I totally hate to do this, slapping up the old YouTube videos like some dumb cunt that cant write a good rant on something senseless when you consider the state of the world and this asshole is trying to be funny on the internet.
Anyway, if you've been paying attention, I've been spreading the love for Irish music of the twentieth century, and in skipping about on the video sharing website, I came across the following video. The commercial speaks for itself, and then, right at the end, someone didn't press the stop button before the news came on.
There's a certain eeriness to the whole thing in the end.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
not to . . .
. . . liquify a dead horse, but I've got yet another song for whoever happens to stumble across this post. There's not any video to this video, but there is a great song to listen to and love. I'm giving you yet another chance to hear The Pogues AND The Dubliners.
So click play down there, listen to the song as you go about whatever it is you meant to do anyway.
So click play down there, listen to the song as you go about whatever it is you meant to do anyway.
drinking music
The video at the end of this post has not got any video to it. It's just green words that tell you who and what, The Dubliners and The Pogues doing a song. Feel free to play it and listen to the song as you read this. Or don't. I don't really give a fuck either way, but don't blame me when the walls come crashing down. It does provide a lovely musical accompaniment.
One of our recent additions to the family music library is The Pogues, If I Should Fall From Grace With God. On the cd, the last six songs are listed as bonus tracks, and one of these is titled Mountain Dew. I've searched it and also found it listed as Rare Ould Mountain Dew.
This is the song that's been stuck in my head lately, the song I've had to look up the lyrics to, singing aloud as the boys play video games. It's a great song, and The Boy at least seems to like it. But they're both great lovers of great music, so I'm not surprised.
The song of course is about whiskey (I'm basically assuming) (I mean, it only makes sense when you read the lyrics) which is presented in the lovliest prose. Don't tell anyone, but I snuck out for a bottle of whiskey, and it's not just that I was driven by the song. The problem with this is that I remembered pretty quickly that I kind of don't like whiskey. I've enjoyed an occasional scotch, but American whiskeys leave me . . . a little bleah. I really don't even like scotch that much being more of a tequila or rum person it seems. I do fancy a gin martini every now and again. Again, this really isn't the point.
As a parent and one who enjoys his beverages, I want my children to grow up with a healthy respect for intoxicating substances. I'm not sure that I've really got a grip on that handle myself, but recognizing that fact has to be worth something. The post is about the song and the fact that, as we speed down the road to the homeschool co-op, I'm blaring The Pogues and singing about whiskey drinking
So where does this place me on the parentingability metric? the teaching of children songs that glorify the drink? what if they're old and could even be considered classic? the songs, not the kids, being old and classic. Which of course should go without saying. But still, I want to be sure you understand the kids are young, not old, though instantly classic.
This is the kind of thing I think about. Some parents buy their children music that has been produced specifically for children, whether it be religiously motivated fruits and vegetables or a squadron of creepy Australians. I've mentioned in other posts that I don't do that. But sometimes, with kids, the random song kind of stands out for a short time.
Of course we've settled nothing. The conclusion is one we've reached before, that I'm cool because Big Brother recognizes Ronnie Drew's voice and wonders why a ship would have barrels of bones and bails of old nanny goat's tails.
One of our recent additions to the family music library is The Pogues, If I Should Fall From Grace With God. On the cd, the last six songs are listed as bonus tracks, and one of these is titled Mountain Dew. I've searched it and also found it listed as Rare Ould Mountain Dew.
This is the song that's been stuck in my head lately, the song I've had to look up the lyrics to, singing aloud as the boys play video games. It's a great song, and The Boy at least seems to like it. But they're both great lovers of great music, so I'm not surprised.
The song of course is about whiskey (I'm basically assuming) (I mean, it only makes sense when you read the lyrics) which is presented in the lovliest prose. Don't tell anyone, but I snuck out for a bottle of whiskey, and it's not just that I was driven by the song. The problem with this is that I remembered pretty quickly that I kind of don't like whiskey. I've enjoyed an occasional scotch, but American whiskeys leave me . . . a little bleah. I really don't even like scotch that much being more of a tequila or rum person it seems. I do fancy a gin martini every now and again. Again, this really isn't the point.
As a parent and one who enjoys his beverages, I want my children to grow up with a healthy respect for intoxicating substances. I'm not sure that I've really got a grip on that handle myself, but recognizing that fact has to be worth something. The post is about the song and the fact that, as we speed down the road to the homeschool co-op, I'm blaring The Pogues and singing about whiskey drinking
So where does this place me on the parentingability metric? the teaching of children songs that glorify the drink? what if they're old and could even be considered classic? the songs, not the kids, being old and classic. Which of course should go without saying. But still, I want to be sure you understand the kids are young, not old, though instantly classic.
This is the kind of thing I think about. Some parents buy their children music that has been produced specifically for children, whether it be religiously motivated fruits and vegetables or a squadron of creepy Australians. I've mentioned in other posts that I don't do that. But sometimes, with kids, the random song kind of stands out for a short time.
Of course we've settled nothing. The conclusion is one we've reached before, that I'm cool because Big Brother recognizes Ronnie Drew's voice and wonders why a ship would have barrels of bones and bails of old nanny goat's tails.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
reading boy
I'm sure I've mentioned in the past the variety of books Big Brother reads. He's currently making his way through the Little House books, again.
We read the Little House books to him years ago, when he used to want a bedtime chapter or four. We read them in order which meant that we didn't read right through them as we didn't have the whole series at the time. It took us a while, but we finally got them all, shopping at our friendly neighborhood used book seller. Then we were given a couple of copies, not only new, but in hardcover as well. And then we realized we'd misplaced one and had purchased a second copy at some point.
He's also been checking out Johnny Dixon mysteries, written by John Bellairs. I checked out the first one of them he read, more for myself, having seen the author's name often enough that I finally had to. Though he often ignores my suggestions, this was a book that appealed to him, possibly because there was a robot on the cover.
He enjoyed that one and has been reading them since. He's also branched into other of John Bellairs' work. He's starting to do that slowly, recognize and seek out authors he's enjoyed. I'm so proud of him.
One comment from the current rereading of the Little House books especially amused me. I don't remember exactly what he said, but while reading one of the first couple in the series, Big Brother mentioned that he was glad our Sundays weren't boring like Laura's.
The Boy will sometimes ask for bedtime reading from a chapter book, and he's long loved A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh books which are basically chapter books. I'm looking forward to all the books we introduced Big Brother to and will soon be reading with The Boy.
I'm currently reading Texas by James A. Michener. I'll say right off that I'm enjoying it and have learned quite a bit. It's not a book I'd be likely to have picked up right now, and it wouldn't have jumped off the library shelf even if I were so lucky as to get to visit the grown up shelves.
This book was in a christmas gift given to Big Brother. Inside the box was a sweat suit kind of affair that he loves to wear and the book. The book gift giving grandparents are aware of Big Brother being a reader, though I can't imagine they'd have considered this book appropriate. I'm not judging the book as inappropriate so much as I'm saying it just seems odd that they'd have given it to him. As I've thought about this, I've wondered if perhaps the book was included due to it's size and weight, roughly eleven hundred pages, and was meant to be ballast and then returned.
So there's a few minutes reading about what we're reading. It's a delightful tale all around, one that you can tell the folks back home.
We read the Little House books to him years ago, when he used to want a bedtime chapter or four. We read them in order which meant that we didn't read right through them as we didn't have the whole series at the time. It took us a while, but we finally got them all, shopping at our friendly neighborhood used book seller. Then we were given a couple of copies, not only new, but in hardcover as well. And then we realized we'd misplaced one and had purchased a second copy at some point.
He's also been checking out Johnny Dixon mysteries, written by John Bellairs. I checked out the first one of them he read, more for myself, having seen the author's name often enough that I finally had to. Though he often ignores my suggestions, this was a book that appealed to him, possibly because there was a robot on the cover.
He enjoyed that one and has been reading them since. He's also branched into other of John Bellairs' work. He's starting to do that slowly, recognize and seek out authors he's enjoyed. I'm so proud of him.
One comment from the current rereading of the Little House books especially amused me. I don't remember exactly what he said, but while reading one of the first couple in the series, Big Brother mentioned that he was glad our Sundays weren't boring like Laura's.
The Boy will sometimes ask for bedtime reading from a chapter book, and he's long loved A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh books which are basically chapter books. I'm looking forward to all the books we introduced Big Brother to and will soon be reading with The Boy.
I'm currently reading Texas by James A. Michener. I'll say right off that I'm enjoying it and have learned quite a bit. It's not a book I'd be likely to have picked up right now, and it wouldn't have jumped off the library shelf even if I were so lucky as to get to visit the grown up shelves.
This book was in a christmas gift given to Big Brother. Inside the box was a sweat suit kind of affair that he loves to wear and the book. The book gift giving grandparents are aware of Big Brother being a reader, though I can't imagine they'd have considered this book appropriate. I'm not judging the book as inappropriate so much as I'm saying it just seems odd that they'd have given it to him. As I've thought about this, I've wondered if perhaps the book was included due to it's size and weight, roughly eleven hundred pages, and was meant to be ballast and then returned.
So there's a few minutes reading about what we're reading. It's a delightful tale all around, one that you can tell the folks back home.
pile o' it
We've got decent weather again. I owe Big Brother cash for picking up a bunch of sticks in the yard, and I'm supposed to rake soon since I didn't in the fall. I need to get the leaves up so that I can pick up all the dog turds I've missed so far.
I need also to climb up on the roof and replace some shingles that blew off recently. If you live near me, you may remember the hugely windy days we've had recently. I have the ladder, shingles and nails to do the job, but since those windy days, I've been missing one important component.
I'm not climbing the roof without another grown up around, most likely Momma. If she could work around my schedule, I could have the job done, but life isn't that easy, so I work around her. And as soon as we get a decent day that she's home when the sun is out, I can mount the house and fix the roof.
The shower problem is still unfixed, and the entire house has been reduced to taking baths. I've done all I can there, so the next attempt at a fix comes when I'm willing to call Momma's grandfather to the house and show him what I've done. I should have called him in the first place, but he's done so much to help us, that I hate calling him for things I should be able to fix.
The garage is an absolute pile of shit. There's a little bit of keeper shit in there, but there's a lot of random accumulation. Does anyone need any nearly unbroken furniture parts? There's parts of beds, an entertainment center with slightly working doors. Don't mention the assorted engine/transmission parts that are not in the Buick taking up space in our driveway. Also try to overlook the heating/ac unit clogging up the garage.
This weekend is when we spring forward, the sign that always tempts me the most, knowing that spring really is creeping closer.
So with those words of noncouragement I wrap up this post. It isn't especially brainful or humorous, not that I ever touch those, but it is what I offer you for now.
I need also to climb up on the roof and replace some shingles that blew off recently. If you live near me, you may remember the hugely windy days we've had recently. I have the ladder, shingles and nails to do the job, but since those windy days, I've been missing one important component.
I'm not climbing the roof without another grown up around, most likely Momma. If she could work around my schedule, I could have the job done, but life isn't that easy, so I work around her. And as soon as we get a decent day that she's home when the sun is out, I can mount the house and fix the roof.
The shower problem is still unfixed, and the entire house has been reduced to taking baths. I've done all I can there, so the next attempt at a fix comes when I'm willing to call Momma's grandfather to the house and show him what I've done. I should have called him in the first place, but he's done so much to help us, that I hate calling him for things I should be able to fix.
The garage is an absolute pile of shit. There's a little bit of keeper shit in there, but there's a lot of random accumulation. Does anyone need any nearly unbroken furniture parts? There's parts of beds, an entertainment center with slightly working doors. Don't mention the assorted engine/transmission parts that are not in the Buick taking up space in our driveway. Also try to overlook the heating/ac unit clogging up the garage.
This weekend is when we spring forward, the sign that always tempts me the most, knowing that spring really is creeping closer.
So with those words of noncouragement I wrap up this post. It isn't especially brainful or humorous, not that I ever touch those, but it is what I offer you for now.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
wind
It's a beautiful day outside. The boys and I should all be out enjoying the sunshine, cleaning up the yard, playing. I just can't really bring myself to want to do any of it.
I can't walk two steps inside the house without finding something that needs my attention. With the boys playing quietly for a moment, now would be a perfect time to start any number of chores. Most of these wouldn't even be major jobs, just little bits of picking up. The kitchen needs a bit of attention, and I really need to decide what I'm fixing for supper. But I really just can't bring myself to want to do any of it.
I've had the blackest of clouds hanging over my head for almost three weeks. The cloud has been there for so long that I don't remember when it showed up, but about three weeks ago, it got darker, as if finally charging itself for a real storm.
I can try any number of ways to disperse that cloud, but it's kind of like trying to wave smoke out of your eyes with just your hand. You might stir it up for a moment, but it's not really going anywhere. The problem with smoke is that you either wait for the right wind to come along, or you have to move. Eventually, there seems always to come a wind, but you can never know where it ends up blowing.
I can't walk two steps inside the house without finding something that needs my attention. With the boys playing quietly for a moment, now would be a perfect time to start any number of chores. Most of these wouldn't even be major jobs, just little bits of picking up. The kitchen needs a bit of attention, and I really need to decide what I'm fixing for supper. But I really just can't bring myself to want to do any of it.
I've had the blackest of clouds hanging over my head for almost three weeks. The cloud has been there for so long that I don't remember when it showed up, but about three weeks ago, it got darker, as if finally charging itself for a real storm.
I can try any number of ways to disperse that cloud, but it's kind of like trying to wave smoke out of your eyes with just your hand. You might stir it up for a moment, but it's not really going anywhere. The problem with smoke is that you either wait for the right wind to come along, or you have to move. Eventually, there seems always to come a wind, but you can never know where it ends up blowing.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
izz O to the izz S
Not that it has shit to do with shit, but I'm currently using Ubuntu as my operating system instead of Windows. The solution was amazing simple, and I have to thank Chris (no relation) for the help. Turns out this time that the blogosphere works more quickly than the familyosphere.
I'm not sure if I really care about my OS for the most part, but what the hell would I do without one? So I'm somewhat committed to using one assuming I continue to be increasingly tied to the computer.
I don't have any Windows or Microsoft horror stories to speak of. I've never really had any problems that weren't easily corrected. I did switch some time ago to using Firefox browser, and I've only kept Internet Explorer because every once in a while, some dumbass website (car insurance) won't work using Firefox. Other than for that one site, we don't ever use IE. And that got me to thinking.
It was actually a copy of Popular Science that got me thinking, though I have in the past very tentatively looked into Linux. So I was thinking, and I checked out the site and learned that Ubuntu uses Firefox. Well shit, I thought, if Firefox is so much better than IE, then why wouldn't Linux be better than Windows. They say they're better on their site, or seem to.
One problem that I'm having to keep in mind is that I'm running the damn thing off a cd, so it's running a little funny, almost like a little too much internet on a dial up connection but not quite.
As I mentioned, I don't really have any reason to not use Windows beyond the price difference between the two. One of them is free and easily updateable. One is less free though easily enough updateable. There's a certain part of me that just doesn't want to be tied to a huge corporation any more than I have to be, and any jabs I can get in at the big guys is fine with me.
In the end, I may dump the new shit and go back to ol' stodgy ass Windows. Who knows? But I just don't want to. I want to rebel, and at this point in life, I don't have much to rebel against that won't directly screw someone, most likely the kids, so I get my knocks in where I can.
I'm not sure if I really care about my OS for the most part, but what the hell would I do without one? So I'm somewhat committed to using one assuming I continue to be increasingly tied to the computer.
I don't have any Windows or Microsoft horror stories to speak of. I've never really had any problems that weren't easily corrected. I did switch some time ago to using Firefox browser, and I've only kept Internet Explorer because every once in a while, some dumbass website (car insurance) won't work using Firefox. Other than for that one site, we don't ever use IE. And that got me to thinking.
It was actually a copy of Popular Science that got me thinking, though I have in the past very tentatively looked into Linux. So I was thinking, and I checked out the site and learned that Ubuntu uses Firefox. Well shit, I thought, if Firefox is so much better than IE, then why wouldn't Linux be better than Windows. They say they're better on their site, or seem to.
One problem that I'm having to keep in mind is that I'm running the damn thing off a cd, so it's running a little funny, almost like a little too much internet on a dial up connection but not quite.
As I mentioned, I don't really have any reason to not use Windows beyond the price difference between the two. One of them is free and easily updateable. One is less free though easily enough updateable. There's a certain part of me that just doesn't want to be tied to a huge corporation any more than I have to be, and any jabs I can get in at the big guys is fine with me.
In the end, I may dump the new shit and go back to ol' stodgy ass Windows. Who knows? But I just don't want to. I want to rebel, and at this point in life, I don't have much to rebel against that won't directly screw someone, most likely the kids, so I get my knocks in where I can.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
more beers?
Actually just one beer, Flying Dog's Classic Pale. This won't dethrone my current favorite pale, Highland Brewing Co's Saint Terese, but it is a good example of the style.
It's a nice almost amber color and has what I would call a nice hop balance. I'm a fan of beers that don't have that balance and err on the side of more hops, so it could lose some points, but it doesn't. It shouldn't be overly hoppy as a classic pale as opposed to what I think of as American pales, those glorious beers that arrive in a veritable myst of hops.
I almost got lost in a myst of hops remembered. I apologize.
It's a good beer. If you can, pick you some up. They sell a mixed twelve pack that I've heard is supposed to be made up of extra bottles. The last couple I got were a little heavy with some golden crap that Momma and I both drank out of obligation. At least they're better than Bud, but then, licking my own butt would be better than Bud.
It's a nice almost amber color and has what I would call a nice hop balance. I'm a fan of beers that don't have that balance and err on the side of more hops, so it could lose some points, but it doesn't. It shouldn't be overly hoppy as a classic pale as opposed to what I think of as American pales, those glorious beers that arrive in a veritable myst of hops.
I almost got lost in a myst of hops remembered. I apologize.
It's a good beer. If you can, pick you some up. They sell a mixed twelve pack that I've heard is supposed to be made up of extra bottles. The last couple I got were a little heavy with some golden crap that Momma and I both drank out of obligation. At least they're better than Bud, but then, licking my own butt would be better than Bud.
update from the mysts
I need like hell for my self imposed writing hiatus to end, and I'm realizing for all the crap I spout on the blog page, it might have been a little helpful as well.
I haven't had the best time the last couple of weeks or so, and it isn't something I'd care to write about. The problem comes with the fact that that it's a situation that is not really ever far from my mind, and moreso it seems when I sit down and stare at a blank page.
Beyond that particular episode, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. I chose at the last minute not to coach Big Brother's soccer team. The thing I'm not discussing made me feel that I couldn't guarantee the commitment. It's going to be weird for me to be just a fan, but from the practice, what I caught while chasing The Boy around the playground, the team looks like a great bunch of kids. Of course I've said that about every one of his teams.
I'm curious about my own soccer season due to a busier derby schedule on Momma's part. Her Tuesday practice has now been moved to Wednesday, the night I've historically had for soccer practice. My Sunday games have and always will interfere/be interfered with by derby practice and bouts. The derby season this year is a lot busier than last year. The girls are all doing great and looking to meet some victims from other cities. So we'll do some traveling it seems.
We've got some new music, watched a couple of cool movies among other things over the past couple of weeks that I haven't been posting. I'm trying to come back to posting regularlyish again. I have to work to put the ugliness behind me and move on, and I feel like I need to get back to writing.
I haven't had the best time the last couple of weeks or so, and it isn't something I'd care to write about. The problem comes with the fact that that it's a situation that is not really ever far from my mind, and moreso it seems when I sit down and stare at a blank page.
Beyond that particular episode, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. I chose at the last minute not to coach Big Brother's soccer team. The thing I'm not discussing made me feel that I couldn't guarantee the commitment. It's going to be weird for me to be just a fan, but from the practice, what I caught while chasing The Boy around the playground, the team looks like a great bunch of kids. Of course I've said that about every one of his teams.
I'm curious about my own soccer season due to a busier derby schedule on Momma's part. Her Tuesday practice has now been moved to Wednesday, the night I've historically had for soccer practice. My Sunday games have and always will interfere/be interfered with by derby practice and bouts. The derby season this year is a lot busier than last year. The girls are all doing great and looking to meet some victims from other cities. So we'll do some traveling it seems.
We've got some new music, watched a couple of cool movies among other things over the past couple of weeks that I haven't been posting. I'm trying to come back to posting regularlyish again. I have to work to put the ugliness behind me and move on, and I feel like I need to get back to writing.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
what we didn't know
Did I ever tell you that Frankenhooker once held Big Brother?
I won't presume to think that everyone in my town knows who Frankenhooker is, nor would I dare to pretend that those readers outside my tiny geographic radius would know who Frankenhooker is. And with my not employed outside the home status, my sitings have greatly diminished, though I did see her very recently, standing across from the BP on Broadway.
The whole story isn't so sordid as it might sound. A local restaurant, loved for their vegetarian fare as well as their delightful pizzas (lamb sausage on a pizza with kalamata olives? fuck yes!) used to host the occasional band.
It was a year or two after we moved here that The Slackers played a show at this restaurant. We were ecstatic to get to see these guys even if it meant a show with baby in tow. We weren't scared. The show was awesome, just low key enough for bringing along baby. We danced a little, the parents at music with baby dance that I hate to see other people doing. A few people mentioned Big Brother and were happy to see him in attendance. Even a couple of band members were pleasantly surprised to see such a tiny fan.
At some point in the evening, a rather odd looking young woman spoke to us for a moment, talked about the baby, and asked to hold him. It seemed like kind of on request, but we don't let one's oddities stand in the way, and we acquiesced.
There was no one around aware or, if aware, willing to tell us, who this particular person was, and had we been told, her "name" alone would likely have been a bit off putting. At the time though we had no reason yet to know who Frankenhooker was. It wasn't till years later that I realized, after having been made aware of Frankenhooker, "Oh My Fucking God! She held Big Brother at a Slackers show at Tomato Head years ago.
I don't know the whole sad and sordid story of Frankenhooker, and I won't attempt to explain even the little I've heard. She's a local sort of fixture, the kind of person about whom stories circulate from people who've been here a little longer than I. Any number of our downtown types know her, and many more know of her, probably from stories similar to those I've heard. With a name like Frankenhooker, how much do you really need to know? And she held Big Brother years ago when he was still a wee little baby.
I won't presume to think that everyone in my town knows who Frankenhooker is, nor would I dare to pretend that those readers outside my tiny geographic radius would know who Frankenhooker is. And with my not employed outside the home status, my sitings have greatly diminished, though I did see her very recently, standing across from the BP on Broadway.
The whole story isn't so sordid as it might sound. A local restaurant, loved for their vegetarian fare as well as their delightful pizzas (lamb sausage on a pizza with kalamata olives? fuck yes!) used to host the occasional band.
It was a year or two after we moved here that The Slackers played a show at this restaurant. We were ecstatic to get to see these guys even if it meant a show with baby in tow. We weren't scared. The show was awesome, just low key enough for bringing along baby. We danced a little, the parents at music with baby dance that I hate to see other people doing. A few people mentioned Big Brother and were happy to see him in attendance. Even a couple of band members were pleasantly surprised to see such a tiny fan.
At some point in the evening, a rather odd looking young woman spoke to us for a moment, talked about the baby, and asked to hold him. It seemed like kind of on request, but we don't let one's oddities stand in the way, and we acquiesced.
There was no one around aware or, if aware, willing to tell us, who this particular person was, and had we been told, her "name" alone would likely have been a bit off putting. At the time though we had no reason yet to know who Frankenhooker was. It wasn't till years later that I realized, after having been made aware of Frankenhooker, "Oh My Fucking God! She held Big Brother at a Slackers show at Tomato Head years ago.
I don't know the whole sad and sordid story of Frankenhooker, and I won't attempt to explain even the little I've heard. She's a local sort of fixture, the kind of person about whom stories circulate from people who've been here a little longer than I. Any number of our downtown types know her, and many more know of her, probably from stories similar to those I've heard. With a name like Frankenhooker, how much do you really need to know? And she held Big Brother years ago when he was still a wee little baby.
Friday, February 16, 2007
options
Events have timed themselves oddly regarding things in my own life and this particular post and comment session from ye ol' ZeroBoss. From another blogger we get questions concerning options, whether we ever really have a choice or whether we don't accept that certain things are options. That's my simplistic take on the discussion, but, as I mentioned, people's choices have effected me lately, so I can't help but take this discussion my own direction.
I had other thoughts concerning this idea of choices and options. My life has taught me a specific lesson that seems too often to assert itself. We are often given options, do or don't, go or stay, attempt or ignore. But we forget that those decisions often bring with them options that are checked without our having intended.
We can look at it in one way as the settings on your car radio. You can probably bring up the equalizer and set everything yourself. You could also and more easily just scroll through the settings programmed into the device based on the music you're listening to. But when you choose the preset option, you are also picking to have each option, such as treble and bass, set to those prerequisites. You didn't adjust those options specifically, but by making one decision, you also made a number of other decisions.
Many years ago, I made a decision to leave Atlanta, the city I was born in and grew up in. Much of how my life is now, the places I've seen, the jobs I've held, the children I helped produce, hinged on that decision. I can't know what would have happened had I remained in Atlanta. I know of a number of people who've been effected by my decision to leave, but I can't know how different their lives would have been had I not left.
That's the thing about decisions, that we can't know the long term effects. No matter what we do, no matter how simple we think things are, the least breath in passing can have the most intense and unexpected end.
What if I hadn't been at Little Five Points that day that the girl from NC was leaving to go back home? What if I hadn't decided to throw everything up in the air and go to NC? Would that couple have met? Would that child have been born? And that's not even mentioning my own marriage and children. I'm not considering my own direct contributions, just the way my passage has caused ripples that I can't know. And all this because I recognized the dog the girl from NC was watching as belonging to some squatters that I knew.
That's the thing about options and decisions. We only think we are making a single decision. The truth is that each decision we make opens up a world of other options for more people than we can realize. Often, our decisions set the list of options available to other people, as if we were choosing their radio presets.
I don't mean to say that my existence is especially important in the grand scheme of things. I would wager than anyone among us can look into their past and see things that hinged on their presence in some way, though these situations may have seemed most inconsequential at the time. And often the most important decisions we make end up having very little to do with how our lives turn out.
I had other thoughts concerning this idea of choices and options. My life has taught me a specific lesson that seems too often to assert itself. We are often given options, do or don't, go or stay, attempt or ignore. But we forget that those decisions often bring with them options that are checked without our having intended.
We can look at it in one way as the settings on your car radio. You can probably bring up the equalizer and set everything yourself. You could also and more easily just scroll through the settings programmed into the device based on the music you're listening to. But when you choose the preset option, you are also picking to have each option, such as treble and bass, set to those prerequisites. You didn't adjust those options specifically, but by making one decision, you also made a number of other decisions.
Many years ago, I made a decision to leave Atlanta, the city I was born in and grew up in. Much of how my life is now, the places I've seen, the jobs I've held, the children I helped produce, hinged on that decision. I can't know what would have happened had I remained in Atlanta. I know of a number of people who've been effected by my decision to leave, but I can't know how different their lives would have been had I not left.
That's the thing about decisions, that we can't know the long term effects. No matter what we do, no matter how simple we think things are, the least breath in passing can have the most intense and unexpected end.
What if I hadn't been at Little Five Points that day that the girl from NC was leaving to go back home? What if I hadn't decided to throw everything up in the air and go to NC? Would that couple have met? Would that child have been born? And that's not even mentioning my own marriage and children. I'm not considering my own direct contributions, just the way my passage has caused ripples that I can't know. And all this because I recognized the dog the girl from NC was watching as belonging to some squatters that I knew.
That's the thing about options and decisions. We only think we are making a single decision. The truth is that each decision we make opens up a world of other options for more people than we can realize. Often, our decisions set the list of options available to other people, as if we were choosing their radio presets.
I don't mean to say that my existence is especially important in the grand scheme of things. I would wager than anyone among us can look into their past and see things that hinged on their presence in some way, though these situations may have seemed most inconsequential at the time. And often the most important decisions we make end up having very little to do with how our lives turn out.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
gotta start somewhere
Quoting from a recently viewed commercial.
And the first thought to flit across my mind in answer is, "The fuck it's not!"
I try to keep a certain appreciation for Sam Adams beer, and there are plenty of times when I've been grateful to find that at least they have Sam Adams, "they" being whichever bar/restaurant/store I happen to be purchasing in that doesn't have actual good beer.
Sam Adams and equally Newcastle Brown Ale were the beers that introduced me to a higher standard and were, for me, a stepping stone to a better appreciation of better beers. As I've come to drink better beer, I find that those beginner beers just don't reach the quality standard I've come to appreciate.
Furthermore, I must point out that I've come to dislike most lagers. Most big American beers are lagers, a style that, at its best, just doesn't stand up to the ales. So even at it's best Sam's Boston lager is nothing more than a really good version of the crappy beer I could have at half the price.
So, yes Mr. Jackass Sam Adam's Brewer, your best beer, your shining example, your pride and joy is a fucking beginner beer. You and your beer are lucky to be a stepping stone. You're like a halfway house between the insipid Bud's and Miller's of too many people, the welcome mat on the gateway to brewers who make really good beer.
"Samuel Adams Boston Lager is not a beginner's beer."
And the first thought to flit across my mind in answer is, "The fuck it's not!"
I try to keep a certain appreciation for Sam Adams beer, and there are plenty of times when I've been grateful to find that at least they have Sam Adams, "they" being whichever bar/restaurant/store I happen to be purchasing in that doesn't have actual good beer.
Sam Adams and equally Newcastle Brown Ale were the beers that introduced me to a higher standard and were, for me, a stepping stone to a better appreciation of better beers. As I've come to drink better beer, I find that those beginner beers just don't reach the quality standard I've come to appreciate.
Furthermore, I must point out that I've come to dislike most lagers. Most big American beers are lagers, a style that, at its best, just doesn't stand up to the ales. So even at it's best Sam's Boston lager is nothing more than a really good version of the crappy beer I could have at half the price.
So, yes Mr. Jackass Sam Adam's Brewer, your best beer, your shining example, your pride and joy is a fucking beginner beer. You and your beer are lucky to be a stepping stone. You're like a halfway house between the insipid Bud's and Miller's of too many people, the welcome mat on the gateway to brewers who make really good beer.
more woe
We recently had a bit of a laundry pile up which coincided with the perfect night to actually do the laundry. I had all of it gathered and sorted and loaded the first load into the washing machine. It was especially not unpleasant to do the laundry as I recently finally cleaned the laundry room up a bit.
Have I mentioned that I'm not a plumber? It almost seems as if that's come up lately, and it remains true. Another thing I'm not is an electrical mechanic. I'm not without a very basic understanding of electricable type stuff and things, but . . . yeah, not a mechanic.
I knew I had a problem as I opened the lid. The funny, almost oily smell in the air hadn't immediately clued me to the possibility of a problem, but afterwards, I was able to at least find corollary possibility. The clothes were still soaking wet in the washer indicating that the spin cycle hadn't been quite sufficient for whatever reason. And the smell wasn't a horrid burning smell kind of smell you might expect when something electric doesn't do its thing, so it wasn't like anything too crazy could have happened.
I tried the usual, reset the spin cycle being my first stab. That didn't work so I cussed a little bit. I checked the plug which was where it should have been. This should very likely have been the limit of my checking, looking, working on, maybe checking the fuse.
All of that leads to today, the day I finally got a chance to open it up. I want to be able to fix something like this, and I'm certain that I could. It took enough time, made a lovely mess and gave me reason to actually wonder, how the fuck do you get spiral pasta behind the washing machine?
I really have to wonder why the fuck I did open it. It's not like I have any idea what all the shit inside there is, though I do at least know the difference between water parts and electric parts and to unplug it and turn the water off before fucking with it. I knew going into the back of it that I couldn't do anything with whatever I found unless there was a sign or maybe a note from the broken part explaining what the situation was.
It's all especially amusing when I point out that we have a newer washing machine in the garage. We got an aging washer with the house, so we kept the one we had when we moved in and stuffed it into the garage. I very likely have changed those bitches out a couple of nights ago before I touched the damn tools, but alas, I have no handtruck nor other conveyance.
And with that I remember that I need to finish drying some things. Momma was nice enough to take the most necesary of our piles to her mother's. I will take advantage of that to not write anymore tonight about my appliance issues. Damn suburban hell. Damn goshamighty fuck!
Have I mentioned that I'm not a plumber? It almost seems as if that's come up lately, and it remains true. Another thing I'm not is an electrical mechanic. I'm not without a very basic understanding of electricable type stuff and things, but . . . yeah, not a mechanic.
I knew I had a problem as I opened the lid. The funny, almost oily smell in the air hadn't immediately clued me to the possibility of a problem, but afterwards, I was able to at least find corollary possibility. The clothes were still soaking wet in the washer indicating that the spin cycle hadn't been quite sufficient for whatever reason. And the smell wasn't a horrid burning smell kind of smell you might expect when something electric doesn't do its thing, so it wasn't like anything too crazy could have happened.
I tried the usual, reset the spin cycle being my first stab. That didn't work so I cussed a little bit. I checked the plug which was where it should have been. This should very likely have been the limit of my checking, looking, working on, maybe checking the fuse.
All of that leads to today, the day I finally got a chance to open it up. I want to be able to fix something like this, and I'm certain that I could. It took enough time, made a lovely mess and gave me reason to actually wonder, how the fuck do you get spiral pasta behind the washing machine?
I really have to wonder why the fuck I did open it. It's not like I have any idea what all the shit inside there is, though I do at least know the difference between water parts and electric parts and to unplug it and turn the water off before fucking with it. I knew going into the back of it that I couldn't do anything with whatever I found unless there was a sign or maybe a note from the broken part explaining what the situation was.
It's all especially amusing when I point out that we have a newer washing machine in the garage. We got an aging washer with the house, so we kept the one we had when we moved in and stuffed it into the garage. I very likely have changed those bitches out a couple of nights ago before I touched the damn tools, but alas, I have no handtruck nor other conveyance.
And with that I remember that I need to finish drying some things. Momma was nice enough to take the most necesary of our piles to her mother's. I will take advantage of that to not write anymore tonight about my appliance issues. Damn suburban hell. Damn goshamighty fuck!
Sunday, February 11, 2007
el presidente
As we look to the upcoming presidential election, we are facing new choices in viable options for a president. I don't want to imagine the scenario that sees another republican president the next chance we get to choose a president, so we sensibly look to the left side for our options.
Currently, we have a few democratic offerings, the two most noticeable being Barak Obama and Hillary Clinton. For our two standout candidates we have a black man and a woman. Hillary of course is white, but I'd argue that in America, any black or white woman has a better chance at becoming president than a black man. I wish that it didn't matter, but I'm afraid too many people may still allow race and gender to play some role in their vote, even if they try to pretend that it's subconscious.
I'd personally give my vote to both of them if the election were tomorrow. It's past time for the US to have one or the other. Shit, if Texas can have a woman as a governor, surely we can have someone that isn't a white guy as president.
I'm not saying I have a problem with white guys. I happen to be one. I don't especially care that the president is or isn't one thing or another so much as that it just really is time to get a good president. The democrats need to run the best candidate, not the guy most likely to swing enough votes, but I'm afraid they'll fucking John Kerrey us again, that horse faced fuck.
The sooner we elect a president, that is either black or a woman, people will maybe figure out that it's okay, and soon, maybe we can approach real equality. Satan and turrist didn't come out from under our beds and gay us or kill us with evil, and Mexicans didn't climb our fences in the night to steal our chickens, so maybe people with skin tones in all varieties of shades might get to where they are holding political office.
I suppose I wasn't quite honest before, because chances are Hillary has one secret weapon that no one else can hope to equal. In the end, fuck the other candidates. I want Bill Clinton back. That he'd be the first lady might just make me vote Hillary in the end, above and beyond anything she and any other candidate might have to say.
Currently, we have a few democratic offerings, the two most noticeable being Barak Obama and Hillary Clinton. For our two standout candidates we have a black man and a woman. Hillary of course is white, but I'd argue that in America, any black or white woman has a better chance at becoming president than a black man. I wish that it didn't matter, but I'm afraid too many people may still allow race and gender to play some role in their vote, even if they try to pretend that it's subconscious.
I'd personally give my vote to both of them if the election were tomorrow. It's past time for the US to have one or the other. Shit, if Texas can have a woman as a governor, surely we can have someone that isn't a white guy as president.
I'm not saying I have a problem with white guys. I happen to be one. I don't especially care that the president is or isn't one thing or another so much as that it just really is time to get a good president. The democrats need to run the best candidate, not the guy most likely to swing enough votes, but I'm afraid they'll fucking John Kerrey us again, that horse faced fuck.
The sooner we elect a president, that is either black or a woman, people will maybe figure out that it's okay, and soon, maybe we can approach real equality. Satan and turrist didn't come out from under our beds and gay us or kill us with evil, and Mexicans didn't climb our fences in the night to steal our chickens, so maybe people with skin tones in all varieties of shades might get to where they are holding political office.
I suppose I wasn't quite honest before, because chances are Hillary has one secret weapon that no one else can hope to equal. In the end, fuck the other candidates. I want Bill Clinton back. That he'd be the first lady might just make me vote Hillary in the end, above and beyond anything she and any other candidate might have to say.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
plumb irritating
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.
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.
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.
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