there's a lot i'd like to say about this year, but i fear i've said it more than you actually cared to hear it as we went along. so i'll spare you this time. merry christmas.
but really, you've been amazing this year. what i did to deserve your unwavering support, friendship, and encouragement ... i have no idea. thank you.
thank you, thank you, thank you.
i wish you and your families nothing but the best in 2006 and beyond.
thank you.
December 24, 2005
December 2, 2005
ah, the stories you could tell
“If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want—good or bad—BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.
When you’re finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.”
When you’re finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.”
November 7, 2005
October 31, 2005
tagged ... again!
1. go into your archives.
2. find your 23rd post.
3. post the fifth sentence.
4. post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. tag five other people to do the same thing.
why are numbers 3 and 4 are the same? how do i know ... i didn't make the rules.
how unfortunate it is that i don't know 5 people. what a sad, lonely life.
anyway! here's my sentence:
"maybe that's what i'll do next year ... and from then on only participate in christmas (involving others) every two years or so."
yeah ... that sounds like me.
(know what's funny? the blogger spell checker doesn't recognize "blog" as a word.)
2. find your 23rd post.
3. post the fifth sentence.
4. post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. tag five other people to do the same thing.
why are numbers 3 and 4 are the same? how do i know ... i didn't make the rules.
how unfortunate it is that i don't know 5 people. what a sad, lonely life.
anyway! here's my sentence:
"maybe that's what i'll do next year ... and from then on only participate in christmas (involving others) every two years or so."
yeah ... that sounds like me.
(know what's funny? the blogger spell checker doesn't recognize "blog" as a word.)
October 24, 2005
speaking of frogs
if you've ever been to my house, you've probably seen the 5-foot tall frog painted on my office wall. you know ... the one with the black boots, fishing pole, and wandering eye? yeah. that's him.
for three years he's been the reason that i a.) have a junk room and b.) always, always keep its door closed ... and unlike the frog that was in my toilet, the one on my wall isn't cute and lovable ... he's extremely creepy, which is why he doesn't have a name.
please don't think i'm associating wandering eyes with creepiness. as a matter of fact, one of my very favorite college professors had a wandering eye, and it was fun trying to figure out if he was talking to me or marcia ... after he'd ask a question in our general direction, we'd exchange glances and wait for the inevitable "marcia?" or "jody?" come to think of it, we should have kept score ... then maybe we could have figured out if he was messing with us.
regardless, he was probably messing with us.
you know what's funny? i can't remember the name of the most memorable class i took in college. it was the one where marcia and i sat in the back row not reading machiavelli, lord of the flies, 1984, or anything by that famous diplomat guy ... what was his name? and those two annoying poli sci majors were always talking over each other ... red hat boy, who i shared a mailbox with, and that other kid whose existence the class found grotesque because he never put his hand down. when his hand went up, any life that might have been in the room slipped out rather noticeably. american politics? that doesn't sound quite right, but we couldn't have picked a better pass/fail.
the point is: i think wandering eyes are fabulous unless you're a frog and you're painted on my wall. that said, the frog is now covered in two coats of primer ... and i can still see him.
frankly, he's even creepier now.
what do you think the chances are that he'll bleed thru "cinnamon whip?" realistically, i think the chances are slim to none ... however, as far as i know he's the tell-tale frog ... tho i don't remember killing anyone.
you know what? national novel writing month is only days away. maybe i just found this year's plot ... i could write a soap opera.
for three years he's been the reason that i a.) have a junk room and b.) always, always keep its door closed ... and unlike the frog that was in my toilet, the one on my wall isn't cute and lovable ... he's extremely creepy, which is why he doesn't have a name.
please don't think i'm associating wandering eyes with creepiness. as a matter of fact, one of my very favorite college professors had a wandering eye, and it was fun trying to figure out if he was talking to me or marcia ... after he'd ask a question in our general direction, we'd exchange glances and wait for the inevitable "marcia?" or "jody?" come to think of it, we should have kept score ... then maybe we could have figured out if he was messing with us.
regardless, he was probably messing with us.
you know what's funny? i can't remember the name of the most memorable class i took in college. it was the one where marcia and i sat in the back row not reading machiavelli, lord of the flies, 1984, or anything by that famous diplomat guy ... what was his name? and those two annoying poli sci majors were always talking over each other ... red hat boy, who i shared a mailbox with, and that other kid whose existence the class found grotesque because he never put his hand down. when his hand went up, any life that might have been in the room slipped out rather noticeably. american politics? that doesn't sound quite right, but we couldn't have picked a better pass/fail.
the point is: i think wandering eyes are fabulous unless you're a frog and you're painted on my wall. that said, the frog is now covered in two coats of primer ... and i can still see him.
frankly, he's even creepier now.
what do you think the chances are that he'll bleed thru "cinnamon whip?" realistically, i think the chances are slim to none ... however, as far as i know he's the tell-tale frog ... tho i don't remember killing anyone.
you know what? national novel writing month is only days away. maybe i just found this year's plot ... i could write a soap opera.
September 25, 2005
for kit's sake
i sat down yesterday morning for some introspection ... a little refocusing ... maybe an attitude adjustment. that's a good thing to do early on a saturday morning, right? after 10 long minutes of staring at the cobwebs on the porch ceiling, i decided i didn't need it. my latest adjustment was a mere four-ish months ago, and it was still working out. my time was better spent sitting on the back porch watching the trees dance in the breeze and the dog chase impossibly fast squirrels.
completely over that spell, i went back inside and ultimately found a frog in my toilet. how did he get there? what did he want from me? i had no idea. what i did know was that harold is a silly name for a frog, so i called him kit and let him stay for what ended up being quite a long time in amphibian years. what did i care? there's another bathroom upstairs.
every couple hours, i checked on kit and he was usually in the same place ... floating with his eyes above the surface ... legs all stretched out. i assured him that he didn't have anything to worry about. he was in a safe place b/c zoey is afraid of linoleum and the bathtub (raise your hand if that surprises you ... yeah, that's what i thought), but he should start to think about going out the way he came in b/c i wasn't running a frog hotel here.
as i woke up this morning, i discovered that i'd fallen asleep on the couch. zoey had dutifully slept as she usually did in her own bed, but wasted next to no time coming over to put her nose on my face since i was so easy to reach. i let her outside and checked on kit. it must have gotten cold in the water overnite b/c he was now all curled up (as much as a frog can curl up) under the rim. by this point, it was way past time for releasing him back to the wild, but the movies i'd watched last nite were somehow more interesting than frogs.
in retrospect, that's just not true. have you seen ladder 49?
now, i don't know if you own a fondue set, but i highly recommend it. the one i have is a year older than me and i've never used the bowl part ... just the forks. usually i use one to fish my contact lens case out of boiling water, which is how i was told to clean the thing ... last week, i used one to poke at something that was on fire under a stove burner ... one time a few months ago i used one for dipping strawberries and marshmallows in a melted chocolate concoction ... today i used the blunt end of one for dislodging a frog from the side of a toilet bowl.
if i was 20 years younger, i would have plucked kit out with my hands and avoided having to wash a fondue fork and tupperware bowl. but i'm old now ... and groggy ... and fearful in the morning.
kit eventually succumbed to my prodding and slid indifferently into the plastic bowl. my pajamas and i marched him to the fence line where it was safe to reintroduce him to the wild: "kit, wild; wild, kit." i didn't want a repeat of the baby bunny incident: "don't even think about it!"
walking back to my house, i felt a pang of homesickness and wished i could somehow transport our old pond to my new backyard. sure, it was a foul looking and smelling bug (and probably disease) hatchery, but i spent summer days on its mucky shores catching frogs for no reason other than to catch frogs. at least i always had something on my feet.
once, my cousin and i filled a bucket with the little suckers and let them loose on the road, but my aunt got pissed and made us put them back.
oh, cut it out ... no harm done. we lived in the middle of nowhere. and i would never even think of doing that to kit.
completely over that spell, i went back inside and ultimately found a frog in my toilet. how did he get there? what did he want from me? i had no idea. what i did know was that harold is a silly name for a frog, so i called him kit and let him stay for what ended up being quite a long time in amphibian years. what did i care? there's another bathroom upstairs.
every couple hours, i checked on kit and he was usually in the same place ... floating with his eyes above the surface ... legs all stretched out. i assured him that he didn't have anything to worry about. he was in a safe place b/c zoey is afraid of linoleum and the bathtub (raise your hand if that surprises you ... yeah, that's what i thought), but he should start to think about going out the way he came in b/c i wasn't running a frog hotel here.
as i woke up this morning, i discovered that i'd fallen asleep on the couch. zoey had dutifully slept as she usually did in her own bed, but wasted next to no time coming over to put her nose on my face since i was so easy to reach. i let her outside and checked on kit. it must have gotten cold in the water overnite b/c he was now all curled up (as much as a frog can curl up) under the rim. by this point, it was way past time for releasing him back to the wild, but the movies i'd watched last nite were somehow more interesting than frogs.
in retrospect, that's just not true. have you seen ladder 49?
now, i don't know if you own a fondue set, but i highly recommend it. the one i have is a year older than me and i've never used the bowl part ... just the forks. usually i use one to fish my contact lens case out of boiling water, which is how i was told to clean the thing ... last week, i used one to poke at something that was on fire under a stove burner ... one time a few months ago i used one for dipping strawberries and marshmallows in a melted chocolate concoction ... today i used the blunt end of one for dislodging a frog from the side of a toilet bowl.
if i was 20 years younger, i would have plucked kit out with my hands and avoided having to wash a fondue fork and tupperware bowl. but i'm old now ... and groggy ... and fearful in the morning.
kit eventually succumbed to my prodding and slid indifferently into the plastic bowl. my pajamas and i marched him to the fence line where it was safe to reintroduce him to the wild: "kit, wild; wild, kit." i didn't want a repeat of the baby bunny incident: "don't even think about it!"
walking back to my house, i felt a pang of homesickness and wished i could somehow transport our old pond to my new backyard. sure, it was a foul looking and smelling bug (and probably disease) hatchery, but i spent summer days on its mucky shores catching frogs for no reason other than to catch frogs. at least i always had something on my feet.
once, my cousin and i filled a bucket with the little suckers and let them loose on the road, but my aunt got pissed and made us put them back.
oh, cut it out ... no harm done. we lived in the middle of nowhere. and i would never even think of doing that to kit.
September 14, 2005
when you have a name like mine ...
... really, you have no use for ancestry.com. unfortunately, there are some people out there who need that kind of thing to establish their identity. why they feel they have to steal mine to get to the bottom of theirs, i don't understand. well, maybe i do.
large numbers on my credit card statement make me nervous, and i really only use one card due to my short attention span. a college junior, i acquired my VISA because i wasn't yet able to be mean and say no to random people, even tho i should have been that day because "maury" (back when it wasn't all about the baby's daddy) had just ended and i was on my way out.
"yeah, sure, ok," and 10 days later i was a cardholder.
for no apparent reason, i was nervous about it ... i didn't have an income to speak of and no reliable transportation (besides public ... yikes) to take me to places where i could do any kind of damage. i'd been in the habit of using my debit card to withdraw $10 every week for thursday nite pizza. who wants to pay interest on that? and! why won't ATMs let you withdraw just $10 anymore? i need $50, but i have to get either $40 or $60 ... either way, i'm left looking for a 10-spot.
so, to look like i was a grown-up, i used my card to buy books. once a term. instead of carting my clunky checkbook to the student union, i now had the sleek card in my student ID holder thing. either way, i still needed a pen.
did i pay off my balance when the statement arrived? of course. i didn't want to turn into one of those people you see on 20/20. or alicia. ;)
do i still pay off the balance every month? hell no. these days i actually am a grown-up (i can at least pass as one) and understand the social importance of spending beyond one's means, but i try to stay in control whenever possible.
last nite, while feeling much older than everyone else in the room because i didn't have any homework to do and oh-my-god-it-was-9:45-p.m., i handed my responsible-looking "member since 1996" card to the vet tech behind the counter ...
[i'd like to take this opportunity to mention how much i love the staff at the vet's office. they are fantastic people who recognize my voice on the phone, love my dog, and always manage to go out of their way for us.]
... as usual, she scanned the card and handed it back to me, complimenting the picture of zoey it sports. we waited. when the receipt finally printed out, it read, "REFERRAL." no one seemed to know what that meant, so she scanned it again. and again, we read "REFERRAL."
i hadn't used the card in almost a week, and had just made a payment that afternoon. once more, "REFERRAL." at this point, the receptionist tech called whoever it is you call when you don't know what's going on with credit cards while three other techs took zoey into an exam room to clip her nails and get her generally wound up, which is good because it eventually makes her tired.
the people you call when you don't know what's going on with credit cards flat-out declined mine. this was a first for me. surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as embarrassing as TV makes it out to be. maybe that's because i was too busy being shocked and seeing how much cash i had.
i was hardly in the house when i picked up the phone. 31 digits and practically no waiting later, i was asked the oddest question i've been asked since a prospective employer asked me to rate the person i was recommending on a scale of 1 to 10 with ten being the best. duh, 10.
"have you recently been making purchases at ancestry.com?"
today i have a new account number, but i still feel violated. i'm on the verge of reverting to paper statements and giving up online shopping. of course, if i did that, i couldn't order pizza online ... i'd have to pay in cash ... and that's just not me.
large numbers on my credit card statement make me nervous, and i really only use one card due to my short attention span. a college junior, i acquired my VISA because i wasn't yet able to be mean and say no to random people, even tho i should have been that day because "maury" (back when it wasn't all about the baby's daddy) had just ended and i was on my way out.
"yeah, sure, ok," and 10 days later i was a cardholder.
for no apparent reason, i was nervous about it ... i didn't have an income to speak of and no reliable transportation (besides public ... yikes) to take me to places where i could do any kind of damage. i'd been in the habit of using my debit card to withdraw $10 every week for thursday nite pizza. who wants to pay interest on that? and! why won't ATMs let you withdraw just $10 anymore? i need $50, but i have to get either $40 or $60 ... either way, i'm left looking for a 10-spot.
so, to look like i was a grown-up, i used my card to buy books. once a term. instead of carting my clunky checkbook to the student union, i now had the sleek card in my student ID holder thing. either way, i still needed a pen.
did i pay off my balance when the statement arrived? of course. i didn't want to turn into one of those people you see on 20/20. or alicia. ;)
do i still pay off the balance every month? hell no. these days i actually am a grown-up (i can at least pass as one) and understand the social importance of spending beyond one's means, but i try to stay in control whenever possible.
last nite, while feeling much older than everyone else in the room because i didn't have any homework to do and oh-my-god-it-was-9:45-p.m., i handed my responsible-looking "member since 1996" card to the vet tech behind the counter ...
[i'd like to take this opportunity to mention how much i love the staff at the vet's office. they are fantastic people who recognize my voice on the phone, love my dog, and always manage to go out of their way for us.]
... as usual, she scanned the card and handed it back to me, complimenting the picture of zoey it sports. we waited. when the receipt finally printed out, it read, "REFERRAL." no one seemed to know what that meant, so she scanned it again. and again, we read "REFERRAL."
i hadn't used the card in almost a week, and had just made a payment that afternoon. once more, "REFERRAL." at this point, the receptionist tech called whoever it is you call when you don't know what's going on with credit cards while three other techs took zoey into an exam room to clip her nails and get her generally wound up, which is good because it eventually makes her tired.
the people you call when you don't know what's going on with credit cards flat-out declined mine. this was a first for me. surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as embarrassing as TV makes it out to be. maybe that's because i was too busy being shocked and seeing how much cash i had.
i was hardly in the house when i picked up the phone. 31 digits and practically no waiting later, i was asked the oddest question i've been asked since a prospective employer asked me to rate the person i was recommending on a scale of 1 to 10 with ten being the best. duh, 10.
"have you recently been making purchases at ancestry.com?"
today i have a new account number, but i still feel violated. i'm on the verge of reverting to paper statements and giving up online shopping. of course, if i did that, i couldn't order pizza online ... i'd have to pay in cash ... and that's just not me.
August 19, 2005
aaron's already seen most of this, so he doesn't have to read it
i've been invited to this seminar ...
Delivering Bad News to Employees, Customers, Neighbors, Critics, and Victims
... and i have a couple questions:
- if you’re classified as a "victim," doesn’t that imply you’ve already received the bad news?
- if you’re approaching a "victim" with the intent to deliver bad news, doesn’t that ultimately put you at risk of becoming a "victim?" if so, see above.
don't you wish you had the kind of job that would put you on the invitation for training such as this? i’m totally thinking of registering.
afterwards, i'll let you know the best way to tell your neighbor that you broke his lawnmower ... and then denise can let us know if that information is accurate.
August 8, 2005
an introduction
Why would anyone do such a thing?
Sitting at gate B2, I stuck my foot out to admire the disgusting job I'd done of polishing the night before. Uneven edges, colored cuticles. I really shouldn't try to multitask.
The 15-years-younger Cesar Millan seated to my right leaned in for a peek, too. "Looks good to me," he said.
Startled, I pretended I was someone else. "You don't think the big toe looks, I don't know ... darker than the others?" I angled my foot to see a side perspective.
"Not at all." he smelled like the cologne every woman should buy for her boyfriend for Christmas and his birthday and Arbor Day if that's what it takes. "They all look the same."
"Oh!" I said as if we hadn't been talking about my foot at all. "Not the polish ... I mean the actual toe."
Our eyes met for a moment before his moved back to my foot. He squinted and looked closer. So did the business class gentleman across from us who didn't notice me noticing his tendency to eavesdrop.
"I don't see it," said Cesar. "Why should it be any different?"
I smiled a coy smile, and this time it was my turn to break eye contact. We were both examining the toe but for different reasons.
Luckily, Delta flight 829 interrupted the conversation to announce that it was loading passengers who need extra time at gate B4.
"Ok," I said, reluctant to let more silence pass. "It was a beer bottle." I finished my sentence as if it should have been all the explanation anyone needed.
"What was a beer bottle?" the business man would have asked had he been an accepted part of the conversation.
I looked at my foot again and blew a stray lock of hair out of my face. "It was a beer bottle that almost severed it a while back."
The business man and Cesar suddenly sat straight up. "You're kidding," one of them said.
Yes, I was. "Nope," I said. "It was Budweiser. I was out with some friends, talking to this French guy at the bar. Apparently he couldn't hold on to the bottle any longer, and dropped it on my foot."
My captive audience remained captive, so I continued being hazy on the details. "The next thing I remember, the paramedics showed up, wrapped my foot in about 20 pounds of gauze, and carted me off to the ER. Surgery and a little physical therapy later, here I am."
My foot was now under the most intense scrutiny it had been under since March of 1985, when I'd stepped on a stray tack the school parking lot/playground. The straps of my sandals crisscrossed over my toes, so I used that observation to close my story.
"...so you can't really see the scar." I pointed my toes and swiveled my foot again. Despite the covering, I could tell he saw it. For crying out loud, I could see it.
"God," he said. "That's terrible." Our eyes met again, and I raised my eyebrows and my shoulders ... what can you do?
"Eric," he said, offering his hand.
"Melanie." I took it.
"Where are you headed?"
Sitting at gate B2, I stuck my foot out to admire the disgusting job I'd done of polishing the night before. Uneven edges, colored cuticles. I really shouldn't try to multitask.
The 15-years-younger Cesar Millan seated to my right leaned in for a peek, too. "Looks good to me," he said.
Startled, I pretended I was someone else. "You don't think the big toe looks, I don't know ... darker than the others?" I angled my foot to see a side perspective.
"Not at all." he smelled like the cologne every woman should buy for her boyfriend for Christmas and his birthday and Arbor Day if that's what it takes. "They all look the same."
"Oh!" I said as if we hadn't been talking about my foot at all. "Not the polish ... I mean the actual toe."
Our eyes met for a moment before his moved back to my foot. He squinted and looked closer. So did the business class gentleman across from us who didn't notice me noticing his tendency to eavesdrop.
"I don't see it," said Cesar. "Why should it be any different?"
I smiled a coy smile, and this time it was my turn to break eye contact. We were both examining the toe but for different reasons.
Luckily, Delta flight 829 interrupted the conversation to announce that it was loading passengers who need extra time at gate B4.
"Ok," I said, reluctant to let more silence pass. "It was a beer bottle." I finished my sentence as if it should have been all the explanation anyone needed.
"What was a beer bottle?" the business man would have asked had he been an accepted part of the conversation.
I looked at my foot again and blew a stray lock of hair out of my face. "It was a beer bottle that almost severed it a while back."
The business man and Cesar suddenly sat straight up. "You're kidding," one of them said.
Yes, I was. "Nope," I said. "It was Budweiser. I was out with some friends, talking to this French guy at the bar. Apparently he couldn't hold on to the bottle any longer, and dropped it on my foot."
My captive audience remained captive, so I continued being hazy on the details. "The next thing I remember, the paramedics showed up, wrapped my foot in about 20 pounds of gauze, and carted me off to the ER. Surgery and a little physical therapy later, here I am."
My foot was now under the most intense scrutiny it had been under since March of 1985, when I'd stepped on a stray tack the school parking lot/playground. The straps of my sandals crisscrossed over my toes, so I used that observation to close my story.
"...so you can't really see the scar." I pointed my toes and swiveled my foot again. Despite the covering, I could tell he saw it. For crying out loud, I could see it.
"God," he said. "That's terrible." Our eyes met again, and I raised my eyebrows and my shoulders ... what can you do?
"Eric," he said, offering his hand.
"Melanie." I took it.
"Where are you headed?"
August 7, 2005
don't waste it
i'm 29 years old, and i'm searching for the meaning of life. i figure that's just implied, but thought i'd mention it anyway ... as a reminder.
the search takes me to lots of different places: bars, work, home depot, newark. today, tho, it took me to match.com.
there's something about "view singles in your area" that roped me in, and i'm so low on pride these days that i'm not ashamed to admit it. maybe i'd see someone i know. reading the free intros was fun ... unfortunately, there's not a lot to learn there, and i'm barely closer to any answers in my quest after reading. but i did uncover a couple things worth knowing ...
did you know that every guy who signs up on match.com is laid-back and easy going? there are two explanations for this: 1. it's a requirement ... a box you have to check when you sign-up. or 2. this is a universal characteristic among men.
my money is on #1.
the other lesson i learned is so amazing that i won't bastardize it with a summary ... this one's a straight quote, tho i won't attribute it ... he's probably met his match already.
"i'm a fun, easy going guy. i cherish each breathe that i breath because life is but a breathe, don't waste it."
... and the adventure continues ...
the search takes me to lots of different places: bars, work, home depot, newark. today, tho, it took me to match.com.
there's something about "view singles in your area" that roped me in, and i'm so low on pride these days that i'm not ashamed to admit it. maybe i'd see someone i know. reading the free intros was fun ... unfortunately, there's not a lot to learn there, and i'm barely closer to any answers in my quest after reading. but i did uncover a couple things worth knowing ...
did you know that every guy who signs up on match.com is laid-back and easy going? there are two explanations for this: 1. it's a requirement ... a box you have to check when you sign-up. or 2. this is a universal characteristic among men.
my money is on #1.
the other lesson i learned is so amazing that i won't bastardize it with a summary ... this one's a straight quote, tho i won't attribute it ... he's probably met his match already.
"i'm a fun, easy going guy. i cherish each breathe that i breath because life is but a breathe, don't waste it."
... and the adventure continues ...
July 18, 2005
a day off: three parts
[editor's note: here's the idea. i could submit mine, but i'd rather share them with you. because you like me. whether you like to admit it or not.]
book 1
standing in the snow, frank watched polly test the cake. as she placed it carefully on the counter, ron burst through the door behind her, slitting her throat with an ice skate. grinning like a boy who’d just flushed his big sister’s toothbrush, frank slowly crouched. “surprise party my ass.”
book 2
stan removed the bloated finger from the prongs of the rake and promptly vomited into the leaves. “what the hell?” he asked rusty, who sat lazily on the porch. the events of last week’s BBQ came back in a flash. he smiled and made a mental note to call jake.
book 3
jake laughed so hard he almost vomited his double cheeseburger without onions. “what an asshole,” he said, thinking about ron standing at the grill, waving the big fork. “where did you find that idiot?” when he hung up, jake laughed some more and made a mental note to call frank.
July 14, 2005
you must be joking (or how to draw a slightly offended look)
"well, it's good for the drought," he said as she unplugged her laptop and gathered her notebooks from the table. the previous night's storm had dropped rain at a rate of four inches per hour. traffic had stopped, power had gone out, and lightning had struck everything that stood more than twelve feet off the ground. "i'm sure it's nice to live in an apartment and not worry about the lawn!"
her right eyebrow raised. "oh?" she asked, knowing his kids were older than her. "do you live in an apartment?"
he said, "no." but his eyes said, "i think i've just done something wrong."
"i have a lawn ... it came with the house." progress from the tiny meeting room stopped for a second so he could ask if she rented.
"no," she said, not having to resort to one of those fake customer service smiles that she'd almost gotten used to. "i bought it a few years ago."
as soon as the "B" word came out of her mouth he looked at her hands ... rather, he looked at her left hand. "it's just me and the dog," she said, innocently shrugging her shoulders as if she couldn't believe it either.
with a nervous chuckle he said, "i'm going to have to talk to your boss. you must be making too much money! hmmmmmm ... how old was i before i could afford my first house?"
she smiled politely as he avoided eye contact.
as they reached the end of the aisle, they said their good-byes and have-a-nice-afternoons and went their separate ways home.
... and the moral of the story is: don't be like that.
her right eyebrow raised. "oh?" she asked, knowing his kids were older than her. "do you live in an apartment?"
he said, "no." but his eyes said, "i think i've just done something wrong."
"i have a lawn ... it came with the house." progress from the tiny meeting room stopped for a second so he could ask if she rented.
"no," she said, not having to resort to one of those fake customer service smiles that she'd almost gotten used to. "i bought it a few years ago."
as soon as the "B" word came out of her mouth he looked at her hands ... rather, he looked at her left hand. "it's just me and the dog," she said, innocently shrugging her shoulders as if she couldn't believe it either.
with a nervous chuckle he said, "i'm going to have to talk to your boss. you must be making too much money! hmmmmmm ... how old was i before i could afford my first house?"
she smiled politely as he avoided eye contact.
as they reached the end of the aisle, they said their good-byes and have-a-nice-afternoons and went their separate ways home.
... and the moral of the story is: don't be like that.
June 30, 2005
5 ways to freak yourself out in the comfort of your own home
1. late on a hot summer nite when you're having trouble getting comfortable, hang your foot over the side of the bed and remember that you have a stephen king novel on your night stand. stay in that position for 5 minutes.
2. late on a hot summer nite when you're getting ready to go to bed, let the dog out. stand in the door and look at the dimly-lit back fence. think about zombies and then walk to the edge of the porch. for bonus points, step into the yard.
3. watch signs. even in the daytime.
4. shortly after a hot summer nite becomes a hot summer morning, dream that a maniac with a french knife is chasing you, and he has just broken down the door to the room you're hiding in. wake up and immediately mistake the pile of clothes on your dresser paired with a jewelry box as someone standing at the foot of your bed. then close your eyes again.
5. oh, yeah. there's definitely someone in the kitchen. didn't you hear that?
there it is again.
June 24, 2005
tag! i'm it!
i don't know what it means, but chris called it "a blog meme! yay!"
how many books i own
the law of averages states that that if some of a number of independent equally likely events have already occurred, then the probability that the remaining ones shall occur increases. that said, if a bookshelf is approximately two feet long, i own approximately 250 books ... and i've read approximately 210 of them, whether i remember or not.
the last book i purchased
holy hell. let's see ... i'm pretty sure it was zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. i gave away my last copy, and will most likely give away this one as well. as soon as i'm done with it. again.
the last book i read
for some reason, i've been obsessed with serials this year. i finished the bourne ultimatum not too long ago. it was good, but the supremacy was hands-down the best of the three. there comes a point where, as an author, you have to trust that your audience has read at least one of the previous books ... and that should be enough to get them thru the next one. not that i know anything about it.
books that mean a lot to me
i am the cheese by robert cormier: this was the first high-school-required book that i ever actually read. i was a freshman so it set my expectations for required reading unattainably high. don't look for a heavy, intellectually rigorous read here. this is not-so-simply a touching story about a boy.
to kill a mockingbird by harper lee: this was the second high-school-required book that i ever actually read. the expectations set by i am the cheese crashed and burned the following year with a separate peace and the pearl. [turns out "fagitude" isn't really a word, and you should never, ever plagiarize.] i go back to this every summer because summer is the best time to daydream about what it was like to be a carefree, inquisitive, rebellious kid. i'm in love with this novel because it has more heart than anything i've ever read.
east of eden by john steinbeck: no, aaron, it's not about lettuce. the movie might be, but the book is way less vegetable-centric. trust me. a picture of an ugly landscape can be breathtaking.
dirk gently's holistic detective agency by douglas adams: you think i'm putting this in to be funny, but that is so not the case. when you're me, you don't believe that it has to be tragic or forcefully insightful to be good literature. in the last five years or so, the majority of books [at least the ones i've either been subjected or have subjected myself to] have (with a few shining exceptions) been either self-indulgent or wholly depressing. not that there's anything wrong with that. rarely, if ever, do you find adams' type of escapism anymore ... and it scares me to think that it may now be extinct.
jude the obscure by thomas hardy: remember how i said that depressing tragedies don't necessarily make great literature? well, this one does. when you're in one of those moods where you feel like there's no possible way your life could get any worse so you might as well curl up and die under a filing cabinet, this is what you should read. it'll help you realize that, really, you're perfectly fine ... so stop complaining.
the moonstone by wilkie collins: mystery and intrigue with Romantic brits ... what could be better? if you're in to that kind of thing, that is.
how many books i own
the law of averages states that that if some of a number of independent equally likely events have already occurred, then the probability that the remaining ones shall occur increases. that said, if a bookshelf is approximately two feet long, i own approximately 250 books ... and i've read approximately 210 of them, whether i remember or not.
the last book i purchased
holy hell. let's see ... i'm pretty sure it was zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. i gave away my last copy, and will most likely give away this one as well. as soon as i'm done with it. again.
the last book i read
for some reason, i've been obsessed with serials this year. i finished the bourne ultimatum not too long ago. it was good, but the supremacy was hands-down the best of the three. there comes a point where, as an author, you have to trust that your audience has read at least one of the previous books ... and that should be enough to get them thru the next one. not that i know anything about it.
books that mean a lot to me
i am the cheese by robert cormier: this was the first high-school-required book that i ever actually read. i was a freshman so it set my expectations for required reading unattainably high. don't look for a heavy, intellectually rigorous read here. this is not-so-simply a touching story about a boy.
to kill a mockingbird by harper lee: this was the second high-school-required book that i ever actually read. the expectations set by i am the cheese crashed and burned the following year with a separate peace and the pearl. [turns out "fagitude" isn't really a word, and you should never, ever plagiarize.] i go back to this every summer because summer is the best time to daydream about what it was like to be a carefree, inquisitive, rebellious kid. i'm in love with this novel because it has more heart than anything i've ever read.
east of eden by john steinbeck: no, aaron, it's not about lettuce. the movie might be, but the book is way less vegetable-centric. trust me. a picture of an ugly landscape can be breathtaking.
dirk gently's holistic detective agency by douglas adams: you think i'm putting this in to be funny, but that is so not the case. when you're me, you don't believe that it has to be tragic or forcefully insightful to be good literature. in the last five years or so, the majority of books [at least the ones i've either been subjected or have subjected myself to] have (with a few shining exceptions) been either self-indulgent or wholly depressing. not that there's anything wrong with that. rarely, if ever, do you find adams' type of escapism anymore ... and it scares me to think that it may now be extinct.
jude the obscure by thomas hardy: remember how i said that depressing tragedies don't necessarily make great literature? well, this one does. when you're in one of those moods where you feel like there's no possible way your life could get any worse so you might as well curl up and die under a filing cabinet, this is what you should read. it'll help you realize that, really, you're perfectly fine ... so stop complaining.
the moonstone by wilkie collins: mystery and intrigue with Romantic brits ... what could be better? if you're in to that kind of thing, that is.
June 23, 2005
you people are no fun anymore, so i'll just entertain myself
that said, here's a little bit about why i love sam's club:
a case of bottled water
5 pounds of peanuts
2 bottles of wine
buy one get one free listerine
$27
funny ... you practically have to drag me into wal-mart.
a case of bottled water
5 pounds of peanuts
2 bottles of wine
buy one get one free listerine
$27
funny ... you practically have to drag me into wal-mart.
June 15, 2005
that can't be right
i've been hearing this U2 song on XM channel 22 lately, and i've really been liking it. that is, i've really been liking it until today when i realized that i've been misunderstanding the lyrics.
it's not, "sometimes you can make it on your own" ... it's "sometimes you can't make it on your own" to which, my response is: "whatever ... what's on channel 7?" [10cc; "the things we do for love"]
ok, let's get that pulse checked ... it's time for a little audience participation! i've started things off ... let's hear some of the non-lyrics you've been singing all these days, weeks, months, or years ...
why? because it's fun ... like baby shower games, but without all the taste-testing.
and, yes, everyone is well aware that CCR isn't singing about the bathroom on the right.
it's not, "sometimes you can make it on your own" ... it's "sometimes you can't make it on your own" to which, my response is: "whatever ... what's on channel 7?" [10cc; "the things we do for love"]
ok, let's get that pulse checked ... it's time for a little audience participation! i've started things off ... let's hear some of the non-lyrics you've been singing all these days, weeks, months, or years ...
why? because it's fun ... like baby shower games, but without all the taste-testing.
and, yes, everyone is well aware that CCR isn't singing about the bathroom on the right.
June 12, 2005
i think it's in the shed
this weekend i had a facial and a near death experience. wait ... that's like saying i talked to aaron and my brother on friday.
i also had a manicure, which, frankly, is lost on me because the polish is already chipped. i should never do that unless someone else is paying for it.
sure dodged a bullet there.
anyway! the facial. not a big fan. the music's nice, and i'm happy to lay there for an hour with a hot towel on my face if you'll indulge me ... even so, in the midst of any relaxing treatment, i don't care what it is, no one, i don't care who you are, wants to be at the business end of this conversation:
"the next exfoliant is 5% acid. you may feel a slight itchy burn, but if it really starts to hurt, tell me and i'll wash it off immediately."
"does that happen a lot?"
"well, not a lot. but it does happen."
seriously, when did flesh-eating acid become soothing? after that you're subjected to the steam that makes it hard to breathe and then the extraction process ... not only is this another "let me know if i'm hurting you" step, but it also causes a massive breakout by the next morning.
relax! it's good for you.
with all of that out of the way, you get another hot towel, some kind of cooling mask that makes up for the trauma of the preceding 25 minutes, and about 15 minutes to yourself without someone looking at you through a 100x magnifying glass. this is the best part. a quiet room, a warm bed, and white noise ... but not like the the movie, which hardly deserves a mention.
people say they sometimes fall asleep at this part (i could still be talking about the movie, but i'm not). did i fall asleep? of course not! i was worried about who might come through the door next ... and what kind of sharp object they might have in their coat. instead, i did some serious thinking. i went to one of those places in my brain that has of late been carrying on unsupervised, and i wondered ... how different would the world be if we all shed our skin like snakes?
[don't worry. this is normal.]
ok, suppose every 6 weeks or so your eyes glazed over and you spent a couple days peeling in a very complete, very methodical way. how itchy would that be? and! would your employer’s benefits package include standard time off for those days? would people who make more money or have more seniority than you also get more "shedding time off" privileges?
"if you’ve worked here for three or fewer years, you get two weeks of vacation and 18 shedding days. after that, you get one more shedding day per year."
like most things, it’s gotta be harder to do as you get older and less flexible. naturally, you'll need more time.
the last time i had a pedicure, the nail technician asked me how often i exfoliate my legs. not that it was any of her business, but my routine was apparently not up to standard, so she tried to sell me something that would "help."
that's fine, but if my skin sloughed off at predictable intervals, she’d be out of a job (or at least a commission) and the skin care aisle in Ukrop’s would be reduced to a small stand near the paper products that carried aloe and some other kind of universal balm. ‘nuff said. Bert's Bees would so be out of business, and the poor bees would have to go back to making boring honey. ho-hum.
what about all the Johnson and Johnson employees and dermatologists of the world? they'd be sleeping on park benches and loitering around emergency rooms.
got acne? give it a few weeks … it’ll go away. there. now i’m a dermatologist. it’s gone from being a highly-skilled profession to something that someone with an 18-month degree (or even i) could do with little or no training.
just had surgery? i guarantee you'll forget you even had a scar within 2 months. there goes neosporin's marketing campaign.
you'll want to have stock in beverage companies and jell-o ... they'll be hot industries.
i can't decide if day spas will still exist or not. will anyone need a face treatment if they're going to have all new skin in a matter of weeks? or will oprah insist that we subject more than just our faces to the acid test because it will help us discover our true inner selves? damn her.
there's so much to consider! would i still need to wear 30 spf sunscreen? how would i plan my vacations? what about tanning salons? where will those former employees loiter?
it's a good thing that the facial lady came back when she did ... i was finally able to relax.
i also had a manicure, which, frankly, is lost on me because the polish is already chipped. i should never do that unless someone else is paying for it.
sure dodged a bullet there.
anyway! the facial. not a big fan. the music's nice, and i'm happy to lay there for an hour with a hot towel on my face if you'll indulge me ... even so, in the midst of any relaxing treatment, i don't care what it is, no one, i don't care who you are, wants to be at the business end of this conversation:
"the next exfoliant is 5% acid. you may feel a slight itchy burn, but if it really starts to hurt, tell me and i'll wash it off immediately."
"does that happen a lot?"
"well, not a lot. but it does happen."
seriously, when did flesh-eating acid become soothing? after that you're subjected to the steam that makes it hard to breathe and then the extraction process ... not only is this another "let me know if i'm hurting you" step, but it also causes a massive breakout by the next morning.
relax! it's good for you.
with all of that out of the way, you get another hot towel, some kind of cooling mask that makes up for the trauma of the preceding 25 minutes, and about 15 minutes to yourself without someone looking at you through a 100x magnifying glass. this is the best part. a quiet room, a warm bed, and white noise ... but not like the the movie, which hardly deserves a mention.
people say they sometimes fall asleep at this part (i could still be talking about the movie, but i'm not). did i fall asleep? of course not! i was worried about who might come through the door next ... and what kind of sharp object they might have in their coat. instead, i did some serious thinking. i went to one of those places in my brain that has of late been carrying on unsupervised, and i wondered ... how different would the world be if we all shed our skin like snakes?
[don't worry. this is normal.]
ok, suppose every 6 weeks or so your eyes glazed over and you spent a couple days peeling in a very complete, very methodical way. how itchy would that be? and! would your employer’s benefits package include standard time off for those days? would people who make more money or have more seniority than you also get more "shedding time off" privileges?
"if you’ve worked here for three or fewer years, you get two weeks of vacation and 18 shedding days. after that, you get one more shedding day per year."
like most things, it’s gotta be harder to do as you get older and less flexible. naturally, you'll need more time.
the last time i had a pedicure, the nail technician asked me how often i exfoliate my legs. not that it was any of her business, but my routine was apparently not up to standard, so she tried to sell me something that would "help."
that's fine, but if my skin sloughed off at predictable intervals, she’d be out of a job (or at least a commission) and the skin care aisle in Ukrop’s would be reduced to a small stand near the paper products that carried aloe and some other kind of universal balm. ‘nuff said. Bert's Bees would so be out of business, and the poor bees would have to go back to making boring honey. ho-hum.
what about all the Johnson and Johnson employees and dermatologists of the world? they'd be sleeping on park benches and loitering around emergency rooms.
got acne? give it a few weeks … it’ll go away. there. now i’m a dermatologist. it’s gone from being a highly-skilled profession to something that someone with an 18-month degree (or even i) could do with little or no training.
just had surgery? i guarantee you'll forget you even had a scar within 2 months. there goes neosporin's marketing campaign.
you'll want to have stock in beverage companies and jell-o ... they'll be hot industries.
i can't decide if day spas will still exist or not. will anyone need a face treatment if they're going to have all new skin in a matter of weeks? or will oprah insist that we subject more than just our faces to the acid test because it will help us discover our true inner selves? damn her.
there's so much to consider! would i still need to wear 30 spf sunscreen? how would i plan my vacations? what about tanning salons? where will those former employees loiter?
it's a good thing that the facial lady came back when she did ... i was finally able to relax.
June 9, 2005
a letter to john f. street
dear mr. mayor,
i took this class at work a few months ago that was all about how to write efficient email and run efficient meetings. in the closing moments, we learned how to offer feedback to people who hadn't taken the class on the efficiency of their email and meetings.
when someone sends you a message that's a big block of impossible-to-read text, you're supposed to write back using this formula: open with something nice, offer your "constructive criticism," close with another nice thing. it'll leave them feeling warm and fuzzy about you, which i guess is good since you probably don't want people you have to work with every day thinking you're some kind of judgmental bitch. the technique is called "sandwiching," and i'm going to use it now ...
i recently had the pleasure of visiting the city of brotherly love, which is a name your distinguished metropolis unquestionably lives up to. i've never been in an environment so rank with friendliness ... from the guy power-washing the sidewalk who stopped waving the hose around to let you walk by to the guy who ended up firing the other guy because the stromboli took too long ... the love was practically palpable.
however (that's how you can tell this is the "criticism" part, but i'll still say some nice things in it so's you don't really notice the negativity), upon arrival at the museum of art, instead of being greeted by a triumphant rocky balboa, i was greeted only by shock and horror. and i know for a fact that i wasn't the only one. where there should have been a statue, there was only a pair of shoe prints.
the nothing-if-not-pleasant museum desk attendant inside said that the statue had been moved because "the hoity-toity art enthusiasts thought it was tacky." apparently we've found the sect of the city that isn't on board with the whole "brotherly" thing. i think you should work on that. i'm just glad the statue wasn't destroyed. but let me ask you ... which is tackier? all of rocky on the steps or just his shoes? or is it the creepy statue of the guy strangling a bird?
seriously, which is it? i've been thinking about it all day and can't decide.
thank you, tho, for leaving the button and the clothes pin intact and exactly where the internet said they'd be. they were more than worth the trip. liberty hall was ok, too. i don't really have anything to say about the liberty bell, because it was closed (how can that even be?), so that sucked. but! i've already transitioned back to the nice part of the sandwich and will refrain from saying more ugly things.
speaking of sandwiches and ugliness, i can hardly wait to return to philly to try cheese steak from the famous restaurant that birthed it ... whatever that establishment might be called. i hear it's a mediocre at best meal, and that's good enough for me.
keep up the stellar mayoring work, and please let me know when rocky has been restored to his rightful perch.
thanks for the hospitality!
i took this class at work a few months ago that was all about how to write efficient email and run efficient meetings. in the closing moments, we learned how to offer feedback to people who hadn't taken the class on the efficiency of their email and meetings.
when someone sends you a message that's a big block of impossible-to-read text, you're supposed to write back using this formula: open with something nice, offer your "constructive criticism," close with another nice thing. it'll leave them feeling warm and fuzzy about you, which i guess is good since you probably don't want people you have to work with every day thinking you're some kind of judgmental bitch. the technique is called "sandwiching," and i'm going to use it now ...
i recently had the pleasure of visiting the city of brotherly love, which is a name your distinguished metropolis unquestionably lives up to. i've never been in an environment so rank with friendliness ... from the guy power-washing the sidewalk who stopped waving the hose around to let you walk by to the guy who ended up firing the other guy because the stromboli took too long ... the love was practically palpable.
however (that's how you can tell this is the "criticism" part, but i'll still say some nice things in it so's you don't really notice the negativity), upon arrival at the museum of art, instead of being greeted by a triumphant rocky balboa, i was greeted only by shock and horror. and i know for a fact that i wasn't the only one. where there should have been a statue, there was only a pair of shoe prints.
the nothing-if-not-pleasant museum desk attendant inside said that the statue had been moved because "the hoity-toity art enthusiasts thought it was tacky." apparently we've found the sect of the city that isn't on board with the whole "brotherly" thing. i think you should work on that. i'm just glad the statue wasn't destroyed. but let me ask you ... which is tackier? all of rocky on the steps or just his shoes? or is it the creepy statue of the guy strangling a bird?
seriously, which is it? i've been thinking about it all day and can't decide.
thank you, tho, for leaving the button and the clothes pin intact and exactly where the internet said they'd be. they were more than worth the trip. liberty hall was ok, too. i don't really have anything to say about the liberty bell, because it was closed (how can that even be?), so that sucked. but! i've already transitioned back to the nice part of the sandwich and will refrain from saying more ugly things.
speaking of sandwiches and ugliness, i can hardly wait to return to philly to try cheese steak from the famous restaurant that birthed it ... whatever that establishment might be called. i hear it's a mediocre at best meal, and that's good enough for me.
keep up the stellar mayoring work, and please let me know when rocky has been restored to his rightful perch.
thanks for the hospitality!
May 17, 2005
no, no, no ... it's a movie
i only have a minute ... and far be it for me to use that minute to defend dubya, but here goes ...
i read a headline this afternoon that asks if “Revenge of the Sith” is anti-bush.
if he looked any more like greedo, then obviously, yeah. it is. however! they have totally different snouts. here's the meat of the article:
“The Ottawa Sun asked Christensen [the actor who plays Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader] if the flick ‘takes metaphoric shots at the war-mongering politics of U.S. presidents Richard Nixon and the two George Bushes...’”
the actor, who clearly doesn't research his roles, said "absolutely."
honestly, i don’t think christensen is old enough to remember this, but the fourth part of the series was released 20 years ago. it’s called: "Star Wars: a New Hope." starring roles were given to mark hamil, harrison ford, carrie fischer, and a big hairy guy. (no, not him … the other one.)
how can anyone over the age of 12 not remember this movie? and! how can they be chosen to star in its prequel if they don’t?
part 4 opens in the throes of war. luke skywalker wants to fight in it. the rebels vs. the empire. does any of this ring a bell? what, then, does logic tell us happened before the start of the movie?
what? someone started a war?!
you’re kidding.
sadly, not everything is about the republicans … then again, i don’t yet know what a Sith is.
i read a headline this afternoon that asks if “Revenge of the Sith” is anti-bush.
if he looked any more like greedo, then obviously, yeah. it is. however! they have totally different snouts. here's the meat of the article:
“The Ottawa Sun asked Christensen [the actor who plays Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader] if the flick ‘takes metaphoric shots at the war-mongering politics of U.S. presidents Richard Nixon and the two George Bushes...’”
the actor, who clearly doesn't research his roles, said "absolutely."
honestly, i don’t think christensen is old enough to remember this, but the fourth part of the series was released 20 years ago. it’s called: "Star Wars: a New Hope." starring roles were given to mark hamil, harrison ford, carrie fischer, and a big hairy guy. (no, not him … the other one.)
how can anyone over the age of 12 not remember this movie? and! how can they be chosen to star in its prequel if they don’t?
part 4 opens in the throes of war. luke skywalker wants to fight in it. the rebels vs. the empire. does any of this ring a bell? what, then, does logic tell us happened before the start of the movie?
what? someone started a war?!
you’re kidding.
sadly, not everything is about the republicans … then again, i don’t yet know what a Sith is.
April 13, 2005
farewell, mort! i'll miss you.
i fear that with this posting, mort will disappear. which saddens me, really. didn't anyone else think he was funny? what's wrong with you people? i laughed myself to tears during the hour it took to get a decent picture of my caller ID and subsequently figure out the magic of hello to post it. i say "magic" and you think, "wow, hello must be a dream to use." the reality is that i don't often post pictures simply because i can't figure out how i managed it in the first place ... and the so-called help screens are the opposite of what they claim to be. i've tried and tried and tried to post a picture of my water heater, and the software keeps having endless "conversations" with god knows what or who ... but then it gets upset with me when i try to interrupt. from now on i guess i'll just use flickr. i have a few pictures there, and from what i remember it never did anything to offend my ultra delicate sensibilities, so i'll try it again. not that i have a camera worthy of the effort. ah well ... who knows ... maybe mort will stick around a little longer.
honestly, i don't have anything witty, creative, informative, or even the least bit interesting to say. and, as you can tell by the date of my last posting, haven't had anything witty, creative, informative, or even the least bit interesting to say for a month. i'm only writing today to stop the argument going on in my last post. so there.
now to the question of why i haven't been missing ... i have it narrowed it down to two possibilities:
see ya next month!
honestly, i don't have anything witty, creative, informative, or even the least bit interesting to say. and, as you can tell by the date of my last posting, haven't had anything witty, creative, informative, or even the least bit interesting to say for a month. i'm only writing today to stop the argument going on in my last post. so there.
now to the question of why i haven't been missing ... i have it narrowed it down to two possibilities:
#1: i have severe writer's block. the evening news had been my main source of inspiration ... at least until i posted and immediately unposted a completely tasteless bit inspired by the terri schiavo case, having decided that i had no business commenting on nationally-debated news stories and should stick to the stuff no one hears about. it was at that unfortunate point that i reached my tolerance level for stupid people. do i really want to write about how much of a freak i think michael jackson is or how society only suffers with the announcement of britney's "confinement?" no. you already know that. i could actually give you my reactions to the pope's death, but it would be all sad and insightful, and would end with a lashing out at news coverage for spending hours upon hours asking doctors how much longer he could live without kidney function and counting down his final moments rather than remembering and celebrating his inspiring life and legacy. the only thing missing was dick clark.
#2: i'm dead. it's hard to tell the difference, i know, between living jody and dead jody. there are subtle differences like breathing, eating, response to stimuli ... when i ran my knee into a filing cabinet this morning, it hurt. that's a pretty good sign that i'm alive. i'm positive, however, that i'm not "undead." if that were the case, aaron would have flown up to shoot me in the head by now. he's been here inside a month, and neither did he shoot me, nor did i try to rip him in half at the abdomen. can you blame our mother for being proud? i can think of plenty of times as a kid, adolescent, and moments-younger-than-i-am-right-now-adult when i've tried to rip aaron in half; and i'm sure there have been plenty of times when he's wanted to shoot me in the head with all forms of random projectiles. that's just what it means to be family.
whew! this has really worn me out ... i better go take a nap.see ya next month!
March 19, 2005
grave danger: "is there another kind?"
stop! put it down and back away ... slowly ... slowly ... good. very good.
you're welcome. you had no idea, but i just saved your life. from what? that thin mint you were about to eat ... that do-si-do ... that tagalong ... that samoa. i bet you didn't realize that girl scout cookies aren't salads. neither are they fruit nor vitamins.
i know! it's shocking! but it gets better ...
as it turns out, girl scout cookies are, in fact, tiny bits of sugary goodness filled with trans-fats and empty calories.
and because they're only sold once a year, they're a perfect target for the obesity police.
how can a respected and respectable organization like the girl scouts hawk mini heart attacks that taste best when they're frozen? how can little girls justify selling pure evil door-to-door in and effort to support a club that teaches them manners, solidarity, and important life skills such as patch sewing, fire-building, and *gasp* cookie baking? they must be destroyed.
i admit it ... even i have sold girl scout cookies. but i was young and left out of the "ulterior motive" loop.
girl scouts have been selling cookies for more than 50 years. i bet that's the reason our nation is the heaviest in the world. i'm positive it has nothing to do with 99-cent double cheeseburgers at mcdonald's ... it has to be the overpriced cookies that everyone buys a box of once a year. i don't care who you are. yesterday, melissa told me that she bought two boxes and doesn't even like them. why did she buy them? because mike's daughter was selling them and she wanted to help her beat the girl who sold the most last year.
let's face it. the true girl scout cookie era came to an end with the death of trefoils. that's a fact.
so, why do we continue to buy? well, for the same reason that melissa does: it's a competition; because everyone at the office has a daughter, and you don't want to leave anyone out; because it's your civic duty; because they're just so cute standing outside the grocery store. will you eat all the cookies you end up with before they go stale? of course not. will you care? of course not.
one solution to this apparently rampant problem is to ask the scouts to sell key chains on an annual basis. i have a keychain. i've been using it for 4 years. i imagine i'll need a new one in 2017.
the idea i'd like to propose is a meeting. with nabisco. how do they sell gazillions of oreo's each year without being told that they should rethink its ingredients and turn it into a zipper pull?
seriously, think of how much healthier our nation would be, not to mention how much thinner, if nilla wafers were dryer sheets, nutter butters were clothes pins, fig newtons were fly swatters, and oreo's were zipper pulls. just ask lands' end ... they may be choking hazards, but they have almost no sugar.
you're welcome. you had no idea, but i just saved your life. from what? that thin mint you were about to eat ... that do-si-do ... that tagalong ... that samoa. i bet you didn't realize that girl scout cookies aren't salads. neither are they fruit nor vitamins.
i know! it's shocking! but it gets better ...
as it turns out, girl scout cookies are, in fact, tiny bits of sugary goodness filled with trans-fats and empty calories.
and because they're only sold once a year, they're a perfect target for the obesity police.
how can a respected and respectable organization like the girl scouts hawk mini heart attacks that taste best when they're frozen? how can little girls justify selling pure evil door-to-door in and effort to support a club that teaches them manners, solidarity, and important life skills such as patch sewing, fire-building, and *gasp* cookie baking? they must be destroyed.
i admit it ... even i have sold girl scout cookies. but i was young and left out of the "ulterior motive" loop.
girl scouts have been selling cookies for more than 50 years. i bet that's the reason our nation is the heaviest in the world. i'm positive it has nothing to do with 99-cent double cheeseburgers at mcdonald's ... it has to be the overpriced cookies that everyone buys a box of once a year. i don't care who you are. yesterday, melissa told me that she bought two boxes and doesn't even like them. why did she buy them? because mike's daughter was selling them and she wanted to help her beat the girl who sold the most last year.
let's face it. the true girl scout cookie era came to an end with the death of trefoils. that's a fact.
so, why do we continue to buy? well, for the same reason that melissa does: it's a competition; because everyone at the office has a daughter, and you don't want to leave anyone out; because it's your civic duty; because they're just so cute standing outside the grocery store. will you eat all the cookies you end up with before they go stale? of course not. will you care? of course not.
one solution to this apparently rampant problem is to ask the scouts to sell key chains on an annual basis. i have a keychain. i've been using it for 4 years. i imagine i'll need a new one in 2017.
the idea i'd like to propose is a meeting. with nabisco. how do they sell gazillions of oreo's each year without being told that they should rethink its ingredients and turn it into a zipper pull?
seriously, think of how much healthier our nation would be, not to mention how much thinner, if nilla wafers were dryer sheets, nutter butters were clothes pins, fig newtons were fly swatters, and oreo's were zipper pulls. just ask lands' end ... they may be choking hazards, but they have almost no sugar.
March 18, 2005
it's probably too late
i've said it before and i'll say it again ... and again ... and probably again: i don't know what's wrong with me.
i want to take the new SAT.
come on! it has an essay and you don't have to do those vocabulary analogies anymore.
472. aluminum: gravy; tolerance: _________
a. szechuan
b. anemia
c. platitude
d. france
e. ebay
this might be the extra push i need to get into the business of writing random essays and selling them on the internet to high school graduate hopefuls ... or to anyone who wants to buy them ... i'm not picky about audience.
according to cnn.com, one of the SAT questions you might get saddled with asks if creativity has a place in a contemporary world. holy hell! what are high schools teaching if anyone says "no"? i could totally write an essay about that in 25 minutes. i'm on the verge, actually. but i'll refrain. i'm sure you're not interested in my views on creativity. rather, you could probably guess them if you've known me for any length of time. 15 minutes qualifies as a length of time.
so! is that where i've been all this time? investigating the moral repercussions of selling my writing to high school students? nah. i've been doing things that are moderately less morally reprehensible than that. i've mostly been "working from home" and plotting the demise of a so-called "doctor."
to be perfectly honest, when i say "working from home" what i really mean is: working from home. i actually got a lot done last month from the comfort of my own kitchen ... with dial-up nonetheless! and you'd be surprised at the number of afternoons i spent at home without watching days of our lives. i don’t even know what those crazy salemites are up to anymore.
has philip been killed in iraq, enabling belle and shawn to get back together? is john a complete junkie or has he kicked it? is jack off the fishing boat? is mrs. h. still alive?
however, you might be a little less surprised to know how many afternoons i spent listening to back-to-back episodes of the family feud.
richard says, "name a talent you wish you had." and the woman says "communication."
how disturbing do i find that? let's just say i could write an essay.
i want to take the new SAT.
come on! it has an essay and you don't have to do those vocabulary analogies anymore.
472. aluminum: gravy; tolerance: _________
a. szechuan
b. anemia
c. platitude
d. france
e. ebay
this might be the extra push i need to get into the business of writing random essays and selling them on the internet to high school graduate hopefuls ... or to anyone who wants to buy them ... i'm not picky about audience.
according to cnn.com, one of the SAT questions you might get saddled with asks if creativity has a place in a contemporary world. holy hell! what are high schools teaching if anyone says "no"? i could totally write an essay about that in 25 minutes. i'm on the verge, actually. but i'll refrain. i'm sure you're not interested in my views on creativity. rather, you could probably guess them if you've known me for any length of time. 15 minutes qualifies as a length of time.
so! is that where i've been all this time? investigating the moral repercussions of selling my writing to high school students? nah. i've been doing things that are moderately less morally reprehensible than that. i've mostly been "working from home" and plotting the demise of a so-called "doctor."
to be perfectly honest, when i say "working from home" what i really mean is: working from home. i actually got a lot done last month from the comfort of my own kitchen ... with dial-up nonetheless! and you'd be surprised at the number of afternoons i spent at home without watching days of our lives. i don’t even know what those crazy salemites are up to anymore.
has philip been killed in iraq, enabling belle and shawn to get back together? is john a complete junkie or has he kicked it? is jack off the fishing boat? is mrs. h. still alive?
however, you might be a little less surprised to know how many afternoons i spent listening to back-to-back episodes of the family feud.
richard says, "name a talent you wish you had." and the woman says "communication."
how disturbing do i find that? let's just say i could write an essay.
February 16, 2005
one of those things that's always been there; that you've read only a few times
The one absolutely unselfish friend
that man can have in this selfish world,
the one that never deserts him,
the one that never proves ungrateful
or treacherous . . . . . is his dog.
A man's dog stands by him
in prosperity and poverty,
in health and sickness.
He will sleep on the cold ground
where the wintry winds blow
and the snow drives fiercely,
if only he may be near his master's side.
He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer;
he will lick the wounds and sores that come
in encounter with the roughness of the world.
He guards the sleep of his pauper master
as if he were a prince.
When all other friends desert he remains.
When riches take wings
and reputation falls to pieces,
he is as constant in his love
as the sun in its journey through the heavens.
-Senator Vest
that man can have in this selfish world,
the one that never deserts him,
the one that never proves ungrateful
or treacherous . . . . . is his dog.
A man's dog stands by him
in prosperity and poverty,
in health and sickness.
He will sleep on the cold ground
where the wintry winds blow
and the snow drives fiercely,
if only he may be near his master's side.
He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer;
he will lick the wounds and sores that come
in encounter with the roughness of the world.
He guards the sleep of his pauper master
as if he were a prince.
When all other friends desert he remains.
When riches take wings
and reputation falls to pieces,
he is as constant in his love
as the sun in its journey through the heavens.
-Senator Vest
February 6, 2005
February 2, 2005
all the glamour has gone out of groundhog day
when i was young(er), getting up before the sun to get your place in front of the TV on february 2nd was nearly as exciting as getting up before the sun to rip into your christmas presents. we spent most of the week prior to the 2nd learning about which months coincided with which seasons, watching national geographic specials about rodents, and being quizzed on pennsylvania geography. most of us never really internalized the lesson about the seasons because we didn't understand autumn, nor did we realize that spring was supposedly longer than just the month of may. we colored pictures that cast an ominous brown pall on the hallways. there were some spots of yellow, as some kids were more optimistic than others.
by the time we reached high school, the decorations were gone and only a few people still reset their alarms that morning. but pretty much the first thing everyone said as they crossed the threshold into the lobby or stepped on the bus was, “did anybody see?” and someone always had. by the last stop, everyone on board answered in unison.
news of a shadow was followed by a smug nod. it was expected. status quo. convo over. time for homeroom. the principal announced Phil’s decision before the moment of silence and the pledge to the flag. most teachers gave consideration to the day in their lesson plans, letting students have the time to discuss the implications of even more winter. by the time we got home, Phil’s picture was all over the news, which we watched as the sky darkened from grey to black at 6 ... and remained black at 11.
college days meant the return to elementary anticipation. dorms and apartments were decorated with spotlights, stuffed groundhogs, and piles of [out of the ordinary] dirt. mascots that you didn’t realize were affiliated with the school appeared, and there was drinking. lots of drinking. sure, there’s always drinking in college (i don’t think i gave anything away there), but on what other eve can you watch bill murray movies and get trashed because of words like “shadow” and “weeks.” if you're michael, that's normal, but for the rest of us, it wouldn’t mean as much.
the die hard groundhog day fans skipped all of their classes in the first week of february to go to punxsutawney and experience the event up close. for many pennsylvanians this excursion is the equivalent of a that of a trout upstream.
last year on groundhog day i was … well, at work and didn’t even think about it until the 4th. you’d think that after 22 straight years of firsthand lore, i would have at least remembered. not so.
if nothing else, five southern winters have taught me one thing: no one here gives a damn about groundhog day. you’re lucky to find someone who knows what a groundhog even is and they scrunch their eyebrows at you if you say “punxsutawney.” winter is barely six weeks long to begin with, and the mere threat of six more weeks of it would undoubtedly close schools, empty grocery stores, and fill hospitals.
the news does a lot of “how to beat cabin fever” reports, most often in december and january when it’s been overcast for three, maybe four, days in a row. but they’ve never experienced a solid three months of grey skies and snow plows … when it’s dusk all day.
of course northerners are disappointed when Phil predicts six more weeks of winter year after year after year after year. but he never delivers bad news. he either proclaims an early spring, or guarantees an end to winter.
only six more weeks. thank god.
by the time we reached high school, the decorations were gone and only a few people still reset their alarms that morning. but pretty much the first thing everyone said as they crossed the threshold into the lobby or stepped on the bus was, “did anybody see?” and someone always had. by the last stop, everyone on board answered in unison.
news of a shadow was followed by a smug nod. it was expected. status quo. convo over. time for homeroom. the principal announced Phil’s decision before the moment of silence and the pledge to the flag. most teachers gave consideration to the day in their lesson plans, letting students have the time to discuss the implications of even more winter. by the time we got home, Phil’s picture was all over the news, which we watched as the sky darkened from grey to black at 6 ... and remained black at 11.
college days meant the return to elementary anticipation. dorms and apartments were decorated with spotlights, stuffed groundhogs, and piles of [out of the ordinary] dirt. mascots that you didn’t realize were affiliated with the school appeared, and there was drinking. lots of drinking. sure, there’s always drinking in college (i don’t think i gave anything away there), but on what other eve can you watch bill murray movies and get trashed because of words like “shadow” and “weeks.” if you're michael, that's normal, but for the rest of us, it wouldn’t mean as much.
the die hard groundhog day fans skipped all of their classes in the first week of february to go to punxsutawney and experience the event up close. for many pennsylvanians this excursion is the equivalent of a that of a trout upstream.
last year on groundhog day i was … well, at work and didn’t even think about it until the 4th. you’d think that after 22 straight years of firsthand lore, i would have at least remembered. not so.
if nothing else, five southern winters have taught me one thing: no one here gives a damn about groundhog day. you’re lucky to find someone who knows what a groundhog even is and they scrunch their eyebrows at you if you say “punxsutawney.” winter is barely six weeks long to begin with, and the mere threat of six more weeks of it would undoubtedly close schools, empty grocery stores, and fill hospitals.
the news does a lot of “how to beat cabin fever” reports, most often in december and january when it’s been overcast for three, maybe four, days in a row. but they’ve never experienced a solid three months of grey skies and snow plows … when it’s dusk all day.
of course northerners are disappointed when Phil predicts six more weeks of winter year after year after year after year. but he never delivers bad news. he either proclaims an early spring, or guarantees an end to winter.
only six more weeks. thank god.
January 31, 2005
why weight?
imagine being 14 again.
let's see ... yikes! i was very early in my awkward stage (as that was a period that started when i was 11 and ended ... well, let's just say i've made it to the fringes), i was a freshman in high school, may or may not have had what was left of a perm, and was paying mandy to bring my books to 8th period because she was closer to my locker after 7th.
on second thought, i wasn't paying mandy to do that. she was always borrowing money from me (for drugs or something, i don't know), so that was how she repaid me. a nice little arrangement.
what else? i was no longer in band because i never practiced, and that consistent C (even tho i was first chair, go figure) was bringing me down. also, even with a perm i was cooler than band; however, at 14, i wasn't cooler than chorus. was that the year i had to stand up in front of the whole group and sing with Regional Chorus Val? how embarrassing.
anyway! now that we all remember what it was like to be 14, let's remember what it was like to bring home a report card. sometimes good, sometimes bad. fortunately we always got an A in chorus. math-related subjects were a different story. here's something fun:
arkansas and (soon-to-be) texas not only send home normal your-son-is-failing-world-cultures-because-he-refuses-to-tie-his-shoes-with-square-knots report cards, but they also send home additional your-daughter-is-brilliant-but-come-on-she-really-needs-to-lay-off-the-twinkies report cards.
fabulous!
one texas mother didn't realize that her 12-year-old was one hundred (100!) pounds overweight until the school sent a note home to tell her and until she saw her child's weight printed on her report card ... next to her GPA.
you probably can’t tell just by looking at him that jimmy is failing algebra 2. you might even be one of jimmy’s parents and have no idea until the mark comes home and you have to get out the belt. however, if you were a responsible parent, you’d be fully aware of his progress, and as such might not even need the belt.
regardless of the belt situation, if you were a responsible parent, you’d also know (even if it’s just on a hunch) that he would be healthier if he dropped a few pounds. he is a kid, after all, and not all kids get their clothes from the big and tall stores.
i'm all for health class and gym class (except for when i wanted to take spanish 4 but wasn’t allowed b/c of gym … but it all worked out … i can’t speak spanish anyway) and kicking mcdonald’s and taco bell and pepsi machines out of school cafeterias for the sake of implementing healthy eating programs so that we [adults who are charged with caring for the young folk] are serving something other than grease, lard, and sugar every day.
i'm not so much in favor of having mandatory weigh-ins at report card time. do we really think it’s going to do anything other than lower self-confidence and promote bullying? i think we all want to be healthy and happy and comfortable with our self images, but who’s responsible for achieving and maintaining that? is it the government? for real.
and! who’s going to decide and enforce what everyone should weigh? will this be spilling into the private sector as well, or does the government just want to control the kids? will i be fired one day for not meeting my weight goals despite my exceptional project delivery?
i want to be a governor. i want to ignore stuff like crime rates and unemployment in order to focus my attention on your percentage of body fat. once i have that program in place, i want to make sure another important law is passed: the one that says i can fine you for wearing your pants in such a way that everyone can see your underwear … $50 a pop, baby. where's that belt now?
let's see ... yikes! i was very early in my awkward stage (as that was a period that started when i was 11 and ended ... well, let's just say i've made it to the fringes), i was a freshman in high school, may or may not have had what was left of a perm, and was paying mandy to bring my books to 8th period because she was closer to my locker after 7th.
on second thought, i wasn't paying mandy to do that. she was always borrowing money from me (for drugs or something, i don't know), so that was how she repaid me. a nice little arrangement.
what else? i was no longer in band because i never practiced, and that consistent C (even tho i was first chair, go figure) was bringing me down. also, even with a perm i was cooler than band; however, at 14, i wasn't cooler than chorus. was that the year i had to stand up in front of the whole group and sing with Regional Chorus Val? how embarrassing.
anyway! now that we all remember what it was like to be 14, let's remember what it was like to bring home a report card. sometimes good, sometimes bad. fortunately we always got an A in chorus. math-related subjects were a different story. here's something fun:
arkansas and (soon-to-be) texas not only send home normal your-son-is-failing-world-cultures-because-he-refuses-to-tie-his-shoes-with-square-knots report cards, but they also send home additional your-daughter-is-brilliant-but-come-on-she-really-needs-to-lay-off-the-twinkies report cards.
fabulous!
one texas mother didn't realize that her 12-year-old was one hundred (100!) pounds overweight until the school sent a note home to tell her and until she saw her child's weight printed on her report card ... next to her GPA.
you probably can’t tell just by looking at him that jimmy is failing algebra 2. you might even be one of jimmy’s parents and have no idea until the mark comes home and you have to get out the belt. however, if you were a responsible parent, you’d be fully aware of his progress, and as such might not even need the belt.
regardless of the belt situation, if you were a responsible parent, you’d also know (even if it’s just on a hunch) that he would be healthier if he dropped a few pounds. he is a kid, after all, and not all kids get their clothes from the big and tall stores.
i'm all for health class and gym class (except for when i wanted to take spanish 4 but wasn’t allowed b/c of gym … but it all worked out … i can’t speak spanish anyway) and kicking mcdonald’s and taco bell and pepsi machines out of school cafeterias for the sake of implementing healthy eating programs so that we [adults who are charged with caring for the young folk] are serving something other than grease, lard, and sugar every day.
i'm not so much in favor of having mandatory weigh-ins at report card time. do we really think it’s going to do anything other than lower self-confidence and promote bullying? i think we all want to be healthy and happy and comfortable with our self images, but who’s responsible for achieving and maintaining that? is it the government? for real.
and! who’s going to decide and enforce what everyone should weigh? will this be spilling into the private sector as well, or does the government just want to control the kids? will i be fired one day for not meeting my weight goals despite my exceptional project delivery?
i want to be a governor. i want to ignore stuff like crime rates and unemployment in order to focus my attention on your percentage of body fat. once i have that program in place, i want to make sure another important law is passed: the one that says i can fine you for wearing your pants in such a way that everyone can see your underwear … $50 a pop, baby. where's that belt now?
January 27, 2005
January 24, 2005
carpe dumb
it was a 9 a.m. meeting on my first day back to work after having attended two days of training. the room was filled to capacity with high-powered managers who really had nothing in particular to say to me (likewise), and i was concentrating on keeping my stomach from growling since i'd managed to hit snooze three too many times.
then my neck started to itch. right at the nape. when i turned to either my right or left, as i feigned paying attention to what everyone was saying, the itching intensified. i rolled my turtleneck down a bit to scratch the affected area and came to a horrifying conclusion.
you can imagine my shock at realizing 20 minutes into a 60-minute meeting that my shirt was on backwards. those were 40 of the longest minutes ever.
talk about unknowingly doing something stupid.
at least i didn't drive a 4-inch nail into my brain and cease to realize it until 6 days later at the dentist.
apparently everyone hears about these things before i do. maybe i need to start keeping a current events journal. regardless, i couldn't just let this one slip by unnoticed.
so there you are at work ... working ... when all of a sudden, and unbeknownst to you, a renegade nail flies into your mouth, through it's roof, and plants itself neatly beside your eye. when you decide ice cream isn't helping the pain, you see a professional.
i don't know what kind of preoccupation would keep me from noticing that. maybe i'm being chased by a pack of ravenous hyenas, maybe denise is telling me that the elton john concert is sold out and we don't have tickets (but we do now ... that was close ... too close), or maybe i'm trying to figure out that worthless printer on the third floor ... yeah, the one that never works and has been kicked more than a few times by more than a few people. all of that requires some serious concentration that might make me oblivious to the fact that i've just jammed a sharp piece of metal into my head.
but seriously, workplace injuries are no laughing matter. one time, i gave myself a nasty paper cut just below the nail of my left thumb. i didn't notice it until i washed my hands and got all kinds of soap in it. and then it kept opening every time i hit the space bar. how i got that one, i'll never know ... but i do pay a lot more attention to the paper products at my desk now. i'm just glad that trauma is behind me.
then my neck started to itch. right at the nape. when i turned to either my right or left, as i feigned paying attention to what everyone was saying, the itching intensified. i rolled my turtleneck down a bit to scratch the affected area and came to a horrifying conclusion.
you can imagine my shock at realizing 20 minutes into a 60-minute meeting that my shirt was on backwards. those were 40 of the longest minutes ever.
talk about unknowingly doing something stupid.
at least i didn't drive a 4-inch nail into my brain and cease to realize it until 6 days later at the dentist.
apparently everyone hears about these things before i do. maybe i need to start keeping a current events journal. regardless, i couldn't just let this one slip by unnoticed.
so there you are at work ... working ... when all of a sudden, and unbeknownst to you, a renegade nail flies into your mouth, through it's roof, and plants itself neatly beside your eye. when you decide ice cream isn't helping the pain, you see a professional.
i don't know what kind of preoccupation would keep me from noticing that. maybe i'm being chased by a pack of ravenous hyenas, maybe denise is telling me that the elton john concert is sold out and we don't have tickets (but we do now ... that was close ... too close), or maybe i'm trying to figure out that worthless printer on the third floor ... yeah, the one that never works and has been kicked more than a few times by more than a few people. all of that requires some serious concentration that might make me oblivious to the fact that i've just jammed a sharp piece of metal into my head.
but seriously, workplace injuries are no laughing matter. one time, i gave myself a nasty paper cut just below the nail of my left thumb. i didn't notice it until i washed my hands and got all kinds of soap in it. and then it kept opening every time i hit the space bar. how i got that one, i'll never know ... but i do pay a lot more attention to the paper products at my desk now. i'm just glad that trauma is behind me.
January 16, 2005
i told you i was uneducated
i'm going to go out on a limb here and give you my uneducated opinion on a news headline i heard in passing.
the spotsylvania county school board (i know, doesn't it already sound like a joke?) will vote sometime in the near future on repealing the rule that requires children to stand during the recitation of the pledge of allegiance. (now it _really_ sounds like a joke.)
for crying out loud. i feel bad for the pledge. i picture it as the bill sitting on the steps of capitol hill waiting to be passed into law ... you know, he's sitting there all alone with his elbows on his knees looking lost and forlorn. but we've all seen the cartoon and know that it ends with him being passed and getting the big gold presidential seal. what schoolhouse rock never showed us was what happened after the bill was passed. sure, it was a party for a while, but sooner or later, the bill suffered the same fate as the pledge and as a result they go to the bar every friday to vent about it. denise and i see them sometimes. they buy us drinks.
first, the atheists wanted to get rid of "under god," and i'm sure they're still fighting. those arguments never stop, and frankly, it's making the treasury department a little touchy. maybe it would just be easier for the atheists who (and here's more of my uneducation) are probably outnumbered to not say those words when they're pledging their allegiance. maybe they could just take a split-second breather and use that time to get over being sensitive to a prepositional phrase. or if they don't like that, they could replace the word "god" with something they do believe in.
it can't be anything ethereal that requires faith or the like ... how about "the ozone layer" ... but, no, that's are pretty intangible. i mean, how do we know for sure that it exists? and if we don't know that ... how could it possibly have a hole in it. that's preposterous. we're going to have to go with "orion." the greeks saw him. or maybe it was the romans. and i can see him. so he must exist. problem solved. money saved.
now, spotsylvanians don't want to stand. alright, that might be a little general. i haven't personally interviewed all of the spotsylvanians, so for the sake of uneducated specificity i'll just say that some spotsylvanian brat refuses to stand up during the pledge and instead of parenting him, his parents are bothering the government about it. sounds harsh, but it's the american way. besides, if i wanted to find out about spotsylvanian standing customs, i'd go to one of their wal-marts and see how many people are unnecessarily driving those little carts. i don't have the time or patience for that.
maybe what we should do is tell the parents to take a running jump and then ensure the child is attending his history, civics, and/or social studies classes rather than hanging out at mcdonald's. mcdonad's isn't going to teach him about patriotism and integrity. apparently neither are his parents. if my school had called my parents to tell them that i was refusing to stand up during the pledge, i'm guessing i'd show up to school the next day with no choice but to stand. for the whole day. (hi mom!) maybe mom should make a trip to spotsylvania.
ok, i just read the article. all the kid wants to do is sit quietly and respectfully ... but i think we all know he's just copying someone's homework.
the spotsylvania county school board (i know, doesn't it already sound like a joke?) will vote sometime in the near future on repealing the rule that requires children to stand during the recitation of the pledge of allegiance. (now it _really_ sounds like a joke.)
for crying out loud. i feel bad for the pledge. i picture it as the bill sitting on the steps of capitol hill waiting to be passed into law ... you know, he's sitting there all alone with his elbows on his knees looking lost and forlorn. but we've all seen the cartoon and know that it ends with him being passed and getting the big gold presidential seal. what schoolhouse rock never showed us was what happened after the bill was passed. sure, it was a party for a while, but sooner or later, the bill suffered the same fate as the pledge and as a result they go to the bar every friday to vent about it. denise and i see them sometimes. they buy us drinks.
first, the atheists wanted to get rid of "under god," and i'm sure they're still fighting. those arguments never stop, and frankly, it's making the treasury department a little touchy. maybe it would just be easier for the atheists who (and here's more of my uneducation) are probably outnumbered to not say those words when they're pledging their allegiance. maybe they could just take a split-second breather and use that time to get over being sensitive to a prepositional phrase. or if they don't like that, they could replace the word "god" with something they do believe in.
it can't be anything ethereal that requires faith or the like ... how about "the ozone layer" ... but, no, that's are pretty intangible. i mean, how do we know for sure that it exists? and if we don't know that ... how could it possibly have a hole in it. that's preposterous. we're going to have to go with "orion." the greeks saw him. or maybe it was the romans. and i can see him. so he must exist. problem solved. money saved.
now, spotsylvanians don't want to stand. alright, that might be a little general. i haven't personally interviewed all of the spotsylvanians, so for the sake of uneducated specificity i'll just say that some spotsylvanian brat refuses to stand up during the pledge and instead of parenting him, his parents are bothering the government about it. sounds harsh, but it's the american way. besides, if i wanted to find out about spotsylvanian standing customs, i'd go to one of their wal-marts and see how many people are unnecessarily driving those little carts. i don't have the time or patience for that.
maybe what we should do is tell the parents to take a running jump and then ensure the child is attending his history, civics, and/or social studies classes rather than hanging out at mcdonald's. mcdonad's isn't going to teach him about patriotism and integrity. apparently neither are his parents. if my school had called my parents to tell them that i was refusing to stand up during the pledge, i'm guessing i'd show up to school the next day with no choice but to stand. for the whole day. (hi mom!) maybe mom should make a trip to spotsylvania.
ok, i just read the article. all the kid wants to do is sit quietly and respectfully ... but i think we all know he's just copying someone's homework.
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