go, read, learn

Who doesn't love a Country Fair? How about when that fair is in reality a blog carnival? Think you know a little something about homeschooling? This month we celebrate the ways we celebrate diversity.

I am sadly not featured at all in the fair, but that's all my fault. I scribbled out a little something a week or so ago and sent it in. Then I paid attention for a moment and realized that what I had written was in no way going to fall under the theme of celebrating diversity. I should read all of things before assuming I know what's up.

That's actually a common them among people who are anti homeschool. Too often, people scribble some anti homeschooling rant and post it on their blog or as an article in their local paper. The nature of the internet is such that we can find these people and their rants laden with untruths and misconceptions. It doesn't take much looking around and reading all the way to the bottom to understand homeschooling better or even just to learn whether or not we've already covered your concern. And we probably have covered your concern, and we've probably covered it over and over and over and over and . . .

LMLC

I promised a couple of weeks ago to post videos and talk with heart full of love about the ska bands that I'll be seeing in a couple of months. I'm antsy as is possible looking forward to this show, Ska Weekend, when our town hosts an easy metric shit ton of bands from all over the country and even a couple from outside our borders.

Tonight's band is one I haven't heard offline. I don't yet own any of their music, but having listened at Myspace and having camped out at YouTube, I've come to really look forward to Last Martyrs of a Lost Cause, and it's not just because the singer is kind of really hot.

I've found a number of videos of them on the Tube, and none of them are spectacular quality sound wise, but they do show you the band's style, more ska-punk than ska, and they do give one a feel for the band. I'm excited to see them, as I'm excited to see all the bands that will be playing. So click the play button, turn it up and rock the fuck out already people!

Last Martyrs of a Lost Cause, Don't Take it Personal

ooookay

On my customized Google page I have a quote of the day (actually three) that come to me via The Quotations Page. One of today's was a bit of a doozy, assuming some amount of religious belief on the part of my readers, though I personally feel that it's one of those truths-that-can-hurt sort of situation. So without further ado, and with no more commentary from me, today's quote, which comes to us from Steven Weinberg. This is what Wikipedia has on him.

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.

eight things

You've seen it, and you've loved it. It's taking the internet by storm, laying waste to blogs left and right. If you have a blog, then you've probably been tagged, and if you haven't yet been tagged, you may be thanking your mystical, interstellar being of choice.

Ren tagged me, which I appreciate, because I like the idea that she reads my blog. She's not not local to me, and I always enjoy reading about all the fun stuff she does with her kids. Plus, when she posts pictures, at least one of the family, Ren or a kid or both, have the greatest hair color. Don't tell her she's stealing the punk thunder by making it pretty to dye your hair a crazy color instead of it being a slap in the face of "the man."

So onward, without any prior thought as to what eight things I will include, I give you, Eight Things About Me meme.

1. I'm fairly cynical and jaded, and I really don't like people in general, but I still find myself wanting to please people to some extent. Try though I may, it seems I still almost care what people think. Plus, I don't want to be an unreasonable dick.

2. I never settled on a gender to be interested in. In fact, I don't feel that I married a woman so much as the person that woman is, and should there ever be reason for me to seek out a new relationship, I'd go back to not having picked a gender.

3. Me and my inner child both have always felt like the kid who always gets picked last to play kickball, and I was never bad at kickball, so there must be some other reason, possibly having to do with perceived dorkiness.

4. I'm an atheist, but I still love a lot of the music I grew up with. I love a lot of the stories of sacrifice, the themes of ultimate good versus ultimate evil. I can do without every single bit of religion, but songs like Amazing Grace or The Old Rugged Cross still carry a tiny sentimental weight.

5. I DJed at a titty bar for about ten months several years ago. I developed a coke problem and threatened dancers with That Smell, a Lynrd Skynrd song that is never appropriate.

6. I tried selling pot for a short time until I got mugged, even more years ago than the job in number five. Two guys got me to follow them to an area that was a little shady (in the bad way) and then proceeded to beat the shit out of me. They got most of my pot and my money, but they didn't get my MARTA card, so I was able to get a bus back home, shirt torn, face and head bloody and pounded on looking.

7. I habitually think that everything I like is the best and that people should listen to me when I tell them how great a band or a writer is and that they'd be happier if they took my advice.

8. I hate and am unaccountably afraid of calling people I don't know on the phone. It makes no sense, because there's always a purpose behind any phone call I make. The worst is at the start of a new soccer season when I have a list of seven or eight families that I don't know, and I have to go down the entire list and call them all.

And that's my list. I don't know about the tagging thing because everyone I came up with to tag would be someone that's already done this or someone that doesn't do memes. So if you haven't done the eight things meme yet, consider yourself tagged, and share the love.

my chat with ack

I have meant for at least a week to post this conversation. The incident happened at a local grocery store, in the parking lot. I had just purchased the evening's beer and cigarettes and was walking to my car. I had seen the woman I was about to meet as I was chatting with the guy that's worked at that same store since I've been going there, happened to look out into the parking lot, and she wandered past through the middle.

I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw the woman. This grocery store can be interesting and is nicknamed locally after Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini. Considering the lateness of the hour, knowing the locality, I walked a little slowly out the door, sighing with relief at seeing this woman well enough away from the car as to give me hope that I could reach the car unaccosted.

Such was not to be the case. I hadn't gotten very far before she doubled back, meeting me mere feet from the relative safety of my automobile.

She: Can you give me a ride?

Me: (cringing inside, rolling my eyes, not willing to not help but knowing this can't end well) Where do you need to go?

She: Just down the street.

Me: Down the street where?

She: Just to the end of the street?

Me: (a bit incredulous) The end of the street?

Now, understand that I am now incredulous because she is indicating Broadway, a street that becomes any number of streets and is also a US Route that's over 900 miles long, much like the Broadway in any number of towns. She's obviously not quite sure what she's talking about, and I'm not willing at this point to get involved in whatever is happening. I can tell this isn't going to end well, and I'm surprised it was a ride and not money.

Me: I'm sorry, but I can't help you.

She: (suddenly growing "frantic") But they'll kill me!

Me: What? Someone's going to kill you? I have my phone right here. I'll call the police.

At this point I reach into my pocket for my phone. I know I'm not going to be calling the police, and she confirms this for me. She's not the least bit frantic or worried or upset. She still hasn't asked for money the entire time, and I can well imagine that she's just looking for a lift. I can also tell this isn't any scenario that's going to play out with me as a cast member.

She: Oooohhh nnnnooooo! You can't call the police. They're going to kill me.

Me: Ma'am, who's going to kill you? Let me call the police, because I really can't help you. I can call the police though, and if someone is trying to kill you . . ."

She: You can't, I just need a ride or they'll kill me.

It was about this point that the nice young gentleman who has worked there for ages walks up. He asks if there is a problem at which point the woman's attention is drawn to him for a moment. I take this opportunity to open the car and put my things in. I sit down, turned toward the action as store employee and the woman are out of my hearing for a moment. I'm still willing to call the police, and I inform this woman again. She refuses the help, admonishes us that it will all be on our shoulders when she gets hurt and stumbles off toward the fast food place.

I never found out what her real deal was. Maybe she did just want a lift somewhere. Maybe she wasn't going to offer to suck me off at a reasonable rate. Maybe she wasn't high as shit on the kinds of drugs I don't do. Maybe someone was really going to kill her if she didn't get a ride.

please no!

So really, this isn't an unschooling blog, though I'm proud to mention the fact on occasion, just to make sure people remember. I insist, at least once in a while, in throwing out a rant about something someone else found and wrote about better.

I might have written the socialization post sometime ago, though I'm not quite sure if I did or not. I'm sure I must have because it seems a staple of the genre, even though I don't really fit in the genre, you know, home/unschooling blogger. It would be great if this were the last socialization post anyone ever felt compelled to write considering homeschool socialization, according to those practicing homeschooling and socializating, is really a non issue.

Seriously. Let it go already.

Darryl posts, and probably writes better, about some new someshit or other proclaiming that homeschooled kids are not allowed to socialize and therefore will end up social misfits, pariahs, outcasts at the very least. As everyone knows, life outside of public schools perfectly mirrors that of "life" inside of public schools. Love those scare quotes by the way. Also, I didn't read the article he linked. I don't need to anymore.

So, my kids aren't socialized? Does seeing grandparents count? How about playing soccer, does it count? Does the homeschool group count?

How about roller derby practice? It's my favorite example because of the variety of kids to be found. In all, it's possible for there to be ten to fifteen kids at derby practice depending on who is there and who brought their kids, though usually there are much fewer. There are a couple of tinyish fellers that don't quite count till they get a little steadier on their feet. The rest of the kids range in age from four to twelve. The Boy, is his own person, not always even interested in playing with the other kids. Big Brother, at eight, is right in the middle.

And then there's the practice when you have Big Brother, The Boy and three five/six year old girls, and they all still run around and act crazy and have fun. It's at that point where I think that I'm glad he's not fuming because he's bored. He's got friends that aren't a bunch of eight year old boys. There are of course those practices when it's all boys except for the lone sad little girl that can't figure why the boys won't play something she wants.

Not to make it all about derby, but we're going to socialize tomorrow with the derby mommys. Did I tell you I'm a derby mommy? We're going swimming. The day after that we're going swimming somewhere else with homeschool friends, where we will probably forget to socialize. We'll just hang out like usual with a random smattering of ages and genders, doing what we want, not being pressured into wearing the hip new this and listening to the cool new that. We'll enjoy each other's company, have and resolve conflicts, play with toys, splash water, wish they'd eat the good food and not the other, and we'll leave in time to get Momma to work.

mmmm, maybe not

Thanks to Gem of My So Called Homeschool blog for relating a story of something she thought she'd never hear herself say which reminded me of my own story from today.

We were doing some major grocery shopping, the boys doing their thing, me trying to keep them corralled and not bowling over the old guy in the orthopedic sunglasses. The Boy was a gonk droid for a short time, pulling his arms and knees into his shirt so that he was just a little torso with head and feet. He even fell over in the middle of the aisle and kicked his feet just like they do in the Lego Star Wars video game.

We walked up the aisle a little further, and then came one of those things I never thought I'd say, not that I ever had a reason to imagine saying this.

To The Boy, I found myself saying, "We don't punch ourselves in the butt at the gro . . . uuuuhhhh, what's next on the list?" Not even looking around to see if anyone heard, just keep moving at that point. Wondering why he was in the first place, wishing I'd encouraged the gonk droid because at least it just stumbles along and looks funny.

melee

In keeping, at least for now, with the Monday Melee tradition, I present you now, on Monday no less, the melee. Enjoy!


1. The Misanthropic: Name something (about humanity) that you absolutely hate.
I hate when people treat life as a contest and try to outcool you by being more punk or more street or more anything. It sounds so completely silly to discuss, but I think we all know people like this. It's fanboy syndrome.

2. The Meretricious: Name something or someone that's phony, fraudulent or bogus.
county commission

3. The Malcontent: Name something you're unhappy with.
I need to do things differently day to day to make things better for my family, even things as simple as cleaning the house more regularly would help.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name them if you can.
Momma gets a metric shit ton of credit. She finally got tired of the damn credit card and took the time to figure out how we could pay it off. We now owe our bank a bit of money, but GM Mastercard will soon get the pay off and may then feel free to go fuck themselves. Thank you, Momma!

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
Though I really need a haircut, my hair isn't nearly as annoying as I remember it. It's been kept shaved for so many years that I've really forgotten what it's like to have it.

6. The Make believe: Name something you wish for.
An end to the procrastination that sees me not really working toward doing the writing I've told myself for years I was going to do.

you know

You know your four year old doesn't need to watch UFC when . . .

I don't really care what people let their kids watch, what video games their kids play, that sort of thing. The media your children enjoy is not nearly as important as having a parent there to help understand what's real and what's not, what's acceptable behavior and what's not.

Having said that, there is a point sometimes when you are given an example that perhaps your child isn't getting the parental input they need. And perhaps The Boy doesn't need to watch mixed martial arts fights. The sign was simple enough to read in glaring neon.

So, you know your four year old doesn't need to watch UFC when you're lying on the couch and he comes over because you tricked him into coming close enough for you to drag him onto the sofa for tickling and giggling and instead of all that, what you get is the hammer fist. Yes, my four year old tried to pull out the ol' ground and pound. It sucked more for him because if he's going for the hammer fist it's only natural that I get him in the guillotine and choke his little ass out.

Disclaimer: My son did not in fact actually attack me. He did, in a playing way, use the hammer fist just as he has seen done. I in fact did not choke him out nor did I use any other submission on him. The only submissions I use on my children involve the fact that I'm enough bigger to force access to their belly for tickling.

look at me

Shameless plug time. For whatever reasons, I get access to Beers Gone By where I get to talk about drinking beer. I can wax stupidic about anything, as you may well know, and to get to spread myself across the internet like butter on a biscuit is the dream I've followed these many years. Cross that with beer and you couldn't beat me off with a stick.

HehHeh, beat me off with a stick . . . I'm not saying don't try . . . or something.

dragonlord

strings

There's a very good chance I've found the next album I want, but then I just don't know, because one thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, you've used more commas and conjunctions than you can really afford, and you haven't even stopped to explain yourself or make sense even a little.

And this is one of those kinds of stories anyway, so it's best told quickly, like pulling a bandaid. It all started on Myspace at the page of a friend and Hard Knox All Star teammate of Momma's. One of her friend's Myspace name is Plastic Jesus, a song I hadn't heard in quite some time, a song I've always enjoyed.

My first path was of course just to highlight, right click and search Google. I'm sure my first click from there was the almighty Wikipedia. As a side note, there is on our desktop already a Wikipedia window minimized down low with two tabs, one mashed potatoes and the other potato. Big Brother wants to know who first made mashed potatoes. But that isn't the point, look it up yourself and get the whole story, as this is a whole other post.

The song Plastic Jesus is most likely best remembered from the movie Cool Hand Luke, sung admirably by the always lovely Paul Newman. After getting the runaround about people often assumed to have written the song we eventually learn that none other than Bob Dole, yes that Bob Dole, was most certainly the true author. You might also learn at Wikipedia, assuming you don't already know, The Flaming Lips are one of many bands that have covered the song over the years.

Reading those words, whether or not you are a fan of the band, may cause you to want to hear the song, sort of subconscious something, and then you'll remember that with your Comcast internet service, you get the absolute crappiest and draggiest version of Rhapsody ever, but it's good for twenty five free listens a month, and that's sure to be worth something.

While The Flaming Lips are reveling in the relative safety provided by a religious icon brought to life in plastic, perched expediently atop the dash board, you decide to use the track search option for Plastic Jesus and learn that, as you assumed, there are more versions of the song. You could easily waste an entire short while listening to basically the same song over and over, which isn't really what you want, unless you do. I didn't and generally speaking don't.

Of course, I soon forgot about Plastic Jesus sinking myself in the Flaming Lips instead, which should have been expected, and as that was happening, I noticed a trend in their songs being covered by The String Quartet. What's The String Quartet you ask. As far as I can tell, it's some guy or chic or group or pile of people, all of whom play stringed instruments, who get together and play all sorts of songs that you wouldn't expect would lend themselves to a more classical treatment. I don't know if they have ever played Plastic Jesus, but they have done a tribute album covering Flaming Lips songs.

Now, I'm not saying just anybody should be covered with violas and violins and cellos (musically, not physically, but if that's your thing . . . which isn't the point.) There's plenty of shitty bands out there, like Led Zeppelin or Nickleback, that deserve to be taken out back and shot before they ever deserve praise in the form of a musical tribute, and most of The String Quartet's catalogue seems to veer toward the crappier side of music of the last couple of decades or so. But what I've listened to of the Flaming Lips tribute is actually pretty cool. I'm not surprised though because I can honestly imagine a lot of what the Flaming Lips have done covered with strings.

I'm not saying I'm going to rush right out and buy the music, but I'm mildly interested. I've only listened to a couple of songs so far because I'm waiting for Momma to get out of the bath so she can hear too. She'll think it's cool. I don't know if you'll think it's cool, but if you like both the Flaming Lips and string quartets, then you might as well at least check it out. If nothing else you can throw it on at parties and make people stop talking for a moment every few minutes as they start to recognize a song and the realize "Oh yeeeeaaaahhhhh, The String Quartet. Cool! But like I was saying . . ."

brogloll

HaHa, funny title, how it's a little not so much spelled right and is all funny and stuff.

You may notice I have no blogroll. It's always almost sorta bothered me that I haven't set one up, but I've always been certain there was some sort of scratch-my-back thing going on that I wasn't sure of, so it's always seemed safer to just not bother. I have noticed myself appear in blogrolls, and part of me thinks I should repay the favor. One reason I haven't is that i just don't want that thing on the side of my blog, while another reason is that I'm not the kind of guy to be shamed, even by myself, into following along.

I'm pretty happy with my blog's appearance, even if it is one of Blogger's backgrounds that any number of other people could be using. I like, now that I've ordered it a bit, the little side thingy that has all my little pictures and pithy sayings (though I think I took those down.)

The last thing I ever wanted was to make the page an extra mile long including all the lovely and amazing people whose blogs I read, though I do want to share all those great people with more great people.

So, here's where I am. I've thought about posting a short blog, maybe once a week, highlighting some of those people I've read and want to share. Another option is linking to Google reader, which has it's own problems. I don't use Google reader, not for any reason other than learning of Bloglines first, though I could easily use it and could even figure out how to add a link to it. I have actually loaded up Google reader, so far with only homeschooling blogs, and when I get a moment, I'll figure out the linking part.

So that's one of the many things festering in my brain. I'm thinking about it, and I'll come up with something soon. I might be leaning toward a weekly sharing of love, giving you all my weakling's share of love, or I may continue to mess with Google.

Finally, I'd like to hear what others think of blogrolls. I'm not against the idea, I'm just not sure how I want to share all of you with all of the rest of you.

about nothing

I've slipped once again into my sucking-as-blogger funk, having posted so fitfully that I probably ought to be ashamed.

I had a rant all worked up about a bunch of people complaining about anti homeschooling media bias for not informing us all that a spelling bee winner was homeschooled, and their comments to the story are just ridiculous, especially when you learn that the child in question isn't really a homeschooler. He's actually a student of the public school whose family has opted into a program that allows children to do public schooling from home.

Outside of the homeschooling universe it may seem that the differences are not worth being concerned with, but inside our little world, it is a big deal. My family has opted out of compulsory schooling for a variety of reasons, though many of our reasons are shared by both the left and the right side of the homeschooling world.

Public school at home programs often sound like a great idea. The program often offers the family many resources, presumably free, such as computers and access to teachers. If that is the best idea for your family, then your family should by all means pursue such a program, but we ask that you not pretend that you are homeschoolers. In fact, most homeschoolers, though they may agree with my opinion that this family is not homeschooling would in fact argue for their right to seek out the best educational model for their family, and to me, that's the very heart of homeschooling, reviewing all possible options to best aid your family.

The problem has to do with questions of law. As homeschoolers, we often have chosen this to allow our family an amount of freedom from the teaching that happens in a public school. Teaching history provides a great example of my opinion. I want my kids to find history through a variety of sources and develop the ability to pick out the thread of truth. While this is possible even with children who attend brick and mortar public school, it's much less likely as the children need not be concerned with truth so much as the answer that is expected and deemed right by the system.

A further problem comes when these public school at home families start to represent homeschooling more than we are able to represent ourselves. We fear that legal issues will arise that will eventually erode our freedom to educate our children as we see fit. We fear that these programs will come to replace what we feel is our right to raise our children and educate them.

And that's my rant. The people on the wings never help anyone, and we'd all be glad if they'd just shut the fuck up. I did provide a link to the wackos that I'm discussing, but I'd be doing you a disservice if I suggested you go and read it. No one has that much time in their day.

melee

Lifted from one Mark Steele of Blogitude, I present you with the Monday Melee. I'm not going to pretend I'll do this every Monday any more than I'll pretend it's still Monday, though it is Monday for me.

So you get yourself a meme for the fodder, like there was any other kind. Plus, Momma's trying to play a video game that I've played a shit ton more than she has, and it's getting really hard not to tell her how to get through the level. And really, who needs that shit?

1. The Misanthropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.
Smug arrogance, the kind of person who can drive a Hummer and deflect honest and accurate criticism of their choice with the argument that my concern is only jealousy at their outrageously narcissistic choice.

2. The Meritricious: Name something or someone that's completely fraudulent or bogus.
People who refer to equality as special rights.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you're unhappy with.
My and my family's financial situation is just about pitiful. Credit cards are both a necessary safety net and the devil's own lure. Or maybe I just wish like hell Momma and I had put more thought into some of the decisions we've made over the last few years.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something, and name it if you can.
My children are insanely cool.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I'm not nearly as big an asshole as I seem when you meet me.

6. The Make Believe: Name something you wish for.
Right now it all comes down to money in one way or another. I can't say that's the answer I'd have given if I could think of something else, but when I think of what I wish for, it's either sanity or money, and money is the one of those two I feel I can have any control over. Sanity isn't even a wish at this point but one of those unattainable things you imagine, like growing wings out of your back.

Now go and tag someone or something. I don't know how this crap works.

UPDATE: Here is where I point out how little I pay attention. If you've read my comment, then you are likely aware that the blogger from whom I took this meme is not the blogger to whom the credit for this should go. The real originator is Fracas, and the link will take you to the Monday Melee page. I'll do better next time, promise. Either way, I did lift it from Mark, and he does deserve some credit from me.

old

Today's mail brought a wonderful piece of news. I can resubscribe to Smithsonian magazine for only twelve dollars. We've subscribed to Smithsonian in the past, and I've generally enjoyed the magazine, so twelve dollars sounds like a great deal.

There's one little part that bothers me. I'll admit here that I am in my mid thirties. I'm not as young as some, but I'm certainly also not old other than to the kids, or so I assume.

The bothersome part of the twelve dollar deal is that it's described in the notice as a senior discount. The sender of the letter is listed as Smithsonian, Senior Discount Services with the cover price of a year's worth next to my senior rate.

If we were living about a thousand years ago, years before America or even the Smithsonian existed, my current age, accounting for life expectancy and high mortality rates, might place me in the senior category, but such is not the case anymore.

I have to wonder if I should go ahead and order the subscription at the twelve dollar rate. I can't be the only youngster getting this letter, and at no point in the letter is age discussed as a prerequisite for accepting the offer. If they were concerned about these issues, I imagine they'd have looked a little bit deeper into me and my age. If I do accept the offer, will Smithsonian then check (to be sure) and learn of the mix up? Will they make me pay back the remaining cover price?

Apparently I have ten days to reply. I don't know if the ten days is from the date I received it or some other date, so perhaps I have less than ten days. Before ten days from now, I'm sure we'll have the extra twelve bucks for a magazine. We've let nearly all our magazine subscriptions run out to the point where whenever I do get a National Geographic or Popular Science, I'm always a little surprised. I miss piles of magazines adding to the clutter in the house.

While it sounds like a good deal, the cynical side of me imagines it's a test. Within days of Smithsonian receiving my payment, I'll get a visit from a representative of the Senior Services Department of Smithsonian. They'll act nice and friendly until they realize that I am me and not some old person. Then, quite likely, all hell will break loose. But I just want cheap magazines.

weekend update

What a weekend.

Saturday saw me sleeping much later than I should have. I stumbled around the house most of the day thinking about wishing I felt like doing something more than just stumble around the house.

Momma went into the garage, messed with a bunch of the shit that's in there, and ended up ordering it slightly better than I had when I most recently pretended to clean in the garage. The same amount of crap is still in there, but we are going to at least be rid of, as soon as we remember to sit the garbage out, one small child's ride-on, plastic tractor that is cracked and breaking in a number of places.

Sunday saw me up slightly earlier, closer to a reasonable time to wake up, though I was certainly dragging from yet another needlessly late night. I really have issues with staying up late. I think I've sort of always been this way, but I also wonder if years of late night kitchen work made me a bit more this way. I'm just a night owl I suppose.

Momma's roller derby practice was in a new location, a place that maybe (just maybe) will be the new league home. The girls mostly seemed to like it, and the added amenities, location, size, et cetera, make it a prime location. I'm not sure what needs to be worked out, and I don't know if I should even be talking about it. It can't be too damn much of a secret as the league is, at the request of the venue, adding an expo bout to the schedule to take place at this venue.

Our next bout will be at the same ol' place we've been doing it, though there will be a major difference. Unless my balls shrivel up inside me and I turn absolute rest-of-the-way chickenshit, I'll be doing the announcing. I have yet to get too nervous about it, and my worst day will be better than the best day of the guy that's been doing it.

I can only wonder how this will turn out. I have experience as a very particular sort of DJ, experience that doesn't really carry over other than that I have spent time on a microphone alerting a specific clientele to the specific show that was the basis of the business model. The model itself is similar only in that they both involve women. And that's pretty much it. There was also the childhood in a christian school, that one year that three of us, me, the preacher's son and the coach's son, decided that we'd all been called to preach, and we would get our teacher to, after lunch, allow us fifteen minutes to "preach" to the rest of the class. Fifth grade seems to sound about right for that one. Bet you didn't see that coming!

And that's the weekend. Tomorrow starts a brand new day, full of good times, fun and if we're lucky, more rain, though I imagine it's moved off. We'll see. And I'll have to get back to you about the announcing thing. I've got some work to do so I don't come off sounding like a big dick. I'll have to tone down my cheering, but what better unpaid job than to get to shout at people how much our league is kicking ass from moment to moment?

derby prayer

Not a praying person, though I come close when I'm far into my cups and wishing I could just vomit it all back up and go to bed, I found myself writing the following prayer. The inspiration was one of those wink-wink racist Irish prayers that was all about drinking yourself stupid and not stubbing your dick too hard when you fell down in the street or something.

I forget now where I found the "Irish prayer," though Myspace comes to mind for some reason. Because life is 24-7 roller derby, I immediately related it to the derby, and my wee widdle brain tossed this one off.

a derby prayer

may your blockers always hit hard
your pivot not get too damn far ahead of the pack
and your jammer always have an open track before her

You read it here first, unless someone else has written one, in which case I'm sure theirs is better. Being a dude and all, I kind of feel like a chump even bothering. I'm afraid I'll end up the guy that's trying too hard to be cool.

Either way, a hundred years from now when football has finally fallen to the side, when soccer and roller derby take their rightful place as the two greatest sports ever, this prayer will be shouted aloud. At after parties in local bars the world over, the clink of the bottle, the cloche de l'amitie, and the rousing shout of my derby prayer will ring loud and strong.

wildlife

Wasting time earlier today, I heard a sound that practically yanked me out of my chair. It was the wailing scream of a cat either fighting or being attacked.

I jumped around the table to our front window, the sound seeming to come from as close as our front porch. I didn't see a cat at first, and in fact didn't see a cat till I went outside moments later, drawn by what I did see.

About fifteen feet from the front of our house is one of the world's saddest and ugliest trees. It doesn't grow anything pretty anymore, scarce patches of leaves like a thin green fog dissipating and lots of tiny sticks that are constantly peppering the lawn beneath the tree. One of these days I will write a rant about tree topping, but this isn't the day for that.

As I jumped and looked out the window, not seeing any cats, a motion in the tree caught my eye. I knew from the shape of the bird that it was most likely a hawk, and a bit of searching leads me to believe that it was a juvenile red tailed hawk. I only got about two seconds to see him as he quickly took off again, leaving our tree.

I alerted the family on my way toward the door, wondering at once how likely we'd be to see the hawk again and how likely our noise would be the very thing to run him off.

We proceeded around to the front of the house. As we came around the corner, fairly high up in our poor tree was a beautiful cat, white, brown and black, like three large spots combining to color one cat. Across the street, passing quickly and perhaps a little guiltily through the neighbor's yard was another cat. As it peaked back at us, we could see that it was a Siamese. Not that that matters, but we all know about those Siamese cats.

The cat in the tree was obviously frightened. It ignored our entreaties to come down while keeping a wary eye on us. We knew that our presence wasn't helping her feel safe in descending the tree, and we hadn't arrived in time to see any hawks, not that it had been likely.

Stepping back outside moments later for a smoke, I went around to check the tree. The cat was at that moment finally taking the last leap down to freedom. I heard a neighbor call from a couple yards over, asking about the cat. He'd heard the same noises I had. He listened to my story and told me that he was aware of the Siamese as this cat terrorizes both his cats on a regular basis. The hawk of course was an added twist.

It's an unsolvable mystery, a scream, a hawk flashes past, one cat is up a tree while the other slinks away. I can piece together the same stories you do. I can wonder how a cat would fare against hawk claws versus how a hawk would fare against cat claws. Is this going to be the summer of wildlife stories? I'm up to two, and I haven't even mentioned the lightning bugs yet.

ugh, yes, that klan

Not going into too many details, the ku klux klan recently paid our town a visit and have promised to come back, telling us even when they plan to do it.

A blogger at our local politicalish Knox Views ponders a response. She mentions a black friend who believes that the black community should have a counter demonstration, while the writer herself feels that ignoring the klan would be a better alternative.

Many of the commenters seemed somewhat to agree with the idea of ignoring the klan. What could be better than disdain when appropriate? It was mentioned that the counter demonstration to the visit we already mostly ignored was people mostly by whites. I'm not sure what that says beyond that it seems the black community already decided once to ignore them.

One interesting suggestion for a counter demonstration was an African drum circle. While drum circles may or may not have at one time been African, they are sadly not so today, at least not anywhere as white as this town is. Which is not to say I'd be against a hippy drum circle. What better first wall of defense should a bunch of racist nut sacks turn murderous than your/my town's hippy population. Sure, they will be as usefull as a wet match, but the rest of us will be ready, the hippy's screams having warned us. Outside of hippies as pawns in a possible klan riot, I have no use whatsoever for the infernally selfish racket of a hippy drum circle.

My own idea, had we but the time to schedule it, would be to host a contest/demonstration of the local high school marching bands at the same time. It's got all the youth-as-the-future kind of teary eyed shit, and it has the added benefit of attracting a racial demographic more in tune with the population of this little town.

And what would make all of this even better would be to hold the contest/demonstration somewhere far away from the klan rally so that you didn't have to hear their shit between songs. We could get the sheriff's department to fly some reporters over the rally just to be sure we citizens could see on the news later, and then they'd fly back to the concert/demonstration where all the kids were playing random songs transcribed for gawky teens in uncomfortable hats, walking.

It's got all the makings of a good time. As a counter demonstration, we wouldn't be ignoring the klan while not having to see them or hear them or even pretend that we could smell them, hoping to demean them when we pretend they smell bad. We'd likely get a good night of music together, and you can bet that the local restaurants would be selling food in little booths. Knowing this town, there'd probably be fireworks, and that would be the final added benefit, that the klan would probably see and hear the fireworks. They'd be sad and lonely, knowing all the fun we were having while they were missing out on the party, and it was all because they only came to town to be a bunch of dicks.

Stupid klan.

womerns

Tammy at Just Enough and Nothing More provides us a link to what should be an interesting discussion that, due to the comments, has descended into a debate of the merits of public schooling versus homeschooling. Many of the comments are very much against the very idea of homeschooling but from the position of no real valuable knowledge of the subject to provide any worthwhile insight. The homeschool positive comments have tended, for the most part, to be intelligent views of the matter in terms of what is right for my child/children and a parent's right to investigate and use all available options.

The original post is not about that at all. The original questions whether homeschooling is another way to keep women in the home, involved with more responsibility, contributing to the family yet more unpaid labor.

This premise is shaky on a number of levels, mostly in that it assumes so very much about both homeschooling and the families (men, husbands, fathers need not apply apparently) involved in the pursuit. The premise assumes that the feminist movement exists only to get women working and fulfilled through being working. There's also a conspiracy theory feel to the argument as if society itself is so secretly patriarchal that everything is about how we can keep our womenfolk where they belong.

That women allow themselves to be so concerned with the opinions of others, that the term "mommy wars" not only exists but seems an apt description is by far a bigger issue and affront to feminism than the fact that some mothers take on a greater role in their children's lives. The questions being asked, even if we are only 1-2% of the population, is also an affront to the many fathers, like myself, who are able to stay home with our kids. The question, as these things so often do, fails completely to understand the families that have chosen to homeschool and the wide variety of reasons that so many of us are leaving the system. The question also seems to me to place men and fathers once more on the landing outside, smoking with the boys and either unwilling or unable to aid our wives or to treat our wives as equals. Again, we get no real understanding of the variety of families and dynamics and situations.

The question could be valid, almost, if not for the fact that homeschooling, outside of the zealous fundy crowd, is not generally a decision forced on mothers by a dominating husband/father.

Often the dads of homeschooled children weren't the ones who first considered homeschooling, and they are sometimes somewhat averse to the idea, usually if/while it is new to them. The mothers in these families generally make bold choices based on a variety of factors. Because it's usually the mother that is in contact most often with the school, it is usually the mothers who see first hand the problems their children may be having, the mothers who advocate and fight for their kids, and the mothers who give up on the school and take matters into their own hands. That so many people are doing just this says that the discussion we really need is about the school system. The feminist issue is just more noise blocking out the real talk.

All that is not to say that there aren't situations in which mothers and fathers don't work evenly and fairly together to accomplish the task, thought this could be said of any number of situations families face. Mothers still have options, and if they are in a place where they truly have no options, then homeschooling is the very least of their worries. A controlling partner is an issue completely apart from how a family chooses to educate their children.

bring it all together

With the approach of the big ska show I've mentioned, I've promised to bring you a variety of bands over the next couple of months. Today's band is sadly not going to be at Ska Weekend, at least not this year, though it would be cool.

Today's band is also a band that is new to me. I was screwing around, wasting time on YouTube, and I don't know now how exactly I happened to decide to give these guys a listen, but I did, and I'm happy I did.

To understand part of my delight with the Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra you'll need a tiny bit of ska history. In the '30's and '40's, American radio broadcasts of jazz and R&B were making those styles popular in Jamaica. Also popular at this time was the sound system, a mobile party basically, which DJ's would set up in neighborhoods, often in competition with others. Many of the top DJ's went on to become the top producers of the new sound, the combination of American music and Jamaican music that became ska.

Ska became the top music in Jamaica, and the music was taken to the UK, immigrating with its fans. This began ska's second wave of popularity, and a few years later, ska resurfaced again, its third wave, as American bands started playing this new music. Each wave has seen ska taken in new and varied directions as it's popularity grows and moves around the world.

It's not at all surprising to find a Japanese band playing ska, as the Japanese seem to have a knack for distilling everything down to its essence. Maybe I'm just making that last part up, but you can't argue with what they've done to this decades old hybrid music, the ska.

So I give you Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra. This song is more than kid safe in that, if your kids don't dance a little and act crazy a little, then something may not be quite right. You can watch the embedded video, but I suggest you click HERE to go to the YouTube page and click the embiggening button in the bottom right corner of the player. These guys deserve to be seen full screen.

more media, and a bear

Sometime in the late hours last night, a black bear was spotted in our downtown area. I first learned anything about the story when I first got on the computer today and checked KnoxViews.

I checked out the main local news sources, but whoever is writing for them just makes me cringe. It was all so . . . local news show. This site does have some video of the bear if you are so inclined.

It's expected that more animals may be seen in the area as summer approaches and into fall, partly due to our freeze in spring having destroyed much of the berries and acorns that make up the vast portion of the bear's typical diet.

After reading one local news site's description of what to do when confronted with a bear I knew I had to find something better. It didn't not seem to make sense, but I wondered how accurate this was, and I wondered if they were about to get someone killed.

This led me to the National Park Service page for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. They have a great page about bears as well as bear safety tips. If you live near here or pretty much anywhere apparently, it wouldn't hurt to know what to do if you see a bear.

I'm not going into the steps here. Click over and read about it yourself. I'm not a park ranger or any sort of authority on bears, so I feel it would be wildly inappropriate for me to attempt it, and I wouldn't trust anyone that listened to me anyway. The GRSM page does a great job of it, such a good job in fact that this site pretty much lifted it whole with some really shitty editing to pretend they wrote it themselves. My googling brought up the second site first, at which I read about black bears. The writing is obviously poor, and as I read, I just couldn't trust a site that didn't have someone editing even a little bit. Imagine my surprise reading the original moments later after refining my google search.

local media

It's always fun to watch some other city's news, to see how what their aging white guy and young, attractive black woman have to say about whatever mundane shit is happening locally. What's even better is when your own local news not only does a story on your own local roller derby league but also does that story in sports as opposed to the 5:00 show that's about cooking and being a great mommy.

Mommys and cooking are fine, but roller derby is a sport and belongs with the sports. Also, please quit comparing it to professional wrestling. Derby is real, the hits are real and none of it is staged. Maybe the next story from the local media can involve something a little meatier than hearing yet another skater having to dispel the pro wrestling myth.

So without further ado, the local media story. Watch for Momma, and if your eyes are really quick, the darling fellow in the green shirt, screaming his head off, is one of our homeschool friends.

derby anyone?

Hard Knox Rollergirls welcomed Nashville's Rhythm and Bruisers to town and skated away with the win, 111-81. This was HKRG's first time hosting a team from out of town as well as our first win. After the bout, the general consensus seemed to be that this was the best bout many of us had ever seen, and many of the skaters seemed to agree.

I have to say that Nashville was a great group. I'd like to think we were good hosts, but it's not hard when the team, the staff and the fans are as cool as Nashville was. We'll be seeing them again soon enough at their house, and it will be nice to see them. We'll even say hello to Memphis on that trip, and we'll skate back home with the win, but we'll talk about that when it happens. Look for more info around July-ish.

The win wasn't won easily. Nashville skated hard, their jammers were fast and they knew how to throw up a blue wall in front our jammers. Jamming for Hard Knox were Miss Kat A Kombs (who also did her share of blocking), Goblynn, Boom Shockalocka, Jamaica 'Em Cry, and Momma, of blog fame, also known as Jamie Skull.

All our jammers did a great job, but without our blockers, they'd never have made it through Nashville. Madam Mayhem may have won the award for most two-in-one blocks, while Sushi Roll just might have had the most jammer take downs. Not to be outdone, Nashville's Hildabeast did her best to send our girls sprawling, while Red Vag of Courage kept being right where we didn't want to see her, again. And if we are going to pass out awards, our own Lady Paine certainly wins one for hardest hits with Tank Her A coming in a close second.

One special highlight of the night was getting to see HKRG's Beverly Killbilly on skates again. She's battled some injuries for far too long, and I know the entire league was happy to see her knocking people silly again.

I wish there were pictures, and I'd really love to have some real stats to share. Those things do exist, but I don't yet have access to them, so feel free to expect yet another post about roller derby in the not too distant future. I'll rhapsodize again about both the beauty and the sporting prowess of our skaters, all hail the mighty Hard Knox. Thank you Nashville for being cool and beautiful. We can't wait to see you again.

bit o' Momma

UPDATED POST! No more interesting than last time, but it's easily more accurate.

Housewife probably hates me now, and she seems to think I haven't donated enough blog space to my lovely wife. In addition to being hotter than should be legal, she's also a damn fine sushi chef, a great mother and easily one of the fastest jammers you should be so lucky to see. I mean it when I tell you about HKRG bouts and tell you to come to my town and see.

This picture, found after many agonizing minutes of searching for just the right one, is indicative of how good a jammer Momma is. Notice a few things about this picture. Momma, in black with the skull face, is beating the girl in red. She is in front of this particular player who is a perfect example of what it takes to take down my wife. Notice that the red clad skater is not only hitting Momma in the back but that neither of her skates are on the ground. Both the back block and the leap are very much illegal, but when Momma has outskated you and dodged your best blocks and lapped your jammer a few times, you might find that you are willing to kick the rules out of the building.

The next picture features not only Momma but HKRG's own Barbara Bushwhacker. This picture should not be assumed to show anything but that Momma often doesn't wait around for you to actually hit her. This picture is from an intra league bout, Momma's team Machine Gun Kellys versus Bushwhacker's Lolitas Locas, the team that went on to win the HKRG championship last year. Barbara Bushwhacker is a hell of a player and is, with Momma, one of HKRG All Stars, the team picked to play against other leagues.

Notice Bushwhacker on the ground as Momma assures her of not getting the hit. Good for Momma as Bush hits hard, and if she'd timed it a wee bit better, this picture would look a bit different. But it doesn't look different and shows why most blockers would be better off just letting the Skull past. You might get a hit, but you might just hit air before you hit the floor.

Updated, because like a dumb ass, I mislabeled the photos. The Lolitas Locas that is almost taking Momma out is not Sushi Roll but Barbara Bushwhacker. She too is one of the league's all stars, and I hope she's healed and back on skates in time for Birmingham.

And I can't stress enough that this picture doesn't do any justice to the blocking of Barbara Bushwhacker in any way, nor would it have demeaned Sushi Roll's ability. They are damn fine blockers, which helps explain why their team are the current HKRG champions. Of course, the 2007 season is not that far away, and I know for a fact that the Kellys are sort of eying that trophy.

Finally, thanks to yet another Lolita and HKRG all star, Karma Krash, for noticing my error and allowing me to stop looking like a dingus.

abrasive nail biting

First I must tell you that this is not the recap post about last night's derby bout featuring our Hard Knox Rollergirls All Stars versus Nashville's Rhythm and Bruisers. It's the fault of the after party and the after after party that are causing my brain to not want to switch into writer mode.

Instead I'll give you pictures of wounds. Mine isn't really a wound, and I'll admit that. I did show it off a little to prove that something or other which makes me cool. Beyond not being a wound, my wee widdle thumb isn't really even hurt. The part of my nervousness that wasn't busy making me need to pee made me bite my nails down a little farther than I might wish. I do indeed bite the ever lovin' shit out of my nails watching derby.

I don't want to suggest that Momma's skin abrasions aren't wounds, and she admitted herself that they were more unpleasant than painful, though they certainly look painful enough. This is what happens to Momma when she wears fishnets to the bout. I did crop the pictures so that they were of wounds and not her sexy ass.

As mentioned, this isn't about the bout. As the day progresses and I get more coffee in me and the Goody's Powders kills the headache, I'll feel a little brighter, the gray matter will start sparking again, and I will write a post that will take you right to our little rink. But you'll have to wait a bit.

first in a series

Just under three months and counting, toward the end of August, hopefully without the rain this time, me and the wife and the boys will be shaking our asses at Ska Weekend. It's a li'l ol' local show this feller puts on every year, and each year it gets bigger. If you are into the ska music at all or if you live close enough or if you just need an excuse for a road trip, Ska Weekend is well worth attending. It's a lovely all day (not actually the whole weekend) outdoor ska music festival in one of the neatest parts of town.

Look for a running theme between now and then and more posts as I mine this for post fodder, and listen as you learn about some new bands playing. I'll try not to give a long boring history lesson about ska music or my theory that ska's origination would also eventually birth the beginnings of hip hop. I just might though.

Ska Weekend of course has a Myspace page. Momma and I, preparing for Ska Weekend '06, spent several nights at the page checking out the different bands. We knew upon arrival at Ska Weekend which bands to make a point of seeing and which bands not to bother with. There really are that many bands, and when your kids are 3 and 7, you would do well to plan your music festivals out ahead of time.

One of the bands we found last year is returning this year. They've got a new album out, which we haven't gotten yet, though we do love the one we do have. And Big Brother's favorite song, the one he sings for two or three days after hearing the album is also the dirty song, though he doesn't have any idea. That's neither here nor there, but it is funny, sort of.

Deals Gone Bad are from Chicago and according to their My Space page,

mix the chugging rhythms of Jamaica, the energy and emotion of American Motown, and the over the-top pub/rock of the Pogues

I don't dispute that description, and quoting them is easier than describing it myself. They were a highlight of last year's show and promise to do the same again. They remain with the must see bands, and to prove my point, watch the video.

driving, driving, driving

Yesterday basically sucked. I've had worse days of course, and it didn't suck nearly as much as it could have, but it was very annoying in a minor annoyance kind of way.

Being Wednesday, it was the day to go meet the derby mommys and their kids to go swimming. Apparently the plans changed, and I wasn't told. I drove to the house I expected to meet at only to find that no one was home. I herded two disappointed boys back to the car assuring them that I'd figure out what was wrong and where everyone else was.

Backing out of the driveway, I slid the car back into drive and dialed the first derby mommy on my list. No one answered, so I called the next number on the list. Getting another no answer, I wasn't sure what to do next. I'd tried the two moms I was certain would also be there and able to direct me to where there was.

Getting a call back, I finally learned whose house we were meeting at though I got no directions. I did get two different numbers to try, neither of which did any good as everyone seemed as though they'd decided not to answer my calls.

I ran to another street, slightly different part of town, sure I was going to get another call, which I did, with directions, not so much. I eventually gave up and drove home. The Boy had dozed off by this point, and Big Brother hid his disappointment well. The Boy, upon later realizing that we'd missed swimming, was a bit upset, but a promise of going to roller derby practice helped him get over it.

We'd driven around, mindlessly, for roughly an hour. I was tired of driving. Momma called, ready to come home from work, ready to get ready for practice. After a supper of various leftovers, she got into more derby appropriate clothes and we started our drive south to the rink.

Approaching the rink, we knew immediately that something wasn't right. The skaters and refs were all milling about outside in the parking lot. The side door of the roller rink was wide open, and we could see some sort of gray liquid oozing out the door. We could see some amount of dust floating out as well.

For some reason, the floor tiles that haven't been replaced in over a year were suddenly in need of attention. The last practice before our bout Sunday, and our skaters are unable to even get in the door of the rink much less skate. The girls did sort of decide on an intro song while standing around wondering what to do next. Big Brother and The Boy were the only derby kids there, and they got a chance to run up and down the hill, chop at grass with their swords and stick their sandal clad toes in the dirt hill.

It wasn't as wasted a drive as the not swimming drive of earlier, because they did get that song picking business out of the way. We also got to stand around and be juvenile. We probably made some quite bold statements as to our league's ability to kick ass, which is not to be doubted.

So in the end, I can say it wasn't really that bad of a day. It did suck to wake up early enough to have the car only to not need the car. We all wanted to get in the pool and will have to wait on that. But it wasn't really a bad day in the end. It was mostly lazy, and we accomplished absolutely nothing of value, so it wasn't entirely wasted.

be there

It's almost time, and I'm getting excited. Our Hard Knox Rollergirls are preparing to welcome Nashville's Rhythm and Bruisers to our end of the state for a hard lesson in roller derby.

Any regular reader I might have certainly knows by now that I'm in love, not only with derby but also with our league. It's not just the league itself either but the individuals who make up our league.

Our league has now traveled for bouts in Birmingham, AL as well as Idiotapolis, IN. This will be our first time hosting another league, though next month see us hosting Tragic City, the team from Birmingham, for our second meeting.

We've had a little practice being the away team, and now we'll get some practice in being gracious hosts. I'd love for our town to be remembered and talked about among the other leagues. We'll be the city that's awfully nice to you, getting you fed and liquored up, showing you the sights. Then we meet you the next day at the rink and our blockers bash your brains in while our jammers make you dizzy lapping you yet again.

If you're one of my local readers, you have no valid excuse for not coming out to support the hometown league. I've already coaxed a homeschooling friend and her awesome children out, and they enjoyed it. I can't say I'll have my own kids there, as they sort of cramp your style when you're wanting to hit the after party.

This might usually be the time when I try to say a little something about derby, a little explanation. I won't. The rules are easy to find, and even easier to find is that your town probably has a roller derby league. Go online and search, find your local team, then go out and support them. What better role model for both our daughters and our sons than roller derby?

fifth grader

The sender, according to Yahoo, is 5th grader 5th grader 5th grader 5th grader, etc. The subject is "Can you beat a fifth grader? Do it and win a free Visa!!!!"

My first response, before I'd even bothered to read this far, was to go ahead and click the little square that checks all the boxes next to the little spam messages so that I can delete them all at once. But 5th grader 5th grader suddenly jumped out at me, all ninety pounds of him, still not quite big enough by law not to have to sit in a booster seat. Plus he's a public school kid I'm sure, so he has all that extra baggage and stress.

But before I deleted 5th grader 5th grader, I reread the subject line. I asked myself, "Can I beat a fifth grader?"

Okay, there are some sizable fifth graders out there. I've seen them, and those are the ones that would be easiest to beat. Some of the more active ones might take a little work, and then you get the little runty ones or the ones that stare into space a lot. Those would seem the easiest to beat, but sometimes it's the little ones that can be the scrappiest.

I started thinking about a little too much until it was like a kung fu movie, and I was just wading into a pack of fifth graders, throwing hooks, overhand, using the height, snapping kicks, turning their little hats forward and pissing them off.

And suddenly, I realize, I'm probably a couple more percent asshole than I was just moments ago when I hadn't imagined myself . . . honestly, the thought is just too much too bear. Really, why would I imagine beating up whole piles of fifth graders? And to say meanness about the kid that stares into space. Hell, I'm still that kid.

It's just not right.

But the Visa sounds kind of nice, so you ain't hearing no.

country fair

Because a certain site promoting horrid religious exercises in suffering the little children to suffer decided to mismanage the Carnival of Homeschooling, a few sensible homeschoolers have decided to resurrect the Country Fair. Sure, it sounds like the CoH, so you might ask why we need another.

You probably know the story of the post that was pulled due to "questionable" material at the blog, and if you don't know the story, try to imagine some scenario based on what I've told you. Now build up a bit of resentment toward Home School Blogger (to whom I don't link) for being such weineyheads. Now think about visiting a nicer carnival, where all the rides are scary for the right reasons.

The Country Fair is basically a carnival of home education. The bloggers who will submit posts are homeschoolers of all kinds, types and varieties. They worship or don't worship in their own way and won't tell you that your god or lack of gods is good or bad. They might mention tactics and strategies used by their own family, and they will do this without damning you or your family for doing things differently.

The Country Fair is inclusion at its best. The posts in the fair will be written by everyone from liberal christians to conservative atheists. If I offer something then you can count on at least one Discordian point of view, whatever the hell that means. So, if you are a blogger and a homeschooler, then head over to the site with your best piece . . . of writing jackass! Otherwise, wait around till it's all put together and ready to read, then head over to look at our best pieces . . . damn, perv, it's writing!

Want to read what Doc has to say about it?

handkerchief

Today's mail was apparently not entirely worthless, or so it would have you believe. The credit card offer of course was immediately tossed as we've certainly learned our lesson there, sort of. The other letter seemed at first as if it were no more than the usual religious based scheme. In a sense, the two offers aren't so different.

Do you like my Bible handkerchief? That's what I'm holding in the picture. It came soaked in prayers. Ministers have been called by god to send these out to people. They always seem to show up whenever people are in real need, according to the testimonials from real people. This begs the question, what do they know about me? Do I need something I'm not aware of that the prayer soaked Bible handkerchief will allow be to gain?

I'm sure there's more to it. I didn't read all the material, because I don't need to look at every item in the garbage can to tell me where I am. Likewise, I don't need to read through the entire scam to figure out what it could become if I were one of those kind of people who sends this thing back. To get my blessing, I write my name and need in the center of the paper handkerchief, then I place it strategically inside my Bible over a certain verse. I place all this under my side of the bed before I go to sleep tonight. It all ends with my sending the prayer handkerchief back to whomever sent it to me, then I sit back and wait for my blessings.

I'm assuming this whole thing is a scam, a targeted marketing device used to seek out people who will willingly "donate" money to whatever organization is behind this. It wasn't even addressed to me or anyone else here but to "Resident-To A Friend." The return address is to Prayer By Letters, Saint Matthew's Churches.

This isn't the first of this sort of thing I've ever gotten, but it was the first I've received right when I needed some sort of post fodder to kick start the ol' blog writing. So maybe I've already received my blessing. If that's so, then I not only don't have to write anything on the prayer handkerchief, but I also don't have to hunt down our copy of the Bible or sleep over it.

I'm wondering though if maybe I should at least try. I could think of a few things that I'd like to be blessed with, Powerball being as likely as blessings. Maybe they could make the credit card debt magically disappear. Maybe I could, through my paper prayer handkerchief, cause the complete end of all legal prohibitions on marijuana. Yes, I think I know what I'll put on my handkerchief. And to be sure, I will dig out the Bible and sleep over my need. What NORML has failed at for so many years, I will attain through my need being soaked in prayer from some scam organization. I will triumph!

birds

The birds are back in my gutter. I have a portion of gutter over my back door that has come a little loose. I haven't really helped matters any by being highly ignorant of even the most basic of home care.

I really want to be a handy kind of guy, and often I'm quite certain I know exactly how to fix something. Just as often are those things that I just don't notice. The gutter is sort of one of those things, except that I noticed it, but I only noticed it when it was raining and I was dashing through after a smoke in the garage. I'd think to myself thoughts of nicer days and getting the ladder out and cleaning the gutter.

Too many nicer days passed without that curtain of water to remind me that the gutters were fucked and needed my attention. Then spring finally came, and with spring came the birds. I'd begun to notice random drops of water on the back porch, often a sign that it's raining, but I'd know for a fact that this wasn't rain.

The gutter was so full of shingle bits and maple seeds that had dammed it up and the birds were using it, I'm guessing as a highly suspect source of drinking and/or bathing water. I have nothing against birds. I may have mentioned recently the removal of a bird nest from the hydrangea, so it might seem that I'm after the birds. I'm really not, but I can't very well let them have the gutter for themselves.

I shouldn't mention the actual cleaning, the rank odor wafting into my face as I removed more handfuls of gunk than should exist in such a confined place. I shouldn't go into the feeling of waterlogged maple seeds and random other detritus filling your hand as you move from the gutter to the bucket, dropping the mass with a lovely flop kind of a sound. The gravelly bits that wash off the shingles weren't so bad, but they were an added aspect into what could very well have become the hidden mosquito breeding ground of '07.

Removing all of that nastiness took enough strain off the gutter that it seemed as though I'd be okay. From the ladder, the gutter seemed to drain pretty well. I thought I'd taken care of the problem before it was too late, though late as it was should be really embarrassing to me no matter how I dress it up.

And speaking of birds, this may be the year they turn against me. I've discovered yet another nest that I disturbed before the birds were even able to finish. They tried to move into one of my recycling boxes. Because the garage door has a bit of gap in it, some sort of birds are getting in and out of the garage. I also found where in the garage they've shitting, though I caught that early in the process as well, so that mess isn't too bad. I've seen birds flying toward other parts of the garage, so there may be another nest attempt somewhere else that I have yet to completely disturb. This is also the year I swear to clean the garage, and I've actually already begun.

This isn't the place to post anything about cleaning the damn garage. There are certainly horrible stories to come about that. There will be the drive out Central to the scrap metal place. There will be the finally getting nearly two decades of home computers somewhere the hell else. There's also the gargantuan heating and air conditioning unit that is completely out of my hands. Remind me to tell you about that sometime. And for now, it seems I'll keeping running the birds out of all their new favorite haunts. I do really like birds, but there's only so much of their shit a man can stand.

alike

When I think of my childhood, it's usually a particular memory of something. I often feel that I don't really remember childhood, not that I've blocked it out but that it's just sort of a gray sort of thing.

There's plenty that I remember from those years, and my brothers and I certainly have lots of stories ranging back as many years as we've been around. But parts of childhood, feelings about things, my view of the world I was part of, those things sometimes seem as if I never had those thoughts. This is what I don't remember. That puts the grayness over the memories, as if they aren't quite as real somehow. It's as if I were a spectator, and I wonder now if I felt then as if I were merely a spectator, or maybe I was just someone who ran out between scenes to help change the props.

Something I do remember was brought up accidentally by Big Brother tonight. He's in bed, has been in bed for over an hour as this story happens. I was sitting here writing some crap about having writer's block, and I probably boohooed about it at least a little. I'd just finished posting, had long since sipped the last bit of beer out of my glass, and was headed toward the kitchen both for a new beer and for the back door so I could step outside for a smoke.

I was in the kitchen, had just poured my new beer when Big Brother was there, out of bed and out of nowhere, getting his water cup for yet another last drink. The night has grown late of course, the time he would usually be asleep, and I reminded him that he needed to get to sleep. It was then that he informed me that he sometimes doesn't get to sleep till dawn, but that he does get some sleep.

And I was taken back for bit. He told me goodnight and went on to bed, and I was remembering as a child, being so certain that I never slept. I'd go to bed, I'd play and squirm and roll around, and it usually took me some time to get to sleep. It didn't help that there were four of us in the room in two sets of bunk beds. And it didn't help that a certain older brother liked to open the closet door secretly from the top bunk, knowing that I feared the skeletons that were going to come out and somehow do ill deeds to me but who were unable to open the door for themselves. But neither was that at all the problem.

I know I slept, and I know Big Brother sleeps. I've checked on him often enough at night. I hear the sounds of his play coming through the wall as well as the sounds of his not play. I know when he wakes up and how much sleep he needs. And I don't doubt that my parents knew these things about me. And I'm quite certain I complained to them at times that I never got any sleep.

But I remember that feeling, that laying in bed trying to be still, to keep my eyes closed, to will myself to sleep. Roughly half an hour has passed since my short conversation with Big Brother, and I'm quite certain he's asleep. I haven't heard any noises, no bed thumps, nothing in long enough, that I'm sure of myself. He's very likely already asleep.

To this day it can take me a long time to get to sleep. I do take my sleeping medicine, twelve ounces at a time, and very often, I am asleep much before my brain gets a chance to take over. But there's still those nights quite often that I just lay there feeling the time slide past, slowly as if willing me to be awake that much longer. My brain runs the gauntlet of things inappropriate to think about when trying to sleep.

I wonder what keeps Big Brother awake at night, though often I'm pretty sure it's just playing. He took two Hot Wheels motorcycles to bed tonight. Sometimes he takes stuffed animals and probably plays out Pokemon battles. I doubt it has anything to do with George Taylor and Nova, but I was a bit older at that point than he is now, so I imagine his fantasies will be somewhat different. Of course, when I was his age, I didn't have Hot Wheels motorcycles. If I did, I would have had one that I shared with my two younger brothers, and none of us would have been allowed to take it to bed.

I guess we're just night owls. It's easy enough now, but these kids, if they don't do anything else they get bigger and older. Many years of bedtimes never trained the late night restlessness out of me, so I can only imagine what we'll see as the years slip past. And that's one more thing that kids are great for, seeing your past in them as a catalyst for wondering if you're seeing their future in you.

sad lag

I've been sadly lagging in my writing lately. I've gotten to the point where I think of blogging randomly throughout the day, which happens as I sometimes find my posting has grown sporadic. I never even bother with the ol' stat counter when I get like this. I've noticed downward trends every time this sparseness happens.

Sometimes it's simple writer's block, or so I often think. I find that when it comes, I'm often also spending time doing delaying tactic sorts of things, but they creep up on me subconsciously. I find I'm doing them after I've been doing them.

Myspace is a great time waster for me. If you are one of the couple of people who might read this and also know me through that hell hole of teen meh, you might notice that you read me less here and more there on occasion. But I do love the surveys. I know that the majority were written by someone half my age who lied to get their account, but I do them justice, in my own mind. Of course that's not the point here. I certainly won't pretend that the witty answers I put in the surveys is writing, though I can pretend it's practice.

The other delaying tactic that I use way too often is checking back for comments. I'll read random blog some time in the day, be captivated for some reason, either by the currently existing comments or by the comments I expect based on either the post or the comments. I also know who in my Bloglines can be expected to have comments. So I go back through everything I read throughout the day, giving all these lovely people a couple more hits, too often only to find nothing new. I comment sometimes, but I often feel like I'm the comment thread killer because I'm too much of a crank or because my joke doesn't read like it sounds to people used to hearing my jackassery.

And there's another thing. How do you make sure that, when conversing via the internet, people realize you're a jackass and not just a plain ol' cunt? And don't get all up in arms at the use of the word cunt, because sometimes when I say cunt I really mean dick. Sometimes though, someone being a dick is really being a total asshole. And sometimes, the cunts are just being assholes because they're pissed off that those other cunts were being dicks, and they just couldn't take it anymore.

And that's where I find myself. I think I'm just at a low point for post fodder. Maybe it really is writer's block. Either way, as soon as I publish this I'm going to check Myspace and the roller derby fan forum. I might check my family's board, though I doubt there's anything new there.

handiwork

Part of the reasoning behind the trusty ol' digital camera is all the great things you can do with them. Momma got one for the family for christmas, and it's been great fun to play with. I did read the book that came with it, the basic book, but I barely scanned the more advanced version of the book. Months later, I still only know how to complete the most basic of functions.

Today being Big Brother's last game of the spring soccer season, Momma figured it would be a good time to finally take the camera to a game and try to get some pictures of him and his teammates. One problem with this plan is that neither of have really looked at the camera to find the proper mode for action shots. I've tried a couple of things in the past, most derby related, but the constant motion of derby makes it difficult to catch any thing worth catching. Soccer can present a similar problem, but soccer's catch worthy moments can so often appear out of, as they say, your ass, so of course it carries it's own difficulty.

None of those issues are really of concern as we drive to the soccer fields today, Momma intently poring over the advanced version of the book. We still aren't convinced we found what we want, but what she did find is some sort of continuous shutter something or other. I could find out the real name, but the book is all the way in another room, and seriously, I don't care that much. It won't make this story suck less to know that it is called this as opposed to that.

So all that shit build up for this. Momma grabbed a great series of pictures of Big Brother. It's a race for the ball and you just don't know who will get to it first. That smooth kid in the blue is Big Brother.

back baby

Indeed we are back baby. Momma finally got paid and we're back to drinking the good beer. We even bought the boys some fast food today without them having asked. We like to include them in the celebration.

You have to know that the very first beer I wanted cleansing the debris away was a St. Terese. The first sip confirmed something I hadn't expected though. I had become a bit colorblind in terms of beer. I have a somewhat limited variety to choose from in my small town. I do think that I have fairly decent options in that availability.

So I've been drinking all this decent beer, and then we budget the beer and have a couple of weeks of High Life. That's all well and good, and I don't care how you feel that my budget crunch involved not skimping on beer but skimping on the price. At least it wasn't Natural Light Ice. That's almost possibly too low even for me, though if you're buying, that's another story.

Anyway, I finally poured my first St. Terese in ages, one of those lovely commercial pours where the head reaches the very top of the glass and no more. I watched in the shadows of the kitchen that nearly amber shade that turns a beautiful red as I carry the beer into the more flatteringly lighted living room. I take a nice full sip and it all comes back to me. I'm flooded with that flavor that made me fall in love in the beginning, the flavor I'd come to take for granted.

St. Terese is what I think of as an American pale ale. It's based somewhat on the British IPA, but the hops is so much more well thought out than in so many hoppy beers. The hops comes through in these beautiful floral notes combined with what can only be described as a rich hoppiness. This whole paragraph sounds redundant as I read back through it. I stopped for a sip of the lovely ale and was overcome again by this beer.

We still have a shit ton of High Life left in the refrigerator. It won't likely last long, but when I've got decent beer and cheap yellow beer, the cheap yellow beer sometimes tries to call to me in the middle of the afternoon or early in the evening. For all my love of the drink, I do try to contain it in reasonable times and amounts.

Either way, it's time for a smoke, and maybe I'll come back with some lovely post about something that matters. That won't likely happen, but you never know.