I still haven't finished the damn "plumbing job," though I'm finally telling the story. I had a couple of leaky knobs which could actually be kind of fun in the right circumstances, but when it's your bathtub, you worry.
It shouldn't have been anything like a plumbing job. It should have been a simple turn off the water, twist the wrench a couple of times and slide off the o-ring, and shit don't stop being a little dirty.
I ended up making a huge job out of what shouldn't have been nearly as involved. The knobs came off, the faucet came off, the weird ass laminate shit that is a stand in for tile came off, and finally, with the introduction of the vise grips, the plumbing parts that actually were the very simple problem (I'm pretty sure) came out.
The dripping seemed to have stopped when I reassembled the myriad bits and pieces that made up the whole. I'm a little concerned about some things I noticed in the initial testing phase that was giving the boys their baths tonight. I'm not sure if there's a problem or if I just saw one because the job so traumatized me. I'll know tomorrow when I check it out a second time. I ignored it tonight to get the baths taken as it had already grown late.
The worst of this whole deal is the options that I must admit exist. I like to think I know how little or how much I know given various situations. I would have readily admitted that I didn't know shit about plumbing sorts of issues had I not been faced with one. As it turns out, I really don't, and I was.
I wouldn't have pulled the chunk of wall off if I hadn't found more water than ought to have been there. I never figured out where it came from, and I'd like to think, regardless of my knob fixing acumen, I can find wet. I've actually done that a few times, if you know what I mean. And if I'd come up with the idea of using the damn vise grips I'd have saved myself a couple of swears and some nearly rounded off edges. I could easily have done the job any number of ways and likely done it quicker. I haven't even brought up the silicon sealant that I got to squeeze into some cracks, which isn't dirty even though I did say "cracks." I think it may have dried finally, though I did fill some pretty big gaps.
The issue of concern involves the actual shower itself. Our shower is a handheld kind of thing that attaches to the underside of the tub faucet. It's not the greatest deal I've ever run across, but it's worked well enough, so . . .
The true beauty of the hand held shower thingy is that you can more easily rinse the tub when you have to wash it. Okay, the real true beauty is a little light spray on the undercarriage, but again, this post isn't getting that dirty, no matter what you bunch of pervs think. It is also nice to make sure that the crack gets a good final rinse as well.
In the end, I'm still certain that I most likely fucked something up. I don't want to have of course, but no way could any normal person have distended the job as I did. I'm sure I missed putting something back or the glue holding up the wall won't hold or the sealant is quite all the way in a little part of the crack (heheh, crack) and it will grow into a huge pit of mold just under the fake tile laminate stuff.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
amber ale
Rules were meant to be broken, and I've broken one of my own by purchasing, not once, but twice recently, an amber ale. I believe that brewers generally make ambers as an easy couple of extra bucks to people who won't drink their good beers but want to drink something cool. I know, in that situation, my presumptions make me the asshole, but I'm not much concerned with that. Me and being an asshole go together like beans and cornbread.
Truthfully, I would imagine that an amber seems less than to me mostly because my taste in beer runs to different extremes. I love an American pale ale that's completely overhopped, especially the more floral and aromatic varieties. I want my stouts and porters to be part meal. Shit, I've even almost given up on brown ales as being lacking. A good amber should really be nothing more or less than an honest beer, and a good brewer should be able to make a good one.
The one word printed across a bottle that can always make me stop and consider is Rogue. They just keep making good beer, and they like to make it interesting once in a while as well. If you can find it try their chipotle ale.
The Rogue amber is a good beer. I really can't complain about it in any way. Maybe it's not the one I'd steer toward more often, but that doesn't make it a bad beer. It's what beer should be at it's basic, a little malty, a little hoppy, a little cold, wet, intoxificating.
That isn't the only beer I'm enjoying tonight. I had a Rogue Dead Guy earlier. Following that was a Pyramid hefeweizen, and now the amber. I'm certainly dancing all around the beerological world tonight.
Truthfully, I would imagine that an amber seems less than to me mostly because my taste in beer runs to different extremes. I love an American pale ale that's completely overhopped, especially the more floral and aromatic varieties. I want my stouts and porters to be part meal. Shit, I've even almost given up on brown ales as being lacking. A good amber should really be nothing more or less than an honest beer, and a good brewer should be able to make a good one.
The one word printed across a bottle that can always make me stop and consider is Rogue. They just keep making good beer, and they like to make it interesting once in a while as well. If you can find it try their chipotle ale.
The Rogue amber is a good beer. I really can't complain about it in any way. Maybe it's not the one I'd steer toward more often, but that doesn't make it a bad beer. It's what beer should be at it's basic, a little malty, a little hoppy, a little cold, wet, intoxificating.
That isn't the only beer I'm enjoying tonight. I had a Rogue Dead Guy earlier. Following that was a Pyramid hefeweizen, and now the amber. I'm certainly dancing all around the beerological world tonight.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
ssssooooo . . .
Yeah, not a lot happening around here. I'm not done with the plumbing job, and I refuse to write a horrid little story about that near calamity till the glue is mostly dry. But rest assured that within a couple more days, I've got a great post brewing, and with pictures.
While most of the work of the bathroom was done today, the actual finally nearly fixing the problem, I've refused all day to be concerned about it. I've felt like shit all day, and I have payed a rather smallish price for my indiscretion of last night.
I went out last night. "Went out" isn't nearly quite explanatory in that most people would assume more than actually happened. What actually happened was I should just as well have stayed home and saved the damn money.
As I mentioned yesterday, The Boy and I missed a show that the family had planned on seeing, so as a conciliatory gesture, Momma suggested I go out for a bit. I'm not out of this house without kids nearly often enough. Sometimes, that means that I go out and drink a few more beers than maybe I ought.
It wasn't the amount of beer I poured into me but the rapidity of the pouring in. General maintenance suggests a drink an hour. That's roughly the amount of time your body needs to process the beverage. I don't generally care to follow that rule, but I also tend toward some small amount of responsible thoughts if not actual action.
Going out, this time, meant standing at one bar for a couple of beers, then going somewhere else to be just as bored. It was a mostly sucky night, considering it was basically a wasted going out. I should have stayed home and actually made a point of doing something not sucky on a different night. But that whole wish in one hand and shit in the other thing seems a little timely here.
Today, when I finally did bother to wake all the way up, I didn't really feel to bad. I've been kind of tired and sluggish all day, but how much of that is just my general nature? For a good portion of the early part of my day I kept getting dizzy when I stood up too quickly. That can happen anytime one stands up too quickly, but this was different and special.
I accept that being a drunkard, I'll occasionally have to pay the price for my sinful ways. Considering how much worse I could have had it, I will admit that my spinny head was getting off pretty damn lightly. My liver is getting to where I have to whack it with a broom handle once in a while, like the starter on an old Cutlass, to make it start working, but they've got scientists growing livers in a damn organ farm, so I'll just buy a new one one day.
And there you go, a crappy story being pooped out as a blog post so that I can feel good when I see all the excrementary ponderings I've come up with.
While most of the work of the bathroom was done today, the actual finally nearly fixing the problem, I've refused all day to be concerned about it. I've felt like shit all day, and I have payed a rather smallish price for my indiscretion of last night.
I went out last night. "Went out" isn't nearly quite explanatory in that most people would assume more than actually happened. What actually happened was I should just as well have stayed home and saved the damn money.
As I mentioned yesterday, The Boy and I missed a show that the family had planned on seeing, so as a conciliatory gesture, Momma suggested I go out for a bit. I'm not out of this house without kids nearly often enough. Sometimes, that means that I go out and drink a few more beers than maybe I ought.
It wasn't the amount of beer I poured into me but the rapidity of the pouring in. General maintenance suggests a drink an hour. That's roughly the amount of time your body needs to process the beverage. I don't generally care to follow that rule, but I also tend toward some small amount of responsible thoughts if not actual action.
Going out, this time, meant standing at one bar for a couple of beers, then going somewhere else to be just as bored. It was a mostly sucky night, considering it was basically a wasted going out. I should have stayed home and actually made a point of doing something not sucky on a different night. But that whole wish in one hand and shit in the other thing seems a little timely here.
Today, when I finally did bother to wake all the way up, I didn't really feel to bad. I've been kind of tired and sluggish all day, but how much of that is just my general nature? For a good portion of the early part of my day I kept getting dizzy when I stood up too quickly. That can happen anytime one stands up too quickly, but this was different and special.
I accept that being a drunkard, I'll occasionally have to pay the price for my sinful ways. Considering how much worse I could have had it, I will admit that my spinny head was getting off pretty damn lightly. My liver is getting to where I have to whack it with a broom handle once in a while, like the starter on an old Cutlass, to make it start working, but they've got scientists growing livers in a damn organ farm, so I'll just buy a new one one day.
And there you go, a crappy story being pooped out as a blog post so that I can feel good when I see all the excrementary ponderings I've come up with.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Readamus T. Bookington
Never one to pass up a good quiz, or even a not so good quiz as I've learned, I present this one. Because it's about reading, I knew immediately that I had to take the quiz so that I could then tell the world how wonderful I am because I read books. Yea me! We live in a house almost full of books. The only surface unlikely to contain books is the computer desk, and this is only because there isn't room next to the cd's, the piles of mail/bills, the other pile of crap, the pile of shit or the stack of junk. There are books on tables, chairs, the floor, even next to the sink in the bathroom. I caught The Boy sitting on the potty with a book yesterday and it warmed my cold, gray heart just a wee bit.
Ron has been in my bloglines and is responsible for directing me to Carrie who not only gets credit for being the blogger that clued me in to this quiz but may also find herself in my bloglines.
| What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Literate Good Citizen You read to inform or entertain yourself, but you're not nerdy about it. You've read most major classics (in school) and you have a favorite genre or two. | |
| Book Snob | |
| Dedicated Reader | |
| Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm | |
| Fad Reader | |
| Non-Reader | |
| What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz | |
Ron has been in my bloglines and is responsible for directing me to Carrie who not only gets credit for being the blogger that clued me in to this quiz but may also find herself in my bloglines.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
just won't eat
There lives in this house a little boy who often just won't eat. He grows hungry like any other little boy would, and he's growing well, as any other boy would. But I often wonder how he fuels this growth as well as the activity that results from being a little boy.
When I say he won't eat, I don't mean that he never eats. He's also not the bland food kid that orders plain noodles at the Asian restaurant. He'll eat peanut butter graham crackers all day sometimes. He'll eat granola bars and yogurt. He'll eat fish roe and octopus. What he won't eat is pretty much anything that I cook and call supper.
Tonight is a great example of his eating style. I made a casserole of Italian sausage in a tomato sauce and polenta. It of course has lots of cheese in it as well, and one would think it's a great kind of thing to get kids to eat.
He sat staring into his bowl for a couple of minutes while Momma and I both tried to get him to eat. We were a little pressed for time as we needed to eat and get ready to attend a puppet show, an outing that we'd planned for some time and were excited about. Eventually he admitted that the onions were bothering him and that he didn't like them. Never mind that they are cooked and that he's eaten and enjoyed them plenty of times, he wasn't having it tonight. Momma picked the onions out and gave him back his bowl. By this time she'd finished eating, so he and I were left at the table, me eating and wishing he would do the same while he poked and poked and poked at his food.
Now Big Brother and Momma are on their way downtown to attend the puppet show while The Boy and I sit at home. I was looking forward to the puppet show, but someone's inability to eat a decent amount of food has disallowed that.
We aren't the parents that make you clean your plate and/or eat food that you truly don't like, but we aren't the kind of parents that intend to ever dance around the pantry trying to placate an overly picky child. I'd love for us to have been able to go out tonight, but knowing that The Boy didn't and wouldn't eat supper, we also knew how our night would likely have ended had we all attended. He'd have decided he was hungry, probably on the car ride downtown. He would grow increasingly hungry and disruptive through as much of the performance as we could manage to see. In the end, either Momma or I would have to leave the theater with him in order to not ruin the evening of the rest of the families, and most likely would have had to all, as a family, leave and return back home.
There is a happy note to all this. Shortly before Momma and Big Brother left, we received a call from a homeschooling friend who was able to use the tickets of ours that had so recently become extra. It helps to know that we didn't waste the money on the tickets.
When I say he won't eat, I don't mean that he never eats. He's also not the bland food kid that orders plain noodles at the Asian restaurant. He'll eat peanut butter graham crackers all day sometimes. He'll eat granola bars and yogurt. He'll eat fish roe and octopus. What he won't eat is pretty much anything that I cook and call supper.
Tonight is a great example of his eating style. I made a casserole of Italian sausage in a tomato sauce and polenta. It of course has lots of cheese in it as well, and one would think it's a great kind of thing to get kids to eat.
He sat staring into his bowl for a couple of minutes while Momma and I both tried to get him to eat. We were a little pressed for time as we needed to eat and get ready to attend a puppet show, an outing that we'd planned for some time and were excited about. Eventually he admitted that the onions were bothering him and that he didn't like them. Never mind that they are cooked and that he's eaten and enjoyed them plenty of times, he wasn't having it tonight. Momma picked the onions out and gave him back his bowl. By this time she'd finished eating, so he and I were left at the table, me eating and wishing he would do the same while he poked and poked and poked at his food.
Now Big Brother and Momma are on their way downtown to attend the puppet show while The Boy and I sit at home. I was looking forward to the puppet show, but someone's inability to eat a decent amount of food has disallowed that.
We aren't the parents that make you clean your plate and/or eat food that you truly don't like, but we aren't the kind of parents that intend to ever dance around the pantry trying to placate an overly picky child. I'd love for us to have been able to go out tonight, but knowing that The Boy didn't and wouldn't eat supper, we also knew how our night would likely have ended had we all attended. He'd have decided he was hungry, probably on the car ride downtown. He would grow increasingly hungry and disruptive through as much of the performance as we could manage to see. In the end, either Momma or I would have to leave the theater with him in order to not ruin the evening of the rest of the families, and most likely would have had to all, as a family, leave and return back home.
There is a happy note to all this. Shortly before Momma and Big Brother left, we received a call from a homeschooling friend who was able to use the tickets of ours that had so recently become extra. It helps to know that we didn't waste the money on the tickets.
Monday, February 05, 2007
critter pile
What is this? Big Brother is carefully crafting a pile of critters.
It looks like a simple critter pile to me.
But wait! What's this? Is there a live monkey in there somewhere?Feel free to ignore the carpet's pitiful stain dotted self. The camera can never do justice to the true speckling of stains. We could, over the course of the carpet's ruination, have been more diligent at spill removal and stain prevention, but so many of these spots are mystery stains.
When Momma's grandparents lived here, this same carpet was a lovely light gray, or so it always appeared to me. It was never intended to be a carpet that children grew up on and shows what a few short years can do to a once respectable textile.
And there's today's lesson, how to turn an innocent and delightful foray into childhood into a quarter cup of self hate and carpet degeneration. I'm putting off the self hating foray into minor plumbing repair until that job is done, but believe me, it's coming.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
it's actually discord
All the cool kids are talking about noodley some shit found over at the Gookins. They, like so many baby Jesus and mother Mary finders before them, have seen evidence of their belief and faith in the happenstance of an everyday item seeming not unlike their own pastawful being of godhoodedness.
I hate to break it to them, and moreso I hate to ruin a good surprise, but I also can't pass up a chance to breath a small word of the truth. Grim times are these we live in, but grimmer still may they become if none of us dare, at least once in a while, speak that truth.
The facts are really simple, and you may choose to disbelieve at your own peril. What all these faithful are seeing is in fact yet more proof of the Golden Apple. That which Eris, fairest and brightest among us, first brought to bear to answer for her shame still resonates today. Eris, she over whom wars were fought and heroes vanquished, still rules the planet with her mighty hand. The Golden Apple falls through the years be it in the stigmata I keep getting in my butt or a virgin in toast or a noodly pancake.
And that's the story there. Don't let pancakes that happen to be funkily formed lead you away from her trueness. The truth won't set you free though, and it never will. Truth only leads to more unknowns no matter how many mysteries you think you've solved.
Witness all ye the true power behind the mask! Hail ERIS! All hail DISCORDIA!!!
Now, lick the bottom of your screen and wait for good things to rain down upon you.
I hate to break it to them, and moreso I hate to ruin a good surprise, but I also can't pass up a chance to breath a small word of the truth. Grim times are these we live in, but grimmer still may they become if none of us dare, at least once in a while, speak that truth.
The facts are really simple, and you may choose to disbelieve at your own peril. What all these faithful are seeing is in fact yet more proof of the Golden Apple. That which Eris, fairest and brightest among us, first brought to bear to answer for her shame still resonates today. Eris, she over whom wars were fought and heroes vanquished, still rules the planet with her mighty hand. The Golden Apple falls through the years be it in the stigmata I keep getting in my butt or a virgin in toast or a noodly pancake.
And that's the story there. Don't let pancakes that happen to be funkily formed lead you away from her trueness. The truth won't set you free though, and it never will. Truth only leads to more unknowns no matter how many mysteries you think you've solved.
Witness all ye the true power behind the mask! Hail ERIS! All hail DISCORDIA!!!
Now, lick the bottom of your screen and wait for good things to rain down upon you.
mmmmmmm beer
I seem to remember once having had a Leinenkugel's red something or other years ago. Nowadays, I don't tend to drink things that are reds or ambers. They've always seemed like the concessionary beer, the one you sold to yuppies who didn't get beer but wanted to be seen drinking a microbrew. I only drink them because I'm an expensive lush, but I've got an air to keep up with all the hep cats and shit.
Our local grocery store hasn't always carried the best selection of the finer beers, but over the last couple of years, we've been getting more and more choices in better beers. We stopped this afternoon to stock up on beer, and I found a few new varieties awaiting me. I don't remember the other new options, but Leinenkugel's Summer Wheat was the one that came home with me. I've read Chris and Don discussing the beers lately, and they've both mentioned the Leinenkugel's brewery, though looking through their archives earlier, I don't seem to find this particular beer mentioned.
I refused to drink wheat beers for a long time. Early in my beer snobbery I drank some funky German shit that honestly tasted like I was drinking an extra bready loaf of bread. That one beer made me extremely leery around any number of beers for several years. That damn beer was so much like bread that it made you want a shot of ham, cheese and mayo vodka.
Years passed before, working at the pizza place, I finally tried a locally made hefeweizen. The first one just didn't appeal to me, but over a couple of years, for various reasons, I came to drink enough that either they grew on me or I finally began to get it. I'd hate to think so many brewers would continue making a shitty beer, so the problem had to be me. This doesn't hold true with Guinness however as that's just a shitty beer. I don't know why they keep making that shit. There's more to a good beer than head dammit!
As I slowly figured out the wheat beers that were available to me, I feel I've come to be a fair judge, though I have to admit there very few in my li'l neck of the woods, so without the experience, what the fuck do I really know?
Checking the website tells me that the beer is brewed with "select wheat and pale malts, cluster hops and natural coriander." What the fuck they mean by "natural coriander" is left for you to decide. Are they suggesting that other brewers are so ill intentioned as to use synthetic coriander? And why the fuck does it taste like someone squeezed an orange into it? I don't want an orange squeezed in my beer. I'm not against it if you like it, but the one beer I can get offered with orange slices at bars is, in my opinion, better without. The orange hides the spicy notes of the beer.
But don't take tonight's rant too seriously. I certainly won't drink it all tonight, mostly because I also got a six pack of a beer I do like, a tried and true favorite. Tomorrow night will see a return to this beer I'm quite certain, and tomorrow's taste buds may get this beer.
It might be a good spring afternoon beer, one of those afternoons where it's so perfect that you don't mind scooping dog shit out of the yard. And it's really not as if I don't like the beer but that it came as such a shock, the near vibrant orangeyness of it. I was really just expecting a different beer, and it's kind of like the feeling when you try to pick up something that turns out to be heavier than you expect and instead of lifting it you fart a little bit.
Our local grocery store hasn't always carried the best selection of the finer beers, but over the last couple of years, we've been getting more and more choices in better beers. We stopped this afternoon to stock up on beer, and I found a few new varieties awaiting me. I don't remember the other new options, but Leinenkugel's Summer Wheat was the one that came home with me. I've read Chris and Don discussing the beers lately, and they've both mentioned the Leinenkugel's brewery, though looking through their archives earlier, I don't seem to find this particular beer mentioned.
I refused to drink wheat beers for a long time. Early in my beer snobbery I drank some funky German shit that honestly tasted like I was drinking an extra bready loaf of bread. That one beer made me extremely leery around any number of beers for several years. That damn beer was so much like bread that it made you want a shot of ham, cheese and mayo vodka.
Years passed before, working at the pizza place, I finally tried a locally made hefeweizen. The first one just didn't appeal to me, but over a couple of years, for various reasons, I came to drink enough that either they grew on me or I finally began to get it. I'd hate to think so many brewers would continue making a shitty beer, so the problem had to be me. This doesn't hold true with Guinness however as that's just a shitty beer. I don't know why they keep making that shit. There's more to a good beer than head dammit!
As I slowly figured out the wheat beers that were available to me, I feel I've come to be a fair judge, though I have to admit there very few in my li'l neck of the woods, so without the experience, what the fuck do I really know?
Checking the website tells me that the beer is brewed with "select wheat and pale malts, cluster hops and natural coriander." What the fuck they mean by "natural coriander" is left for you to decide. Are they suggesting that other brewers are so ill intentioned as to use synthetic coriander? And why the fuck does it taste like someone squeezed an orange into it? I don't want an orange squeezed in my beer. I'm not against it if you like it, but the one beer I can get offered with orange slices at bars is, in my opinion, better without. The orange hides the spicy notes of the beer.
But don't take tonight's rant too seriously. I certainly won't drink it all tonight, mostly because I also got a six pack of a beer I do like, a tried and true favorite. Tomorrow night will see a return to this beer I'm quite certain, and tomorrow's taste buds may get this beer.
It might be a good spring afternoon beer, one of those afternoons where it's so perfect that you don't mind scooping dog shit out of the yard. And it's really not as if I don't like the beer but that it came as such a shock, the near vibrant orangeyness of it. I was really just expecting a different beer, and it's kind of like the feeling when you try to pick up something that turns out to be heavier than you expect and instead of lifting it you fart a little bit.
Friday, February 02, 2007
dirt, dirt, dirt, and sleazy politicos
So, what happens in your town/county, when voters decide they want term limits? Term limits of course mean that elected politicians may only serve for a limited number of terms. Perhaps you have a bunch of good ol' boys running things poorly, hooking their friends up, spending money that isn't theirs to spend. The people, long grown tired of this shit, decide to limit the good ol' boys who of course fight tooth and nail to forgo the wishes of the people who they claim to serve. Um, when you pull some of the shit I'm about to quote, it's obvious that the only people you are concerned about are the ones who can most serve you and your own selfish interests.
Credit for this story is given to rocketsquirrel of KnoxViews
So, from the Wikipedia entry for my home county, I give the Hall of Shame '07 edition, alternately titled, East TN is starting to smell like a pile of rotten shit.
Credit for this story is given to rocketsquirrel of KnoxViews
So, from the Wikipedia entry for my home county, I give the Hall of Shame '07 edition, alternately titled, East TN is starting to smell like a pile of rotten shit.
- Outgoing commissioner Diane Jordan nominated her son, Josh, who mows lawns, to replace her, and even voted for him. Two days after the appointment, it was revealed that Josh Jordan was an admitted drug dealer.
- Commissioner Mark Cawood succeeded in getting other commissioners to vote for his wife to replace him.
- Commissioner Billy Tindell was immediately appointed to the position of County Clerk.
- Commissioner Craig Leuthold's father, Frank, was appointed to represent the same district.
- Commission chairman scott "Scoobie" Moore nominated and successfully pushed through his campaign treasurer for a seat that was not even in his district.
- Outgoing sheriff Tim Hutchison nominated his chief deputy, J. J. Jones, to replace him who then hired Hutchison back as his chief deputy.
- When the commissioners were deadlocked, they recessed out of view of voters in violation of the Tennessee Open Meetings Law, where they proceeded to strong-arm commissioners to change their votes.
- The commissioners swore in one of the newly appointed commissioners, but not the other six newly appointed commissioners, to break a deadlock vote.
- 2nd District nominee Jonathan Wimmer said later that Commissioner Greg "Lumpy" Lambert asked him to vote for 4th District nominee Lee Tramel in exchange for a seat. [2]
which is worse?
WARNING: possible cringe inducing material!!!
As I mentioned in a recent post, I was recently afflicted with a bit of a stomach churning sort of sickness. Both my fuel entrance and solid waste exit were exits for most of a day as I sent plumes of mostly liquid material gushing out of my body. There is nothing but downsides to this kind of illness, but as a bright side one must remember that it only really lasted most of a twenty four hour period, give or take a few hours.
That was a shitty day, but for the most part, upon realizing what I was in for, I negotiated with myself to ingest as little food or drink as possible in order to minimize the volume that I had to give back. I seemed somehow to will my body into not feeling too poorly by giving my poor widdle stomach as little as possible to play with.
The next day, the day I was no longer sick, was certainly no picnic. Due to some recognition in one stomach emptying bathroom visit, I was none too eager to eat any peanut butter that day, though oddly, the ginger ale was all right. My stomach and general constitution were both weakened enough that very little was appetizing to me throughout the day.
And here we wonder which is really worse. I'm certain that the actual body voiding hell is and will always be worst, but even today, two days later, I'm still fighting some of the issues that developed from being sick. I have muscles throughout my torso that only get this sort of workout when I'm as sick as I was. Though my stomach was empty most of the day, there were a few times that it continued to attempt to expel those nonexistent contents. Those muscles are still sore today. I keep finding myself worried that perhaps I'm going to find that same river once more flowing from my face into the toilet, and those feelings are often couple with a sort of ghost nausea.
I'm quite positive that the actual sick day was the worst, but the following days of weakness and sore muscles is only slightly nicer. I'm sure that this is part of our human ability to forget life's pains, simple creatures that we are. Either way, I'm ready for the whole thing to fade into a distant memory.
As I mentioned in a recent post, I was recently afflicted with a bit of a stomach churning sort of sickness. Both my fuel entrance and solid waste exit were exits for most of a day as I sent plumes of mostly liquid material gushing out of my body. There is nothing but downsides to this kind of illness, but as a bright side one must remember that it only really lasted most of a twenty four hour period, give or take a few hours.
That was a shitty day, but for the most part, upon realizing what I was in for, I negotiated with myself to ingest as little food or drink as possible in order to minimize the volume that I had to give back. I seemed somehow to will my body into not feeling too poorly by giving my poor widdle stomach as little as possible to play with.
The next day, the day I was no longer sick, was certainly no picnic. Due to some recognition in one stomach emptying bathroom visit, I was none too eager to eat any peanut butter that day, though oddly, the ginger ale was all right. My stomach and general constitution were both weakened enough that very little was appetizing to me throughout the day.
And here we wonder which is really worse. I'm certain that the actual body voiding hell is and will always be worst, but even today, two days later, I'm still fighting some of the issues that developed from being sick. I have muscles throughout my torso that only get this sort of workout when I'm as sick as I was. Though my stomach was empty most of the day, there were a few times that it continued to attempt to expel those nonexistent contents. Those muscles are still sore today. I keep finding myself worried that perhaps I'm going to find that same river once more flowing from my face into the toilet, and those feelings are often couple with a sort of ghost nausea.
I'm quite positive that the actual sick day was the worst, but the following days of weakness and sore muscles is only slightly nicer. I'm sure that this is part of our human ability to forget life's pains, simple creatures that we are. Either way, I'm ready for the whole thing to fade into a distant memory.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
monkey seen, monkey done
Let's add this to the things we blame Doc for. I've actually seen this before, but I didn't blog it then for whatever reason. This time, I'm all kinds of about this shit. How many people share my first and last name?
And now for the fun part. While there are, according to the site, 78 people who share my name, my children's names are much less common. Only 11 people share Big Brother's name, while there are only 2 with The Boy's name. While there really is only one Momma, she shares her name with at least 55 people.
And now for the really fun part. Do you have a hairy bush? Well there are 136 people named Harry Bush. Apparently no one is named Ophelia Fanny, though both names, apart from each other, do occur throughout the US. There are 64 Wanda Hardins, though I imagine those wanting a hard one are a greater number than that.
I'm sure I'm not the only person who thinks it's fun to insert ridiculous names into that thing. I'm also sure that I'm done with it for today. Try it yourself. It's fun.
And now for the fun part. While there are, according to the site, 78 people who share my name, my children's names are much less common. Only 11 people share Big Brother's name, while there are only 2 with The Boy's name. While there really is only one Momma, she shares her name with at least 55 people.
And now for the really fun part. Do you have a hairy bush? Well there are 136 people named Harry Bush. Apparently no one is named Ophelia Fanny, though both names, apart from each other, do occur throughout the US. There are 64 Wanda Hardins, though I imagine those wanting a hard one are a greater number than that.
I'm sure I'm not the only person who thinks it's fun to insert ridiculous names into that thing. I'm also sure that I'm done with it for today. Try it yourself. It's fun.
worse than the last
Last week ended with some of our homeschool friends missing a couple of meetings due to some sort of stomach thing. This week began with the boys at great grandma's house so that Momma and I could go to a derby party. Monday began with a phone call saying that Big Brother was sick and throwing up. I'm not blaming the hs friends, but this stomach thing is slowly taking us all down . . . for a bit.
Big Brother seemed to be over it by Tuesday, and no one else got sick, so we assumed we were okay. We didn't really assume that because we have had kids for a few years now and know better.
Yesterday began fairly normally. I didn't think I was sick and assumed the light nausea was because I was hungry. That happens to me sometimes. We took Momma to work so that we'd have the car to go do some needed shopping, underwear and socks kind of deal.
Soon enough the nausea grew to the point that I realized I must have whatever Big Brother had had, and kneeling in front of the toilet proved that. It was actually sort of a dual blast day. Neither of my ends ever forced me to run to the bathroom, which was slightly nice, but I did spend a portion of the day deciding which end to void from next.
I also didn't really feel especially sick most of the day. Once I realized I couldn't really eat or drink anything I didn't want to see again later, browner and more liquidy, I was mostly all right. What really made me feel bad was the thirst. I spent most of the day huddled on the couch with a slight chill wishing like hell I could just down a huge, cold cup of water.
Today is much better other than the fact that I still am leery of food. I tried a saltine first thing, after I was up long enough to realize that the water wasn't coming back, but it just tasted gummy and made me sad. After the boys got up, we all had cereal, Kix, which they ate, but to me it was like the saltine, just . . . too something, but at least it stayed down. I finally fixed myself some ramen noodles for lunch and was able to eat half of them.
Oddly enough, this would be a great time to quit smoking as neither of the two cigs I had today were very pleasant. Part of me wishes that things would stay like that enough that I could quit, but part of me really fucking wants a cigarette. Fucking addiction!
Big Brother seemed to be over it by Tuesday, and no one else got sick, so we assumed we were okay. We didn't really assume that because we have had kids for a few years now and know better.
Yesterday began fairly normally. I didn't think I was sick and assumed the light nausea was because I was hungry. That happens to me sometimes. We took Momma to work so that we'd have the car to go do some needed shopping, underwear and socks kind of deal.
Soon enough the nausea grew to the point that I realized I must have whatever Big Brother had had, and kneeling in front of the toilet proved that. It was actually sort of a dual blast day. Neither of my ends ever forced me to run to the bathroom, which was slightly nice, but I did spend a portion of the day deciding which end to void from next.
I also didn't really feel especially sick most of the day. Once I realized I couldn't really eat or drink anything I didn't want to see again later, browner and more liquidy, I was mostly all right. What really made me feel bad was the thirst. I spent most of the day huddled on the couch with a slight chill wishing like hell I could just down a huge, cold cup of water.
Today is much better other than the fact that I still am leery of food. I tried a saltine first thing, after I was up long enough to realize that the water wasn't coming back, but it just tasted gummy and made me sad. After the boys got up, we all had cereal, Kix, which they ate, but to me it was like the saltine, just . . . too something, but at least it stayed down. I finally fixed myself some ramen noodles for lunch and was able to eat half of them.
Oddly enough, this would be a great time to quit smoking as neither of the two cigs I had today were very pleasant. Part of me wishes that things would stay like that enough that I could quit, but part of me really fucking wants a cigarette. Fucking addiction!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
blurgh
For me, part of blogging is that it's writing practice for me. Many years ago, I wrote a good bit, but I didn't then see my life as any sort of living, so I wrote stories through some internal filter that had watched too much crappy television.
As the years passed, I came to write less and less till I didn't even really do any writing more than a very few times a year. Even then it was generally just bitching, often about the fact that I didn't write any more.
Why do some people feel driven or drawn to writing? What is it that makes people do this and so often hate doing it at the same time that they feel compelled to do so? It isn't really like other endeavors in that you're so much more likely while writing to bare your soul in a way that people can really get at. I'm sure people involved in other mediums would argue that last statement, but fuck them.
Seems like I've found myself here plenty of times before, and every time I expend some price in stressful moments due to the situation, and every time, at the very least, I come up with some crazy rant from deep in my anus. And it's usually a rant that has no reason to suddenly be topical, but I really don't want to be the guy that gets his blog posts from someone else, though I'm never above that if the story is good enough.
And that's where I am for now. The only thing I can think of to write about is not being able to think of anything to write about. And if that keeps me from going too many days without posting, at least I can feel like I've finally written something just not crappy enough for now.
As the years passed, I came to write less and less till I didn't even really do any writing more than a very few times a year. Even then it was generally just bitching, often about the fact that I didn't write any more.
Why do some people feel driven or drawn to writing? What is it that makes people do this and so often hate doing it at the same time that they feel compelled to do so? It isn't really like other endeavors in that you're so much more likely while writing to bare your soul in a way that people can really get at. I'm sure people involved in other mediums would argue that last statement, but fuck them.
Seems like I've found myself here plenty of times before, and every time I expend some price in stressful moments due to the situation, and every time, at the very least, I come up with some crazy rant from deep in my anus. And it's usually a rant that has no reason to suddenly be topical, but I really don't want to be the guy that gets his blog posts from someone else, though I'm never above that if the story is good enough.
And that's where I am for now. The only thing I can think of to write about is not being able to think of anything to write about. And if that keeps me from going too many days without posting, at least I can feel like I've finally written something just not crappy enough for now.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
blunk drogging
I don't give a shit. I'm having another beer. My feet and my fingers are cold from having just recently been outside enjoying a cigarette.
Here is where I add my own two cents to the drunken mommy thing. If you don't know what this is about, then just go where I heard about it, Zero Boss. Apparently, some moms are starting a huge trend where they have a drink with friends while their children play. Also, it's bad for parents to drink alcohol if their kids are alive, or so the bitch from The View would have us believe.
What I'd like to say is different from what I really mean to say, or damn you all who think I can't parent drunk. I'll parent your fucking ass off, beer in one hand and cigarette in the other. I will parent so well that your parents will come out of their graves to compare your lacking ass style to mine in a derogatory fashion. This is an example of what I'd like to say.
Okay, I'm not a mommy, but as my children's primary ignorer, I get to see them every waking hour. I love them very much and am more than willing to sacrifice for them. I'm also a grown ass man, if not because of the whole age thing then because I've sired offspring and have an associates degree or something. Either way, I'm a seasoned drinker of alcoholic beverages, a caring father and if I want to have a beverage I'm damn well going to.
For what it's worth, Americans are really hung up about too much shit. I'm sure I've got my own hang ups, though I try to be cool. A lot of our issues have to do with people's ideas of what is and isn't moral, and they don't accept gray areas. Drinking is equal to drunk is a big one in that we view every person who drinks as basically drunk the moment they take the first sip.
Finally, people were having kids before they started drinking alcohol. But think of how many drinks kids have caused since we figured out the ancient secrets of extracting soul restoring alcohol from our grains and grapes. But for this palliative, how many parents would have been lost to a screaming void of incoherency and no return due entirely to the spawn they should rightly have devoured at birth?
Here is where I add my own two cents to the drunken mommy thing. If you don't know what this is about, then just go where I heard about it, Zero Boss. Apparently, some moms are starting a huge trend where they have a drink with friends while their children play. Also, it's bad for parents to drink alcohol if their kids are alive, or so the bitch from The View would have us believe.
What I'd like to say is different from what I really mean to say, or damn you all who think I can't parent drunk. I'll parent your fucking ass off, beer in one hand and cigarette in the other. I will parent so well that your parents will come out of their graves to compare your lacking ass style to mine in a derogatory fashion. This is an example of what I'd like to say.
Okay, I'm not a mommy, but as my children's primary ignorer, I get to see them every waking hour. I love them very much and am more than willing to sacrifice for them. I'm also a grown ass man, if not because of the whole age thing then because I've sired offspring and have an associates degree or something. Either way, I'm a seasoned drinker of alcoholic beverages, a caring father and if I want to have a beverage I'm damn well going to.
For what it's worth, Americans are really hung up about too much shit. I'm sure I've got my own hang ups, though I try to be cool. A lot of our issues have to do with people's ideas of what is and isn't moral, and they don't accept gray areas. Drinking is equal to drunk is a big one in that we view every person who drinks as basically drunk the moment they take the first sip.
Finally, people were having kids before they started drinking alcohol. But think of how many drinks kids have caused since we figured out the ancient secrets of extracting soul restoring alcohol from our grains and grapes. But for this palliative, how many parents would have been lost to a screaming void of incoherency and no return due entirely to the spawn they should rightly have devoured at birth?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
weird . . .not oooh creepy . . . I hope
Doc has asked for six weird things that no one knows, but I'm not quite sure what to do with this. I accept that I've been tagged, and I'd love to comply with the request. The problem lies in what to share.
I don't doubt that I could come up with a list of things I don't share casually, but I'm afraid I'm afraid that's the kind of thing I'm not quite prepared to write about. So how do we go about this?
1. Doc mentioned collecting, and I'm not not a collecter of beerabilia. I'm currently storing a lot of beer related crap that I kind of wish I had room for, but I don't. I also haven't gone out of my way lately to collect stuff. It's sort of part of a budget that children came along and changed, but something I could see becoming more of a hobby one day.
2. I love comic books. This is another hobby that new children sort of rearranged. We've not bought comics in ages. And for what it's worth, I was reading Frank Miller way before that movie came out, although the new one isn't one I was able to pick up before the whole family thing. I also really love Paul Pope whose work is seriously worth checking out.
3. I was once nearly not quite a cowboy . . . sort of. Through I teacher where I went to school I was able to take a job one summer as a junior counselor at a christian camp in Wyoming. Each week was a different age group, and as a junior counselor my job changed week to week to some small extent. There was another junior counselor about my age as well as the older (not junior) counselors. Each weekend we spent in town with local families, two of us to a family and the same family for the duration. I was asigned to a ranch family, and at the end of the summer I spent a couple of extra days following them around on horseback. I really didn't do any real work to speak of. I rode a horse and once tied a gate closed poorly and some calves pushed their way out, but in my defense, no one really told me how to tie it properly, and I'm from Atlanta fucker!
4. I also learned to drive a stick shift up and down the long driveway of the ranch family in number three. It was a seriously long driveway full of potholes and paved in god's brown dirt. Nothing like trying to figure out the purpose of the clutch with the engine revved way too high and hitting your head on the roof at the same time.
5. And now that we are on the subject, something I never told anyone, but the doughnuts on the town's golf course the summer I was there were thanks to one of the sons of the ranch family.
6. Someday I'm going to start a band, rock the shit out of this town for a while and then disappear back into anonymity.
That wasn't really so hard I suppose. I got on that Wyoming kick and this son of a bitch just about wrote itself. I did try to reign that in bit, but those are things that I don't think I've ever really told anyone.
I don't doubt that I could come up with a list of things I don't share casually, but I'm afraid I'm afraid that's the kind of thing I'm not quite prepared to write about. So how do we go about this?
1. Doc mentioned collecting, and I'm not not a collecter of beerabilia. I'm currently storing a lot of beer related crap that I kind of wish I had room for, but I don't. I also haven't gone out of my way lately to collect stuff. It's sort of part of a budget that children came along and changed, but something I could see becoming more of a hobby one day.
2. I love comic books. This is another hobby that new children sort of rearranged. We've not bought comics in ages. And for what it's worth, I was reading Frank Miller way before that movie came out, although the new one isn't one I was able to pick up before the whole family thing. I also really love Paul Pope whose work is seriously worth checking out.
3. I was once nearly not quite a cowboy . . . sort of. Through I teacher where I went to school I was able to take a job one summer as a junior counselor at a christian camp in Wyoming. Each week was a different age group, and as a junior counselor my job changed week to week to some small extent. There was another junior counselor about my age as well as the older (not junior) counselors. Each weekend we spent in town with local families, two of us to a family and the same family for the duration. I was asigned to a ranch family, and at the end of the summer I spent a couple of extra days following them around on horseback. I really didn't do any real work to speak of. I rode a horse and once tied a gate closed poorly and some calves pushed their way out, but in my defense, no one really told me how to tie it properly, and I'm from Atlanta fucker!
4. I also learned to drive a stick shift up and down the long driveway of the ranch family in number three. It was a seriously long driveway full of potholes and paved in god's brown dirt. Nothing like trying to figure out the purpose of the clutch with the engine revved way too high and hitting your head on the roof at the same time.
5. And now that we are on the subject, something I never told anyone, but the doughnuts on the town's golf course the summer I was there were thanks to one of the sons of the ranch family.
6. Someday I'm going to start a band, rock the shit out of this town for a while and then disappear back into anonymity.
That wasn't really so hard I suppose. I got on that Wyoming kick and this son of a bitch just about wrote itself. I did try to reign that in bit, but those are things that I don't think I've ever really told anyone.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
screeeeeeeeech
From the videos I've posted one might get the impression that I only like good music. I have to point out right now that I also like great music. This video is an example of that. The band Screeching Weasel may well be one of the greatest things to happen to punk music in the last couple of decades. It may even be argued that they were one of the last punk bands to really be worth a shit. I'm sure there are some decent new bands out there, but there's a point in history that the last really great band finally showed up leaving nothing new for the next generation of bands. Anyway, I could ramble incoherently for a while, but I'll save that for my next rant.
Anyway, as mentioned, the band is Screeching Weasel, the song is Science of Myth. The lyrics are HERE and worth a quick peruse.
Anyway, as mentioned, the band is Screeching Weasel, the song is Science of Myth. The lyrics are HERE and worth a quick peruse.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
anti/pro/life/death
I didn't jump on last week's delurking meme, and I was safely sailing along not going to worry with this week's cause du Monday because enough people are going to discuss abortion that my point of view wasn't going to matter two shits.
"Ooooh, look! Another conflicted dude with no uterus actively attached to him. His opinion drives the masses. Let's read his blog for enlightenment."
I seriously wasn't going to bother. Hell, I didn't even know it was have-an-abortion-day until I read it at Zero Boss. But then I went back later, after a couple of comments had built up, and I read the two words. There are two words that bring me to life, that cause me to empreachify to the masses.
I don't remember the exact story from the commenter, but it involved some amount of teen girls worried that they were late, you know . . . like . . . late, yeah. One girl was sure she was okay because her boyfriend pulled out.
It's those last two words that are part of my life's work, pull out. Pulling out is not birth control.
There's only one way to get pregnant, but there are lots of ways to have sex. Sometimes people have sex and don't want to, and sometimes people would prefer to use birth control but aren't afforded the option. Some people really don't want a baby, and some people really don't need a baby. Some people, especially the younger ones, do things without the amount of knowledge they might need to make the decisions that they might face.
Of all the situations mentioned above, any one could end up with someone pregnant. Sometimes we make decisions, and sometimes we have decisions forced on us. Sometimes, no matter what we feel about certain decisions, as people, we are obliged to make sure that those decisions are best left to those who must bear the consequences.
And that's why I'm pro choice, because those of us voting can't vote away all those random things that may make abortion an option for a single particular person. Many of us have the luxury of not having to worry about it. Many of us are not so lucky.
Seems like we could have found a way to teach these things by now. It's sad that the people so vehemently against abortion are also so vehemently against teaching girls and women about their bodies.
"Ooooh, look! Another conflicted dude with no uterus actively attached to him. His opinion drives the masses. Let's read his blog for enlightenment."
I seriously wasn't going to bother. Hell, I didn't even know it was have-an-abortion-day until I read it at Zero Boss. But then I went back later, after a couple of comments had built up, and I read the two words. There are two words that bring me to life, that cause me to empreachify to the masses.
I don't remember the exact story from the commenter, but it involved some amount of teen girls worried that they were late, you know . . . like . . . late, yeah. One girl was sure she was okay because her boyfriend pulled out.
It's those last two words that are part of my life's work, pull out. Pulling out is not birth control.
There's only one way to get pregnant, but there are lots of ways to have sex. Sometimes people have sex and don't want to, and sometimes people would prefer to use birth control but aren't afforded the option. Some people really don't want a baby, and some people really don't need a baby. Some people, especially the younger ones, do things without the amount of knowledge they might need to make the decisions that they might face.
Of all the situations mentioned above, any one could end up with someone pregnant. Sometimes we make decisions, and sometimes we have decisions forced on us. Sometimes, no matter what we feel about certain decisions, as people, we are obliged to make sure that those decisions are best left to those who must bear the consequences.
And that's why I'm pro choice, because those of us voting can't vote away all those random things that may make abortion an option for a single particular person. Many of us have the luxury of not having to worry about it. Many of us are not so lucky.
Seems like we could have found a way to teach these things by now. It's sad that the people so vehemently against abortion are also so vehemently against teaching girls and women about their bodies.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
givin' 'em what for
Yes, I did it. Walking away from Big Brother after turning the radio on I heard him ask, "What's this?" I answered without looking back or even stopping, "A song."
I was in the kitchen doing something mildly dish related though I'm actually leaving the mess for later. The radio in the kitchen is permanently set to NPR. If I could get the college station in the kitchen I'd probably go back and forth between the two, but alas such is not to be mine. Bolero was playing and I'd gone to the living room to turn the song on which was why he asked about it. I did come back moments later, after getting the beer I was after, to inform him what he was hearing. I really only turned it on at all because it was at the end of the song, the final build up that can really be too loud if you messed too much with the volume during the early part of the song. My original intent was just to annoy the boys with loud music.
Listening to Bolero got me thinking though. I'm not a huge classical music kind of guy. I know a few songs that I like, most of the instruments, a couple of composers. I am quite familiar with poor Maurice Ravel's classic. I think it's almost like God Save the Queen at this point, a song that so many people hear and feel they know. "Ooh wow, they're playing this song. I've heard this," said the random person who isn't really even a fan. I certainly couldn't tell you off the top of my head what else Ravel may have composed, though I'm certain I've heard something.
Do real fans of classical music roll their eyes when they hear Bolero? Do they shudder a little with a bit of, "Egad, this old mare being trotted out again?" Do they mutter a snide little something at the DJ who dared play that song? Because I almost get a little of that when I hear the Sex Pistols screeching their old saw, but now it makes me wonder if it was Pepsi or Cadillac that got the rights until I realize that it's NOT a commercial.
I remember the first time I heard God Save the Queen, or something like it. It wasn't the first time I'd heard punk, so it wasn't that particular birth-of-new-world moment, but to me at the time it still had a little rawness left. I'm sure that by this time the still living Sex Pistols were certainly alive but not yet ready to regroup and tour and sing the exact same songs yet again, though time will bring all bands back together for a reunion should death stay her cold, cold hand.
Bolero left a similar impression when I first heard it. I wasn't then a fan of the punk or classical and was more likely to listen to (be forced to hear) gospel (the white people kind) or similarly religious music. Of course it's a much older song, but the limitlessness of the orchestra that it lays out, that plodding building of instruments building up to that final blare of, "Godalmighty fuck are they going off!" You can almost see the conductor, hair in a frenzy, shirt front rolled up like in an old cartoon.
So that's my story. I like to give the kids a little lip once in a while. They don't attend school where they'd get mouthed off to, so I give them a little shit now and again so they don't miss the experience. It was actually kind of funny.
"What's this?"
"A song."
I was in the kitchen doing something mildly dish related though I'm actually leaving the mess for later. The radio in the kitchen is permanently set to NPR. If I could get the college station in the kitchen I'd probably go back and forth between the two, but alas such is not to be mine. Bolero was playing and I'd gone to the living room to turn the song on which was why he asked about it. I did come back moments later, after getting the beer I was after, to inform him what he was hearing. I really only turned it on at all because it was at the end of the song, the final build up that can really be too loud if you messed too much with the volume during the early part of the song. My original intent was just to annoy the boys with loud music.
Listening to Bolero got me thinking though. I'm not a huge classical music kind of guy. I know a few songs that I like, most of the instruments, a couple of composers. I am quite familiar with poor Maurice Ravel's classic. I think it's almost like God Save the Queen at this point, a song that so many people hear and feel they know. "Ooh wow, they're playing this song. I've heard this," said the random person who isn't really even a fan. I certainly couldn't tell you off the top of my head what else Ravel may have composed, though I'm certain I've heard something.
Do real fans of classical music roll their eyes when they hear Bolero? Do they shudder a little with a bit of, "Egad, this old mare being trotted out again?" Do they mutter a snide little something at the DJ who dared play that song? Because I almost get a little of that when I hear the Sex Pistols screeching their old saw, but now it makes me wonder if it was Pepsi or Cadillac that got the rights until I realize that it's NOT a commercial.
I remember the first time I heard God Save the Queen, or something like it. It wasn't the first time I'd heard punk, so it wasn't that particular birth-of-new-world moment, but to me at the time it still had a little rawness left. I'm sure that by this time the still living Sex Pistols were certainly alive but not yet ready to regroup and tour and sing the exact same songs yet again, though time will bring all bands back together for a reunion should death stay her cold, cold hand.
Bolero left a similar impression when I first heard it. I wasn't then a fan of the punk or classical and was more likely to listen to (be forced to hear) gospel (the white people kind) or similarly religious music. Of course it's a much older song, but the limitlessness of the orchestra that it lays out, that plodding building of instruments building up to that final blare of, "Godalmighty fuck are they going off!" You can almost see the conductor, hair in a frenzy, shirt front rolled up like in an old cartoon.
So that's my story. I like to give the kids a little lip once in a while. They don't attend school where they'd get mouthed off to, so I give them a little shit now and again so they don't miss the experience. It was actually kind of funny.
"What's this?"
"A song."
Friday, January 19, 2007
Dear ESPN
Maybe some people don't know, but the US Women's National Team has a couple of games coming up. You might have heard about the Four Nation's Tournament, you know, being a sports broadcasting network and all.
Anyway, the women just recently landed in China so they can start training, get used to China, deal with jet lag, gawk. Germany and England will also be there. The whole thing is basically leading up to the FIFA Women's World Cup later this year. So with you guys being a sports broadcasting network, I just thought you might like to know that you aren't showing the games, at all.
Okay, concession time here. The games are being played at four in China which means for us three in the morning, and it's really doubtful that you could stop showing the poker superstars invitational. I know that since poker is now a sport instead of just being a card game that you are duty bound to show it. However, I'd wager that you might get a few people that would be willing to watch the game anyway. I've heard of devices that can record things from the television. I wouldn't be surprised if people would watch a rebroadcast later in the day. Again, I have to remind myself that the poker players also need plenty of television time, because as we all know it is NOT just a card game but a real sport, like soccer.
I know that many people like soccer. I do and would love to watch some of these games and certainly all of those the US team play, and I would even watch them the next day fully aware of who had won, and I'd even watch it if I'd already seen clips already. I would watch them in a box, with a fox even.
The US men's games were not the best games in the World Cup last summer, to put it mildly. Some of us would now like to see the women play because we're pretty sure that they'll do well. They'll certainly average better than one goal in 270 minutes of play.
I know this is a lot to ask since you only have three different channels that you can show sports on. There's a lot of mediocre boxing from the late '90's that has to be watched, plus the growing rise in popularity of bowling, so the classic one is used up. And we know that 2 will probably decide to show a bunch of heavy northern European men racing to have a hernia first. Soccer on the main ESPN is such a rarity that we really hate to ask too much of you. So anyway, whatever you can do.
Thanks for your time ESPN. I know that airing a game played by the National Team should be something you could show. The US always seems to field one of the top women's teams in the world, and they always play a great game. There are lots of new players on the team that many of us haven't had a chance to see play yet. I was sort of hoping you might could squeeze it in somewhere.
Thanks,
me
p.s. I'll call you later about the Women's World Cup. It's also in China, so that whole time thing might fuck us up then too, but it is kind of big, so let's work something out.
Anyway, the women just recently landed in China so they can start training, get used to China, deal with jet lag, gawk. Germany and England will also be there. The whole thing is basically leading up to the FIFA Women's World Cup later this year. So with you guys being a sports broadcasting network, I just thought you might like to know that you aren't showing the games, at all.
Okay, concession time here. The games are being played at four in China which means for us three in the morning, and it's really doubtful that you could stop showing the poker superstars invitational. I know that since poker is now a sport instead of just being a card game that you are duty bound to show it. However, I'd wager that you might get a few people that would be willing to watch the game anyway. I've heard of devices that can record things from the television. I wouldn't be surprised if people would watch a rebroadcast later in the day. Again, I have to remind myself that the poker players also need plenty of television time, because as we all know it is NOT just a card game but a real sport, like soccer.
I know that many people like soccer. I do and would love to watch some of these games and certainly all of those the US team play, and I would even watch them the next day fully aware of who had won, and I'd even watch it if I'd already seen clips already. I would watch them in a box, with a fox even.
The US men's games were not the best games in the World Cup last summer, to put it mildly. Some of us would now like to see the women play because we're pretty sure that they'll do well. They'll certainly average better than one goal in 270 minutes of play.
I know this is a lot to ask since you only have three different channels that you can show sports on. There's a lot of mediocre boxing from the late '90's that has to be watched, plus the growing rise in popularity of bowling, so the classic one is used up. And we know that 2 will probably decide to show a bunch of heavy northern European men racing to have a hernia first. Soccer on the main ESPN is such a rarity that we really hate to ask too much of you. So anyway, whatever you can do.
Thanks for your time ESPN. I know that airing a game played by the National Team should be something you could show. The US always seems to field one of the top women's teams in the world, and they always play a great game. There are lots of new players on the team that many of us haven't had a chance to see play yet. I was sort of hoping you might could squeeze it in somewhere.
Thanks,
me
p.s. I'll call you later about the Women's World Cup. It's also in China, so that whole time thing might fuck us up then too, but it is kind of big, so let's work something out.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
fancy booty
I needed one picture of the book cover, but the picture isn't the story here. While that is Momma peaking around the corner, there's more going on.The Boy usually picks books that might be considered more appropriate for bedtime reading, but if we've gotten him ready for bed early enough he can increase his bedtime reading at will.
We generally let both boys choose their reading material. It isn't always as easy with The Boy since by reading material I do mean whatever book he wants me or Momma to read to him.
The book is titled "Wall Chart of Human Anatomy," as you can likely see, but I doubt it will ever make it onto a wall. It doesn't really have pages but is instead one long strip of paper folded accordion style to fit between the covers. It is also printed front and back.
The Boy has shown some past interest in this book as well as in other books having to do with anatomy and skeletal structures. This book has great drawings of the different layers of anatomy, for example muscles, nerves and skeleton. It's fairly exhaustive, at least to my non medically trained self.
We've actually laid the entire book out before, stretched to its fullest. I'd guess it's about ten feet long, though I haven't actually measured it.
I don't know what he's learning from this book. He did inform us that "gluteus maximus is a fancy way of saying booty." So I'd like to think he's learning something.
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