update? maybe?

Poor little nearly abandoned blog that I miss so. Oddly enough, I've had a lot on my mind lately. Momma and I really need to begin cutting back our drinking. We have a wall of Yuengling bottles that need to be recycled along with at least three boxes of mixed paper. And yes I did say Yuengling, newly available in my town, and I think I've drank enough to give a Christmas bonus to at least one of the gals in the typing pool.

Momma's gotten to bear the brunt of the late night drinking both because she's the one occasionaly having to get up too early with too little sleep and because I'm a beast to wake up. I haven't actually heard the alarm in months I'd wager, though my phone alarm did work to get me up (not really ever) on time for those eight soccer Saturdays.

Consider yourself lucky that I've avoided posting the last couple of days, other than the couple I did post. You'd likely have found yourself ignoring about fifteen different posts that were nothing but Rufus Wainwright videos. I even caught The Boy singing Across the Universe which he doesn't realize is a Beatles song, though I did play a version by the Beatles for him.

I know I've hinted in the past about needing to return to the work force, and that's certainly come up lately. I know I should be able to get back into the restaurant business, and I really do sort of miss it, but I also sort of fear having to get back into it. It's a huge pain in the ass, and we'd need to go back to staggering our schedule so that one of is always with the boys. It would take so much of the work load off Momma's back and let her hang out with the kids again.

Was that an update? It almost seems like it could be. I don't really have any big huge news to share, at least not anymore. I also have finally gotten both boys in bed and have not smoked my usual boys-are-in-bed cigarette, so I'll leave you with those scattered thoughts.

little bit heiress

As promised in my last post, here is the song from which I stole the line that I used as a title for said post. Guess what! I did it again on this post and from the same song. Doc is somewhat to thank for the song, as it is from a list she made recently of songs she'd purchased. Reading her post I scanned the list, recognizing names here and there but not finding myself generally interested for the most part.

And then, toward the end of the list, Rufus Wainwright. This is a name I've heard, but I'd never really gotten into him. His music has stood out the few times I've heard it, most likely on various late night talk shows in those sad pre-cable days when we actually considered the low numbers on the tv. I couldn't really tell you where I'd heard him, but I had, and I remembered sort of.

A quick search at YouTube yeilded the song and a video worth enbiggening. I had a moment, may have swooned a bit and proceeded to spend a good portion of last night watching videos. I might have to spend my pot money on cd's.

little old doll with a frown

I've known for years. Momma has known for years. I've bottled it and buried it deep, but it was never deep enough. It's always resurfaced, and I've always faithfully pushed it back down again. Things have happened that have forced it to the surface, all the way out, never to be buried again.

Accepting that I'm gay is not difficult for me. Letting it out and knowing how to approach it intelligently is another matter. The hardest part of it all is the changes this forces on Momma and myself. All that we've come to accept as our life is now different.

I've known for years. I've bottled it and buried it and reburied it. I've avoided things that would bring it up. It's always been there. I've been learning lately how denying this truth has affected so much more than I could have imagined. I've been learning lately how much I've been lying to myself and how much work it's been trying to keep this buried.

And that's all I have for you right now. I've wanted to write this post for so long, but my many attempts have all fallen short. There's so much more to the story that doesn't really fit here right now, and I may never explain the story that this past year has been. I do hope that my having finally gotten this out will allow me to get back to my usual blogging self. Knowing that this post needed to be written yet being unable to has been my source of blog block lately, or so I hope. So look forward to me being able to write again soon.

The title of this post is from the song Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk by Rufus Wainwright. I'll post more concerning this as well as a video as soon as I feed some kids and grab a smoke.

2 out of 3 really isn't that bad

But as we can all attest, the song really is. Thanks to Chris for pointing that out(in the comments) and earning the song of the day. Yes, you know going in what it is, and unless you like the song, you may be unwilling to watch this video. It's really worth it. HERE to go straight to YouTube for an enbiggening that I do honestly suggest for this treasure.

example

Updated to add sarcasm tag, whatever that looks like.

A perfect example of what Christine was talking about. Sesame Street is sooo not for kids.

Watch the tiny video below or go HERE to YouTube and enbiggen.

oh really

So as I'm sure everyone knows, Hannah Montana's dad is Billy Ray Cyrus. Because I've included those two names in the very first line of this post I'm going outside to kick my own ass in about a minute and a half when I get through writing this .

I learned this bit of worthless trivia yesterday. We'd stopped for gas and cigarettes, me pumping, Momma getting to go inside for the smokes, and while waiting she read the headline in whatever paper apparently felt the need to put this on the front. She of course had to tell me as soon as she was back to the car.

I'm sure somewhere deep inside it's not really worthless trivia. I'm somehow strangely relieved to know that at least she comes by her suck naturally.

fishnets

Yes, the title is Fishnets, yet this post is barely about them at all.

I've been a bad blogger. I received a package in the mail a week ago, though the package contents were not for me. I like fishnet stockings well enough, but I don't wear them. So who would send me these lovely items, and why would they send them to me?

They were actually for Momma. I commented at and linked to Sue Doe-Nim and did so in a timely fashion that won me the prize, the prize being the aforementioned fishnets. And now I have let time slip past and have not thanked Sue for her prize or generosity.

So thank you Sue! Momma was excited to receive new fishnets as hers wear quite worn through. She mentioned that they are the nicest she's ever owned and has sworn not to wear them for roller derby, especially on our home rink which is quite rude to those articles of clothing most likely to snag and be ruined by the ice court flooring our leagues skates on.

bitches

Turned the tv on, hoping for something not sucky. CNN features some uptight woman bitch and a pandering man bitch discussing some presidential candidate using the word bitch in regards to a female presidential candidate.

The discussion of course revolves somewhat around the fact that women willing to stand up and talk like a man are often seen as being bitches. And now we have a new wedge issue to take up time and air.

Quit being bitches about the word bitch. Sure it's not nice, but the same sort of comments are made about men, and no it isn't comparable, but neither is bitch comparable to nigger or spick.

Sometimes it takes being a bitch to get the job done. If you're so delicate that the mere word bitch can effect your ability to get the job done then you're already losing.

Step up, be a bitch and take care of your fucking business.

been quite some time

How I kept from screaming myself hoarse I'll never know. The scene was a classic in sports stories. The small town team, having faced the league team only once and in enemy territory, now finds themselves on the night of the rematch, at home. That first meeting found our team facing defeat and a severely mismatched final score. So many things seem to be working against a win for the home side tonight, from memories of the last time to the fact that several skaters and support staff have found themselves running extremely late due to some absurdly heavy traffic for our town on a Saturday evening.

The scene is Hard Knox Roller Girls facing off against Huntsville Alabama's Dixie Derby Girls. The first bout between these teams was an absolute battle that saw an HKRG jammer taken out in the first period. Our side represented themselves well that night, making us proud even as they went down to the Dixie Derby Girls.

Saturday was our night to welcome DDG to our house. I was fortunate enough to witness one of the greatest nights of flat track roller derby I've seen yet.

Hard Knox grabbed an early lead in the first period, seeming to have put a comfortable space between themselves and Huntsville. The second period saw Huntsville begin to chip away at that lead. The third period was an absolute fever of all out derby, neither team able to maintain the advantage for very long.

The final jam began with less than two minutes on the official clock meaning that there would be no lead jammer, and the jam would last the full two minutes. As the whistle sounded to start the jam, Huntsville was ahead with 98 points to Knoxville's 94. The next two minutes were a flurry of teamwork as Hard Knox came together to win themselves a jam score of 12 to 2 and a win over DDG, final score 106-100. Our jammer was pure speed as our blockers kept a clear lane open using every tool from hard hits to timely whips.

I can't say enough about the people that came together this night. The fans were amazing, and they make everyone do their job better when they show up and have fun. Huntsville brought a ref, an amazing and charming young lady we've had the pleasure of working with before. A fine pair of gentlemen drove all the way across our state from Memphis to help our refs as well. All of the refs did an amazing job calling the bout. Dixie Derby Girls brought our town one hell of a bout and, we hope, the promise of more to come.

not surprised

You Are a Losing Lottery Ticket!

Full of hope and promise. But in the end, a cheap letdown.

What Crappy Christmas Gift Are You?

I feel like a losing lottery ticket sometimes, whatever that means.

Hat tip to Christine for this one.

suh-weet

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

• fuck (3x)
• asshole (2x)
• ass (1x)

So this is why I can't win the award I'm not mentioning. I'm rated R, though I suspect if they'd dug a little deeper into my past posts I would have gotten whatever comes after R. Maybe not, and maybe I care.

Either way, thanks to Lynn of Bore Me To Tears, who only got a PG, nyah-nyah!

award

I'm not going to post about John and Deb Lillywhite's homeschool blog award extravaganza, but in protest, I will begin my own blog award. It's not for just anyone, but if you've mentioned homeschooling or had reason for the word to enter your vocabulary in even one instance or if you or someone you know just happens to have a blog, you are more than welcome to give it a shot.

I'm sure this whole thing will backfire somehow, and I'll come out in the end looking like a giant cunt, but I propose that I'm most likely to be able to award blog awards. I am now hereby opening up my blog awards to nominations. This is the kickoff for my thumbs up award.

The rules and criteria are all about me and my perception of sucking and not sucking. If I don't think something sucks and some other restrictions and requirements to be determined along the way, you just might win this thing that will take up valuable page space on your blog but will also indicate that you don't suck in my opinion. That will soon be more important than anything else you can come up with, so give it a try before it all goes to shit and I make someone cry.

This post courtesy of the homeschool blog awards to whom I won't bother linking. Wondering what the fuss is about? Visit Doc. She automatically and without the need for deliberation gets a thumbs up award if she wants it.

more random than not

I actually let myself believe today. The Boy, having taken his Hallowe'en candy into the living room to sort through and pick a piece, continued to cradle the plastic cauldron full of candy and was caught a very few minute later having had a second piece. I almost took the cauldron away then and even asked him to bring it to the kitchen. He told me he wanted to keep it with him on the sofa because he wanted, "to keep it company." I couldn't possibly take it away then and warned him yet again against eating more candy. I was cooking supper, and it's hard enough to get healthy food in him without him having taken up valuable hunger with empty calories and sugar. And yes he had the third piece of candy as well.

On the upside, the part of his supper that was healthy vegetables disappeared entirely while the meaty, cheesy other part sits cold and uneaten on the table. And that reminds me that I've let those two bowls sit on the table for way too long. I was intending to have the boys carry their own dishes into the kitchen, but having continued to forget to do so has allowed me to completely forget to do it myself.

I find myself looking forward to tomorrow which is Saturday, the soonest anyone reading this would read it, so perhaps today for you. Either way, the crappy story to follow doesn't suck less because I'm more accurate with my wording from your point of view. And to make matters worse it isn't tomorrow so much as that there's no soccer to get up early for.

That shouldn't be a sad story after eight weeks of Saturdays beginning at eight in the morning. And it's not the soccer because I have so much fun on those sixteen Saturdays a year. The sad part is that spring and fall soccer season are the only time I regularly have to get up at any point on any day. That it's a Saturday shouldn't really come into play, but for some reason it does.

I hate getting up. I hate being told I have to get up more than anything. I actually find, as I'm in those first moments of dopey near consciousness, the dark time when I'm aren't quite thinking right, loathing everything around that could possibly have had to do with my having to be awake. As I finally get honestly awake, I get over it, and then I get to the fields and see the kids and it's WHEE HOO, soccer time! So it's worth it, but that first little moment of the morning . . .

And there you have it. Two stories in one. Each equally having taken minutes you'll never get back. Lessons? Don't listen to a four year old saying he won't eat any of the candy he has lovingly cradled in his arms. Don't wake me up! Ever! or better yet, if for some reason you have to, ignore me for at least fifteen minutes and give me coffee. For fuck sake don't ever underestimate the power of a cup of coffee, preferably a dark roast and straight out of the French press.

freakin' sweet

Here's a heartwarming story that I've intended to post for around a week. I've had the window minimized at the bottom of my screen since then and have successfully and accidentally ignored it this whole time.

Hat tip Good As You. A high school in Davis California has elected two homecoming princes from their junior class, a darling young gay couple, and boys at that. They were elected by their classmates.

I don't really get a lot of warm, fuzzy feelings, for what it's worth, but every time I think of this it's like a brand new warm, fuzzy all over again. It really is 2007, and maybe, just maybe, that whole infernal equality thing is not so elusive after all.

bookery

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Book Snob You like to think you're one of the literati, but actually you're just a snob who can read. You read mostly for the social credit you can get out of it.
Literate Good Citizen
Dedicated Reader
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

How not true is this? Let me count the ways . . .

Okay, up to a point I'll accept book snob as not undescriptive. I think I do tend toward a certain snobbishness about things, though books would be only one of those things. However, I do not read for the social aspect.

I do read a vast variety of books. I'm currently taking a break from muddling through a book full of Jonathan Swift in order to both take a break and speed through the new National Geographic. Before this I almost began The Neverending Story, but as it was one of Big Brother's birthday gifts, I pressed pause to allow him to have first crack at it. I recently read War of the Worlds and didn't not enjoy it.

I'm not sure what I'll read next, but I do heartily disagree with the statement above that I read for the social credit, whatever the hell that even means. For real.

And thanks Sue for taking this before me and then posting it so I could finally go two days in a row with something to post about.

the window

Momma woke me much too early this morning with some sort of story that, as my brain fought to become conscious, I heard as somewhere along the lines of, " . . . the car's broken in the middle and you need to wake up and take me to work and get it fixed."

My brain fought even harder to exit the fog of having just been deeply asleep. I heard the bit about something broken and needing to get up. I sat up, feeling the normal (for me) overly aggravated feeling of being awakened, fighting to make sense of it all.

I don't usually wake up well. It takes a good bit to drag me from sleep, and if someone is waking me up intentionally, especially with bad news, I wake very irritable and even a bit angry sometimes. I'm an asshole under the best of these bad circumstances, though I have warned the wife and kids to just ignore me, give me some time and space and I will calm down and become at least as rational as I ever am.

The real story was that our front driver's side window is now in hundreds of pieces down inside the door. The motor to that window has been slow since we bought the car, growing worse each year it seems and being especially difficult in the cold. Momma had rolled the window down to get some of the fog off, but the window proved especially sluggish on this rather cold morning. Her attempts to help the motor by pulling up on the window probably dislodged the window which had probably been helped along by a few years of having pulled at the window trying to help the motor. The window then fell far enough back into the door to shatter.

That's why I had to drag myself out of my warm bed, awakened to the need to wake the boys, put on extra layers and drive the few miles downtown with one window stuck open in the cold. Did I mention that it was pretty cold this morning?

It ended up being not so bad once we were driving and had the heat cranked and I'd gotten a handle on my oh so mature early rise aggravation. We dropped Momma off and went to get gut busting fast food breakfast. That may have been the bonus, that we got to spend too much money for unhealthy food, but on this of all mornings I felt that at least the boys deserved a little something special.

I wolfed down the gut buster while perusing the yellow pages for possible window repair services, found pen and paper for the estimates, and began calling, each call beginning almost exactly like this:

ring-ring

Them, "Hello, Prospective Auto Glass Repair Company, friendly representative speaking."

Me, "Hi, I'm calling around looking for prices to get a window replaced in my car."

See, right there I'm letting them know I'm not calling to get a job done just yet. I know better than to jump at the first person I call, and I don't want them thinking I'm setting up an appointment. I also know that, given the nature of the work, I do need to be quick and get this set up as early as possible in order to get the window replaced today. The later I wait the less likely they are to be able to work me in. However, I'm going to call enough places to know what to expect to pay and to find the cheapest of those prices. It's pretty much a no brainer, sort of a goes-without-saying sort of thing.

I got quote number one and went to number two. They were much cheaper, and I told the woman so. She informed me that they were short an employee for the day and that she would make some calls to see when they could get me in. I informed her again that I would be making more calls, seeking the lowest price I could.

She called me back a short time later to inform me when they could get me in, and she was ready to set up the appointment. I told her not to make the appointment as I wasn't done calling other places, and that's when she did it. She made a fake little-girl-acting-sad noise, a plaintive little "aaww" that I didn't tell her could have easily lost her company the deal right there.

I did set up an appointment with the third place I ended up calling. They had the cheapest price and can at some point do the job today. They are even coming to the house to do it. I'm no more stuck in the house than I would have been had we not had to get up early and take Momma to work, though having the car and being stuck is a whole new stuck, but that doesn't really matter in the end. Either way, I'm willing to wait in the warmth and not drive around town with a window semi-permanently open. Did I mention it was cold this morning?

And that's how my day began. We are soon to be out $200 for the pleasure of having a new window. I really need to see about getting that motor fixed now, but the slow leaks in two tires and the overdue oil change and the soft brake pedal will all certainly need to be addressed first, but damn if that's not just another pile of money growing ever higher looming, waiting to further deplete our meager funds. Damn cars!

troll?

I think I've become an internet troll. I'm actually a little worried about it. It's not that I'm just a troll in general, but a certain topic at a local news blogging site has irritated the living shit out of me. The subject is one I'm rather more irritated about. The problem is, I can't help but accept that most people consider my arguments shaky at best in regard to this issue, yet I also can't help but not waiver from my concerns.

Before I go any farther, I'll explain my pitiful story. My town has recently contracted with a company to have installed a number of cameras the sole purpose of which is to catch people running red lights. It wasn't something we got to know about really before it happened, and it wasn't anything I remember voting on, and all in all, I just don't like them. I don't like feeling spied on.

A big concern for me is the subcontracting of law enforcement to a for-profit company. I really don't think it's a good idea to allow this sort of relationship on any level. I don't think it's a stretch to suggest that this is not only a slippery slope but also a very steep slippery slope.

I don't like the way it's effected the way I drive. I don't like the extra fearful element this adds to what driving has become. It's one more concern, the fifty dollar ticket hanging over your head as you approach an intersection that's never proved a problem for you before they mounted cameras that would tag you. Now you approach it slowly to a point, just in case the light turns yellow, and as you enter the intersection you feel you should speed up because it might be changing at this very moment.

The troll part that scares me is my inability in this discussion to just walk away and be done. And it's not like the couple of people I continue to argue with are even making the best arguments. I've been accused of being someone who runs red lights. It's been suggested that I'm ignorant and don't actually have a driver's license. I've been accused of being equal to people who have a mentality that allows them to run down innocent pedestrians who are legally crossing the street. And I answer my real concerns over the cameras, and the same concerns are leveled at me. I don't know which is the bigger problem, the people that make these statements or that I continue to answer them.

I'm honestly done with that as of today. I've been afraid to even check the site at all even for other stories because I know if I see new comments it's all going to be continued, and I'm going to get even more pissed off than I did the last time. I'm going to let it get to me, and I'm going to finally break and just go freak on them. And I know that I likely look like some kind of nutsack about it all.

I really don't comment that often at this site because I find it hard to play nice. I'm better off just trying to enlarge my point of view about local issues and not adding my own nonsense. That's the whole reason I read this site, and I do enjoy it for that. I don't have to play nice in the majority of comments I make because I usually keep it to answering the random real troll or local dumbass, the kind that loves to try and jab the liberals with a stick and rile them up.

And that's what I've got. I'm afraid that in this one specific instance I've uncovered secret troll tendencies. It's a sad need to have the last word that I wish I could chalk up to troll baiting in regard to the dinks that won't just let me have my problems with this. They can't accept that I could possibly think the way I do and must insist on belittling me. I keep jumping back in the fray because they're just so damn intolerant of difference. Well fuck 'em I say.

I just keep talking 'bout the game

Warning, like the other one: gratuitous soccer blah, blah, blah. Best just to turn and walk away.

Speaking of the drill that I thought I'd thought of that I probably didn't really, the funny thing is, I never really thought of that drill since the couple of practices in the very beginning of the season that I used it. Having narrowed down my keeper list, and having little help in the way of other coaches, the drill itself is too much a uni-tasker and would eat into our time. I like it as a way to give the taste of the position to allow them to make an informed decision about it, and I liked that it narrowed the pool.

Having found the two kids best suited to play keeper, I've still been willing to allow a couple of other kids who showed a late interest in the position to have time to work on their skills during practice. I've explained that I need a lot of hard work from them both, though I didn't mention that the class clown nature of their regular practice antics would secretly make them have to work even harder, and one of those two is Big Brother, just so you know I really am being fair. Both these guys are real jokers during practice, but to their credit they've consistently played their best when game time rolls around.

This all came in handy yesterday as my regular keepers didn't show. I had no idea they weren't going to be there, but I did know that Big Brother and the other kid had in fact been working very hard. They've both gone from big time flinchers to pouncing at an attacker's feet onto the ball when they had the bad sense to come into our goal area. Yes, Big Brother did in fact almost take a kid out at the knees diving on the ball. Kid shouldn't have come up in Big Brother's goal area like that.

We won the game, a game that was one of the most exciting I've ever watched at any level of play. We were down our two regular keepers and had one sub. The other team was short a couple of players as well. They got a few past our keepers, but the work my kids have been doing in practice really showed. Both my keepers made some great saves, though honestly, the whole team played well. The win was awesome, but to see them showing that they're learning, that I've helped them achieve this . . . I'm glad I wasn't in the dog pile at the end.

monkey keeper

Warning: gratuitous soccer post, coaching and talking shit on poor, wee widdle kids (not really, the last part at least)

One of the concerns I had going into this season was goal keepers. AYSO U8 keepers don't use their hands, not at all sure why, but in U10 they do. Not only was this my first season coaching this age, but many of my players were new to this level as well. I'm also not a keeper in any way, so I was worried that I wouldn't be able to help my keepers do their job well.

What I didn't expect was for nearly every single kid to express an interest in the position when I asked them all that very first practice. Through the first few practices and even the first two games I rotated most of the kids through the goal. I could tell a few that didn't flinch and seemed able to catch a ball, and the two kids who came to take most of the weight of the position really stood out.

In the end, a drill that occurred to me randomly one night was what came to fix the problem. Even as late as a couple of games into the season, I still had more wannabe keepers than I really wanted. Enter Monkey in the Middle: Keeper Edition.

Even assuming most people know what monkey in the middle is, I'll explain it here to be sure. One kid is designated The Monkey. The rest of the team forms a rough circle around the monkey, hopefully at a comfortable passing distance between players across the circle from each other. The object is for the players making up the circle is to pass the ball across the circle to each other while successfully avoiding giving control of the ball to the monkey. The monkey remains inside the circle until he is able to gain control of the ball at which point he and the last person to touch the ball exchange places. You're not supposed to want to be the monkey, but for some reason I always get the kids that do in fact want to be the monkey.

Monkey in the Middle: Keeper Edition is simple. Using cones, make a circle spacing the cones the width of the goal. You should now have basically created a circle of goals. Into each goal insert one possible potential keeper. Into the middle of the circle place one coach and as many soccer balls as you have. Previous to this you've covered what the keeper is allowed and what is expected of him. Now take turns chipping shots at the kids. Actually take shots at the goal, but place them around the keeper and make them work for the ball. If they stop the ball they give it back. If not they get to run and chase it while you take aim at the next poor, wee widdle player.

This drill, if you have enough kids clamoring for a chance in the goal, gives them all some practice. It could really be a decent drill, and I'm sure someone has already thought of it and uses it quite a bit in keeper clinics. It wouldn't be the first time I thought I'd thought of something that someone else had thought of long before me. What it did for me, in the end, was help me narrow down my list of keepers to two and forced its own demise. I don't get enough time during the week for practice to focus too much on the keepers, so I make sure to come up with games and drills where they can take shots from their teammates. But I'm keeping this drill around for the next time I have more keepers than I need and need a good way to nudge the kids in other directions.

brainfire

The closest I've ever been to wasabi has been the little dollop that comes with sushi. I'm not a big fan of sushi though, so it's been fairly seldom that I get close at all. Momma does sometimes fix the boys up a box of sushi before she leaves work, so there are those random times that wasabi is in the house, but even then it's just that li'l dollop.

As for my sushi non-fanedness, it seems a travesty to not like it. I'm astounded by the simple beauty of a well put together plate. I don't like nori at all, and I've gone out of my way to try seaweed in a number of presentations. I just don't like it. As for the raw fish, I don't have any issues with the rawness, which is often the deal breaker for people. I do have some weird textural issues with the fish, and I'm not generally a huge fan of fish anyway. I do like a few fish cooked, such as red snapper and calamari, and I've been known to enjoy a well cooked scallop. Ceviche I'm fine with assuming it's made well and with good ingredients, though I will hit a limit. Working at the titty bar and running to Hooters for the dancers taught me that I could enjoy crab legs, but I'll willingly admit that in that case it could very easily be about the fact that they give you melted butter as a dipping sauce.

Yes, I did in fact just call melted butter a dipping sauce.

mmmmmmmm, butter

The thing to remember here is that none of that is the point. We must now get back to the wasabi that is the true anti hero of our tale. Anyone who's ever worked in a sushi bar can apparently most assuredly tell you, and Momma in fact told me with the words, "I can't believe you just did that." Well for fuck sake, she didn't warn me, and I didn't damn know.

Backstory, Momma did a sushi class tonight for a bunch of young teen girls. Imagine that for a moment. Anyway, after finishing the class she came home with her supplies, carrying boxes and bags, and I began helping her put things away as she discussed her evening. Of the supplies, one bag is full of containers containing various vegetables, red peppers, cucumber, carrots, and in the bottom the last smaller container. The one with the little ball of wasabi that you have to have with sushi even if the kids don't want it.

"Oooo, wasabi," or something similar I say, pulling the container out and lifting the lid. I do like wasabi somewhat, not not being a fan of the pungency life brings.

"Yeah, they weren't interested in that all," Momma says, not bothering to warn me against what I'm about to do. "One girl might have tried it."

I know pungent and that some smells can get you. I've never before tonight however felt flames engulf my brain. As I stuck my nose into the wasabi container, inhaled not nearly lightly enough, I felt so many sensations in the briefest of moments. I felt the wasabi tingle the tip of my nose with a mere spark of intensity that quickly turned into some white hot burning that rushed to the back of my skull. In all honesty, I felt the flames race in a perfect arc, up my nose to my brain where it traced a route over the very top only to end in a whole extra and unnecessary burst of pain in the very middle of the back of my brain.

I almost think I can feel it still, the place in the back of my brain where the wasabi flames ended. I'm almost certain that I can taste wasabi on my brain with my mind. I'm also fairly tempted to do it again, and I know better and that it can't end well, but damn if that wasn't one of the fucked upedest things ever.

can't have fun?

I have a new favorite line courtesy of Sue Doe-Nim, placed in a post about enjoying your kids. I have a hard time enjoying my own kids sometimes because I get into a bad habit of expecting too much from them. It's hard for me to give them the room to be kids sometimes, but I'm practicing hard at being better at this, and it's slowly seeming more natural to slow myself down or even just shut my mouth.

Sue's line-If you can't have fun with 10 kids and a ball you should seek inpatient counseling

And there you have one of the absolute best reasons to coach youth soccer.

Go and read all of Sue's post. She and her family are not homeschoolers, but you wouldn't know it to hear her talk about having fun with her kids. I don't want to suggest that traditional school families don't love their kids and have fun, but the connections and closeness many homeschool families have is often due to some extent on the choice to homeschool. I'm sure I've dug myself into a pit with my comparisons, but that's pretty much what I do.

conest and request

In a comment to my post about being prayed at/for, unschooler Lisa laughed at my lovely anecdote as well as added this:

You can delete/edit this out:
Note: I also wanted to ask if you could post about a Logo Design Contest i am having for homeschooling families.. ??it is for homeschooling site wards and I need a logo. You can read about details here:

The link got cut off in the comment, and the entire request may have gotten lost, buried in an old blog post never to be seen again. We can't have that.

The actual link is HERE. Lifelearning.org is hosting a contest to design a blog award. Many of us certainly remember a certain awarding of homeschool blog awards that happened in the mysts of time (like last year maybe?) and the shenanigans that happened around that. Let's hope that this blog award thingamajig goes better than that one. And who knows, maybe someone here wins the contest and shares the prize with me.

I hope the prize is ice cream.

phones

Our phones are through the big company, the one that used to be a different company but recently was renamed with the name of the parent. And a short time later, for some reason, Momma and I are having phone issues.

We assumed it was hers at first. It's been dropped a time or two more than mine. We realized recently that it's both phones.

I haven't been getting a number of calls lately. People will call and get sent directly to my voicemail. I try to call them back and get "Call Failed, Network Busy" message. I try again and the phone takes at least a minute of me sitting and waiting to even seem like it's doing anything.

Momma's reception has been getting really bad, and apparently mine is now doing the same. It almost seems like our coverage area has shrunk, but I don't think to pay attention to how many bars I have, so I don't really know if that's true.

We'll have had these phones for two years Mother's Day of '08 at which point this particular contract runs out. I'll be researching the next couple of days to see what sort of fix I can come up with for this. If the merging of these companies has adversely effected my ability to communicate with my overpriced yet still slightly fancy phone, then my contract should not effect my ability to find a server that won't screw up my service. I'm also quite certain that there is a part of the contract written extra tiny that I didn't read that has a clause that I agreed to that allows them to screw me at double the rate I've been paying if they so choose and that there's a spring in the phone to make it clamp down and bite my cheek if I don't damn well pay up.

We'll see!

how to clear a room

Last night Momma and I got to see an awesome couple of bands, local guys The Hits and Deals Gone Bad from Chicago.

The Hits are definitely a ska punk band, loud, maybe a little crass, a little (lot) goofy. Most of the crowd seemed very familiar with the band, knowing all the in jokes that build up around a band that can pull the locals in. They threw in way more metal guitar than any self respecting ska band ever should yet it was never too much.

Deals Gone Bad is a whole other ska direction. They play songs that make you feel stuff. They play a very soulful ska more kin to the traditional sounds. I know I've mentioned them a few times lately, but in all honesty, it's been a long time since a band moved me as much as their new stuff does.

We missed the first band that played. Between getting the boys to Grandma's house so that we could sneak out and buy Big Brother an overdue birthday present, needing to eat, and the getting the boys from Grandma's to take them to Great Grandma's who would keep them overnight we ended up getting to the show a little late.

I can't say we missed the last band. We were there while they played but we were outside for a bit of it and then went downstairs. And this band is the lesson from the title of this post.

During The Hits and Deals Gone Bad portion of the show the room was mostly full. The people attending the show were smiling and dancing. The bands were playing well and playing to an audience that wanted to see them. At some point, while DGB was thinking they still had time to play, while the entire audience expected and wanted them to play more, someone got on stage to let us all know that DGB was done. The audience as one raised their voice to demand more. The last band was not willing to let that happen. It was their turn as far as they were concerned, and that was all that mattered to them.

I don't recall what was said from the stage but Deals Gone Bad was done, and no one in the audience was especially pleased. We waited for someone from DGB to man their merch table so I could buy a cd, then Momma and I went outside.

I have no idea how the last band got on the bill. I don't know who thought it was a good idea to stick a crappy classic rock cover band at the end of the night of ska, and I almost suspect the band exists so that bars can hire them to make everyone leave. That's what happened. A room so full of life and music that the floor was shaking was suddenly full of noise and emptiness. Most people actually left, but a few of us went to the downstairs bar where we didn't have to hear the band as much.

And that's one way to clear a room. Give the good band a bunch of sass mouth about nothing other than your petty jealousy from your band sucking outright and having to play after the good band. Insist on your turn when it's obvious that the crowd you're about to hopefully play for asks for just a couple more songs from the other band. Kill the festive mood created by the bands before you and kill it so good that no one even bothers to give you a fair listen.

And that friends and neighbors is how to clear a room.

Now that the ugliness is over go to Myspace and listen to The Hits and the Deals Gone Bad. You'll thank me for it, assuming of course you like good music.

been prayed at

I thought those three people were possibly doing some sort of real estate thing when I first saw them. The woman that lives directly across the street from the people next door to me has been doing some building lately. She subdivided her lot and has built one house behind hers and has the beginning of a foundation for the one she's building in front of her house. At one point tonight, three people I don't know were looking at the place, so real estate was my first assumption.

I thought nothing of them as they stood there looking at the property. I didn't in fact think of them again at all till they were in front of the house next door. I didn't know quite what to think as they were obviously praying. I knew I was likely to be next, so as they left the neighbors I headed outside.

They were praying in front of my house when I walked up and asked, "What exactly are you doing?"

"Prayer walk," one of them answered. "We're from Blibbity Blab Baptist Church, and we're just walking through praying blah blah blah."

I really did shut her out as she finished her thing. I didn't quite know what to think. I didn't see any anointing oil, so we seemed safe there, but I also didn't think of anything witty to say till much later. What I did come up with was, "Ya'll have fun with that."

I hope to have seen the last of this, but if the praying somehow starts to work, and if I can reasonably justify my stance as to what the prayer effects and how, then I will keep you updated.

And the witty line I came up with too late? "Shouldn't ya'll be out feeding the hungry or something?"

all the cars

Inspired by Chris posting about all the cars he's owned.

1972 Ford Ranchero-bought probably in '89. I'd been trying to save money for a car when my mother decided I was going to buy this car. I didn't have any better options. It drank a fair amount of oil, especially those times I cut loose down I-675. This car could fucking go. Until the day I smashed into the ass end of a VW Rabbit on Columbia Avenue. It was backed into the driveway by the tow truck awaiting a bit of repair.

198? Chevy S10-pickup-owned by older brother, though I took over payments. This was the cheap model and not something I really wanted to own. I forget now why older brother was not making payments, but he was kind enough to have smashed in one of the front fenders. this car met it's demise t boning some stupid bitch in Morrow GA as she pulled out of a fast food restaurant and stopped right in front of me. I had time as I hit the brakes to see that there was absolutely no where I could go. I turned to the right as much as I could as I hit to keep from hitting her door . Needless to say, it was totalled.

In chronological driving terms we come now back to the Ranchero. I had purchased a new hood and front end at a junk yard and now had ample reason to repair the car, which I did. What was once half primer gray and half original red with white and black trim became all of that with the addition of a Granny Smith green hood and front end. I drove it till the tie rods broke one day while I was leaving work at a Kroger warehouse off Lakewood Freeway. I walked down the street to a repair shop that happened to be close by looking for a tow truck, not sure what to do with the damn car. I let the guy talk me into selling it to him, a decision I sort of regret to this day. This car could have brought out the hot rod guy in me, but it's probably fortunate that it didn't.

1973 Volkswagen Beetle-true punk rock car. It was mostly orange when I got it with this really poorly done black wedge like thing that started just in front of the back wheels and went up to just beneath the back window. It was only a short time before a couple of friends and I attacked it with Sharpies and wrote a lot of nonsense and punk band names all over it. There was broken glass somewhere in the back that a friend was nice enough to not clean up even as I explained that I didn't give a shit since they were the ones who had to sit in it. That car saw some good times and some high drama. It also saw an over done wannabe monster truck roll over the back end of it as I didn't clear the intersection on Memorial Drive in time, a combination of my car stalling and the guy in the truck not meaning to be quite such a dick.

1979 Mercury Grand Marquis- which had been my grandmother's car. This car was the worst possible shade of green and was christened the big pickle though any pickle this shade of green would be best avoided. This car was plush, velour seat covers over basically pillow top seats. Everything that could be electric in 1979 was. I never owned this car. The family pretty much got it as Grandma went into the home. After my brief stint with this car it went to my oldest brother's wife who likely drove the wheels off of it. I enjoyed my time with it and am happy not to have crashed in it. This is however the car I would drive up I-75/85 in, cruise control set to about 80, both feet out the window. I was an idiot, so please don't judge me based on those years. I didn't actually wreck this one, for what it's worth, but it did become unavailable to me, moving on to a more desersving family member.

MARTA-trains and buses for a good long while and a whole other chapter of my life. If not for the things I got into during this period I'd likely never have left Atlanta, but I eventually did in VW of some sort. It's pretty fucked up to sit here and consider that the long line of cars above only covered the years 1988 to 1993 as I entered the carless years. The move to Charlotte NC proved especially fun as their transit system left a bit to be desired. I actually worked within walking distance of everywhere I worked for the couple of years I was in Charlotte. I then moved to Rock Hill SC, destined to one day be a suburb of Charlotte and relied on the kindness of friends and then a boss when I worked construction for a short time. It was around this time, 1995, that Momma showed up with her car.

1988 Subaru DL-one of the most missed cars, Momma's graduation present shortly before we started to see more of each other. We drove the shit out of this car. Back and forth between Atlanta, Knoxville and back to Rock Hill as we visited family. It moved with us to Atlanta (Stockbridge) for an odd few months living with a friend before wising up and moving back to Charlotte with some other friends. Eventually this car moved with us to Knoxville and saw the end of its service as we bought a slightly newer car.

1990 Buick Skylark-grandparent style driving. I never did like this car. We drove it a lot and it was a nice size for all of us including the baby that would eventually become Big Brother. The less said about Buick in general the better. It wasn't a bad car, so I shouldn't really knock it, but . . .

1996 Honda Accord-our current car and my true favorite. It's got a lot of miles on it, but it runs great. I'd prefer an extra pair of cylinders in the engine, but I really can't complain. I really love this car anyway. We found it at Car Max and didn't really have a reasonable way of proving to them that we were a worthwhile credit risk other than that we had good credit. The car was so new to the lot that it wasn't online and didn't even have the paper in the window yet. While looking and thinking about the cars we were likely to have to settle on we saw our Honda. The salesperson didn't even know about it. I'd almost believe in destiny with the story of this car, but no.

1983 Toyota pickup-belonged to Momma's grandfather, given to us earlier this year. This truck has a pound of rust per square foot of bed space with very little rust on the body of the truck. I'm currently having battery problems and need a new throttle cable. This truck has over 200,000 miles on it. My U10's call it Rusty Wallace and end practice in the back acting goofy while their parents fold up their chairs and attempt to drag them away from the truck. This truck will likely sit in the driveway for years being used for errands and for me and the boys when we don't take Momma to work to have the car. I could love this truck if it let me. It needs at least a radio that works in addition to the real issues that I already mentioned.

peak in

As usual, I feel as if I should place a warning on what I'm about to feed you. I find this to be one of the most succinct explanations of what I've come to see in religion. However, I imagine I haven't run off all my Christian readers, and I'll even admit to having gotten this from Whore Church, a blog written by a Christian. Be warned, oh ye of little faith, that the following inspirational poster might just make you cringe, flutter, possibly even swoon, and not in the good way. It's offensive and stolen from here.

I've given various reasons over the years for my various reasons I began to question religion. A certain something happened the day I began replacing references to god with references to interstellar entities. I began to wonder why God and not Thor, or even better, why not Eris?

nutsackery

Assuming this asshole is serious, I've got a nominee for the world's biggest cunt. Go here, bring a garbage can up next to the computer in case you need to vomit. I really wish I could convince myself it's a spoof, but sadly, I think he actually thinks all this shit that tumbles out of his cold, bastard soul. Thanks to Daryl for linking to this son of a bitch and making my night less pleasant than it might otherwise have been.

In retrospect, I'm almost afraid this is satire and that I now look like a giant, loud mouthed, conclusion jumping boob. Either way, I'm kind of happy with my vitriol and the things I think of to call people, so I'm leaving this here. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . . uuuhhh . . .

scoville schmoville

In a comment to post about how I'm a jerk or about jerk ribs or something like that, Daryl is nice enough to add the following in a comment

Rooster sauce? I'd never heard of it so I looked it up in Wikipedia. 2000 Scoville units!? Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy.

Daryl you ignorant slut, I don't care about Scoville units. Rooster sauce is great not because it's especially hot but because it has a lovely flavor. It's also got a certain panache, "Tah, look at me. I use rooster sauce." said in your best Buffy and Muffy at the country club voice

I can do hot food, and food that should be hot I do like fairly hot. Our last visit to Senor Taco saw the back of my head sweating so much that I could ring drops out of my hair. I wore out two different swabbing napkins. The problem for me is when a sauce or condiment has been treated as if the heat is more important than good flavor.

It's actually Sriracha, not rooster sauce, but we lame Americans refer to it as such because it has a rooster on the bottle. We're easy that way. Plus I'm sure that Sriracha is hard to say. I don't trust Americans to work too hard to say names, and I'll relate a story from my college days to suggest that an anecdote is proof.

I went to a local two year business college, though we won't mention it took me three years. One of my classmates was Pakistani and told us all to call him Chris. Chris worked in a tshirt store in the horrible trio of hell that soils the mountains to the east of my town. Turns out his real name was Chentu, but the locals couldn't pronounce that, and he became Chris.

And for what it's worth, I don't really think Daryl is ignorant or slutty. For those who didn't get the joke, the video below is for you.

walking skaters

A quick post to ask for donations. Hard Knox Roller Girls are asking for donations for Light the Night.

About Light the Night, brazenly lifted from their website:

Light The Night Walk is The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's nationwide evening walk to raise funds and awareness about blood cancers.

Participants carry illuminated balloons to celebrate and commemorate lives touched by cancer. Funds raised support the Society's mission: cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin's disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families.

Your participation helps save lives. Anyone can take part. Children, adults and seniors are all welcome. This is a casual walk with no fitness requirements.

Please join us at a Walk in your area and support our fight against blood cancers as we "light the night" with hope and raise funds to find cures.

Visit Light the Night's Tennessee chapter home page HERE or visit the HKRG donation page HERE. Thanks in advance for any donations, for helping us reach our goal and for donating to a good cause.

Walks will be held throughout the country. Either above link will take you to a local chapter, but in the upper right hand corner you can change the page based on your zip code.

jerk

In the comments to the Roses are red post, Ron, the originator of the theme, explains his discomfort with my subject matter as well as offering this final bit of advice.

Now give me your damn recipe for Jamaican Jerk Ribs or I’m go’in Bobby Flay on ya

Perhaps Ron hasn't read far enough into the archives, but I have mentioned Bobby Flay on at least one occasion, and anyone who remembers that will also remember that I think Bobby Flay is a talentless hack. I'm sure he's made up a recipe or two, but his new show Throwdown is a perfect example of his inabilities.

The most recent episode, watched only because of the darling older ladies and pie, saw Flay once again swoop into some small town where the dupes have been lied to about the true nature of the show. Along comes Bobby, having tested and most likely reverse engineered the competition's pie as well as having visited another pie maker on his own to replace a life time of learned skills with a five minute crash course in letting someone else do it. Bobby of course rolls into town and surprises the ladies with the fact that they are not actually going to be in a Food Network show about them and their pies. Nope, it was all a ruse to get them to accept his challenge.

Of course Bobby wins, his smug punchable face so happy to have bested a pair of seniors. I hate Bobby Flay.

Also, I'm not sure if I have a Jamaican jerk rib recipe. I could make something up, and the idea may actually nestle and ferment in my brain and force me to quit being a lazy cook. I've spent some small amount of time thinking jerk thoughts through the day as I've wondered about this. I've googled it, looked at the page at Wikipedia and even consulted the Food Lover's Companion. I really could stand to fix the grill and play with some hunks of meat before the cold forces my pussy ass back inside for the winter.

Quite honestly, my experience with jerk has been entirely (not the good kind of) restaurant cooking. I've worked with large jars of jerk seasoning that we trusted the company who made the spice mixes to have gotten right as well as placing that same trust in the people who made the marinade and sold it in five gallon jugs.

Jerk was developed in the Caribbean islands as a way to flavor and preserve meat in the hot climate. Originally it was dried and was similar to preparations any number of cultures have conceived. The difference was in the particular island flavorings, another story in the new world food saga. What we could come up with now can be completely open to some amount of interpretation because I'm not willing to make jerky out of ribs, but I do love ribs and cooking them.

Perhaps what really needs to happen is I figure out a spice mix I like and post it. Ron can then try it and damn it for not being hot enough. I'll counter that my kids are delicate and tender and tell him to add some rooster sauce. That will start the feud that eventually leads to both our demise in a sort of Rocky and Apollo double knock out.

Stay tuned.

sense of humor

I posted a comment earlier today at Ron's place (for homeschool visitors, different Ron). This Ron I met through Rosie, and they both deserve a visit.

Today Ron posted a sort of tribute to the classic "roses are red, violets are blue" poem and asked for suggestions for the next two lines. I commented and have since apologized, though of the three I left, he did add one back in the comments, though he rightfully deleted my original.

The thing is, he didn't seem to understand how I could have come up with the two that were objectionable. I must say that I don't always display the true horror that is my sense of humor, and I've certainly contained my vulgarity somewhat on this blog. I admit that at the beginning I was perhaps a bit other wordier, though through a possibly unconscious effort, I've restrained myself a bit lately.

So for the edification of my readers, I here include the one I can remember. I once again apologize to Ron, but in my heart of hearts, I'm really a vulgar, uncouth, slightly learned sort of guy to whom very little is sacred. I don't try to offend, but I also don't try not to offend.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I want to poke
You where you poo

And for the hell of it, listen to the song in the video down there. It's Roger Miller doing Dang Me which contains a variation on the aforementioned poem. It makes Big Brother giggle every time he hears it which in turn makes me giggle a little as well. The video has absolutely nothing to do with the song, but thanks to You Tube, there aren't too damn many songs you can't find some version or other of.

local milk

The idea of beginning to eat more locally has always appealed to me, and it's something I'm mostly too lazy to have started in on before. I'm a last minute kind of person when it comes to planning meals, so I end up at the same ol' grocery store, Momma needing to leave for work minutes from when I return home, buying from the same ol' ingredients from all over the world to make the same few meals over and over again.

We do have farms around my town, and it is possible to find plenty of just about anything you want from close by. The problem is with me and my need to quit thinking good ideas while still going to that same ol' grocery store.

Cruze Dairy Farm is just up the river. You actually follow the river to where it splits (or more accurately comes together, but coming from the west it splits) and take the river to the north. The farm is in the big bend. It's easier to drive of course, but I'd love to be able to do it by river.

The milk is not homogenized and takes a bit of work when you first bring that cool jug from the fridge. No amount of shaking ever fully incorporates the fatty bits, so you're likely to notice one occasionally as they slip past. I've had milk like this once before. I'd spent the summer in Wyoming working at a camp and was waiting for my family to drive out and get me, while I spent that last week staying with the family that ran the camp. The milk then was even fresher and not quite cool. The bits bothered me then, but I may have gotten over that since then.

In truth, the bits are fun to catch and squish with your tongue. Momma pointed out to the boys that it's the same cream that's on our favorite yogurt, and I've heard no complaints from either of them.

I must say that this is the best milk I have ever tasted. It's thick and flavory as hell (I should copyright "flavory as hell" 'cuz it's sweet.) Part of me wants to proclaim it "milk as milk was meant to be," but really, I have to admit that I'm not a baby cow and can't honestly make that proclamation. Instead I'll go with the best milk ever, so far as I know.

advice

Today is the perfect day for some advice for new parents. The stroller can be hazardous, not only because you don't want to drop the baby while you kick the stroller open and try to get the lock to engage on that first kick so you can get the baby in and not have the stroller fold up on her. A bit of advice on using that stroller is in order.

all right brain

Because Contemplator posted Simpsons videos about grad students, I ended up watching a different video, featuring Homer finally taking the exam to finish high school.

I've always felt an affinity for Homer J. though I certainly hope I reach a slightly higher standard. It's surely somehow serendipitous that this is the video I happened to watch next. If Contemplator felt camaraderie for the grad students, then I'm certainly with Homer in this one.

not so sure

The Boy, upon being informed that there was no milk to go with his peanut butter graham crackers, "Well, that's okay, crackers are good dipped in water too."

.

tech and soccer

Oh, the joys of modern technology. Momma bought us a new camera for Christmas last year, a lovely thing with all sorts of tricks. We've come up with some pretty cool pictures of the boys playing soccer. We haven't gotten any good derby pictures yet because I suck at trying to do that sort of thing. I haven't figured out how to jump up and down and take pictures at derby bouts, and I just don't have time as I stalk the touch line during soccer games.

Momma discovered the lovely feature that allows you to hold the button down and take a series of pictures. That's how you get over four hundred pictures of a U10 game. It's also how I've learned my team's real need. Nearly every picture seems to be a group of my team, clustered together, kicking like hell at the ball. And I set up our most recent practice based on those pictures.

I need them to learn position, but I also need them to understand the idea of the team as a whole. One of the things I did was sort of interesting in a not-sure-if-it-made-any-impression-at-all sort of way, but it might possibly have seemed to at least been a good prelude to the practice. I had the team form a circle, each boy standing far enough from the team mate on either side so that they could then hold up a ball between them. I was on the outside and would move around, take steps backward, move side to side, and have the team move toward me. The goal was to move together without dropping any balls. I had to keep an eye on them and try to keep their hands on the sides, as the random hand would slip under the ball making it entirely too easy.

Whether or not they learned anything, this was really fun and hard to do. It was interesting to note that, more often than not, they never lost their soccer balls all at once, but several times, the one dropped ball would lead to at least two or three more if not all of them.

Next I made them crazy by almost scrimmaging. I tried my best to force them to walk, and I was constantly stopping play to point out their position and where they should be. It's always fun to tell a bunch of eight and nine year olds that they need to stop bunching like grandma's underwear. Every time I stopped play I would explain what I wanted from them and would then yell, "POSITION" by which I meant for them all to retreat to their respective ends of the field at which point I would restart play by passing the ball randomly into the field and yell, "WALK" because I really did want them to walk. They didn't, but I kept them slow enough so that I could yell things like YELLOW SHIRT, YOU JUST STOLE THE BALL FROM YOUR TEAM MATE and he would have time to think and process that info. Of course this would be when I once again called for the ball and yelled POSITION, and we started all over again.

It might have worked. When I turned them loose to actually scrimmage, they might have looked better. I've got good kids who can play the game; I just have to make them a team of good kids who can play the game and stay somewhat in position.

And in the picture, that is Big Brother with the ball, as if I'd show you the picture where he's goal keeping by sticking his butt out.

sports weekend

If all my friends out there in radio land within the sound of my voice, or at least a not too long drive, want to witness what promises to be a grand sporting weekend, then please head on down next weekend, 9/29-9/30.

Momma's roller derby team is playing Saturday September 29. It promises to be a great bout and will be the final intraleague bout of the season to determine who goes on to the championship bout.

Momma's Machine Gun Kellys take on the Black Bettys. MGK beat the Lolitas Locas in our season opening bout, and our second bout saw the Lolitas defeating the Black Bettys. To support three teams, our non playing skaters supplement the bouting teams, so Momma, as a Betty for the night faced off against some of her team mates who were helping out the Lolitas. It was an exciting match, but the day I see a derby bout that isn't exciting, I'll something.

The very next day, September 30, UT's Lady Vols soccer team faces off against Florida. Apparently the rivalry between the two schools extends throughout all the various sports teams. Making this game more special is that it's both AYSO day and "orange out" day. Children in their AYSO jerseys as well as all fans in orange can get in for half price. This will be our first visit to the Lady Vols new complex, and I'm really excited to see the game.

So, you have slightly less than a week if you live near enough. Roller derby and soccer in one weekend. What more could a body ask for? And if you want more soccer I can offer you a U6 game at 9:30 in the AM. Our U10 game that day is being rescheduled for a date yet to be determined.

And I wonder if, instead of wearing orange, I could get half price wearing my soccer jersey from when the adult league was still somehow part of AYSO. It's doubtful, and I'm sure I'll have to wear the dreaded orange. I don't think I own any orange clothing, a truly punishable offense in my town.

pirate speak

I hope everyone so inclined enjoyed talking like a pirate all day today. I for one did not participate as I really dislike the popularization and consequent pussy-ifying of pirates. Pirates, as I may have said before, were not cuddly or sweet. They might have been funny, but they certainly didn't walk around wearing totally rondo hats with cartoon jolly rogers.

So, in honor of the true beauty of the piratical world, join with me in some real celebrations of pirate life. Tomorrow I decree it to be slash throats and drown the women like a pirate day. The day following will be eat wormy stale bread and drink rum because there's no fresh water day. In honor of the navies of the world we will finish all of this off with sprinkle the decks with caltrops and shards of broken glass like the royal navy day.

So sharpen your swords me hearts and let the black gods that wait to welcome us all hear your shouts. It's the end of a rope for us all should we make it back alive and our eyes for the crow's belly.

man list

COD has posted a list of twenty five things a man should know as decided on by Popular Mechanics. I'd add at least one, but if you are a man reading this and don't know about the clit then there isn't shit I can do for you.

So, I'll go through the list and give you my honest judgment of my ability to perform the task at hand. You could even call it a meme wherein you lift the list of skills and post for all the world to read, you own adequacy.

1. Patch a radiator hose-my first thought would be some sort of tape. I'd lean toward duct tape, and we usually have some purple duct tape in the car as part of Momma's roller derby stuff.

2. Protect your computer-from?

3. Rescue a boater who as capsized-by screaming, "CALM DOWN YOU DUMB SUMBITCH I'M TRYING TO FUCKIN' HELP!"

4. Frame a wall-I could do the required actual physical part given a patient teacher, and I could eventually learn to make all the measuring and cutting. I even know measure once, cut twice.

5. Retouch digital photos-Google will give you Picasa, a delightful photo editing thing that seems to work for me though Momma and I are slowly learning how to use it in tandem with My Pictures.

6. Back up a trailer-I know how to back that ass up, and I know how to take it slow enough so that you figure out the steering.

7. Build a campfire-pretty much, but how primitive are we talking? I've seen the process on tv, probably Ted Nugent's reality show, whereby one can make fire using sticks and string. It's like watching Kung Fu movies as a kid. Right after you see it you're quite certain you can do it too.

8. Fix a dead outlet-not in the least.

9. Navigate with a map and compass-my only experience here would be from playing video games, but I'm sure if that's taught me nothing else it's taught me something.

10. Use a torque wrench-mostly

11. Sharpen a knife-roughly. I've generally only ever had shitty Sysco knives to deal with that had already been sharpened poorly by years of cooks before my time. And I've never personally owned a sharpening stone that was worth shit. I've actually never even worked in a restaurant with a decent stone. There was always some sad, oil slickened thing that, regardless of how it was treated, was fated never to make a true edge upon any knife ever again.

12. Perform CPR-see number seven minus the assumption that I can actually perform CPR.

13. Fillet a fish-now this one is cooking related, so having never done it doesn't apply. I've taken apart bits of animals a few times, and I know how it's done, so though I'd do a detestable job that would make Momma smirk, I could in fact fillet a fish somewhat.

14. Maneuver a car out of a skid-assuming I wasn't going so fast as to put myself into a horrible skid I think I possibly could.

15. Get a car unstuck-from what? someone parking too close to your back end? that giant hump that fucked me up leaving the planetarium that time where we actually had to rock the car? mud? snow bank? impound? to name a few I've already performed.

16. Back up data-I could figure it out somewhat with Microsoft's lovely helpfulness

17. Paint a room-is this one so hard?

18. Mix concrete-the directions are on the bag. Properly using concrete would be a better skill.

19. Clean a bolt-action rifle-I'm sure I could. It's part of the gene thing. Guns? sure I know.

20. Change oil and filter-it's been years, and I really should start doing it myself again, but yes, I have changed some oil in my time. I actually have a few bottles of old oil as part of my garage mess that I keep not getting around to recycling.

21. Hook up an HDTV-um, this one is just rondo. Read the instructions, go back out to buy the adapter that you didn't know you need, plug, twist, plug, lather, rinse, repeat.

22. Bleed brakes-I just had to remember to pump the pedal when I did the brakes on the Ranchero I used to own. Those were the days.

23. Paddle a canoe-again, religion to the rescue. I learned to paddle a canoe on the Flint River in south Georgia on boy's camping trips with the youth group. Damn I miss paddling a canoe on a river.

24. Fix a bike flat-I haven't in years, but you never forget how to fix a flat.

25. Extend your wireless network-call someone? what's a wireless net-thingy?

mmm salsa

Thanks to Doc for this one. She's planning on cooking some sort of fish with what I'm sure is a lovely peach and blackberry salsa. Peach and blackberry salsa sounds tasty, though I'd lean toward pork as a flesh base for this sauce. I'm not the fish lovingest guy on the planet, though I really could see it working for the fish and probably even the elk she mentions.

Doc's post isn't about the salsa, but is an interesting tale in and of itself. You really should go and read it, though even as I say this I imagine both my readers have already read it and probably before me.

She actually doesn't even mention the salsa, just throws it out as part of her post. Being the kind of guy that likes eating food, I jumped on her link. How surprised was I to find this random placement of things and stuff.

best

Best line of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style tonight.

"there wasn't a dry tear in the place"

Not said by Tim Gunn, just so you know.

And no, I don't watch reality shows based on fixing people's fashion problems unless Tim Gunn is on the show, for what it's worth.

eighty third minute

Eight minutes left, DC United and Chivas, tied at two, and suddenly, the screen goes dark. The eighty third minute had just begun, Chivas making a run down the side may even now have been the winning shot, but I won't know, because I'm blogging, stealing glances every 3-5 seconds back toward the television, hoping that I can see the last. The Sports Center dude that is giving us news just informed me that the game is indeed still tied. Now I get football news, and I'm already tired of the NFL encroaching on

fuck it

game's back

change

To whom it may concern, this blog is no longer titled "No School, Just Learning" but has been changed to "Desk Full of Clutter" which has been the url all along. It was homeschooling bloggers that got me to start blogging, but I've never really blogged about homescshooling, and honestly, that "No School, Just Learning" think always bothered me anyway. It's just a crappy title for a blog my a person like me. Thank you, and have a lovely something.

cooling temps

My nipples are pointier than usual. Not so many hours ago, I was regretting that I'd worn jeans. Walking outside to smoke made me feel as if I were, not quite sweating, but developing a certain sheen. Now, my jaunt outside makes me think of wishing I had a sweater.

And as for the rain I rhapsodized about so many nights ago? Yeah, those clouds kept on moving, sharing their longed for moisture with the mountains to the east. I actually watched the clouds, later that evening, as they blew east and away, shedding not a drop for us valley folk.

But then the next day we got a quick shower, and then we got another quick shower over night. It could have been more, but we love each little drop we happen upon.

extrotuiticeptiveness

Hat tip to Sue for this lovely test. I'm not unhappy with the results as far as that goes, though I won't put too much stock in their being an honest picture. It is what it is.

Your Score: Hermes

33% Extroversion, 46% Intuition, 27% Emotiveness, 42% Perceptiveness

You have a very keen intellect, are interested in the facts and the truth, but you don't have the antiauthoritarian streak of The Oracle or Prometheus. You are most like Hermes. You are dependable to a fault, and you can develop feirce institutional loyalties. You can seem outwardly cold, and very calculating, and any display of emotion is extremely taxing for you. You are, above all else, dutiful, punctual, and reliable.



More rebellious types will see you as a toadie and a stiff, but they're unreliable iconoclasts anyway. You are very pragmatic, and you aren't easily distracted from the task at hand. You can be counted on to do your job without being hampered by personal interests. You are extremely traditional, and are most likely to use "We've always done it this way" and "Those are the rules" as justifications for hanging on to the status quo. Most of the other personality types will have a difficult time relating to you, but will work something out. Prometheus and The Oracle freaking hate your uncritical position regarding established rules and procedures, and they'll let you know it. You'll get along well with Atlas and Apollo if they're your boss. You'll probably get along with Icarus, too.



Famous people like you: Judge Judy, Andrew Johnson, Herbert Hoover, Harry Truman, George H.W. Bush, Ronald Reagan

Stay clear of: The Oracle, Prometheus, Dionysus, Pan, Orpheus, Aphrodite

Similar Personality Types: Atlas, Icarus, Apollo, Nemesis

Link: The Greek Mythology Personality Test written by Aleph_Nine on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

pair o' the same

I never seem to find nothing at YouTube, regardless of what I think I'm looking for when I first start looking for that certain song there. And the forces that drive me to YouTube are as varied as the things I end up finding.

Earlier in the evening, The Boy was lying a few feet behind me, doing that four year old kind of thing where he lays in the floor with a pair of Lego people in his hands and sings or quotes some random thing he's learned. Tonight it happened to be him doing the spoken beginning of an instrumental song by English punk legends The Toy Dolls.

"Aaahh, a nice relaxing evening, in the bath," I hear behind me. At first it strikes me as odd, though he likes The Toy Dolls, he hasn't mentioned or even asked to listen to them in some time. I confirmed that was what he said then proceeded to find that cd, so we could listen to the song.

As the song began, The Boy stated that he wanted to see the video.

"I want to watch the video," he said.

"Uuuhh, this is a cd. It's just music," says I, "But after this song we can find a video."

I went ahead while the song played and searched the YouTube for The Toy Dolls. The first song that jumped out at me was Wipeout, that ever popular gem of surf guitar, so of course we watched that. The Boy watching a band on YouTube is basically me watching while he goes off to play and notice if for some reason I minimize the video so that I can do something else since he's not watching anyway.

So we get The Toy Dolls doing Wipeout, but I can't leave it at that. Their video is fun to watch embiggened because it's all pixalated and trippy. There is a second version as well, though a different band. Version number two is The Ventures, also good for the large version so that you can try to keep up with the drummer during his parts. And speaking of parts, part of me feels as though I may once have posted this. Even if I did, I say fuck it, because you could probably stand to hear The Ventures more than you do.

perhaps?

Dark clouds have slowly settled on us, having peered at us from the distance or blown right past us on the edges throughout the day. It was a day filled with promise, but all too often, the rain we need in the valley finds itself falling on the mountains. We in the valley have seen that plenty of times.

We are a ten minute drive to downtown. Momma works downtown. In the past two weeks we have had showers at home that she did not see at work. The showers were quick and torrential, the first being late in the evening and able for just that evening, to cool us down and bring some small respite. The second was mid day, and provided us one of those lovely southern steams. If you ever get to experience a mid day rain steam in Atlanta, by all means do. We don't get it that bad here in TN, but I always fear it.

The clouds are upon us, and in the distance we see more darkness piling on, but also in that distance we hear thunder. It's late in the evening, we really need a good rain, and all signs are leading me to expect rain. I'd love two straight days of showers, but assuming it does not move on into the mountains, I think we can expect something much quicker, something that tempts more than delivers. By morning it will most likely have completely left us, left us so much that even the grass is dry again.

last call

No, not that kind of last call, because this is a happy post, and the thing about the usual last call isn't happy.

I've finally called and verbally communicated with the last parent of my soccer team members finally. It's taken over a week, only part of which was my accidentally not signing the volunteer form. Some of it was just never happening to call at the right time. Considering my own homebound-ness, I have to wonder what all these people are doing.

So, nine U10 families later and five U6, everyone knows. One U10 missed a week of practice already, entirely because I didn't get in touch with the family in time, but I did try. I really use that first week to spend 30 minutes of an hour practice asking kids their names or guessing at their names, often wrongly, so his missing wasn't that big a deal. I will say that Thursday's practice had me getting most names right, but I haven't met the U6's yet. That's five more brand new kids, and I so totally suck at names.

And I'm ever so happy to have finally called all these lovely people. Now my only concerns are getting these kids in shape for their first game in two weeks. Most of my U10's seem excited and ready to learn the game. There's always that one kid that is easily distracted, and usually I get two, only one of which is Big Brother. I also have a kid that I kind of expect to never really like team sports; there's just something about him, demeanor or something, but I could easily just be seeing things that aren't there. Maybe he's just shy. I'll do my best to see that he has a fun and happy season, but I really get a feeling that he's not going to ever grow into a sports fan. And I don't care, just so long as he has fun.