I've asked for my own votes at the homeschool blog awards, and I've voted for some folks that deserve to win. For the most part, I'm not one to worry too much about other people. They can ask for their own votes.
Today I've decided to do things differently. You must believe it's not just the twins that are currently winning driving me to do this because I don't really even know any of these people. I know I likely shouldn't say it, but I wasn't aware that a blog and a link farm were the same thing, but I digress. Oh sure, they do have all those Bible verses, but they didn't write that shit either, and I'd wager they didn't even type it out. They probably just copied and pasted from the eBible, the little savages. Damn I can't stop digressing. Sorry, sometimes things just get to you, like a little piece of wood under a fingernail.
Cocking a Snook Too actually deserves to win the category the twins are leading in, the best teen homeschooling blog. She writes and writes well. She doesn't seem to have to reduce herself to artful cursery like I do, even if she does seem to have olive oil issues. Which, if she reads this, go with extra virgin first cold press. Those are the only words you need to know.
The boys need lunch, and I need a smoke, and I'm ending the plea with whatever you call that last little bit of push, like the NPR folks sounding a little desperate as the hour ends. Click homeschool blog award, then vote for Cocking a Snook Too. Don't take my word for it though. Visit the blog and see for yourself.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
hands, ass and flashlight
Perhaps some of you out there haven't heard the phrase, "he couldn't find his asshole with both hands and a flashlight." Well, that's the award I feel I've proven I've won. Thank you Chris for having answered my question the first time. Thank you Audrey for offering your help. Thanks to me for begging for the help that I shouldn't have needed if I'd but taken the time, used both the looking parts and the thinking parts at the same time. The ol' gray matter just aint what she used to be. I need a bath and a beer.
Of course part of me, the part that sat here clicking and copying and pasting and repasting and recopying and cutting and previewing and being astounded when simple things work even when you try to make them hard, yeah, that part nearly giggle at the damn thing working as if I'd solved some real problem. And through the little bit of a feeling of accomplishment I have to admit that it's really not my own fault.
So it's done. The Evolved Homeschooler logo links to the wiki. Click it and go, but don't bother going to my page. It just links back here for something that didn't make sense the first time around or wasn't ever funny anyway. Either way, it works and I need to get the hell away form the computer.
Thanks again Chris and Audrey, and I can see you sitting there shaking your heads at me. Dude, it's all hard for me, so at least keep the "laughing at" to yourselves while I pretend it's "laughing with" that I keep hearing.
Of course part of me, the part that sat here clicking and copying and pasting and repasting and recopying and cutting and previewing and being astounded when simple things work even when you try to make them hard, yeah, that part nearly giggle at the damn thing working as if I'd solved some real problem. And through the little bit of a feeling of accomplishment I have to admit that it's really not my own fault.
So it's done. The Evolved Homeschooler logo links to the wiki. Click it and go, but don't bother going to my page. It just links back here for something that didn't make sense the first time around or wasn't ever funny anyway. Either way, it works and I need to get the hell away form the computer.
Thanks again Chris and Audrey, and I can see you sitting there shaking your heads at me. Dude, it's all hard for me, so at least keep the "laughing at" to yourselves while I pretend it's "laughing with" that I keep hearing.
help? somebody?
Will you look at that? I seem to be an evolved homeschooler, and I'm certain I couldn't be happier. Sadly this is as close a description of my beliefs as is possible to approach with a homemade logo. There wasn't one explaining how I honor the unholy power of Yog Sothoth and how I quake in fear at the thought that one day the blood of mankind will warm the throats of the old ones. It also doesn't say anything about the stock pile of armaments I'm amassing to be ready for Armageddon, you know, sort of my own death bed confessional but with less confession and more going to get mine.
None of that really matters at this moment. I have a real life emergency here. I'm talking about my inability to fix or even understand computery type things. Sure, when Blogger makes it stupid easy for folks like me, with a couple quick strokes of the mouse, to set up such a fancy blog with all the gewgaws stuffed in and hanging out the edges a little. I imagine I did in fact need another thing, so I got it.
I actually sent Chris a private message trying to figure out what I was doing since he's the one nice enough to set up the wiki that gives us all that much more room to play. I think maybe he wasn't able to read my mind and answer the question I meant to ask, so rather than bother him with it again, I'll toss it here and reward the first person to help me.
As is plain to all, I can easily right click and save as. I can even go into the guts of my blog and add a page element that includes that lovely little logo. What I can't seem to figure now is how to make it a link to the Evolved Homeschoolers wiki. Did you know about that? It's true, an honest to fuck wiki for homeschoolers that don't give all the credit to interstellar entities but allow for sciencey learning as well. I'm not saying there are no interstellar beings, just that you can only credit one with so much having done before the rest of them start to get jealous and wanting their own piece of the pie.
None of that really matters at this moment. I have a real life emergency here. I'm talking about my inability to fix or even understand computery type things. Sure, when Blogger makes it stupid easy for folks like me, with a couple quick strokes of the mouse, to set up such a fancy blog with all the gewgaws stuffed in and hanging out the edges a little. I imagine I did in fact need another thing, so I got it.
I actually sent Chris a private message trying to figure out what I was doing since he's the one nice enough to set up the wiki that gives us all that much more room to play. I think maybe he wasn't able to read my mind and answer the question I meant to ask, so rather than bother him with it again, I'll toss it here and reward the first person to help me.
As is plain to all, I can easily right click and save as. I can even go into the guts of my blog and add a page element that includes that lovely little logo. What I can't seem to figure now is how to make it a link to the Evolved Homeschoolers wiki. Did you know about that? It's true, an honest to fuck wiki for homeschoolers that don't give all the credit to interstellar entities but allow for sciencey learning as well. I'm not saying there are no interstellar beings, just that you can only credit one with so much having done before the rest of them start to get jealous and wanting their own piece of the pie.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
how cool are we?
Backing out of the driveway, heading to the stop sign and the right turn, on our way to soccer practice and looking for something to listen to. This conversation proves that I'm doing something right with my kids.
me-hmm, I think we were listening to The Pietasters on our way to practice last week, and that's sounding good to me
Big Brother-I wouldn't really like to listen to The Pietasters.
me-okay, there's plenty of music here. What sounds good? Phyllis Dillon? Motorhead?
Big Brother-I'd like to listen to Motorhead.
The Boy-MOTORHEAD
me-I can't argue with that.
That was then however and we are back home and we are now listening to Thomas the Tank Engine music which The Boy requested. He has been in the bath for several minutes at this point, and I still haven't stopped it. I also haven't stopped singing along.
me-hmm, I think we were listening to The Pietasters on our way to practice last week, and that's sounding good to me
Big Brother-I wouldn't really like to listen to The Pietasters.
me-okay, there's plenty of music here. What sounds good? Phyllis Dillon? Motorhead?
Big Brother-I'd like to listen to Motorhead.
The Boy-MOTORHEAD
me-I can't argue with that.
That was then however and we are back home and we are now listening to Thomas the Tank Engine music which The Boy requested. He has been in the bath for several minutes at this point, and I still haven't stopped it. I also haven't stopped singing along.
Monday, April 09, 2007
award me
It's got to at least be good for shits and giggles, though I have to admit that I could write at least a little more about homeschooling. Perhaps the whole writing about part doesn't quite matter, just that I both homeschool and blog.
Either way, some kind soul was nice enough to nominate me for a Homeschool Blog award. I certainly appreciate that, but I must at the same time admit that I realize how unlikely it is I'll win. I just know homeschoolers too well I think.
I don't agree with the stereotype of homeschooler, though I do admit that the stereotype exists because there is some truth to it. I know it exists when I compare the number of members of my local group with the other local group, the one that does care how you approach matters of personal faith.
With all my expecting not to win, even through the absolute faith I have in me not winning, I still kind of want to win. There is certainly the majority of me that doesn't care, but that little sliver of hope rests quietly, almost unseen because I've buried it so deep under my facade of indifference.
This post all comes down to a plea for votes. If I'm elected, I will not raise taxes, nor will I repeal any blue laws. I won't promise to fund the schools or straighten up congress. What I will do if I win is sort of almost nearly exactly like what I've been doing.
So vote for me. If I win I will continue to write posts with the single minded purpose of making you the reader piss a little in your pants while laughing, a little uncomfortably I hope.
For all our differences we all homeschool and put our pants on one leg at a time. Some of us wear denim jumpers which is like jeans with one big leg for both your legs, and I don't know if you just step into a denim jumper or pull it down over your head. If it's over the head then both legs enter as one, unless you only have one leg, so that defeats the purpose of the "one leg at a time" homily.
Anyway, find me under the following categories, Most Powerful Erection, Most Colorful Use of Language Unsuitable For Human Ears, and Blogger Who Most Misguidedly Thinks Highly of Him/Herself. Vote early and vote often. Roll out your Tammany Hall style machine to push me all the way to the top.
UPDATE: I hopped quickly through the list of other nominated blogs that were nominated under "humorous" and I just have to say that if I don't beat everyone there by a margin of at least 100 to one then the word humorous doesn't mean at all what I thought it did. I'm not trying to be rude (I actually am) or anything, I'm just saying.
Either way, some kind soul was nice enough to nominate me for a Homeschool Blog award. I certainly appreciate that, but I must at the same time admit that I realize how unlikely it is I'll win. I just know homeschoolers too well I think.
I don't agree with the stereotype of homeschooler, though I do admit that the stereotype exists because there is some truth to it. I know it exists when I compare the number of members of my local group with the other local group, the one that does care how you approach matters of personal faith.
With all my expecting not to win, even through the absolute faith I have in me not winning, I still kind of want to win. There is certainly the majority of me that doesn't care, but that little sliver of hope rests quietly, almost unseen because I've buried it so deep under my facade of indifference.
This post all comes down to a plea for votes. If I'm elected, I will not raise taxes, nor will I repeal any blue laws. I won't promise to fund the schools or straighten up congress. What I will do if I win is sort of almost nearly exactly like what I've been doing.
So vote for me. If I win I will continue to write posts with the single minded purpose of making you the reader piss a little in your pants while laughing, a little uncomfortably I hope.
For all our differences we all homeschool and put our pants on one leg at a time. Some of us wear denim jumpers which is like jeans with one big leg for both your legs, and I don't know if you just step into a denim jumper or pull it down over your head. If it's over the head then both legs enter as one, unless you only have one leg, so that defeats the purpose of the "one leg at a time" homily.
Anyway, find me under the following categories, Most Powerful Erection, Most Colorful Use of Language Unsuitable For Human Ears, and Blogger Who Most Misguidedly Thinks Highly of Him/Herself. Vote early and vote often. Roll out your Tammany Hall style machine to push me all the way to the top.
UPDATE: I hopped quickly through the list of other nominated blogs that were nominated under "humorous" and I just have to say that if I don't beat everyone there by a margin of at least 100 to one then the word humorous doesn't mean at all what I thought it did. I'm not trying to be rude (I actually am) or anything, I'm just saying.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
wowzers
Because I haven't done it in a while. If you know this song, then you probably need to hear it again anyway. If you don't know this song, then you are being underserved in your musical listening. The Flaming Lips a great band. You might remember them from a random hit they might have had, but that shouldn't be the only reason you remember these guys. They are more than that one song you almost remember.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
unfinished as of yet
I tend not to post about books while I'm reading them. I've considered it before as I read over a random bit of prose that just seems especially well crafted, those hidden nuggets that you can hardly find later when your wife wonders aloud about the book you're reading.
We seem to have a fair crop of authors who've graced the town I live in. There must be a certain something that seems to seep into certain people and bring out something good in them. It might just be the bit of smog that seems to get stuck here in our valley.
Suttree is so far as I can tell a story about a guy named Suttree, though some kid named Gene Harrogate keeps showing up. I'm not too deep in the story just yet, and I don't plan to comment beyond the following quote. It's one of those that made me stop reading for a second, sort of double take and reread.
We seem to have a fair crop of authors who've graced the town I live in. There must be a certain something that seems to seep into certain people and bring out something good in them. It might just be the bit of smog that seems to get stuck here in our valley.
Suttree is so far as I can tell a story about a guy named Suttree, though some kid named Gene Harrogate keeps showing up. I'm not too deep in the story just yet, and I don't plan to comment beyond the following quote. It's one of those that made me stop reading for a second, sort of double take and reread.
Foreign stars in the night down there. A whole new astronomy. Mensa, Musca, the Chameleon. Austral constellations nigh unknown to northern folks. Wrinkling, fading, through the cold black waters. As he rocks in his rusty pannier to the sea's floor in a drifting stain of guano. What family has no mariner in its tree? No fool, no felon. No fisherman.from Suttree, by Cormac McCarthy
Friday, April 06, 2007
it better have
"It's stopped snowing," said Momma, peeking through the front window.
"It better have," I answer, not sure what the unspoken "or else" might have been. It was only about an hour ago that the snow started to fall and I was threatening whoever the hell thought that shit up.
Tonight gave us in my li'l town a little of the ol' wtf. I noticed it much earlier in the evening as I drove home from a little shopping jaunt. It was a late night jaunt to the food co-op for coffee, milk and half and half. I'd just passed the lutheran church. I'd laughed at them on my way to the store as they stood outside with their feelings, the spotlights making day of the trio of crosses, a black scarf across the center one as if we would forget which one had held Jesus, duh. Traveling away from the co-op minutes later, the only lutherans I saw were saddling up and heading home.
It was about this point that I swore I wasn't seeing snow. It's been a fairly windy night and ungodly cold the last few days. It had to just be some dust and dirt whipping in front of the wind across the road in front of me. But then I saw it again, not a lot, just little glimmers in the headlights. A quick look past the streetlights, still a little inconclusive, but mostly I just don't want to see snow even knowing by this point that it couldn't be anything else.
I finished my errands without spotting much else that would make me think it was snowing. I wanted so to doubt that I was seeing this infernal shit yet again this late in the year. I was snug and warm in the Carolinas when the blizzard of '93 hit this town, but having read the story and heard the story a few times, an April snow, even of the flurry variety is reason to think of grocery stores and a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread. Or more importantly, the flurry makes one think of extra six packs of beer and perhaps at least one extra pack of smokes.
I finally arrive home and whisper the dark vision to Momma. There was nothing but the cold and the weird clouds above to make one even consider the possibility. She decides to find the humor in the irony of this situation that for me only furrows my brow deeper, brings closer down those dark clouds.
Fast forward to an even later night cigarette, I'm bundled up to stand outside the back door, hating the cold and reading from my current book. What do I get for my efforts but a cold wind whipping what is certainly no longer a flurry. The snow is falling indeed and heavily enough that it's begun collecting on those places that first show the snow, the table on the back porch, the cars. Momma points out the surrealism of seeing this heavy (to us) snow while the trees are all sporting their fresh coats of leaves. The dogwoods are the white beauty we look for now, not that all forgiving blanket of snow.
It was a sight, the snow swirling now, the wind blasting it hard and cold now. It was disturbing and somewhat less than pleasant. I was so happy to wear shorts lately, almost looking forward to the yard work I never get around to. So happy that the kids won't be inside and underfoot quite so all the time. This stupid snow, for all its transience, puts one in a mood. It's the snow's damn fault too. It didn't have to come sneaking up on us.
And then Momma peeked out the front window and made her discovery known, the snow had stopped falling. My own peek confirmed this but also confirmed that for the date, it's still a damn lot of snow sitting on the ground. It better melt by the time my ass gets out of bed, or whoever thought an April snow would be okay is going to get my foot stuck up their ass up to my knee. Maybe if I was in a joking mood, but I'm just not right now, not with snow dammit.
"It better have," I answer, not sure what the unspoken "or else" might have been. It was only about an hour ago that the snow started to fall and I was threatening whoever the hell thought that shit up.
Tonight gave us in my li'l town a little of the ol' wtf. I noticed it much earlier in the evening as I drove home from a little shopping jaunt. It was a late night jaunt to the food co-op for coffee, milk and half and half. I'd just passed the lutheran church. I'd laughed at them on my way to the store as they stood outside with their feelings, the spotlights making day of the trio of crosses, a black scarf across the center one as if we would forget which one had held Jesus, duh. Traveling away from the co-op minutes later, the only lutherans I saw were saddling up and heading home.
It was about this point that I swore I wasn't seeing snow. It's been a fairly windy night and ungodly cold the last few days. It had to just be some dust and dirt whipping in front of the wind across the road in front of me. But then I saw it again, not a lot, just little glimmers in the headlights. A quick look past the streetlights, still a little inconclusive, but mostly I just don't want to see snow even knowing by this point that it couldn't be anything else.
I finished my errands without spotting much else that would make me think it was snowing. I wanted so to doubt that I was seeing this infernal shit yet again this late in the year. I was snug and warm in the Carolinas when the blizzard of '93 hit this town, but having read the story and heard the story a few times, an April snow, even of the flurry variety is reason to think of grocery stores and a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread. Or more importantly, the flurry makes one think of extra six packs of beer and perhaps at least one extra pack of smokes.
I finally arrive home and whisper the dark vision to Momma. There was nothing but the cold and the weird clouds above to make one even consider the possibility. She decides to find the humor in the irony of this situation that for me only furrows my brow deeper, brings closer down those dark clouds.
Fast forward to an even later night cigarette, I'm bundled up to stand outside the back door, hating the cold and reading from my current book. What do I get for my efforts but a cold wind whipping what is certainly no longer a flurry. The snow is falling indeed and heavily enough that it's begun collecting on those places that first show the snow, the table on the back porch, the cars. Momma points out the surrealism of seeing this heavy (to us) snow while the trees are all sporting their fresh coats of leaves. The dogwoods are the white beauty we look for now, not that all forgiving blanket of snow.
It was a sight, the snow swirling now, the wind blasting it hard and cold now. It was disturbing and somewhat less than pleasant. I was so happy to wear shorts lately, almost looking forward to the yard work I never get around to. So happy that the kids won't be inside and underfoot quite so all the time. This stupid snow, for all its transience, puts one in a mood. It's the snow's damn fault too. It didn't have to come sneaking up on us.
And then Momma peeked out the front window and made her discovery known, the snow had stopped falling. My own peek confirmed this but also confirmed that for the date, it's still a damn lot of snow sitting on the ground. It better melt by the time my ass gets out of bed, or whoever thought an April snow would be okay is going to get my foot stuck up their ass up to my knee. Maybe if I was in a joking mood, but I'm just not right now, not with snow dammit.
uuuggghhh . . . easter
Let it here be known that I hate Easter. I wouldn't trade a one inch square piece of a turd for Easter if you really want the truth. And it's not just the nonbeliever in me screaming and pouting about having to celebrate one more holiday that isn't really now what it originally was.
I can sort of understand some of the ancient concepts regarding spring time renewal/rebirth celebrations. In days when the animal skins we wore still looked like the animals they had once been, we were very happy to see the end of the deadly winter months. If nothing else the ground would finally thaw enough to bury all the babies that didn't survive the cold so we can quit looking at them finally. I'm imagining a time when we were past eating them but somewhere before the enlightenment.
The reason it really gets me is that so many other people don't really mind celebrating at all, and we just can't get away from it all. I could slip into the usual media rant, but they don't get nearly enough credit for all the education they do of the nation's youth, and there's the whole point of the post to consider.
It's not like we are turning down invitations to Easter celebrations. The family celebration is always worthwhile both because we just don't see family often enough and because, as Momma says, "I may not give a shit about Easter, but I do give a shit about ham."
The only other thing we do for Easter tends to involve our local homeschool friends. I may grunt and groan my misery to Momma, but I won't turn down an opportunity for the kids to see their friends, and I won't turn down a chance to hang out with other grown ups. Plus they're all great people, and they deserve my company, my mood lightening face full of sunshine and peppermint.
Through the drudgery of preparing for the homeschool party I have found myself giggling a bit. The plan is for the families to bring plastic eggs to hide. The eggs can be filled with acceptable items for the kids to enjoy. Mine include jelly beans, some stickers I dug out of a drawer and cash. I still have three eggs that I am clueless as to what to stuff in them as I've run out of crap that I can reasonably expect not to make enemies over. I'm going to have to actually buy something at the store when I stop to get snacks on my way to the group.
The giggles started last night. We needed both eggs as well as filler material. I didn't want to go any farther than the grocery store. I need beer and smokes anyway, so that was the logical store to go to, though as it turns out, they were not the best place to find egg filler material. As I wandered the store contemplating, I kept finding myself imagining sticking every conceivable and some inconceivable items into these eggs. So I end with the list of things I will NOT be placing within an egg regardless of how fucking hilarious it would be to see these lovely children find:
-cotton balls
-combo toothpick/flosser tool
-dried beans
-dollar in pennies
-Qtips
-random legos
-banana (seriously, funny as shit in theory)
-dead battery
-travel toothpaste
-play worn Hot Wheels car
-the tiny rocks I keep finding around the house (most likely from playground at UU church where we meet)
-pencil stub
-Easter candy from last year
-coupons
-beer bottle caps
As has been made plain, I've basically laughingly considered every object upon which my gaze happened to fall that would both fit in an egg and wasn't something just wrong in the situation. I even though about leaving sarcastic little notes in an egg confirming to the finding child that this particular egg did indeed have nothing worthwhile. Alas I can't seem to go out quite like that.
And I still have those last three eggs. I'm tempted at this point to find the Easter pencil erasers we wound up with last year. It seems odd the number of times they've happened to turn up in the last year only to have completely disappeared now. I know they didn't get used because we've found these new pencils that have erasers built onto them. I wonder if anyone would get them and recognize them as having come from them. That would be funny.
I can sort of understand some of the ancient concepts regarding spring time renewal/rebirth celebrations. In days when the animal skins we wore still looked like the animals they had once been, we were very happy to see the end of the deadly winter months. If nothing else the ground would finally thaw enough to bury all the babies that didn't survive the cold so we can quit looking at them finally. I'm imagining a time when we were past eating them but somewhere before the enlightenment.
The reason it really gets me is that so many other people don't really mind celebrating at all, and we just can't get away from it all. I could slip into the usual media rant, but they don't get nearly enough credit for all the education they do of the nation's youth, and there's the whole point of the post to consider.
It's not like we are turning down invitations to Easter celebrations. The family celebration is always worthwhile both because we just don't see family often enough and because, as Momma says, "I may not give a shit about Easter, but I do give a shit about ham."
The only other thing we do for Easter tends to involve our local homeschool friends. I may grunt and groan my misery to Momma, but I won't turn down an opportunity for the kids to see their friends, and I won't turn down a chance to hang out with other grown ups. Plus they're all great people, and they deserve my company, my mood lightening face full of sunshine and peppermint.
Through the drudgery of preparing for the homeschool party I have found myself giggling a bit. The plan is for the families to bring plastic eggs to hide. The eggs can be filled with acceptable items for the kids to enjoy. Mine include jelly beans, some stickers I dug out of a drawer and cash. I still have three eggs that I am clueless as to what to stuff in them as I've run out of crap that I can reasonably expect not to make enemies over. I'm going to have to actually buy something at the store when I stop to get snacks on my way to the group.
The giggles started last night. We needed both eggs as well as filler material. I didn't want to go any farther than the grocery store. I need beer and smokes anyway, so that was the logical store to go to, though as it turns out, they were not the best place to find egg filler material. As I wandered the store contemplating, I kept finding myself imagining sticking every conceivable and some inconceivable items into these eggs. So I end with the list of things I will NOT be placing within an egg regardless of how fucking hilarious it would be to see these lovely children find:
-cotton balls
-combo toothpick/flosser tool
-dried beans
-dollar in pennies
-Qtips
-random legos
-banana (seriously, funny as shit in theory)
-dead battery
-travel toothpaste
-play worn Hot Wheels car
-the tiny rocks I keep finding around the house (most likely from playground at UU church where we meet)
-pencil stub
-Easter candy from last year
-coupons
-beer bottle caps
As has been made plain, I've basically laughingly considered every object upon which my gaze happened to fall that would both fit in an egg and wasn't something just wrong in the situation. I even though about leaving sarcastic little notes in an egg confirming to the finding child that this particular egg did indeed have nothing worthwhile. Alas I can't seem to go out quite like that.
And I still have those last three eggs. I'm tempted at this point to find the Easter pencil erasers we wound up with last year. It seems odd the number of times they've happened to turn up in the last year only to have completely disappeared now. I know they didn't get used because we've found these new pencils that have erasers built onto them. I wonder if anyone would get them and recognize them as having come from them. That would be funny.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
random kiddity
Brisingr!
If you don't know, this is the word from the ancient language that comes to Eragon as he kills his first Urgals.
The boys have been fighting bad guys most of the morning. I wasn't sure what they up to, what their play was based on till somewhere in the distant, in the middle of a sword fight, I hear the call.
Brisingr!
And I know that another Urgal is being consumed by the blue flames. With such warriors for the side of justice as Big Brother and The Boy, any household can rest easy assured of their safety.
If you don't know, this is the word from the ancient language that comes to Eragon as he kills his first Urgals.
The boys have been fighting bad guys most of the morning. I wasn't sure what they up to, what their play was based on till somewhere in the distant, in the middle of a sword fight, I hear the call.
Brisingr!
And I know that another Urgal is being consumed by the blue flames. With such warriors for the side of justice as Big Brother and The Boy, any household can rest easy assured of their safety.
the letter unsent
This week's Street Talk feature in our local alternative newsweekly was not only entertaining, but it also gave me a good feeling knowing that someone, somewhere is doing some good for underprivileged kids who desire to play golf. It's always gratifying for me to know that someone is taking up the slack of all the good I don't do.
Of course you don't know what I'm talking about. You don't have to click the link because I'll tell you. It's a short interview with a local woman who works at the Underprivileged Kids Who Want To Play Golf Association. It's actually called First Tee Program and sounds both cool and good, assuming that you are mistakenly assuming that golf doesn't suck.
This post has to do with the last question asked of the young lady being interviewed. She was asked if anything funny had ever happened in relation to children and golf and her job. She answered that the children were generally fun to watch and mentioned a particular story involving her own lack of familiarity with the game.
She admitted to standing too closely to a new player and taking a shot from a club swing in the neck. She then suggested that this wasn't actually funny. Here I must take offense. If someone getting knocked out from a golf club to the neck isn't funny then I propose that nothing is ever going to be funny again. Ever!
Here is where I relay my own knockedoutedness as a result of a golf club to a sensitive area now that we've taken care of the "where the fuck is this coming from" out of the way.
I forget now how old I may have been. It would have been in the early days of my family dabbling in golf. If I remember correctly it was my oldest brother originally. Regardless, there was a set of golf clubs at our house, though I was old enough that this brother should have been moved out, or so I remember.
The story involves myself of course as the knockedoutee and my next younger brother as the knockouter. He and I apparently remember this story differently. Due to the nature of the wound that resulted from whichever story is true, I can not justify any real belief in my own story. Wounds of this sort produce oddities of thought and comprehension, and I often wonder if this single day has any bearing on how me and my thinky parts turned out.
My memory involves me walking behind my next younger brother as he swung the golf club. I do in fact remember being on the tail end of the swing, as in, his swing stopped it's long graceful arch in the side of my head.
The brother remembers me trying to pick up a ball that he was about to hit. He claims that he warned me that he wasn't going to not swing just because I was trying to get the ball. According to his version I was being kind of a dick and insisting it was my turn to hit the ball.
Either story makes him look worse, and whichever is true, I still ended up at the hospital getting my very first stitches. I can't say that I actually got knocked out because, as I may have mentioned, my memory of the event is a little fuzzy. I may very well have gotten knocked out.
Whichever story is true, getting hit in the head or neck, whether or not you get knocked out, can be very funny. And that's a bankable truth.
Of course you don't know what I'm talking about. You don't have to click the link because I'll tell you. It's a short interview with a local woman who works at the Underprivileged Kids Who Want To Play Golf Association. It's actually called First Tee Program and sounds both cool and good, assuming that you are mistakenly assuming that golf doesn't suck.
This post has to do with the last question asked of the young lady being interviewed. She was asked if anything funny had ever happened in relation to children and golf and her job. She answered that the children were generally fun to watch and mentioned a particular story involving her own lack of familiarity with the game.
She admitted to standing too closely to a new player and taking a shot from a club swing in the neck. She then suggested that this wasn't actually funny. Here I must take offense. If someone getting knocked out from a golf club to the neck isn't funny then I propose that nothing is ever going to be funny again. Ever!
Here is where I relay my own knockedoutedness as a result of a golf club to a sensitive area now that we've taken care of the "where the fuck is this coming from" out of the way.
I forget now how old I may have been. It would have been in the early days of my family dabbling in golf. If I remember correctly it was my oldest brother originally. Regardless, there was a set of golf clubs at our house, though I was old enough that this brother should have been moved out, or so I remember.
The story involves myself of course as the knockedoutee and my next younger brother as the knockouter. He and I apparently remember this story differently. Due to the nature of the wound that resulted from whichever story is true, I can not justify any real belief in my own story. Wounds of this sort produce oddities of thought and comprehension, and I often wonder if this single day has any bearing on how me and my thinky parts turned out.
My memory involves me walking behind my next younger brother as he swung the golf club. I do in fact remember being on the tail end of the swing, as in, his swing stopped it's long graceful arch in the side of my head.
The brother remembers me trying to pick up a ball that he was about to hit. He claims that he warned me that he wasn't going to not swing just because I was trying to get the ball. According to his version I was being kind of a dick and insisting it was my turn to hit the ball.
Either story makes him look worse, and whichever is true, I still ended up at the hospital getting my very first stitches. I can't say that I actually got knocked out because, as I may have mentioned, my memory of the event is a little fuzzy. I may very well have gotten knocked out.
Whichever story is true, getting hit in the head or neck, whether or not you get knocked out, can be very funny. And that's a bankable truth.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
wik-wiki-wik
This one is neat if only because of the birthday I get to list. It seems somewhat familiar but probably because I've actually looked this up. The idea is to look up your birthday, month and day only, on Wikipedia and then list some wacky something or other. See the list. Thanks, Chris, for keeping the good times rolling. I might actually wait till I get a kid in bed, but ya'll won't know if I did or didn't, so what the hell do you even care?
September 7
Three Events That Occurred That Day
1191-Third Crusade-Richard I of England defeats Saladin at the Battle of Arsuf
1776-American submersible, Turtle, launches first submarine attack attempting to attach a bomb to the English ship HMS Eagle
2005-Egypt sees its first presidential election.
Two Important Birthdays
1860-Grandma Moses, American painter
1936-Buddy Holly, rock and roll icon, dead too soon
One Death
1892-John Greenleaf Whittier
One Event Celebrated
Independence Day in Brazil
September 7
Three Events That Occurred That Day
1191-Third Crusade-Richard I of England defeats Saladin at the Battle of Arsuf
1776-American submersible, Turtle, launches first submarine attack attempting to attach a bomb to the English ship HMS Eagle
2005-Egypt sees its first presidential election.
Two Important Birthdays
1860-Grandma Moses, American painter
1936-Buddy Holly, rock and roll icon, dead too soon
One Death
1892-John Greenleaf Whittier
One Event Celebrated
Independence Day in Brazil
fun with the ten comandments
Recent discussions I've found myself in have caused me to consider the ten commandments, those delightful nuggets of joy that the christian Bible tells us to stamp onto everything that doesn't move for ten straight minutes. So I went to, seriously, don't laugh, tencommandments.org
I've listed the first two commandments as one because they're basically the same thing. It's almost like god had to stretch it because he'd already said ten before he realized there were only nine. Or maybe the stone tablets looked uneven with only nine written out, and he added the last one for balance.
I don't know. I grew up with these things, probably could even years ago have told you all ten from memory. Now I have to look them up online. Yes, I do have a Bible. It's on my shelf, labeled fiction. No I don't feel like getting up and finding it.
-You shall have no other gods/you shall create no idols-This is one doesn't have anything to do with law or justice. This is a straight up command not to believe in other gods/religions. As an atheist, I ignore these two completely. I'd go so far as to say the majority of people of any faith tend to allow plenty of things to come between their professed beliefs and how they live their lives.
-You shall not take the Lord's name in vain-see above, and you lovely people may not know this about me, but I practice cursing in front of a mirror to make sure I do it right. But that's just me.
-Remember the sabbath to keep it holy-There's our blue laws for you. The worst of these laws is that we too often forget to pick up our tequila before Sunday and can't get it. Oh, I can buy beer Sunday, but our liquor and beer retail is closed. Growing up in Georgia I remember the blue laws only extended to retail sales. I'm sure different counties treat the law differently, but it always seemed odd that I could get as drunk as I wanted in a bar, but I was unable from midnight to midnight Sunday to purchase beer to take home. Also see Tennessee's willingness to change Sunday purchase time for the Titans games.
-Honor your father and mother-I saw a story on the news yesterday about a very young girl whose mother had set up an appointment with a porn photographer (actually an undercover cop) and the mother even brought extra clothes as well as sexual aids. Should this child honor this mother?
-Thou shall not murder-Every society in the world has seen murder as wrong. To some ancient cultures though a human sacrifice to the gods was seen as completely natural. Joshua's army in the Bible not only destroyed the city of Jericho, but they also killed every man, woman, child and the animals. As if that weren't enough, they then burned the entire city to the ground. Our own president could be condemned of murder given what he has led our country into.
-You shall not commit adultery-This doesn't give us a lot to go on, so we tend to assume what it means based on modern expectations of marriage which often have very little to do with ancient marriage, see woman as chattel, see concubines, see King David.
-You shall not steal-another law that various cultures throughout the world have settled on with no outside help.
-You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor-Lying, perjury, again widely accepted as morally wrong with no outside christian influence.
-You shall not covet-here we have the Bible telling us how to think. It's wrong to want things you don't have. We could look at buddhist teachings and find the same sort of attitude, attempted elimination of desire for things. But we could also accept that this one is really impossible to keep for the most part.
It is my opinion that the idea that law is based on the ten commandments is a very new phenomenon. I don't see it as at all likely, but so many of us have heard this for so long we've accepted it as true. Of all the ten commandments, three of them have any bearing on what most of the world accepts as moral or ethical. The other seven could be specific to any religion but could only apply as law in a theocracy.
I've listed the first two commandments as one because they're basically the same thing. It's almost like god had to stretch it because he'd already said ten before he realized there were only nine. Or maybe the stone tablets looked uneven with only nine written out, and he added the last one for balance.
I don't know. I grew up with these things, probably could even years ago have told you all ten from memory. Now I have to look them up online. Yes, I do have a Bible. It's on my shelf, labeled fiction. No I don't feel like getting up and finding it.
-You shall have no other gods/you shall create no idols-This is one doesn't have anything to do with law or justice. This is a straight up command not to believe in other gods/religions. As an atheist, I ignore these two completely. I'd go so far as to say the majority of people of any faith tend to allow plenty of things to come between their professed beliefs and how they live their lives.
-You shall not take the Lord's name in vain-see above, and you lovely people may not know this about me, but I practice cursing in front of a mirror to make sure I do it right. But that's just me.
-Remember the sabbath to keep it holy-There's our blue laws for you. The worst of these laws is that we too often forget to pick up our tequila before Sunday and can't get it. Oh, I can buy beer Sunday, but our liquor and beer retail is closed. Growing up in Georgia I remember the blue laws only extended to retail sales. I'm sure different counties treat the law differently, but it always seemed odd that I could get as drunk as I wanted in a bar, but I was unable from midnight to midnight Sunday to purchase beer to take home. Also see Tennessee's willingness to change Sunday purchase time for the Titans games.
-Honor your father and mother-I saw a story on the news yesterday about a very young girl whose mother had set up an appointment with a porn photographer (actually an undercover cop) and the mother even brought extra clothes as well as sexual aids. Should this child honor this mother?
-Thou shall not murder-Every society in the world has seen murder as wrong. To some ancient cultures though a human sacrifice to the gods was seen as completely natural. Joshua's army in the Bible not only destroyed the city of Jericho, but they also killed every man, woman, child and the animals. As if that weren't enough, they then burned the entire city to the ground. Our own president could be condemned of murder given what he has led our country into.
-You shall not commit adultery-This doesn't give us a lot to go on, so we tend to assume what it means based on modern expectations of marriage which often have very little to do with ancient marriage, see woman as chattel, see concubines, see King David.
-You shall not steal-another law that various cultures throughout the world have settled on with no outside help.
-You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor-Lying, perjury, again widely accepted as morally wrong with no outside christian influence.
-You shall not covet-here we have the Bible telling us how to think. It's wrong to want things you don't have. We could look at buddhist teachings and find the same sort of attitude, attempted elimination of desire for things. But we could also accept that this one is really impossible to keep for the most part.
It is my opinion that the idea that law is based on the ten commandments is a very new phenomenon. I don't see it as at all likely, but so many of us have heard this for so long we've accepted it as true. Of all the ten commandments, three of them have any bearing on what most of the world accepts as moral or ethical. The other seven could be specific to any religion but could only apply as law in a theocracy.
coke as drink
It's almost three in the afternoon here. I tend to nurse my coffee throughout the day, making a couple of big strong cups and spending an hour or two on them. I'm not the least bit afraid of my coffee not being hot. At some point between then and the later drinking hour I try to get some water into my system though I readily admit to not drinking nearly enough. There's another cuppa in my future, though I tend to take a coffee break between cups two and three, otherwise I know I'll have a cup four. I try to keep it to three.
Feeling thirsty and knowing I was between cups of coffee, I pondered water but realized I wanted a coke. Where I'm from there are two different meanings of the word coke. If you want Coke, that's the stuff in the red can, Coca-Cola. If you want coke with a small "c" then you have a much broader variety from which to choose.
I did contemplate a beer, and I have a variety currently from which to choose. I'm not against afternoon beer or even morning beer. I have a friend that works late enough that he and his coworkers have an a.m. happy hour. I'm just not feeling beerish at the moment. Plus, this isn't the point, though it is nice to know I'm still slightly in control of my raging drunkenness.
I have recently found myself using the word soda on occasion though I fear what that may be saying about me losing some of my southernness, as if that's possible growing up in Atlanta before living in both Carolinas and now Tennessee. Big fat chance of me growing too urbane, and I'm a little okay with that. Before we get into my own version of the neo southern gentleman, the kind like me that can drink moonshine straight from the jar as well as admit that Freddie Mercury was really the only truly hot man in a mustache, we'll remind ourselves that today's lame ass post fodder is semantic in nature.
Coke with a small "c" can not of course be meant to include all carbonated soft drinks. While my favorite coke may be cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper, I would actually prefer, if given the option, a lime flavored Jarritos. I don't know if Jarritos falls under the coke moniker in my opinion, and I think that's mostly because Jarritos flavors are all fruit based while cokes are generally accepted to be mostly contrived of . . . limon? cola? What the fuck are those things? Neither Sprite nor 7 Up taste at all like lemon or lime or even denatured citrus additive number 1217. Okay, maybe they do taste like DCA1217, but that's still not the point. And what the hell is the glorious substance that flavors Dr. Pepper? Because even without the cherry or vanilla it's a tasty beverage.
In the end, maybe they are all coke. I might have to ask around.
And for anyone from Wisconsin and maybe even Michigan, what the hell is pop? Seriously, pop?! Pop is what you get in the mouth when you get to sassin'. Pop is the sound of a balloon bursting. Who calls their soda drinks by an onomatopoeia that has no relation to the product in question? That's just weird.
Feeling thirsty and knowing I was between cups of coffee, I pondered water but realized I wanted a coke. Where I'm from there are two different meanings of the word coke. If you want Coke, that's the stuff in the red can, Coca-Cola. If you want coke with a small "c" then you have a much broader variety from which to choose.
I did contemplate a beer, and I have a variety currently from which to choose. I'm not against afternoon beer or even morning beer. I have a friend that works late enough that he and his coworkers have an a.m. happy hour. I'm just not feeling beerish at the moment. Plus, this isn't the point, though it is nice to know I'm still slightly in control of my raging drunkenness.
I have recently found myself using the word soda on occasion though I fear what that may be saying about me losing some of my southernness, as if that's possible growing up in Atlanta before living in both Carolinas and now Tennessee. Big fat chance of me growing too urbane, and I'm a little okay with that. Before we get into my own version of the neo southern gentleman, the kind like me that can drink moonshine straight from the jar as well as admit that Freddie Mercury was really the only truly hot man in a mustache, we'll remind ourselves that today's lame ass post fodder is semantic in nature.
Coke with a small "c" can not of course be meant to include all carbonated soft drinks. While my favorite coke may be cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper, I would actually prefer, if given the option, a lime flavored Jarritos. I don't know if Jarritos falls under the coke moniker in my opinion, and I think that's mostly because Jarritos flavors are all fruit based while cokes are generally accepted to be mostly contrived of . . . limon? cola? What the fuck are those things? Neither Sprite nor 7 Up taste at all like lemon or lime or even denatured citrus additive number 1217. Okay, maybe they do taste like DCA1217, but that's still not the point. And what the hell is the glorious substance that flavors Dr. Pepper? Because even without the cherry or vanilla it's a tasty beverage.
In the end, maybe they are all coke. I might have to ask around.
And for anyone from Wisconsin and maybe even Michigan, what the hell is pop? Seriously, pop?! Pop is what you get in the mouth when you get to sassin'. Pop is the sound of a balloon bursting. Who calls their soda drinks by an onomatopoeia that has no relation to the product in question? That's just weird.
don't try
Momma and I had an interesting conversation last night. At some point, she had read my most recent post in which I discuss apathy and depression.
I think for a few years she just didn't quite understand me. That isn't an indictment of her ability but is revealing in what she was trying for far too long. What she didn't understand was my own levels of happiness and her place in my happiness and her ability to control how happy or unhappy I naturally am.
Our relationship has brought much joy and much pain as is true of all relationships in which people invest a good deal of themselves. Mostly what our relationship brings me is a happiness that Momma didn't realize. For far too long she felt somehow responsible for making me a happy person.
This is what we discussed last night. I don't want or need to be made happy, and I wish now we'd talked about this seriously before last night so I could have saved her some effort and some of her own pain.
I'm not an unhappy person, though it may quite seem like it. I'm cynical and jaded about so many things. I'm pessimistic, not in a glass half empty sort of way but in a "who drank the other half of my beer?" kind of way. It is how I am.
And I hope now that Momma has realized that I don't need her actively trying to make me happy. I certainly don't want her bringing extra stress onto herself by fighting a battle that she not only can't win but is also not hers to fight ever.
What do I want from her? Her presence makes me happy. I'm happy knowing she's there, behind me with support when I need her or leaning on me for support when she needs it. I want to know that that particular smile will always be for me, the one that makes her lip catch on the tooth she wishes she could get fixed. I'm happy knowing that no matter how bad the rest of world might seem that I can always trust her.
So ladies and gentlemen, don't try to make him/her or her/him happy because you can't. Faithfulness, trust, support, a squeeze of the hand as the tears start to flow
I think for a few years she just didn't quite understand me. That isn't an indictment of her ability but is revealing in what she was trying for far too long. What she didn't understand was my own levels of happiness and her place in my happiness and her ability to control how happy or unhappy I naturally am.
Our relationship has brought much joy and much pain as is true of all relationships in which people invest a good deal of themselves. Mostly what our relationship brings me is a happiness that Momma didn't realize. For far too long she felt somehow responsible for making me a happy person.
This is what we discussed last night. I don't want or need to be made happy, and I wish now we'd talked about this seriously before last night so I could have saved her some effort and some of her own pain.
I'm not an unhappy person, though it may quite seem like it. I'm cynical and jaded about so many things. I'm pessimistic, not in a glass half empty sort of way but in a "who drank the other half of my beer?" kind of way. It is how I am.
And I hope now that Momma has realized that I don't need her actively trying to make me happy. I certainly don't want her bringing extra stress onto herself by fighting a battle that she not only can't win but is also not hers to fight ever.
What do I want from her? Her presence makes me happy. I'm happy knowing she's there, behind me with support when I need her or leaning on me for support when she needs it. I want to know that that particular smile will always be for me, the one that makes her lip catch on the tooth she wishes she could get fixed. I'm happy knowing that no matter how bad the rest of world might seem that I can always trust her.
So ladies and gentlemen, don't try to make him/her or her/him happy because you can't. Faithfulness, trust, support, a squeeze of the hand as the tears start to flow
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
quiz questions
We begin with the hat tip to Red Molly for the quiz that gives me, as my main life philosophies Justice(Fairness) barely beating out Apathy. Hedonism is listed in third place and is actually tied with Apathy, but I've really never been a hedonistic person personally. Quiz results will follow the blathering. And I'm not trolling her for blog post ideas, but I do grab them where I can.
Am I an apathetic person? There are certainly things I have concern for, people I love and care about, things I enjoy doing, but there is a certain level of apathy that I can't deny. There's still music that can move me, and there are still books that make my eyes a little leaky. But there's also that black area that often seems to be spreading like oil on the ocean.
My plan is not to plumb the depths of my depressing soul nor to discuss my fragile state of mind. It's not going to happen. I have had the quiz on my mind for a couple of days, the ideas of justice juxtaposed with feelings of apathy. I think the quiz hits me a little extra hard due to those two concepts coupled with my own current mindset. Recent situations that I've faced have caused me to think about fairness as well as my approach to life.
I have to admit to some amount of apathy over the course of the years, and I've looked at it before, somewhat dispassionately perhaps. I'm not suddenly awakening to my own apathy, but I'm faced with the same sort of thing that I butt up against and always have, that I just can't make myself care about a lot.
I'm not manic depressive, and I'm not leaning toward the bottle of pills or the blood filled bath tub. I am somewhat a depressed person, and given my current view, I'm thinking that perhaps I've always been this way but was never really forced to see it as such. Certainly there have been those really low times, those days long black moods, but I've always thought there was a reason, something causing it, lack of love or friends or perhaps just not able or wanting to see the truth.
And that's what the quiz's suggestion of apathy leads me to. I can see myself as apathetic in a sense, but I also wonder if it's not more than that. Maybe I just don't feel like caring. Maybe I just don't feel personally good enough to really give a shit about much else. I know that I have a running theme of not giving a shit about a lot of things, and I'm pretty happy with that. At some level I think unconcern is a healthy place to work from. I don't care what you look like, who you fuck or to whom you pray or even if you pray. But sometimes I also don't care if the big tree in the front yard were to blow over and crush me to death while I sat here pecking out my little screeds.
Am I an apathetic person? There are certainly things I have concern for, people I love and care about, things I enjoy doing, but there is a certain level of apathy that I can't deny. There's still music that can move me, and there are still books that make my eyes a little leaky. But there's also that black area that often seems to be spreading like oil on the ocean.
My plan is not to plumb the depths of my depressing soul nor to discuss my fragile state of mind. It's not going to happen. I have had the quiz on my mind for a couple of days, the ideas of justice juxtaposed with feelings of apathy. I think the quiz hits me a little extra hard due to those two concepts coupled with my own current mindset. Recent situations that I've faced have caused me to think about fairness as well as my approach to life.
I have to admit to some amount of apathy over the course of the years, and I've looked at it before, somewhat dispassionately perhaps. I'm not suddenly awakening to my own apathy, but I'm faced with the same sort of thing that I butt up against and always have, that I just can't make myself care about a lot.
I'm not manic depressive, and I'm not leaning toward the bottle of pills or the blood filled bath tub. I am somewhat a depressed person, and given my current view, I'm thinking that perhaps I've always been this way but was never really forced to see it as such. Certainly there have been those really low times, those days long black moods, but I've always thought there was a reason, something causing it, lack of love or friends or perhaps just not able or wanting to see the truth.
And that's what the quiz's suggestion of apathy leads me to. I can see myself as apathetic in a sense, but I also wonder if it's not more than that. Maybe I just don't feel like caring. Maybe I just don't feel personally good enough to really give a shit about much else. I know that I have a running theme of not giving a shit about a lot of things, and I'm pretty happy with that. At some level I think unconcern is a healthy place to work from. I don't care what you look like, who you fuck or to whom you pray or even if you pray. But sometimes I also don't care if the big tree in the front yard were to blow over and crush me to death while I sat here pecking out my little screeds.
| You scored as Justice (Fairness). Your life is guided by the concept of Fair Justice: Everyone, yourself included, should be rewarded and punished according to the help or harm they cause. "He who does not punish evil commands it to be done." --Leonardo da Vinci “Though force can protect in emergency, only justice, fairness, consideration and cooperation can finally lead men to the dawn of eternal peace.” --Dwight D. Eisenhower More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page...
What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com |
PSA
Dear female readers, do you own and/or wear a top that looks like this? Apparently it's called a something something tunic top or something, and it seems as though this is the top all the gals are wearing right now. This is another example of someone devious convincing women something is true when in fact it isn't.
Ladies, are you really so blind to what looks good that you're okay with this top? I'm afraid you've been deluded when you've convinced yourself that this top looks nice. This style of top is not flattering to anyone. It makes larger sized girls look even bigger while making smaller girls look pregnant.
Finally, it's just ugly. It's bad enough that it's such an unattractive fashion, and it's bad enough that girls don't realize they are making themselves look stupid, but the worst part in my opinion is that so damn many girls are wearing this shit. Couple these ugly tops with the big sunglasses and I'd almost rather move back to the '70's. At least back then they just hadn't yet invented better looks for people.
Seriously ladies, quit listening to your idiot friends. Girls convince each other of awful things in the hopes they can make the pretty friend the ugly friend, even if for just one night. That has to be the real explanation for such devastating ugliness as this top.
Thank you for your time.
UPDATE: While commenting to COD's comment, I remembered something even worse than the ugly tunic shirt, wearing pants under a dress. I'm not talking about those ugly shirts that are almost but not quite dress length. I'm talking about a real dress over pants. It looks stupid, dumb, ugly . . . did I say stupid?
Sunday, April 01, 2007
long time no derby
In a melee of girls tossing each other around, crushing each other into a brick wall, rounded out with breathtaking speed and grace, the Hard Knox Rollergirls finally kicked off their 2007 season.
The league was divided into two teams, black and white, and set loose on the rink. Many of the girls are veterans of the past year, many haven't seen a real bout before tonight. Tonight's match was a great way to give the newbies a taste of the real deal as well as get the away team ready to drive north and kick some ass.
Today was a fun one from beginning to end, from Momma waking up with a horrid headache, unsure if she'd even be able to skate, to my last minute attempts to purchase distasteful prepared food products from a restaurant drive through. It's really a story in and of itself, but it isn't a good story.
I'm not sure how much I missed of the bout, as I arrived a bit late. I wandered in and found the black side was the far end of the rink. I stopped off for a refreshing beverage before finding some friends and perching on the floor, the human bumper that I'm certain has saved many a derby girl from a far worse slide had she not met the human bumper. I've somehow avoided being the in the path of a careening derby girl before now, but that's mostly because I stand in the back and scream at people.
The match was tough, well fought to say the very least. I don't know if I've ever seen that many hits in one hour. There were more pile ups than in the entire US interstate highway system. There were some bad shots, but there were so many more perfectly executed blocks. There were moments when half the people skating were on the floor, sometimes in one pile, sometimes in a series of drops.
I don't know that I can write about derby without discussing my wife. I'll not only admit up front that I'm biased, but I'll also admit that anyone that has seen her skate will openly admit to her speed. I'm actually kind of stuck trying to imagine some silly homily where I compare her speed to something else that's also fast. She comes at you faster than your kids birthday that you forgot to plan for because it came at you so fast. And it's not only that she's so fast but that she's past you sometimes before you even can think to block her. I watched so many people blocking air behind her tonight, so many people who looked bewildered "what the fuck" etched in every line of their face.
I would love to treat the entire world to a good roller derby bout. I can accept that Americans don't often get soccer, my own personal sport, but roller derby, except that they are not burning large amounts of fossil fuels, is so completely American, loud, fast, hard to understand sometimes and a little painful for all involved. Skate wheels, pads and hospital visits don't come cheap. We need more people at these matches. So get your googler out and look up your city. Go out and cheer for the home team, and before you know, there will be a caravan of cars from Tennessee rolling into your town to whip up on your local gals. And then we'll drink all your beer, sleep for just long enough to recharge our batteries before we roll on to the next town.
The league was divided into two teams, black and white, and set loose on the rink. Many of the girls are veterans of the past year, many haven't seen a real bout before tonight. Tonight's match was a great way to give the newbies a taste of the real deal as well as get the away team ready to drive north and kick some ass.
Today was a fun one from beginning to end, from Momma waking up with a horrid headache, unsure if she'd even be able to skate, to my last minute attempts to purchase distasteful prepared food products from a restaurant drive through. It's really a story in and of itself, but it isn't a good story.
I'm not sure how much I missed of the bout, as I arrived a bit late. I wandered in and found the black side was the far end of the rink. I stopped off for a refreshing beverage before finding some friends and perching on the floor, the human bumper that I'm certain has saved many a derby girl from a far worse slide had she not met the human bumper. I've somehow avoided being the in the path of a careening derby girl before now, but that's mostly because I stand in the back and scream at people.
The match was tough, well fought to say the very least. I don't know if I've ever seen that many hits in one hour. There were more pile ups than in the entire US interstate highway system. There were some bad shots, but there were so many more perfectly executed blocks. There were moments when half the people skating were on the floor, sometimes in one pile, sometimes in a series of drops.
I don't know that I can write about derby without discussing my wife. I'll not only admit up front that I'm biased, but I'll also admit that anyone that has seen her skate will openly admit to her speed. I'm actually kind of stuck trying to imagine some silly homily where I compare her speed to something else that's also fast. She comes at you faster than your kids birthday that you forgot to plan for because it came at you so fast. And it's not only that she's so fast but that she's past you sometimes before you even can think to block her. I watched so many people blocking air behind her tonight, so many people who looked bewildered "what the fuck" etched in every line of their face.
I would love to treat the entire world to a good roller derby bout. I can accept that Americans don't often get soccer, my own personal sport, but roller derby, except that they are not burning large amounts of fossil fuels, is so completely American, loud, fast, hard to understand sometimes and a little painful for all involved. Skate wheels, pads and hospital visits don't come cheap. We need more people at these matches. So get your googler out and look up your city. Go out and cheer for the home team, and before you know, there will be a caravan of cars from Tennessee rolling into your town to whip up on your local gals. And then we'll drink all your beer, sleep for just long enough to recharge our batteries before we roll on to the next town.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
in which we do what it is we do
Currently listening to Afro Cuban All-Stars, not understanding at all due to my limited grasp of Spanish but understanding completely due to my unlimited grasp of damn fine music.
I actually had to look up "puede ayudarme con la basura" for a myspace survey I wrote earlier. Yes, I wrote a myspace survey. The thing is, mine don't suck. If you are lucky enough to be a myspace friend that happens to read those damn things, then you fucking know!
I should admit right here and now that I'm a bit in my cups. It's my own drunkblogging night here at happy acres, and all bets are off. Little else is off, though the kids are off to sleep and the wife is off work sometime in the next . . .uh . . .couple of whiles or so.
I've done some amount of rushing around cleaning the house today and into tonight. We've had some trouble getting a babysitter for some time now, and we have one tomorrow (tonight for most as it's already late o'clock here.) This is all no thanks to a certain grandmother who could stand to watch her grandchildren for a night here and there, though she is springing for the over nighter that allows us to drive a long, long way for a derby match, so I shouldn't complain or something, but I do. Regardless, we do in fact have a night out, some hot wings and a live band if we get lucky and fit through the door. And I can't let her walk in and see the mess that this house usually is. I'm afraid she might never come back.
Anyway, tonight (last night as you read this) we have the late ass night followed by the early ass soccer game. We'll come home for long enough for Momma to change pants, and we'll take her to work. I still have cleaning to do so that the babysitter doesn't freak out at the sight of it all, and then at some point in the evening I'm driving downtown to meet Momma and go out.
None of those plans are the least bit helpful at the moment as I still have drinking and waiting to do. It's really hard to sleep well with half the bed empty, so I end up waiting for Momma to get off work. The problem here lies in the fact that Momma is working late and in the soccer coach that wanted to get all the games out of the way first thing in the morning. He was nice enough to con someone into scheduling all our games at 9:30 in the fucking morning. And he tells the kids that Jesus loves them.
I've not bothered to approach that one. Even without Momma's current Friday night schedule, 9 fucking 30 in the AM on a Saturday is retardulous. It's fifteen different kinds of stupid and wrong. It's wrong like rubbing your pussy on a gay man to try and turn him back.
Really, there's nothing worse than trying to make a gay man straight, and the ones that want to be straight are fucking idiots. My theory is that no one gets more blow jobs than a gay man, and if you can find something better than a blow job please email me.
That's where we end for the night. If I keep writing I'll end up actively trying to offend as opposed to giving myself giggle fits. It's not really me, it's the bottles of beer lined up accusing me of drinking their essence and killing them. That's all good though as I got mine and those beer bottles are empty as my soul. So fuck 'em.
I actually had to look up "puede ayudarme con la basura" for a myspace survey I wrote earlier. Yes, I wrote a myspace survey. The thing is, mine don't suck. If you are lucky enough to be a myspace friend that happens to read those damn things, then you fucking know!
I should admit right here and now that I'm a bit in my cups. It's my own drunkblogging night here at happy acres, and all bets are off. Little else is off, though the kids are off to sleep and the wife is off work sometime in the next . . .uh . . .couple of whiles or so.
I've done some amount of rushing around cleaning the house today and into tonight. We've had some trouble getting a babysitter for some time now, and we have one tomorrow (tonight for most as it's already late o'clock here.) This is all no thanks to a certain grandmother who could stand to watch her grandchildren for a night here and there, though she is springing for the over nighter that allows us to drive a long, long way for a derby match, so I shouldn't complain or something, but I do. Regardless, we do in fact have a night out, some hot wings and a live band if we get lucky and fit through the door. And I can't let her walk in and see the mess that this house usually is. I'm afraid she might never come back.
Anyway, tonight (last night as you read this) we have the late ass night followed by the early ass soccer game. We'll come home for long enough for Momma to change pants, and we'll take her to work. I still have cleaning to do so that the babysitter doesn't freak out at the sight of it all, and then at some point in the evening I'm driving downtown to meet Momma and go out.
None of those plans are the least bit helpful at the moment as I still have drinking and waiting to do. It's really hard to sleep well with half the bed empty, so I end up waiting for Momma to get off work. The problem here lies in the fact that Momma is working late and in the soccer coach that wanted to get all the games out of the way first thing in the morning. He was nice enough to con someone into scheduling all our games at 9:30 in the fucking morning. And he tells the kids that Jesus loves them.
I've not bothered to approach that one. Even without Momma's current Friday night schedule, 9 fucking 30 in the AM on a Saturday is retardulous. It's fifteen different kinds of stupid and wrong. It's wrong like rubbing your pussy on a gay man to try and turn him back.
Really, there's nothing worse than trying to make a gay man straight, and the ones that want to be straight are fucking idiots. My theory is that no one gets more blow jobs than a gay man, and if you can find something better than a blow job please email me.
That's where we end for the night. If I keep writing I'll end up actively trying to offend as opposed to giving myself giggle fits. It's not really me, it's the bottles of beer lined up accusing me of drinking their essence and killing them. That's all good though as I got mine and those beer bottles are empty as my soul. So fuck 'em.
Friday, March 30, 2007
quote o' the week
Patriotism is often an arbitrary veneration of real estate above principles.this gem from George Jean Nathan via The Quotations Page who refer to him as a "US drama critic and editor. HERE is the wikipedia page if you are so inclined. I know nothing about him beyond that he said at least one really bright thing. Maybe I should read the thing I linked.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)