overnight, their music was pulled from rotation at country stations around the country. People were encouraged to boycott their concerts. There were even, if memory serves, cd burnings. People were calling for them to leave 'Murica, if they hated it so much. Such a swift and total change in fortunes has rarely been witnessed, 'lo these many years.
And if that were not enough, my children, all of the sudden, it was decided that the woman who had uttered the blasphemous statement, was deemed to be... physically unattractive, and should be told about it.
They became punchlines for pundits, and were all that was wrong and unpatriotic about some people in this great country of ours, can I get an amen?
Fast forward to a few days ago. I'm punching pre-sets on my drive home, trying to find music.
Classic Rock station #1 had just started STRANGLEHOLD, by Ted Nugent.
It is, quite possibly, one of the longest and most repetitive songs in the history of rock and roll. It's a nice little jam for the first couple of minutes, and then it just repeats itself over and over and over and over... And the drum fills are uninspired at best, down right annoying at worst....
Anyhow, beyond thinking about it's mediocrity, and the fact that I was due to come across my daily Pink Floyd song (not cause for celebration in my car) on one of the stations at any moment, I didn't give it much more thought.
Until the very next day, when classic rock station # 2 played the same damn song, at roughly the same time. I can state with all honesty that I'd gone 20 years or longer without hearing this song, until this past thursday, and here it was, 2x in 24 hours.
To be honest, if it wasn't for the digital display on the radio, I wouldn't even have known it was the Nuge...
The Nuge......... a B list guitarist of mediocre musical fame, 20 years past his last hint of mainstream success, 30 years past the prime of his career, whatever that may have been....
The Nuge, who, not too long ago my friends, said in an interview or while on stage that he thought that the current president of the United States should "suck on my machine gun."
The Nuge, who had been so inflammatory in interviews, that he came under the scrutiny of the US Secret Service, shortly before the election of 2012, and was investigated as a possible threat to the well being of the president of the united states.
And oh, my brothers and sisters, punishment for such blasphemous and un-american behavior was swift and terrible, praise the lord!
He was not asked to appear on talk shows anymore.
The dozens and dozens of people that own his cd's got together and burned them, after washing their ears out with holy water.
The reaction from radio stations across the nation was so swift and so harsh that he took one of his machine guns and shot the radio out of the dash of his pick up truck.
And it was goo... what's that? It didn't happen like that at all?
He got more offers for talk radio than ever before?
Some cracker politician even went so far as to invite him to attend the State of the Union address as his personal guest?
Surely, brothers and sisters, thou are bullshitting me, right?
Can I get an amen?
Please?
Pretty please?
No "amen"on the whole "bullshitting me" thing?
Oh, dear.
He's touring with two other nostalgia acts this spring and summer, and the classic rock stations in Chicago are not only promoting the tour, and putting his two almost hits from 35 years ago back into heavier rotation, they appear to be putting him forward as the face and voice of that tour?
Heard Bobby Skafish announce it thusly (I paraphrase):
"Ted Nugent announced today that he'll be touring with REO and Styx again this year, and was quoted as saying 'Those guys deserve me'...
Why are they even mentioning his name on air, let alone playing his music and supporting his tours?
Jesus Willy Christ, he said the president should suck on a machine gun!!!! Surely that's worse than "I'm embarrassed to be from the same state...."
New rule, commercial radio stations across the country. If the secret service investigates someone for threats against the president of the United States, you should not be enabling his career.
And, my friends, you're telling me that many of the same folks who felt that "I'm embarrassed to be from the same state as our president" was un-American and wrong, and should be punishable by death, and all held hands as they got high off the fumes of burning compact discs, and screamed "if you don't love 'Murica, you can leave! Oh, and you're ugly"...
Are the same members of god's flock who are now saying "Yeah, terrible Ted! that's tellin' him!!!! USA USA!!!!" and can be found running out to Walmart to see if they have restocked the firearms department since their last visit?
Brothers and sisters, they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I fear we are a bit light on good intent at this point, and have started to pave it with ignorance and hypocrisy.
Go in peace, brothers and sisters. I need some quiet time to reflect on this. And perhaps enough brown liquor to get my hands to stop shaking.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Euchre, or something like it.
It's 7:00 on a saturday morning, and a man's thoughts turn to Euchre.
Not true. It turned to Euchre yesterday.
On the way to family game night at my daughter's school.
"It's family game night", I thought to myself. And in my family, for many generations, "family game" equals.... euchre.
For those of you who don't know what euchre is..... I pity your ignorance. a crucial part of your upbringing was missed. You are incomplete. How sad.
No, wait. For those of you that don't know what euchre is, it's a card game. Typically played by two teams of two people. It can be adjusted and modified to play three man, or even two man euchre.
But for the sake of this post, we'll just stick with the traditional 2 on 2.
And this game has been the centerpiece of my family's get-togethers since before I was born.
I learned to play when I was... eight years old, I think. Over some winter holiday when my not-very-healthy grandparents were visiting, and... it was how we could interact with them. They were not up for much else. And since it was the one thing that everyone did on both sides of the family when they were together, it seemed like a good skill to obtain.
And it was. We had more fun with grandma Murray that morning than I can recall ever having before, or after. And we were in the club. We had the tools to more fully participate in all subsequent family visits. Doors were opened. Interactions with grandparents and aunts and uncles took on greater depth.
Laughter, always laughter, ensued. And continues to ensue, whenever the cards come out...
Today, 37 years after my first game, memories of random euchre game moments, quotes from my grandma, a woman who at age 90 could still hold her own at the euchre table, more so than in many aspects of her life; family legend.... thick with euchre references.
That one time, 20 years ago, when so and so euchred my loan.
"Aunty Missy Cards"
"Dad could go alone with a hand consisting of a Subway punch card, two uno cards, a beer coaster and a get out of jail free card..."
And I delight in the fact that my nieces and nephews have picked the game up and are carrying the tradition on...
Little known fact about euchre. It's magic.
24 cards can generate untold amounts of conversation and laughter. Not just for the four people playing, but for the numerous others who are sitting around, watching, kibitzing. Because when those 24 cards are in play, it's where the fun is.
On a non-family side note: It's magic does not end at family gatherings. I was delighted, upon going away to college, to discover that euchre was not an "Ohio thing", and that lots of people for SE MI grew up playing it as well. It was nothing short of amazing how the same game, the same 24 cards, could put you in a room with virtual strangers, and in moments you were laughing with new friends.
It all started with someone sticking their head into your doorway.
"We need a 4th for euchre. do you play?"
F*ck yes I play!
And strangers become friends,
Anyhow, back to family game night...
Peeling it all back, removing the cards, the table, the ritual of it all, it boils down to tradition.
"Euchre" doesn't HAVE to be... euchre.
But I hope, for all my friends out there, that you grew up a "Euchre" in your family.
And my hope for all who read this is that they pass their euchre along and down and keep it going.
My daughter just walked in, clutching a bear, all sleepy-eyed.
Good morning, peanut.
"What are you writing about?"
"Euchre."
"What's that?"
"It's a card game. You're gonna love it in a couple of years..."
Not true. It turned to Euchre yesterday.
On the way to family game night at my daughter's school.
"It's family game night", I thought to myself. And in my family, for many generations, "family game" equals.... euchre.
For those of you who don't know what euchre is..... I pity your ignorance. a crucial part of your upbringing was missed. You are incomplete. How sad.
No, wait. For those of you that don't know what euchre is, it's a card game. Typically played by two teams of two people. It can be adjusted and modified to play three man, or even two man euchre.
But for the sake of this post, we'll just stick with the traditional 2 on 2.
And this game has been the centerpiece of my family's get-togethers since before I was born.
I learned to play when I was... eight years old, I think. Over some winter holiday when my not-very-healthy grandparents were visiting, and... it was how we could interact with them. They were not up for much else. And since it was the one thing that everyone did on both sides of the family when they were together, it seemed like a good skill to obtain.
And it was. We had more fun with grandma Murray that morning than I can recall ever having before, or after. And we were in the club. We had the tools to more fully participate in all subsequent family visits. Doors were opened. Interactions with grandparents and aunts and uncles took on greater depth.
Laughter, always laughter, ensued. And continues to ensue, whenever the cards come out...
Today, 37 years after my first game, memories of random euchre game moments, quotes from my grandma, a woman who at age 90 could still hold her own at the euchre table, more so than in many aspects of her life; family legend.... thick with euchre references.
That one time, 20 years ago, when so and so euchred my loan.
"Aunty Missy Cards"
"Dad could go alone with a hand consisting of a Subway punch card, two uno cards, a beer coaster and a get out of jail free card..."
And I delight in the fact that my nieces and nephews have picked the game up and are carrying the tradition on...
Little known fact about euchre. It's magic.
24 cards can generate untold amounts of conversation and laughter. Not just for the four people playing, but for the numerous others who are sitting around, watching, kibitzing. Because when those 24 cards are in play, it's where the fun is.
On a non-family side note: It's magic does not end at family gatherings. I was delighted, upon going away to college, to discover that euchre was not an "Ohio thing", and that lots of people for SE MI grew up playing it as well. It was nothing short of amazing how the same game, the same 24 cards, could put you in a room with virtual strangers, and in moments you were laughing with new friends.
It all started with someone sticking their head into your doorway.
"We need a 4th for euchre. do you play?"
F*ck yes I play!
And strangers become friends,
Anyhow, back to family game night...
Peeling it all back, removing the cards, the table, the ritual of it all, it boils down to tradition.
"Euchre" doesn't HAVE to be... euchre.
But I hope, for all my friends out there, that you grew up a "Euchre" in your family.
And my hope for all who read this is that they pass their euchre along and down and keep it going.
My daughter just walked in, clutching a bear, all sleepy-eyed.
Good morning, peanut.
"What are you writing about?"
"Euchre."
"What's that?"
"It's a card game. You're gonna love it in a couple of years..."
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
It was too good of a deal to pass up....
Happy New Years, everyone.
We happened to be walking past a new consignment shop this past saturday.
(4 days ago. 4 LONG days ago...)
And there, in the window of the shop, was an extremely cute headboard / footboard with matching bedside table. It was perfect for Fiona's room.
Fiona's 5.5 years old, and has been on us recently to buy her a bedside table. She likes the ones in our room, and apparently feels she would benefit from having a similar convenience next to her own bed.
So, there the pieces were in the window. Whilst we had not planned to furniture shop that afternoon, we also have learned to maintain flexibility in such matters, over time.
"I'm almost positive I've seen these exact pieces in __________ catalog" Wendy mentions quietly to me as we enter the store.
"They're wicked expensive."
So we look around a bit, find a very nice guy to help us, we looked at the pieces, and at the extremely reasonable prices on them, taked the guy down a bit, and ended up purchasing the bed and table.
How could we not? It was just too good a deal to pass up.
"Does it come with rails?" I asked before we left.
Nope, but they should attach to any standard frame.......
We stop by a hardware store near the consignment shop, a ndget the requisite bolts, nuts and washers for it.
We get it home, and go online and see the frame in the catalog, and congratulate ourselves on getting such a great deal.
And.... the metal frame that Fiona's bed is sitting on, does not have footboard attachments.
Strike one.
No problem, I hate the metal frame in the spare room, we'll buy a new one for Fiona's room, and use hers in the spare room.
6 phone calls later, I find a place that both sells the frame I need, AND has it in stock. And it's only.... 30 minutes away. But closes in 10 minutes.
Sunday morning, I took a drive to the bed store that had the frame, bought it (for more than the headboard and footboard cost me) and realized I'd need narrower bolts.... Stopped at another hardware store on the way home from the bed store, made sure I had the right bolts for the new frame, and got home.
Only to discover that the large holes that were pre-drilled on the head/footboard did not line up with the new bed frame, and therefore would not line up with any standard bed frame.
Strike two.
What to do, what to do... ponder...ponder.... ponder..... I set up the new frame, it's easy peasy, and put Fiona's bed on it. At least she'll be able to sleep. I took her old frame to the spare room, swapped it out with the frame-I-hate, and took solace in the fact that at least something worked out just the way I pictured it.
After much deliberation and lots of swearing, I decide that there's one more thing I can try, before taking an ax to our too-good-of-a-deal-to-pass-up. I can measure new frame holes against the wood of the head/footboard, and very carefully drill new, small holes, attaching the boards to the frame in a way that would keep them from being weight-bearing. Attach them for strictly cosmetic reasons, in other words.
I got a pencil, lined it all up, realized it would be close but juuuuuuusssssttttt doable, as long as I did not allow them to be be load bearing. No problem......
Went to a 3rd hardware store for the narrow bolts (and nuts and washers); the drill bit that would be exactly the right size; and a wee-tiny little wrench for tightening the wee tiny nuts onto the wee tiny bolts. Get 'em all home, and.... the battery on my drill is dead.
#$^($%&(#$^( GOD #($%^&(#$%&(@#$^(GOAT F(#$%^&(#$^(#% SUCKER!!!
I had used the drill for, like... 2 minutes, 3 days earlier, and didn't pop the battery out and plug it back in.....
Strike 3.
(At least. I'm not counting each individual trip to a hardware store as a separate strike...)
Fast forward to today. The drill's fully charged, the holes are drilled as planned, everything lines up, and.... the bolts are too long. I chose the side of caution when I bought them, and... they won't work.
Back to the hardware store, shorter bolts, come home, slap it together and.... there it is, looking cute in Fiona's room, and she's terribly excited about the whole thing.
And we are too, because it was simply too good of a deal to pass up.
(If I don't think about the fact that I've spent 4x more on frames and gas and bolts and drill bits and wrenches and band aids and the $$$ my time is worth.... )
Not sure about y'all, but this is, sadly, not that unusual. I've dozens of tiny plastic bags of various nails and nuts and such from hardware stores all over south suburban chicago in my tool box, each trip costing me less than $5, and therefore not worth a special trip just to return them.
But it's a new year, and a new me, and I've already been back to the first of those stores, with my little plastic bag o' bolts.
"You want to RETURN these?" they ask, with a certain astonishment
Yep. here's the receipt.
"And here's your... $3.80." they say in return with a "Don't spend it all in one place..." undertone.
I put the most of the refund right into a donation canister for some charity, on the counter at the hardware store.
"Thanks!" I reply cheerfully, as I stuffed most of it into the canister.
I haven't felt this good in 4 days.....
We happened to be walking past a new consignment shop this past saturday.
(4 days ago. 4 LONG days ago...)
And there, in the window of the shop, was an extremely cute headboard / footboard with matching bedside table. It was perfect for Fiona's room.
Fiona's 5.5 years old, and has been on us recently to buy her a bedside table. She likes the ones in our room, and apparently feels she would benefit from having a similar convenience next to her own bed.
So, there the pieces were in the window. Whilst we had not planned to furniture shop that afternoon, we also have learned to maintain flexibility in such matters, over time.
"I'm almost positive I've seen these exact pieces in __________ catalog" Wendy mentions quietly to me as we enter the store.
"They're wicked expensive."
So we look around a bit, find a very nice guy to help us, we looked at the pieces, and at the extremely reasonable prices on them, taked the guy down a bit, and ended up purchasing the bed and table.
How could we not? It was just too good a deal to pass up.
"Does it come with rails?" I asked before we left.
Nope, but they should attach to any standard frame.......
We stop by a hardware store near the consignment shop, a ndget the requisite bolts, nuts and washers for it.
We get it home, and go online and see the frame in the catalog, and congratulate ourselves on getting such a great deal.
And.... the metal frame that Fiona's bed is sitting on, does not have footboard attachments.
Strike one.
No problem, I hate the metal frame in the spare room, we'll buy a new one for Fiona's room, and use hers in the spare room.
6 phone calls later, I find a place that both sells the frame I need, AND has it in stock. And it's only.... 30 minutes away. But closes in 10 minutes.
Sunday morning, I took a drive to the bed store that had the frame, bought it (for more than the headboard and footboard cost me) and realized I'd need narrower bolts.... Stopped at another hardware store on the way home from the bed store, made sure I had the right bolts for the new frame, and got home.
Only to discover that the large holes that were pre-drilled on the head/footboard did not line up with the new bed frame, and therefore would not line up with any standard bed frame.
Strike two.
What to do, what to do... ponder...ponder.... ponder..... I set up the new frame, it's easy peasy, and put Fiona's bed on it. At least she'll be able to sleep. I took her old frame to the spare room, swapped it out with the frame-I-hate, and took solace in the fact that at least something worked out just the way I pictured it.
After much deliberation and lots of swearing, I decide that there's one more thing I can try, before taking an ax to our too-good-of-a-deal-to-pass-up. I can measure new frame holes against the wood of the head/footboard, and very carefully drill new, small holes, attaching the boards to the frame in a way that would keep them from being weight-bearing. Attach them for strictly cosmetic reasons, in other words.
I got a pencil, lined it all up, realized it would be close but juuuuuuusssssttttt doable, as long as I did not allow them to be be load bearing. No problem......
Went to a 3rd hardware store for the narrow bolts (and nuts and washers); the drill bit that would be exactly the right size; and a wee-tiny little wrench for tightening the wee tiny nuts onto the wee tiny bolts. Get 'em all home, and.... the battery on my drill is dead.
#$^($%&(#$^( GOD #($%^&(#$%&(@#$^(GOAT F(#$%^&(#$^(#% SUCKER!!!
I had used the drill for, like... 2 minutes, 3 days earlier, and didn't pop the battery out and plug it back in.....
Strike 3.
(At least. I'm not counting each individual trip to a hardware store as a separate strike...)
Fast forward to today. The drill's fully charged, the holes are drilled as planned, everything lines up, and.... the bolts are too long. I chose the side of caution when I bought them, and... they won't work.
Back to the hardware store, shorter bolts, come home, slap it together and.... there it is, looking cute in Fiona's room, and she's terribly excited about the whole thing.
And we are too, because it was simply too good of a deal to pass up.
(If I don't think about the fact that I've spent 4x more on frames and gas and bolts and drill bits and wrenches and band aids and the $$$ my time is worth.... )
Not sure about y'all, but this is, sadly, not that unusual. I've dozens of tiny plastic bags of various nails and nuts and such from hardware stores all over south suburban chicago in my tool box, each trip costing me less than $5, and therefore not worth a special trip just to return them.
But it's a new year, and a new me, and I've already been back to the first of those stores, with my little plastic bag o' bolts.
"You want to RETURN these?" they ask, with a certain astonishment
Yep. here's the receipt.
"And here's your... $3.80." they say in return with a "Don't spend it all in one place..." undertone.
I put the most of the refund right into a donation canister for some charity, on the counter at the hardware store.
"Thanks!" I reply cheerfully, as I stuffed most of it into the canister.
I haven't felt this good in 4 days.....
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