So, what to write about?

This seems to be an eternal blog issue for a few of us. Well, at least we’re not alone.

OK, so the trip to London was fantastic. The itinerary was:
Leave Sunday night at 6:15, arrive in London 7:20am their time
Go through customs, get baggage.
Ride 9:23am train to Harrow.
Arrive at hotel, put on suit.
Walk to office, 11:45am arrival.
Lunch (pizza) with Manager of Telesales group
After lunch, sit with Support team and Telesales folks individually to get an idea of their daily tasks.
Leave office around 5:30pm.
Go to dinner (Noodle Bar) and then to Irish pub named The Shawl for Guinness and entertainment.
The band consisted of drums, accordian, flute, two guitars and vocal (Elvis Costello’s half brother). True Irish music, no question about it.

Interesting tidbit that between sets, the bar was filled with the lovely music of…

…
…

Garth Brooks. Yes, indeed, ladies and gentlemen, I’m not kidding. Quite an experience.

When they kicked us out of the bar at around 11pm (it was Monday, after all), I went back to my hotel to unpack and get some sleep.

Tuesday was my only full day in England:
Had meetings all day with the CEO, CFO, Commercial Director, and a salesperson. Also sat in on a client training session. Went to lunch at a Portugese rotisserie chicken place. Delicious. ¼ chicken, corn on the cob, and cole slaw.

After work, my very lovely host asked her husband to drive us into London for shopping. He was gracious enough to do this at the height of rush hour. He’s also quite the history buff and had information for every corner. It was great.

We went to Harrod’s. That place is incredible. I always thought of it as just a department store, but I was so very wrong. It’s about 6 floors across two city blocks, sitting on a corner (according to the website, there are 330 departments!). The part that amazed me the most was the food section. Almost an entire floor by itself there was just tons of incredible expensive gourmet foods of all kinds – cheeses (the counter was about 50 feet long), olives (no less than 10 varieties), chocolates, candies, seafood, produce. It was just amazing. I bought some cigars, and we were on our way. Then we went to a more department store like place called Selfridges. I bought a few items here, but the best was the Moet bar on the mezzanine overlooking the whole store.

I didn’t buy much because the exchange rate doesn’t help us out one bit right now.

We then ate dinner at a tapas restaurant and headed home via the Tube.

In bed by 12:30am after packing, checked out at 7am Wednesday, hopped on a train at 8:15, and on the flight home at 12pm. Watched three movies (Blade Trinity, Lemony Snickett, and Meet the Fockers) on the flight and was home before I knew it.

All in all, a great three days.

Wow

Boy, I am in one really shitty mood tonight. Don't really know why. Guess it's just jet lag. I should be over it tomorrow.

Stacy turns 30 tomorrow. It will be a good day.

I'm so over people who are bitter. Seriously. But then again, I'm really bitter right now. So, here my own bitterness of this evening ends.

Tomorrow will be a good day. I'll make it a good day, one way or another.

Goodnight.

Downer, but so good

Why is it that depressing songs are so wonderful to listen to?

"Train Wreck"
Glen Phillips

Every stupid kid thinks that they’re the first in pain
The first to rip themselves apart
The first to try
To live without a heart

I miss you girl
I hope you’re fine
Good luck love
Or good bye

So much to say ...

OK, in the last week there has been so much that I’ve wanted to blog about, but I just
a) haven’t had time, and
b) haven’t felt up to it

Damned 3000+ pollen count!

And work has been extremely busy. I’m trying to work through my entire to-do list by the end of this week. Certainly this is no easy task, but as I’ll be in London Monday and Tuesday of next week, and in the air on Wednesday, I really need to make sure my desk is cleared. So, thus explains the lack of posts recently.

There really is a lot going on, though. I promise. There will just have to be a summary for now:
Party planning
Kayak shopping and investigating opportunities for lessons
Fantastic catfish dinner last Saturday night
Amazing walk through abandoned textile mill
Trip to London coming up
Allergies
Great entertainment

Wanna get pissed?

OK, I don't really mean let's go get drunk, but doing that would probably make me feel better after reading this about government waste in fiscal 2005.

My favorites:
$1.7 million for the International Fertilizer Development Center;
$70,000 for the Paper Industry International Hall of Fame in Appleton, Wis. ($1,430,000 for various Halls of Fame, actually)·
$350,000 for the Inner Harmony Foundation and Wellness Center in Scranton, Penn.;

So, wanna get pissed?

Government “Services” vs. Private Business

If you can't provide a better service, at a cheaper rate because of your own shortcomings as a "company" then by all means, use your standing as a government entity to declare the other guy's actions illegal. Certainly, that's doing what's best for all of us that the government "works" for. Bastards.

This story frustrates me to no end. (Registration is now required to read stories on the AJC). It seems that a private company is providing bus service along Buford Highway, and their drivers are clashing with MARTA drivers.

This week, things got seriously out of hand, with competing bus drivers
shouting back and forth on the street, curses and coins flying and passengers
calling the police...

MARTA officials are also concerned. On Monday, the MARTA board and staff
discussed potential legal remedies, including asking state officials, who
regulate privately owned transportation companies, to step in.

Excuse me! I understand that the issue of violence between drivers is a problem, and both drivers should be reprimanded for their actions. However, the fact that MARTA is now investigating whether it's illegal for a private company to pick up passengers along MARTA routes demonstrates the arrogance and cluelessness of this government authority. I'm sure they're also frustrated by the revenue they're clearly missing out on.

Ochoa believes Royal succeeds because it is more flexible than MARTA."We
are a little more rapid. We take fewer passengers. We don't have to stop as
much, and we give change," unlike MARTA, he said.Last year Royal transported
60,000 passengers a month on 16 minibuses, Ochoa said.

In spite of subsidies from Georgia taxpayers that MARTA gets and Royal Bus Lines does not, owner Carlos Ochoa is able to provide transportation services cheaper and with higher quality service. He's also making money, and MARTA is losing it - hemoraghing it, actually.

The gray minibus that customers have nicknamed "el ratoncito," or "the little mouse," stops near his apartment complex across from the Lindbergh Plaza MARTA station."If I take MARTA, I won't make it in time," Moral said. He leaves every morning at 5:20 a.m. and arrives at work at 6. The MARTA bus doesn't leave until 5:40 a.m., he said.

Aided Gonzalez, 28, boarded a Royal bus Tuesday to take her daughters to
the dentist. She likes the service because the $1.50 fare is 25 cents cheaper
than MARTA and the bus is smaller. Another big plus is that the bus driver
speaks Spanish and can help her with directions.MARTA officials contend some of
Royal's practices are unfair, if not illegal.

Royal will also make change for their fares; something MARTA doesn't do.

MARTA has made accusations that Royal accepts MARTA tokens. That is the only practice they mention as illegal. Royal denies the claim, and no one has shown proof of the transactions.

Ochoa says he wants to "work with MARTA to provide the best service" to
everybody.He's not scared of competition, he added."Everyone knows us as the
little gray mouse," he said. "Now we're painting the buses yellow and we're
going to be the lions of Buford Highway."

Sounds great! But I don't think he needs to work with MARTA.

Shut down MARTA busses, and let private enterprise take over.

The Pope

As usual, Lileks has the perfect thing to say.

Two images stick in my mind from the weekend:

The vast crowd at St. Peter’s, absolutely silent as the bells toll.

The body of the Pope on the bier, with his shoes sticking out the end of his robe. It’s a very humble and human image. We always saw him wrapped in the costume of the office, a garment that transformed him – otherwise his was a face you would expect to have seen down at the Polish Community Hall, sitting at a table, having coffee with friends, talking. He was still that man when he put on the robe, but he was that man + Pope, that man plus two millennia of history and tradition. The shoes, however, you didn’t expect. The Pope has shoes? Of course; shoes of the fisherman, metaphorical shoes. But real ones? You never think of the Pope putting on his shoes, tying the laces, buffing out a blemish. You never think of the Pope having a favorite pair. Or kicking them off and sighing with relief: the shoe-part of the day is done; now it's the fire and an ottoman and a good book. Just looking at those shoes makes him seem humble and mortal – which he always was, of course. We lose sight of that quite easily; it’s just human nature to look at the crown, and not at the feet.

The Best of TV w/o Pity

For last week's 24.

Bitchelle looks at him speculatively, then renews the conversation: "I heard Kiefer called you today," she says. Soul Patch admits it. "And that you saved his life," Bitchelle presses. "Well, we both know I owed him one, right?" Bitchelle gives him a tight smile. They do not have sex. Yet.


"Who was in charge of this operation?" DoDder demands, so she can know off of whom she needs to go rip a strip. "I was," Bitchelle says levelly. DoDder looks at her like, "Oooooh, maybe not." She just says, "Get him back, Bitchelle," and walks away rather than throwing down. Sure, she's pissed and freaked out and terrified, but she's not suicidal.

Potato Face is having trouble doing something on her computer, so she calls Lispy Skip to ask for the password to the central server. He offers to sign her on. She declines, insisting on the password. He refuses. It quickly devolves into an argument over who outranks whom. We all have so much time for this shit right now. Girls, girls, please. You're both pretty. Well, except for both of you.

The two men leave the room together at 9:19:20 as Potato Face confirms to Bitchelle that ImhoTerror's voice print confirmed his identity. Which she learned by comparing a "voice memo" from MacGuffin Factories. Too bad the EMP wiped out everything at MF HQ, huh?

Do you suppose people ever complain about the danger that 24 will inspire copycat crimes? I think this is one scheme they'd like more actual terrorists to try, because I think in real life a lot more of them would get caught.

"I'm really sorry about your husband," Potato Face says. Now stop talking. DoDder thanks her, but we all know Potato Face isn't done: "I can't imagine how I'd be feeling right now if I were you…you and your husband are separated, you've fallen in love with Kiefer, I guess. Then they end up together and your husband ends up taking a bullet that saves Kiefer's life? What do you do with that?" I think a more relevant question is, how does Potato Face know all this? Has she been watching the previouslies? Does she know they LIE? ["And do a lot of people start watching shows halfway through the fifteenth episode of the season? I understand that making Chloe socially awkward gives them some latitude with exposition, but that was absurd even for this show." -- Sars] DoDder tries to close the discussion down, but Potato Face plows onward: "What about Kiefer? You just assume the terrorists aren't going to kill him?" DoDder snaps again that she doesn't want to talk about it, and stomps over to the OR window to watch the operation, because looking at her husband's innards is better than sparing another moment for Potato Face. Who's saying, "I was inappropriately blunt, wasn't I? I do that a lot." Yeah, but you don't normally feel bad about it and it's kind of freaking me out.

I'm not there to point out that if your chess opponent is prepared to sacrifice a knight for a pawn -- particularly a whiny, clueless pawn -- he's got something else going on.

Kiefer and TerrorTeen walk slowly towards each other, Kiefer with a distinct limp which I'm sure will be gone by next week.

The sniper aims. When Kiefer is yards from Curtis at the open gate, a shot rings out. Guess who goes down? Keep in mind everything you know about this show before you say anything. I'll give you a second. Are you ready? Here's who dies: the sniper. Can you even believe it?

A stealth fighter taxis out of a hangar. Which is weird, because Poor Man's Eric Stoltz spent the whole episode walking around in front of a conventional fighter plane. It's not like I know the difference between an F-14 and an F-16, but I'm not going to mistake either one of those for a stealth fighter, and this is most certainly the first time we've seen this particular aircraft. But it's too late to bitch about it now, because it's 10:00:00. Don't worry; we have all of next week.

Sinful

This guy sums it up better than I ever could.

But, for the short version:
Dark
Bloody
Torturous
Utterly fascinating and fun to watch

Full of one-liners, that you don't even realize are one-liners until later because they are actually said in some context. Which is surprising, and perfect.

Three parallel stories that all touch, but never intersect.

The Sin City Top 5:
1 - innocent person in the whole movie
2 - more times that I'll see this in the theater (at least)
3 - castrations
4 - references to the evil that men and women do, in spite of God's presence
5 - minutes it takes for at least that many people to be killed at the beginning of the movie

Also, plenty of boobs, and women in lingerie firing very large guns.

I can't even count the number of bodies. It's classic even-the-good-guys-are-bad-guys stuff. But, oh boy are the good guys wonderful! You can't help but root for all three of them - Bruce Willis, Mickey Rourke, and Clive Owen - as they torture and murder their way through Sin City.

Sin

Nope, this isn’t a post about the Pope.

Going to see Sin City tonight. Can’t wait! Will review as soon as I can.

Worshipping at the altar of the Hammer and Sickle

I’m constantly amazed at the world’s ability to demonize (rightfully) Adolph Hitler, and still idolize Stalin, Mao, and Che. The global, and suburban, obsession with Communism baffles me. I mean, I guess I can see that people think it’s this ideal thing where no one is hurt and everyone is equal. Sounds fabulous. Except that no matter how much you want it to be so, not everyone is equal. Just like no one is perfect, as was Hitler’s ideal. These worlds do not exist. Both are antithetical to nature and human nature. They will never succeed. The implementation of either of these ideals results in nothing but murder of the weak by the powerful.

If it’s so incredibly wonderful, why do so many risk their lives to get out? Shouldn’t people be beating Cuba’s or China’s doors down to get into the splendor that is Communist society?

Here’s a tidbit, can you guess how many people have been murdered under Communism’s banner, in the ruling class’ efforts to enforce “equality”? Take a wild gander. 1 million, 2 million, 6 million (the number of Jews murdered under the Third Reich), 15 million, 21 million (all the people murdered under Fascism from 1933-1945)? Nope. All gross understatements. Not even remotely close.

100 million dead so far. And just remember that Castro, Kim Jong Il, the Chinese Government, and the Vietnamese are all still at it. So, please would someone tell me why it’s still fashionable to wear a damn Che t-shirt? It’s not a fashion statement; it’s a political statement that condones mass murder above anything else. Even worse, some people (probably most, actually) know exactly what has happened through Communism's rule.

Anyone remember the movie Max from a couple of years ago? Probably not. It was about Hitler's early years. Ah, but The Motorcycle Diaries? You bet. Oscar nominations and the like.

Thank goodness for The Killing Fields, but that was in 1984 when Communism was our biggest and most feared enemy. No longer. Now Communism is chic.

Bridget Johnson eloquently discusses this Hollywood love of Communism in a column in the Wall Street Journal this week.

Now that "Motorcycle" has ridden into the awards sunset--ironically,
considering the nature of communism, also picking up two Independent Spirit
Awards--the sequel to Che canonization is on the horizon. Filming is scheduled
to start later this year on "Che," a Steven Soderbergh ("Traffic") vehicle
starring Benicio del Toro as the famed Marxist. The plot line as listed on the
Internet Movie Database: "An epic about Argentine revolutionary Che Guevara, who fought for the people."

Annoying as the Che adulation is, a recent comment by a 14-year-old on
an online movie message board was truly disturbing: "I just saw The Motorcycle
Diaries, which further made me question: Why is communism bad? . . .
Young people are told how bad communism is, but we are not told why.
. . . The Motorcycle Diaries showed me how Ernesto Guevara wanted to
help people. . . . But this did not explain why he was such a 'bad'
person and apparently deserved to be murdered by the U.S."

How about a film on the Soviet Union, beginning with Lenin and the 1917
revolution, droning on to Stalin's purges with hundreds of thousands executed by
firing squad, and millions forced from their homes or carted off to labor camps?
We'd see Soviet bloc countries strangled under communist rule, Berlin divided
with concrete and snipers, Nicolae Ceausescu destroying historic Bucharest. We'd
see Soviet terror exported with the scorched-earth policy in Afghanistan.
Red China would make a stellar film that lacks a happy ending--for now.
Viewers would see Mao Tse-tung turn the colorful Chinese culture into a gray,
bleak "worker's paradise" steeped in hunger and executions. We'd see the Great
Leap Forward to devastating famine, murder and destruction in Tibet, women
forced to abort their children, and the blood of student demonstrators spilled
on Tiananmen Square. Complete the Asian film series with the "re-education" by
terror in North Vietnam, the Maoist insurgency in Nepal that has killed
thousands, and the hellish nightmare that is North Korea...

Guevara oversaw executions at La Cabana prison; some of those executed
were his former comrades who wouldn't relinquish their democratic beliefs. "To
send men to the firing squad, judicial proof is unnecessary," he said. He didn't
assuage his barbarity by being a brilliant statesman, either, helping drive the
economy to ruin as head of Cuba's central bank and minister of industries.
"Though claiming to despise money," writes Fontaine, "he lived in one of the
rich, private areas of Havana." Guevara told a British reporter after the Cuban
Missile Crisis that the nukes would have been fired if they were under Cuban
control--which would have wasted all of those future American suburban
revolutionary wannabes.

Thanks also to Slate.com for on of the few negative articles about The Motorcycle Diaries in a sea of adulation.

For more stories on the toll of misery and death that Communism has left in this world, check here, here, here, and here.

Russ, this one's for you

This is just too damn funny. I think everyone will love this, but Russ, in retail hell, will really love this.

http://www.dslreports.com/forum/remark,12922482~mode=flat~days=10

In case you can't download, here's the transcript...


Dispatcher: Sheriff's department, how can I help you?
Caller: Yeah, I'm over here at Burger King, right here in San Clemente--
Dispatcher: Mm-hmm.
Caller: --um, no, not San Clemente, I'm sorry. Um, I live in San Clemente. I'm in Laguna Niguel, I think that's where I'm at.
Dispatcher: Uh-huh.
Caller: I'm at a drive-thru right now.
Dispatcher: Uh-huh.
Caller: I ordered my food three times. They're mopping the floor inside, and I understand they're busy. They're not even busy, OK, I've been the only car here. I asked them four different times to make me a Western Barbecue Burger. OK, they keep giving me a hamburger with lettuce, tomato and cheese, onions. And I said, I am not leaving.
Dispatcher: Uh-huh.
Caller: I want a Western Burger. Because I just got my kids from tae kwon do; they're hungry. I'm on my way home, and I live in San Clemente.
Dispatcher: Uh-huh.
Caller: OK, she gave me another hamburger. It's wrong. I said four times, I said, "I want it." She goes, "Can you go out and park in front?" I said, "No. I want my hamburger right." So then the lady came to the manager, or whoever she is--she came up and she said, um, "Did you want your money back?" And I said, "No. I want my hamburger. My kids are hungry, and I have to jump on the toll freeway [sic]." I said, "I am not leaving this spot," and I said I will call the police, because I want my Western Burger done right. Now is that so hard?
Dispatcher: OK, what exactly is it you want us to do for you?
Caller: Send an officer down here. I want them to make me the right--
Dispatcher: Ma'am, we're not going to go down there and enforce your Western Bacon Cheeseburger.
Caller: What am I supposed to do?
Dispatcher: This is between you and the manager. We're not going to go enforce how to make a hamburger. That's not a criminal issue. There's nothing criminal there.
Caller: So I just stand here--so I just sit here and block--
Dispatcher: You need to calmly and rationally speak to the manager and figure out what to do between you.
Caller: She did come up, and I said, "Can I please have my Western Burger?" She said, "I'm not dealing with it," and she walked away. Because they're mopping the floor and it's all full of suds, and they don't want to go through there, and--
Dispatcher: Ma'am, then I suggest you get your money back and go somewhere else. This is not a criminal issue. We can't go out there and make them make you a cheeseburger the way you want it.
Caller: Well, that is, that--you're supposed to be here to protect me.
Dispatcher: Well, what are we protecting you from, a wrong cheeseburger?
Caller: No. It's--
Dispatcher: Is this like, is this a harmful cheeseburger or something? I don't understand what you want us to do.
Caller: Well, just come down here! I'm not leaving!
Dispatcher: No, ma'am, I'm not sending the deputies down there over a cheeseburger! You need to go in there and act like an adult and either get your money back or go home.
Caller: I do not need to go. She is not acting like an adult herself. I'm sitting here in my car. I just want them to make my kid a Western Burger [unintelligible].
Dispatcher: Now this is what I suggest: I suggest you get your money back from the manager and you go on your way home.
Caller: OK.
Dispatcher: OK? Bye-bye.
Caller: No--
[click]

Hocky Love

I know there’s no hockey this season, but there really will be no more Hockey Love. Mitch Hedberg has died.

Lileks ... Again

I should just stop this blogging thing and redirect my site directly to Lileks. I’ll offer some snippets here, but honestly, follow the link to Friday's Bleat. It’s worth the time.

Home to Fargo for Easter...

[Dad]’s in a new house now. I thought I would miss the old house – it’s where I grew up – but I realized right away how glad I was he’d moved. Not just so he could have someplace new and sunny and bright – we’d been trying to get him to move since my Mom died. No, it was just the relief I felt that I didn’t have to go back there again, sleep in my old small room with my junior-high books on the shelves, my Marvel decal of Captain America still stuck to a doorknob, the empty smell of loss in every closet and every room, the dry weight of time holding everything in place. Open any drawer, and there was forty years of compacted history staring up at you. We had every Christmas in the living room. I played piano in the living room every day. When Gnat came last year we hid eggs in the living room. My mother died in the living room.

The new house is modern and bright, lining a cul-de-sac in the endless suburban sprawl of south Fargo. A city that did not exist has grown since I left; the city that was there when we lived on the north side, but it’s frozen, it’s done. It’s over. It cannot grow – the airport on one side, the river on the east, the waste-treatment plant on the north. By his new house stand two gargantuan churches, one built to resemble some peculiar cross between a barn and a European cathedral. Our old church is between North and South, a downtown church across from the old Kraft warehouse, north from the Sons of Norway hall. The congregants who were incredibly old when I was a little kid are still there – fewer in number, sometimes stooped, but often just as ruddy and vital as before. A full house, which was nice. You can’t imagine that the congregation is replacing itself at the needed rate. Once they had Sunday school for every grade, but not anymore, I think.

We sat in the balcony. I took Gnat up a secret passage to a tiny door in the back of the loft, and showed her the rope to the bell. The area looked as strange and forgotten as it did when I rang the bell; like so much of the church it seems to have been sprayed with some sort of time-thwarting fixative. I suppose when you use a place once a week, and only then for an hour or two, it holds up well. I suppose it’s good that we age faster than churches. At first it makes them seem behind the times; eventually they seem outside the times.

Hadn’t seen the padre in a while; we’d caught up in the vestibule. When I came up at the head of the communion line he gave me a wink.

Afterwards, the usual dinner at the Holiday Inn banquet room; ham in alarming amounts. On the way out we ran into my third-grade teacher. My third-grade teacher, friends. She looked about 50. She remembered me: I was such a reader! I thanked her for teaching me, and walked a way a little dazed: I'm 46 years old. And I just ran into my third-grade teacher. Back to Dad’s house to find eggs with Gnat’s cousin. I packed, neatened the room. We'd taken out some afghans the night before - one green, one blue, both knitted by my Grandmother decades ago. I'd curled up under them as a kid; they were later draped around a chair in the living room. Good as new. Can't shake 'em. Sometimes you actually get irritated at the obstinate persistence of inanimate objects; it would be simple if they'd just leave. Because here I am in my father's new house, staring at this letter my Grandma wrote in wool. You can run your hands along it and pretend you're touching her; you can imagine the day at the farm, with Grandma knitting in the front room, Grandpa looking for the car keys so he can drive out and check the progress of the crops, Folger's brewing in the kitchen, Eli loping off to the barn to change the oil in the tractor, worrried about a pain he's been having. But you'll get nothing out of them. Gnat has no idea of the blanket that kept her warm, just as Grandma had no idea there would ever be a Gnat. It can drive you nuts, the wishing. But what can you do? You remember, you pass it on, you let it go. In the end it's just a blanket. For all I know Grandma kept the 1893 container because it was practical, and her dad got it from a man at the GAR hall. The only object I think my Dad would ever miss was the piece of shrapnel he got in the war, and had made into a wedding ring.

Coffee and cake until it was time to load up the car and point it east. I’d say we headed home, but Fargo is home as well. From one home to the other, then; from the old home to the new. An apt thing to do on an Easter Sunday, no? Let's ask the pastor of my childhood church:

Lileks ... Again

I should just stop this blogging thing and redirect my site directly to Lileks. Friday's Bleat is another superb tale. I’ll offer some snippets here, but honestly, follow the link. It’s worth the time.

Home to Fargo for Easter. ...

[Dad]’s in a new house now. I thought I would miss the old house – it’s where I
grew up – but I realized right away how glad I was he’d moved. Not just so he
could have someplace new and sunny and bright – we’d been trying to get him to
move since my Mom died. No, it was just the relief I felt that I didn’t have to
go back there again, sleep in my old small room with my junior-high books on the
shelves, my Marvel decal of Captain America still stuck to a doorknob, the empty
smell of loss in every closet and every room, the dry weight of time holding
everything in place. Open any drawer, and there was forty years of compacted
history staring up at you. We had every Christmas in the living room. I played
piano in the living room every day. When Gnat came last year we hid eggs in the
living room. My mother died in the living room. The new house is modern and
bright, lining a cul-de-sac in the endless suburban sprawl of south Fargo. A
city that did not exist has grown since I left; the city that was there when we
lived on the north side, but it’s frozen, it’s done. It’s over. It cannot grow –
the airport on one side, the river on the east, the waste-treatment plant on the
north. By his new house stand two gargantuan churches, one built to resemble
some peculiar cross between a barn and a European cathedral. Our old church is
between North and South, a downtown church across from the old Kraft warehouse,
north from the Sons of Norway hall. The congregants who were incredibly old when
I was a little kid are still there – fewer in number, sometimes stooped, but
often just as ruddy and vital as before. A full house, which was nice. You can’t
imagine that the congregation is replacing itself at the needed rate. Once they
had Sunday school for every grade, but not anymore, I think. We sat in the
balcony. I took Gnat up a secret passage to a tiny door in the back of the loft,
and showed her the rope to the bell. The area looked as strange and forgotten as
it did when I rang the bell; like so much of the church it seems to have been
sprayed with some sort of time-thwarting fixative. I suppose when you use a
place once a week, and only then for an hour or two, it holds up well. I suppose
it’s good that we age faster than churches. At first it makes them seem behind
the times; eventually they seem outside the times.

Hadn’t seen the padre in a while; we’d caught up in the vestibule. When I
came up at the head of the communion line he gave me a wink. Afterwards, the
usual dinner at the Holiday Inn banquet room; ham in alarming amounts. On the
way out we ran into my third-grade teacher. My third-grade teacher, friends. She
looked about 50. She remembered me: I was such a reader! I thanked her for
teaching me, and walked a way a little dazed: I'm 46 years old. And I just ran
into my third-grade teacher. Back to Dad’s house to find eggs with Gnat’s
cousin. I packed, neatened the room. We'd taken out some afghans the night
before - one green, one blue, both knitted by my Grandmother decades ago. I'd
curled up under them as a kid; they were later draped around a chair in the
living room. Good as new. Can't shake 'em. Sometimes you actually get irritated
at the obstinate persistence of inanimate objects; it would be simple if they'd
just leave. Because here I am in my father's new house, staring at this letter
my Grandma wrote in wool. You can run your hands along it and pretend you're
touching her; you can imagine the day at the farm, with Grandma knitting in the
front room, Grandpa looking for the car keys so he can drive out and check the
progress of the crops, Folger's brewing in the kitchen, Eli loping off to the
barn to change the oil in the tractor, worrried about a pain he's been having.
But you'll get nothing out of them. Gnat has no idea of the blanket that kept
her warm, just as Grandma had no idea there would ever be a Gnat. It can drive
you nuts, the wishing. But what can you do? You remember, you pass it on, you
let it go. In the end it's just a blanket. For all I know Grandma kept the 1893
container because it was practical, and her dad got it from a man at the GAR
hall. The only object I think my Dad would ever miss was the piece of shrapnel
he got in the war, and had made into a wedding ring. Coffee and cake until it
was time to load up the car and point it east. I’d say we headed home, but Fargo
is home as well. From one home to the other, then; from the old home to the new.
An apt thing to do on an Easter Sunday, no? Let's ask the pastor of my childhood
church:

This about sums it up

My thoughts on the Shiavo case, exactly - and well said.

24

The highlights of TV w/o Pity's recap of last week's show.

Suddenly he remembers that there's a third person who might be interested in what's going on with Grayadder, and he pulls out his cell phone. I assume it's a new phone, since his old one must have been fried by the EMP that went off ten feet away from him. I realize that assumption is based upon the more unlikely assumption that someone at the show remembers that.

Basically, Keeler is keen to declare martial law. Not that I can see how the United States of the 24-verse could be more of a police state than it already is, but I'm always ready to be surprised.

DoDder's following Grayadder's gurney through the hallway to the CTU clinic. The docs try to shake her off, but she insists on making them stop rolling the dying man to surgery so she can say, "I'm here, okay? And I will be here when you get out of surgery." DaD is standing there with a "great, here the fuck we go again" expression. Or maybe he's going for "concerned." Hard to tell. Grayadder peers up at his wife, his expression unreadable through the oxygen mask on his face. So I'm free to assume he's thinking, "Screw you, lady, I've got Kiefer now." He's finally pried from his wife's clutches so his life can be saved, and DoDder and DaD are left alone in the hallway. She hugs her father. Over her shoulder, his expression says, "So bored with this."

Bitchelle looks at Soul Patch, who looks back at her like, "Yeah, remember how no matter who was in charge around here, we really all just worked for Kiefer? Good times."

He went from just been fucked to just plain fucked in less than ninety seconds.

Poor Man's Poor Man's Eric Stoltz takes the opportunity to try to rush her with the room service cart, but she beats him down and ends up on top of him, holding a table knife to his neck. Nice to see a member of the United States military getting spanked by a member of the International Sisterhood of Mercenary Hos.

Bitchelle hands the floor over to Kiefer to explain the cover story, which goes thusly: Kiefer was transporting TerrorMom when his vehicle was attacked by surviving members of TerrorDad's cell at the intersection of Sepulveda and National an hour ago. I'm surprised they're using an intersection that actually exists, but I'm not surprised that it's one that throws my CTU triangulation project completely out of whack again by being way the hell down by Culver City and yet still less than ten minutes away.

Potato Face is finally prevailed upon to come in, thanks to her undying loyalty to the man who got her fired and let her friend get pounded flat while she watched. Bitchelle thanks her. "You're welcome," Potato Face lies, and hangs up with a mighty bitchface.

TerrorTeen protests fearfully. He begs her not to do it as she gets more and more get-a-room-y with him. Kiefer, clearly getting uncomfortable like the rest of us, tells her it's time to go. She makes out with her son some more, then walks out of the room slowly, smiling at him creepily over her shoulder. She even gives him a defiant little head toss. She doesn't look away from his weepy puss until she passes Kiefer in the doorway, who stares at TerrorTeen for a moment before shutting the door. Wow, I don't get what she sees in him, he thinks. It's 8:26:13, and TerrorTeen now has to spend the entire commercial break wiping slobber off of himself.

They share a flirty look before Bitchelle thanks him and they part ways. I wouldn't want to be the CTU employee sitting at the desk they're next to when they inevitably decide to have hot make-up sex in the middle of the floor.

Lispy Skip is having some trouble with his technobabble, until Potato Face appears next to him with some fresh technobabble. It's not surprising that she knows how to fix it, considering she's apparently developed the ability to teleport. She's also changed her clothes and her hair in the past seven minutes, presumably in the car. She probably should have taken the time to pick out some decent lipstick other than the lavender mess she's wearing now, though. Lispy Skip doesn't seem to happy to see her, so Potato Face smoothes things over by saying Bitchelle called her in because Lispy Skip couldn't handle himself. Way to defuse the tension there.

The doc explains that the second bullet is lodged against one of Grayadder's vertebrae and they're worried about the risk of further spinal injury. Can we just pretend that we've already had the inevitable scene where DoDder weepily says to Kiefer of her quadriplegic husband, "He needs me"? No? Bleah.

Soul Patch asks Potato Face to switch to an infrared satellite view. Potato Face quickly complies. The infrared view of the TerrorTaurus shows one bright blob of heat inside the car, which tells them that he's alone. It also tells me that TerrorProf's car has no engine or exhaust system, and that none of the surrounding cars do either. In fact, they don't even have drivers.

In any case, Potato Face is able to magically magnify and enhance the image of the van enough to read the license plate, but not before putting out my eye with her grinning, pointy teeth.

"Prove it to me," ImhoTerror says, reversing the gun and holding it out to TerrorMom butt-first. "Kill him." Ah, so the gun is empty. He was threatening her with an empty gun, you see. Interesting. TerrorMom treats ImhoTerror to one of her creepy-ass smiles and slowly takes the empty gun. She strokes it erotically as she moves over next to Kiefer, who is dragged back up to a kneeling position. She holds the empty gun to his head while Kiefer waits, eyes closed, pretending he doesn't know the gun is empty. Then she whips the empty gun up to point it at ImhoTerror and dry-fires it. D'oh! She's been in this country five years and never bothered to catch In the Line of Fire on cable? Sloppy. "Just what I thought," ImhoTerror says smugly. Yeah, just what we all thought. Oh, he means TerrorMom falling for it. I didn't think that. Never mind. Kiefer and TerrorMom share a horrified look: TerrorMom because she fucked up, and Kiefer because he can't believe she fell for this. At least I assume that's what she's thinking, since he had to do the exact same thing to Special Agent Charlie Brown last season. People, listen: nobody who mistrusts you is going to give you a loaded gun for you to prove your loyalty with. It's just not going to happen.

ImhoTerror follows Kiefer and his little party off into a splitscreen, which also includes a worried-looking TerrorTeen, as well as a worried-looking DoDder who steps up to meet an approaching doctor, who in turn blows right by her without a word. Heh. Smart doctor. Keeler worries on Air Force One, his hair darker than ever; and Kiefer looks worried as he's loaded into an SUV. As do Bitchelle, Soul Patch, and Potato Face at CTU, because they figure that eventually there's going to be an uprising when people figure out the place is being run by people who don't work there anymore.

Next week on 24: Looks like Kiefer gets shot during a prisoner exchange for TerrorTeen. Unless the promo is misleading. You don't think that's the case, do you?

Easter ... Not what we were expecting

So, I was looking very forward to seeing the in-laws for Easter. No such luck. Didn’t see anyone except Dave, as it turns out. About 2:30 on Saturday afternoon, Dave got sick. He continued to get sick for the next 14 hours. Fearing virus, Stacy went to stay with her parents. I went out to get him some gatorade so he wouldn’t dehydrate.

Also fearing virus, even though I felt fine, I decided not to make an appearance at the Bryant family Easter Fest. I was worried that I may have been carrying something, and with several children under 4, I just didn’t want to risk it. Dave is fine now, he even at a little bit yesterday.
While I was sad that the weekend didn’t turn out as planned, between hovering sessions outside the bathroom door, asking Dave if he needed anything, I was able to completely veg.

You see, while out getting gatorade, I broke down and finally bought the DVD I’ve been wanting since the day it was released. DVDs really, which is why I hadn’t purchased them yet. $20 is one thing, but $40 for the entire first season of Miami Vice had to wait. Yes, that’s right. Miami Vice. That was a show that the family watched when I was a kid. LOVED that show.

I was a little nervous, I must admit, when I put the first DVD in to watch the pilot. I was afraid that it would be so unbelievably dated, I’d be sorry that I bought it.

I was not sorry. Yes, it’s dated. The clothes are horrendous. But the dialogue is still pretty snappy, and the stories are still great. So, while my dear husband was waiting out the stomach virus (or food poisoning?), I was having a Miami Vice marathon. I watched 12 of the 22 episodes. What a blast!

Interesting tidbit: you all know my love for 24. Well, turns out, Joel Surnow who is an executive producer and writer for 24 was also a writer and executive producer for Miami Vice in the first season, at least. Hmmm. I’m curious now to know what else he’s written and produced. Turns out to include: Wiseguy, The Equalizer, St. Elsewhere, Falcon Crest, The Commish, among others. So it seems my mom and I enjoy his writing. We both watched Wiseguy and The Equalizer. The Hagerman Family also watched St. Elsewhere, back in the day.

The best part is seeing the actors who played some of the non-regular characters: Jimmy Smitts as Sonny’s partner who gets killed in the pilot, Belinda Montgomery as Sonny’s ex-wife (Doogie Howser’s mom), Ed O’Neill, Suzy Amis (The Usual Suspects), Bruce Willis, Michael Madsen, John Pankow (Ira in Mad About You), Evan Handler (Charlotte’s husband in Sex and the City), Joan Chen, John Turturro, Ving Rhames.

So, yeah, that about sums up the weekend.

Also big thanks go to my mom who brought leftovers from her own Easter feast to us last night. Good stuff!

What I aspire to.

I started this little blog for similar reasons to many people. I fancy myself a writer. By jebus, I even have a degree in it! “No!” you might say. Having read this for the last little while, there’s absolutely no way this woman has a degree in anything that would have taught her to string sentences together in an orderly and interesting fashion. But yes. I do indeed have a bachelors in magazine journalism, photojournalism (a little more talent there, I think) emphasis, and English minor. You would think I’m a better writer than this. Hmmm.

Well, regardless of all that, I do believe that I can identify good writing. I feel the same about music; can’t play it, but can hear it. Better about the writing, though. I don’t know enough about music’s guts to really differentiate the great from the legendary. With writing, I can feel lots of different levels. I certainly have my preferences as to style, but even if I don’t like it, generally I can spot some sort of ability. I know this sounds so self-involved and pretentious, but I’m getting to something here. (See what I mean about my own talents. Rambler.)

James Lileks.

That is who I’m talking about. He is not a novelist. He is a columnist and blogger. His is my favorite blog. I don’t visit every day, because it’s really just ramblings on his daily life. Not unlike many of ours. However, about once a week, he says something that just hits me. Usually it’s something that 100 other people have said. But he just has a way of making it different.

Today, was not one of those days. Today he was talking about something I’ve only heard in passing and only heard talked about a couple of times, with very little interest. I cried. Yes, I cried because of James Lileks' description of … Mahler’s Tenth Symphony. No kidding. I put this here, not only because of the writing, but also because the majority of the three or four of you who read my blog are trained musicians. I’m sure you’re more familiar with this symphony than I am, and Lileks’ description may affect you even more. I don’t know. Whatever. On with the goods…

Odd how I keep writing tonight, even though my quotient of things-to-say is
obviously more dribblicious than usual; I blame the Shuffle. A few nights ago I
stopped writing because the Shuffle came up with the first movement of Mahler’s
Tenth, a piece so suffused with regret and farewell it makes the Ninth sound
like the opening number in a vaudeville revue. You realize that the Ninth was
not the big goodbye; that was just Mahler picking up his hat and coat and
walking to the door. The Tenth is hard to take. It’s easy to say “he knew he
was going to die” – well, yes, but the thought does occur to the rest of us from
time to time, and even though he had a bad ticker, it’s possible he intended to,
you know, live to finish it. A suicide note it’s not. If anything, it’s a love
letter to everything about to be lost, and as personal as the sentiments are it
has none of the solipsism you associate with the self-obsessed. (He said,
sibilantly, by the sea-shore.) It’s the sound of someone feeling their life
unravel in the sunshine of an autumn afternoon. Best learned when you’re young,
I think. You can marinate in the pathos, which is like SO TRUE because
everything is GRIM in that noble tragic romantic way the herberts and phonies
never understand. When you’re middle-aged, it’s unnerving: previews of coming
attractions. Hard to listen to in your own dying days, I’d think. Me, I’ll
want the news and Benny Goodman, an assurance I’m leaving the world as messy and ingenious as the day I came in.

Stunning

Memories … blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

So we didn’t play one, but two games last night. The team that was playing after us didn’t have enough girls to play without forfeiting the game. So they successfully guilted me into playing for them. Half of our regular team chipped in for these guys, one of our girls played on the other team, and our first opponent’s goalie played for our opponent in the second game. I shouldn’t have been playing either game, actually. Turns out this cough was still hanging on and only waiting for me to exert the slightest bit of energy. I spent half of both games gagging in the goal, my body trying to decide between coughing and puking. It was so incredibly lady-like of me.

Well, we lost the first game pretty badly, and won the second game by one point. I would say one goal, but since the incredibly insulting rules of this league give two points for a goal scored by a girl, then I can’t say one goal. So one point it is. After all was said and done, I was exhausted, but somehow it felt great. Gotta get back to the gym.

So why the title of this post, you ask? Well, because last season, I ran into two of my former teammates. Their team was the one that I ended up playing against last night. Not only were they there last night (obviously), but as it turns out, one of our coaches is also playing the league. I know we typically lose touch with people because there aren’t enough reasons keep talking, emailing, whatever. Because of that, I wonder why it can be so great to see people you haven’t seen in ages. Certainly it makes sense if seeing them takes you back to a time that was wonderful. This is one of those situations. The years I played soccer as a Tophatter were just so incredible. Add to that the fact that before last season, I had not seen any of those people in more than 10 years. I was so happy to see Carey last night. I may have even been more affected seeing him than when I saw Jen and Leslie (the teammates) again. That’s what I find so interesting. I’m thinking that’s because he was a coach. He is about seven years older than us which was huge back then, but now we are closer in age, if that makes sense. I could always relate to Jen and Leslie, and the way we relate hasn’t changed. But now, I can relate differently to someone who is 36 when I’m 29, than when I was 16 and he was 23. We were talking about our marriages and his kids. There’s something intriguing about that. On the other hand, it’s not like Carey and I talked for more than three minutes at halftime.

I don’t know, is it really just all nostalgia? I guess so.

SPRING!

Spring is here, and so are the rains! That’s ok, though. Thunderstorms are so much fun. Soccer in them is interesting, but they should pass by the time my game happens tonight at 8:30. Hey, if anyone wants to come cheer Arsenal on, the place is Silverbacks Park. You can drink on the sidelines. Some players even drink during the games. Real laid-back place. Just say you’re there for co-ed, not the Latino league tournament. Don Taco has a stand there, though, so you can have dinner, too. See you all there, I’m sure!

Anyway, that’s about all that’s going on with me tonight. That, and House, of course. I’ll watch that when I’m back. I get to come into work at the regular time tomorrow, so that’s good. Had a 2.5 hour phone call with our Indian distributor, starting at 7:30am today. Thought it was at 7, so I was here a bit early. That’s ok, though; I’ve gotten a lot done. I should go home, but can’t interrupt this strangely productive day.

I think the rest of the week is going to be pretty quiet. I’m going to try to get back to the gym tomorrow night. It’s been too long, but I just didn’t want to push it with the cough and all.

A few things to do around the house – final details on painting our bedroom and the base boards around our hardwood floors.

Can’t wait for Easter. Get to see the inlaws for the first time since Christmas. It’s so sad, since they only live 50 miles away. It just hasn’t worked out. We even missed Dave’s Dad’s birthday. Well, we’ll finally get to go on Sunday, so that will be nice. I’m one of the lucky ones who loves my in-laws dearly. I think Dave’s pretty darn lucky, too, with my parents. It’s nice. I’ve been in relationships where this wasn’t the case, and it certainly makes things difficult.

Wow, I really am just rambling here. I’ll stop now.

Catching up

Let’s see, I’m finally getting over this cold that I’ve had for three weeks. Yippeee! Two nights in a row without cough medicine. This is a milestone.

What else. I just found out that a couple of my coworkers also love House. That fabulous show on Fox – Tuesday nights at 9. It’s a must watch. Dr. Gregory House is one of the best characters on tv. No question about it. Currently, he is only beaten out by Jack Bauer. Seems I’m quite the Fox fan. All three of my regular shows are on the network – Arrested Development (characters named Maybe, GeorgeMichael, Gob, and Buster), 24, and House. Two of the most original shows on tv, and one of the most fantastic characters. Wonderful stuff.

Finally, the thing that everyone is talking about: Terri Shiavo. No link because I can't find a single un-biased story at this point. I can’t comment about this specifically because I sit squarely on the fence on this one. I have major issues with Congress butting in after courts in the double-digits have made decisions on this, and the Supreme Court has rejected it. However, the legislative arguments aside, I certainly understand both sides, and not being a neurologist, I just can’t bring myself to come down with either argument. However, what I can do is get a living will put into place. I sat down Friday night to do this. Of course, the simplified verbiage in the questionnaire proved too difficult for me to decifer. So, it seems I’m in for a call to the lawyer to clarify. Scary thing is that she was only 26 when this happened to her. Dave and I should have done this long ago. But we are now, so there it is. I strongly encourage everyone out there to make your wishes known, in writing. Be very clear, so that you’re not left as a pawn between parents and a spouse who disagree.

Speaking of turning 30...

I think Stacy and I have finally nailed down the details of our little shindig.

Eight Years

Interesting realization yesterday. It’s been eight years since I graduated from college. Wow. If I think about it for just a second, it seems like only yesterday. But if I really sit and breakdown everything that’s happened, I realize that, yes, it has indeed been eight years. Incredible. At first, I want to say that it’s depressing. But you know, it’s really not. I’ve done a lot in those eight years. And I’m happy. I’m not saying I’m content, but I’m happy.

I’m never content. I just don’t think it’s in my nature. I always want to be doing more than I am, or I want to have done more than I have. Which keeps me moving forward.

Yep. I graduated eight years ago, and I’m happy. Now, on with the rest of my life (and helping Dave become happy, too). Oh, and did I mention that I’ll be 30 in a few months. Cool.

Quote for Today

If there is anything the nonconformist hates worse than a conformist, it's another nonconformist who doesn't conform to the prevailing standard of nonconformity.
-- Bill Vaughan

Comments

It seems I can’t comment on Russ’ or Dave D’s blogs. I’m getting an error message that their blogs aren’t found when I try. So, since that’s the case, I will comment here…

Regarding a statewide smoking ban, this was my comment to Russ yesterday:
Politicians don't give two *&^%s about what impact their legislation has in the real world. If they cared, they wouldn't ban smoking in bars in the first place. Smoke is annoying, and it annoys many people, and those people complain often. So they ban it. But it has nothing whatsoever to do with what science says about the effects of secondhand smoke. See below. Hat tip to Radley Balko...

“Australian medical researcher Raymond Johnstone looked at epidemiological data and determined that the rate of death from cancer among the wives of non-smoking men was 6 per 100,000. The rate of death among the wives of smoking men was 8 per 100,000. That means that the absolute risk of cancer due to the kind of prolonged exposure to secondhand smoke endured by a spouse is 1 per 50,000.
Now if you're an alarmist, you'd phrase that statistic like this: "SECONDHAND SMOKE CAUSES 33% MORE CANCER DEATHS."
If you're a realist, you'd phrase it as Johnstone does:
‘The most one can say about the alleged link between passive smoking and lung cancer is that if there is one, the it is so small that it is difficult to measure it accurately and the risk, if any, is well below the level of those to which we normally pay attention’
In the swell book The Tyranny of Health, Michael Fitzpatrick notes that you're more likely to get cancer from eating Japanese seafood (six times more likely), drinking tap water (two and a half times more likely), or eating mushrooms (fifty percent more likely) than you are from being the nonsmoking spouse of a heavy smoker.”

So if the non-smoking spouse of a heavy smoker’s chances of getting cancer increase so minimally as to be scientifically insignificant and difficult to measure, then what do you think science says about a non-smoking waiter or patron who spends less time bars than we can assume spouses spend together?

The politicians also never take into account that if there was such a large crowd of people who do not want to go to a bar with smoke, then smoke-free bars would be everywhere and would be successful. Why not give the market time to sort this out, instead of legislating us all into oblivion? If all the non-smoking obsessives spent as much money opening non-smoking restaurants and bars, as they have pushing legislation, they could be making a tidy profit. Offering an alternative is not their agenda. Banning all smoking is.

Don’t be surprised when coffee and alcohol are next. Personal responsibility has nothing to do with it. The government is here to make sure we don’t hurt ourselves.

Now, regarding Dave’s post about the conversation with the cleaning lady…

My daily conversation at 5:45 goes like this
Cleaning Man: Hello, Lady (in charming hispanic accent)
W: Hi, how are you?
CM: Good, how are you?
W: Good, thank you.
CM: Have a good night, Lady.
W: Thank you, have a good night.

Sometimes, the conversation begins with “Hola,” instead. I find it cute, but then again, I’m not kicking a nicotine habit. So, I can understand Dave’s frustration.

Kayaking through the marshes on St. Simon's. 

Adam and Dave riding on Jekyll's beach. 

Little gator friend at Harris Neck. We saw lots - at least 12. Most of them were about 4 feet long. The little ones were close to the shore, about 4 feet away. There were also two humongus ones about 100 feet out, sunning themselves on islands.  

Cough cough, hack hack

Will try to post pictures from the trip tonight, but we’ll see how that goes. You see, there’s a bottle of cough medicine with codeine in it, waiting for me at the pharmacy. It literally has my name on it. I can’t wait to meet him. Yay.

So, yeah, that’s really my big news. I’ve been sick for over a week now, and finally got my ass to the doctor, after my 5th night in a row of waiting up in fits of coughing. No fun. And now I’ve pulled a rib muscle from it. Joy.

In spite of this, the daytime is generally cough-free, and so I was able to enjoy the majority of our trip to St. Simon’s Island. We went down to Amelia Island (our puppy’s namesake), rented bikes and rode around Jekyll Island, rented kyaks and paddled around St. Simons, then stopped in Savannah (a friend’s dog’s namesake) and walked around. So you’ll see, there was a lot of doing things around islands. Probably not great for my bronchial issue, but I wasn’t going to spend my vacation in the hotel room.

See ya

Off to St. Simon's Island in a few moments. But only after printing all 72 pages of my tax return! Damn you gub'ment!

National Retail Sales Tax
Private Account Social Security

Damn you Republicans, you're just as bad as the Dems. It's all about power with you poeple. Not anything else. You gotta get yours for your constituents. I'm revoking my membership to the Republican party when I get back from my little holiday.

Until then, I will relax and celebrate our 3rd anniversary for a few days.

See y'all on the other side.

Yep, that's it. It's official...

I'm old.

Didn't go dancing. Was wiped out after several hours of pictures with toddlers and infants. Went home, slept. Woke up, ate dinner. Decided there was no way I was going to drive 20+ miles to dance until 2am, then get up at 7 to head to Dahlonega.

Plus, Stacy is getting over a cold, and was also tired.

We went to see Sideways, instead. Good movie, but I don't get all the Oscar talk. I prefer Garden State. Another movie in the vein of a man having a life crisis. I guess I can relate better to a 27 year old having a crisis over finding love and direction, vs. a late 30-something year old having a crisis over divorce, finding love and direction. Worth a rental, for sure. The scene with Paul Giamatti talking about why he prefers Pinot, is absolutely wonderful.

Anyway, so now I have the cold that Dave, Stacy, and at least 3 people at my office had last week. Joy. Airborne and NyQuil are my friends. I certainly hope this will be gone before we head to St. Simons.

Having issues posting pictures. Pardon my multiple posts. See below for details on this picture.

View from inside our office building walking out, and view from the hillside. 

Tuesday morning...

Not the store.

OK, so this is what greeted the workers at 1805 Old Alabama Road on Tuesday morning. There are so many stories that could go along with this image. Drunk is what most of us suspect. But this is one serious partier, since the car still smelled like burning oil when I arrived at 8:15 am.

The car is still there. No one has claimed it, or had it towed. Also, it turns out there are some strict laws governing the removal of cars from private property if there is not a "No Parking" sign. Nevermind that in this instance, the car is parked no less than 30 YARDS from the closest parking lot. Judging from the tire marks from said parking lot, this person almost went into the water 2 times previous to this lovely stall. With all the rain we had Monday night, I'm really surprised the car didn't slide right down the hill.

Today, there was a sign on it - "For Sale - CHEAP."

So, after one realizes one can't back one's car up the hill, does one
a) get out and walk calmly away?
b) get out and call a cab?
c) get out a call a friend?
d) run/stumble away and not remember where the car is?

I mean, who/where the hell is this person? So bleeping weird.

Nu-Uh

Has it really been almost a week since I posted last? That's insane. I thought I posted a couple of days ago. So sorry to my (3) avid readers. I will edeavor to update more often.

So anyway, this week at work has been crazy, as usual. Good crazy, so it's ok. Just weird around there. So much to get done. So many people who need me to do things. I don't know about the rest of you who may be able to handle having many unread messages in their inboxes, but I get freaked out at around 75. I'm very comfortable if I can maintain a 45-50 unread messages mailbox. It's a constant struggle to maintain that. Oh well. It's good that I'm busy. Some semblance of job security, I guess.

So, now I'm home. And I get to do business taxes sometime in the next week. Don't know when, but I'll figure it out.

OK, so Dave's camping this weekend, which means going dancing with Stacy. Yay! Techno/Electronica after all these years, here we come. I can't wait. It's been way too long. When we were in college, we used to go dancing at least once a week, usually twice a week. One time we actually left a party in Atlanta at 12 to drive to the 40Watt in Athens for dancing from 2-4 then drove back home. Wednesdays at Masquerade from 12-4 was our usual plan during the summers. That's how much we loved dancing. And, damn, have I missed it.

Let's see, what else is going on. The plan this weekend is a killer. Friday rest up for the schedule. Saturday, shoot no less than four family/baby portraits from 9am-2pm. A show at the Park Bench- another cover band that plays fun music - then DANCING. Then it's up at the crack of dawn to meet my grandparents at church in Dahlonega and then head to lunch.

Then its home to crash, and I guess get these taxes done. They're due on the 15th of March. Ick.

I guess that about catches us up. Will also be posting some fun pictures from this week and weeks previous. Enjoy.

I don't know what to think, really

This is honestly one of the creepiest things I've ever heard of. I'm happy, of course, that the child will likely be ok. And it's incredible that we live in a time when this child will probably live a very normal life.

I know it is, but just can't believe this is real. I found myself staring at the picture for several minutes, just trying to comprehend and convince myself that I wasn't looking a some special effects creation.

This is the part I can't get over, "The head that was removed from Manar had been capable of smiling and blinking but not independent life, doctors said."

F*()& the To Do List

Well, not really. Honestly, I think I would melt away like a wicked witch in the rain without my to do list. However, I’m frustrated right now.

Typically I would be excited to scratch two things off my to do list. But not this time. There are two big projects I’ve been working on for quite some time now. I’ve finished them (fingers crossed, my boss is reviewing the final draft of the second project).

I finished one yesterday after more than a month of work. I probably have 15-20 hours of work in that spreadsheet. Well, I’ve finished one major part of it that I was able to send on. It felt so good.

Today, I’ve all but wrapped up the other project that I’ve been promising someone for over a week. This project has gotten a few hours of focus prior to today, and it has gotten 100% of my attention from 9am-3:15pm today.

So yes, I’m thrilled to have these off my to do list. "Why am I pissed?" you may ask. Because damnit, I only get to mark of two freaking items on my list! Two measely little items! That sucks.

But I’ve gotten a lot done this week, so I can’t wait for the funkle show, and the vodka tonic(s)/white russians/bass ale/whatever alcoholic that come along with the show.

Your Cheatin' Heart

OK, so I’m cheating, using quotes, instead of posting, but work and home life have just been insane. So, yes, today I’m leaving you with a quote, again.

"A society of sheep must in time beget a government of wolves." --Bertrand de Jouvenel

Lazy this week

And unbelievably busy. So not really lazy. Blogzy.

Anyway, your quote for today...

"You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift. You cannot help small men by tearing down big men. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong. You cannot lift the wage-earner by pulling down the wage-payer. You cannot help the poor man by destroying the rich. You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than your income. You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred. You cannot establish security on borrowed money. You cannot build character and courage by taking away men's initiative and independence. You cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they could and should do for themselves." --William Boetcker

Well Said.

"I cannot undertake to lay my finger on that article of the Constitutionwhich granted a right to Congress of expending, on objects ofbenevolence, the money of their constituents...."

--James Madison

My apologies

I apologize for the lack of posts this week. It's been a weird one.

Friday, Monday, and Tuesday I was "at" work, but not working at my desk. Dave and I were shooting marketing photography for my company's new website and collateral. So the rest of this week has been like I was on vacation, in that I had tons of email and phone calls to return. Except that I wasn't on vacation. I was working my ass off.

Also, we have been staying with my mom this week while our new hardwood floors and tile entryway are installed.

It's just been an all around nutty week.

What's wrong with this story?

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,146378,00.html

Damn this pisses me off. The way they report it is incredible. Never mind the good news that unemployment is at an incredible 5.2%, or that job levels are now where they were before 2001. No, let's latch onto the fact that the growth was "weaker than expected."

Idiots.

Seriously

Man caught in avalanche.
Stuck in car under tons of snow.
drinks 60 bottle os beer that happen to be in his car with him
pees his way out of avalanche.
found stumbling down the street

http://www.ananova.com/news/story/sm_1261997.html?menu

best quote, "It was hard and now my kidneys and liver hurt."

Cancer and heart disease deaths down, in spite of the obesity "epidemic". Hmmm.

Another great post from one of my favorite commentators.

http://www.theagitator.com/archives/017104.php#017104

Lyrics

Some songwriters write nice little clippable songs for quoting. Others don’t. Within the second group live The Barenaked Ladies. Generally speaking, to get their songs, you must listen to them in their entirety. Which I love. And I hate for quoting. Cause now I have to put a whole song in here. Oh well. This is one of those songs I listen to when I’m feeling pensive. Pensive Whitney hasn’t appeared in a while, but she’s been poking her head out lately.

When I was born, they looked at me and said
what a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy.
And when you were born, they looked at you and said,
what a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl.

We've got these chains that hang around our necks,
people want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath.
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same,
when temptation calls, we just look away.

[Chorus]
This name is the hairshirt I wear,
and this hairshirt is woven from your brown hair.
This song is the cross that I bear,
bear it with me, bear with me, bear with me,
be with me tonight,
I know that it isn't right, but be with me tonight.

I go to school, I write exams,
if I pass, if I fail, if I drop out,
does anyone give a damn?
And if they do, they'll soon forget 'cause it won't take much for me
to show my life ain't over yet.

I wake up scared, I wake up strange.
I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever going to change.
I wake up scared, I wake up strange
and everything around me stays the same.

[Chorus]

I couldn't tell you that I was wrong,
chickened out, grabbed a pen and paper, sat down and I wrote this song.
I couldn't tell you that you were right, so instead I looked in the mirror, watched TV, laid awake all night.

We've got these chains, hang 'round our necks,
people want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath.
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same when temptation calls ...

[Chorus]

When I was born, they looked at me and said;
What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy.
And when you were born, they looked at you and said;
what a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl, hey

As promised. The picture of me shooting a Tommy gun. Dave got the bullet coming out of the barrel. 

24 24 24 24 24

Best episode of 24 last night. EVER.

If you ever have just tons of time on your hands, you must check out www.televisionwithoutpity.com. The recaps are long - up to 12 pages, but their writers are hysterical. Just one or two excerpts from previous recaps of 24:

“She gets up and slowly approaches TerrorTeen, bugging her eyes at him so far out that they're practically prehensile. "What to you want me to do?" she asks. "Talk to him," TerrorTeen says. "He'll listen to you." Yes, the voice of moderation in this scenario is the person who hasn't blinked in ten minutes.”

“Potato Face hopes Kiefer didn't rat her out, since she's "not in the mood for a confrontation." She has other moods?”

I laughed out loud at this one:
“Kiefer 2.0 signs out a weapon at the counter, while Famous Original Kiefer dumps his garment bag there to be checked. Kiefer has changed out of his suit and into more casual clothes, including a five-eighths-length coat that has the unfortunate effect of making him look even shorter. As if putting him next to Kiefer 2.0 wasn't bad enough. Kiefer 2.0 tells Kiefer that he doesn't agree with Driscoll's decision, and that he's going to be giving the orders. Kiefer agrees, and explains why he busted in on Kiefer 2.0's questioning and maimed his suspect earlier. "Apology accepted," Kiefer 2.0 says, "but if you try to exceed my authority again I will stop you cold." He holds Kiefer's upturned gaze for a moment, then walks on. Kiefer watches expressionlessly, then scurries on his bitty little legs to catch up. Okay, I'll stop now. It's 8:27:24.”

Still not feelin' it

OK, so I’m still not really feeling the writing thing. This is my problem with journaling. Neither here nor there, really.

Just in generally crappy mood today. Nothing in particular. Just so much going on, and I’m starting to feel overwhelmed. Haven’t even talked to my mom in a week. That’s unusual. Calling her right now.

Weekend was good, though, generally speaking. Didn’t get anything done, but did a lot of things, if that makes sense. That’s what frustrates me greatly. Asside from that, though, I had an incredible time on Saturday in particular.

Friday night was fun. We found out that the band members have more in common that we thought prior to the show at Andrews Upstairs. Kinda fun learning new things about people you’ve known for three years, more or less.

So on Saturday, we weren’t in a big hurry to get anywhere, which is unusual and nice. When we did finally go somewhere, it was a bit of pre-show entertainment at the Firing Lane in Athens. We took our own small, and rented very large, guns and played around for an hour or so. I think my favorite part of going to the range is that you get to use the most creative targets: a standard silhouette, but the “guy” has his hands over his crotch; a black and white photorealistic assailant in a ski mask; and finally a color photorealistic Osama bin Laden. I hear you rolling your eyes, but so what. So, having selected our targets, we rented an MP5 and a Thompson machine gun (otherwise known as a Tommy-gun – yes, the ones the gangsters used back in the day). I was surprised by two things mainly – how light and easy to shoot the MP5 is, and how unbelievably heavy the Thompson is. I didn’t go fully automatic on the MP5 since I shot up the ceiling on the three-burst setting. I did go fully automatic on the Thompson, though. And Dave got a really killer shot of a bullet coming out of the barrel. So awesome. I’ll try to remember to post that tonight.

Then Funkle Ester had a show at Tastey World. They didn’t go on until after midnight. We got there, and the place was so packed. They were on, though. Sounded better than ever. I love Funkle Ester. I know I’m married to the sax player, but I swear, that’s not the only reason I love the band. They are so amazing.

Show was followed up by mirth and fun at the McLucas household until 4am for me, 5am for Dave. Rolled out of bed at 11:30am, drove home, watched the Falcons lose, cried about Johnny Carson, drooled over Kiefer Sutherland on Inside the Actors Studio, watched the Patriots win, did four loads of laundry that are still sitting on the chair getting wrinkled in our living room.

Song lyric for the day:
When this cardboard town can no longer amuse you
You see through everything, and nothing seems worthwhile
And hypocrite used to be such a big word to you
It don’t seem to mean anything to you now
Just try to live each and every precious moment
Don’t be discouraged by the future, forget the past
That’s old advice, but it’ll be good to you
Know there’s a balance
I see it when I swing past
Between a laugh and a tear
Smile in the mirror as you walk by
Between a laugh and a tear
And that’s as good as it’s going to get for us
And that ain’t no reason to stop trying

Seriously lacking inspiration...

OK, so I really haven't had any feeling to write this week. Honestly. It's not like there's nothing going on, but I just haven't been inspired.

So, tonight, with the very green Zhen Papaya Enzyme Mask on my face, I will write.

What has happened since the last time I blogged? A lot, actually. Well, not a lot, but something fun. Dave and I went to the Bahamas for three days. So much fun. It was a work incentive trip, so there were 17 people, 10 of whom I work with and 7 spouses. Unbelievably fun. What a great crowd this was. Everyone was so laid back.

The key to good group traveling is people being relaxed. Surprisingly difficult to find in a travel situation. But this was the group.

We flew into the Melbourne airport on Thursday morning, then took a bus to Port Canaveral to get on the boat and leave for Nassau at 5pm Thursday night. Someone missed the first flight, but made it onto the second flight, so all was good. First drama. First realization that this would be a great trip.

Everyone gets on the boat. Disney cruises are fantastic. If you've only been on Carnival, you probably think it's great - even in a horribly tacky way. But not after going on another cruise ship. Anyway, even with the majority of the boat under 12 years old, we had a great time. They don't miss a detail.

On Nassau, 8 of us rented scooters, but got separated at a traffic light very early on. Again, an opportunity for major drama that never materialized. YAY. Dave and I, and one of my coworkers rode on and covered practically the whole island in a span of 7 hours. The best part, though, was the superbly formal lunch at the Graycliff Inn while wearing tshirts and baseball caps with two attendants in white tuxedo coats at our table. After we at a lunch of lobster bisque, conch chowder, grouper fingers, shrimp linguini, and the most wonderul coffee I've ever had in my life - Cuban coffee sweetened with raw brown sugar - we took to the cigar factory and smoking lounge. What a lovely lunch hour(s). After lunch, we rode around some more, bought some Cuban cigars (one that Dave has been searching for for 10 years), and headed back to the boat.

Later that evening, our scooter companion cracked his head open on the side of the pool and required 13 stitches. We're talking a 3-4" gash on the top of his head. Instance 3 of potential drama that came out alright. Thank goodness HR wasn't on the trip, though.

The next day was on Castaway Cay - Disney's private island. After our deep sea fishing trip, on which I caught the smallest fish of the day, we move on to the adult beach. And did absolutely nothing. Well, Dave snorkeled and took some fun pictures, but the water was too cold for me. So I sat in a chair by the shoreline, and just relaxed.

That evening we hit 10-20' seas. The waves were crashing up to the fourth deck while the Falcons were beating the crap out of St. Louis. After the game, the whole group went to the top deck to watch the waves. We ended up watching the pool empty halfway out and crash up against each side. It was incredible. Then, I decided to go down to the fourth deck to watch more waves. Got there, turned to go out on deck, and it hit me. I hauled ass down two flights of stairs, ran from the front of the boat to the middle, tried my key card three damn times in the lock, busted into my room, straight to the toilet, and puked my brains out. Boy did that feel good. Then I went to bed as the ocean rocked me to sleep.

We got up the next morning and headed back home. It was a short trip, but it was wonderful.

So, this week, all I've been doing at work is catching up. Not to mention our network has been down, so it's taking me four times as long to get anything done.

Ah, but today, my boss told me that his goal is to visit every one of our distributors this year. Being that they are my responsibility, I'd be going as well. (And Dave). If I can make this happen, I will visit four other continents in 12 months!!!!!!!! All on the company dime. Of course, I'll be working most of the time, but still - Australia, England, South Africa, and India. The tentative plan is to make it in two trips - Australia and India, then England and South Africa. Dave will most likely have to pick one of the trips, not both.

I know I said I'm not inspired, and you may wonder why, since I'm looking at a trip like this. But we had this discussion last year about Australia, and that didn't happen. When I'm on the plane, I'll get inspired. But I am just a teeny tiny bit excited about the prospect.

YAY!

24 was amazing, as usual. Damn. What a show.

OK, so today was very productive, even though the early part was exceedingly frustrating. Went to buy supplies for organizaing our office. This room is a disaster. It has been collecting crap for almost two years. So I set aside today to get it cleaned. Went and bought hanging file inserts for the file cabinet we have that does not have said inserts.

Get home. They are 3/4" too long. DAMNIT! Must now take them back and go get plastic bins, since this size is the only one they had. Take two HOURS to do this, because a) Dave is driving and b) we must eat lunch. I love my husband dearly. Dearly. Seriously. But let me tell you. He loves to just drive. If he thinks the place we need to go is in one direction, he will head in that direction until told there's no way in freakin Hell that it's this way. BUT, he'll act like he knows where he's going. So I don't ask until we've gone 10 miles. At which point he says, "I don't know where I'm going." UGH. So we've gone 10 miles "looking" for an Office Depot that he thought was closer than the one at which I purchased the inserts, which is 6 miles in the OTHER direction. We manage to make a big circle, and get to the original OD about an hour later. Keep in mind that we both have issues with blood sugar and our moods. Something about a corn cob up my ass is mentioned. His wondering how big it is, in particular. Yes, by all means, that's the way to put me in a better mood.

Remember that I'm trying to tackle the office that 2 years of packrat hell hit, and it's already 1:30. And 24 comes on at 8. Seems like a long time, but you haven't seen this room.

Anyway, we arrive at OD to make the trade, and get lunch at the Subway next door, by 2pm. The Subway with the kid on meth who couldn't make eye contact with either one of us, while flirting with the two ladies in front of us in line who've already gotten their food and paid for it!!!! Not the day, kid. Seriously.

Home by 2:30-3ish. I begin.

This room is about 12x12. Not big, right? Ah, but you see, there's a mountain of filing not done in front of the only possible storage space, so that the door can't even open. It's horrible. Anyway. I begin. One huge bag of trash, some major dusting, organization, and total reshuffle of the desk, and it's 90% done. The pile of filing is still in front of the closet door, but you can see the desk, the shelves, two filing cabinets, and 80% of the floor now. Yay.

You can also see another filing cabinet that I open to begin filing - not the one I bought and returned the hanging file inserts for - to discover that this one does not have the capability to handle hanging files, either. And it's about 1-2" deeper than the other cabinet. You've got to be kidding me!!!!!!!!! I could have kept those damn inserts? Ugh, again. Was meant to be. I wouldn't have gotten the plastic filing containers, which enabled me to set aside a bunch of files for attic storage. So yay. I'll go back and get those inserts - AGAIN - tomorrow. Then I will begin filing the two years' worth of paperwork that's piled up. Hppefully at least 40% of this will be trash, anyway. Then I'll be able to get into the closet to use that for storage of the other few things that I don't have a place for.

Now that I think about it, I really wish I had before and after pictures. Oh well.

I would have begun filing in the two cabinets that can handle the hanging files, but alas 24 came on. There is no pre-empting 24 in my life.

After 24, I balanced the bank accounts - 3 checking, 3 savings, two car payments, 3 credit cards (three more can't be balanced because their damn website is down) - which hasn't been done in over a month.

So it turns out to be a day of lots getting done, but nothing getting finished. Normally, that bugs the crap out of me. But today, I got so much done, that I'm ok with it not being quite finished.

Wooohooooo!

The most original tv show ever is back on! 24!!!!!!!!!!

Otherwise known as the Jack Bauer Power Hour.

What else can I say?

Watch it.

Strange Things for $200, Alex

So I was talking to a guy at a staffing company in Belgium. He put me on hold. The hold music was "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman.

It was a short hold, so I didn’t get to see what came on next.

Laziness

Feeling horrible today. Really busy at work, too. So I’m cheating and linking to someone else’s column.
I read this guy’s commentary at www.theagitator.com every day. Typically, I agree, though not always. I disagree with him on Irag, for instance. But, generally, we’re on the same boat. I very much love this particular column.

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,142872,00.html

Funkle Ester in Motion. It is very difficult to get fun, well-lit pictures with a point and shoot. Oh well. You get the idea. And for once, every member of the band is visible. Yay. From left to right: Bryan, James, Meredith, Andrew, Dale, Russ, Dave D., and Dave B. 

horn line in motion. notice the diso hat on the monitor in front. that hat was later seen at 2am on the head of a woman in an entirely different ballroom. no more disco hat. 

One of the main events of the evening was me landing on my butt after Stacy's failed attempt to catch me in her arms. I'm laughing here, not crying. Seriously. The worst part is that we can't even blame it on being drunk. This was pretty early on. And actually, the catch didn't fail. Holding me for the picture, while wearing heals, and not realizing that I've gained 10 pounds since the last time we did this, were the problems Stacy faced. It was a clearly overwhelming task. Fortunately, there is no picture of the fall, only the aftermath. 

So here's my honey with me between sets.  

Sorry 'bout the red-eye, but it was late. We are the horn line's ladies. I'm married to the saxophone player, Serena in the middle is dating the trombone player, and Ellen on the right is married to the trumpet player (Russ, seen in the picture below, is the trumpet player).

Russ really really liked having hair again. The first time in since I've known him. I hear he's taking good care of my wig. 

That's Libby and Ben - friends from college. Yep, he's wearing a kilt. 

Mom and I in a lovely pose. I don't think you can really tell here, but we look an awful lot alike.  

Jen, Stacy, and Whitney - first drinks of the evening. Still very early. 

Happy New Year

Wow, how creative. Oh well, still feeling a little funky. Unfortunately, not from drinking, but from the sore throat and blocked left nostril I woke up with on New Year's Eve.

Still had a blast on New Year's.

Funkle Ester played a fantastic hotel show - you know the kind expensive ticket, dinner, open bar, 15 bands, 10 different ballrooms. What a blast. They played three sets, all incredible. It's always just so much fun. Currently my favorites are Sir Duke, Ain't No Mountain High Enough, 25 or 6 to 4, and Upside Down. I still haven't heard them play Pick Up the Pieces. It's kindof become this running joke. They've played the song several times, all at shows I've either missed entirely or left early. I don't think I'll ever hear them play that.

Anyway, Dave played an awesome solo on Miss You. So that was fun to watch. He just started playing that recently. Before, the guitarist solo'ed there.

Pictures in the posts above.