I had a shocking epiphany today, and--despite being too tired of typing to do this--I have to share with whoever happens to read this (I already shared it with Ben, but if he reads this he'll find out again, and more power to him). However, I'll have to keep it short, as my body is not a fan of the typing right now... Nor is it a fan of the sitting at the computer. So this will probably be only 17 long boring paragraphs instead of the standard 43...
Anyway, for whatever reason I got tired of the bags of leaves that have been sitting on what I'm going to call my patio (it may very well be a patio, I just don't have the power of the names-of-bits-of-the-house-ness) since late last autumn. It's a long story, and there is a teenager involved, so you should probably be able to piece together how this came to pass.
These lovely bags of leaves have been through that very crazy winter we just had, and have soaked up all that fun rain we've had. In short: these are some gross bags of leaves.
As I was saying (or typing), I got tired of these bags sitting there (18 bags, plus what remained of the one an un-named teen tried to move to the curb for the spring clean-up trash pickup day), and had talked to Bowman about a week or so ago, and he said he had some space he needed to fill with organic-ness, and leaves fit the bill. Last night was the night. I don't have any idea why it was the night, but my brain just locked onto this task.
I had already been to the Big K or whatever it's called these days, and they didn't have the 55-gallon trash bags I wanted. I went to Lowe's that same day and found them.
I had the bags. I knew where I could take these stupid leaves. The stage was set. I guess that's why my brain got all obsessed about it.
I went outside and started bagging the bags of leaves. The original plan was to put two bags in every giant trash bag, and it would have worked great, had the bags wanted to stay in one piece when touched. Instead, they wanted to fall apart. But it still went well. All I had to do was put a trash bag over the top of one, tip the whole thing over and pick up the plastic trash bag from its top.
Not that it was a huge fun job or anything, but there was a big feeling of accomplishment with each bag.
Then I realized there were lots of leaves sort of collected and bleched together on the patio (not to mention the bottoms of all the paper bags... they sort of stayed on the patio, too). So I thought: shovel. I even had the right shovel in my head. Not one you might use to dig a whole, but what is apparently called a grain shovel. I now own one, so I know what they're called.
Now I was on a roll... On the way to the hardware store, I called Bowman to see if I could bring the leaves by sometime tomorrow. He wasn't available, so I asked his daughter to tell him to call me back. I then called Ben to see if I could borrow his truck (the one I covet so). He was super-gracious, as always.
I went to the hardware store (where Bowman called me back and said noon would work), bought the shovel (and a citronella candle, as it was damaged and on sale for cheap), and came back home to start scooping up the mess that was my patio.
I had a plan: wake up, drive to Olathe, get Ben's truck, drive back here, load up the bags of leaves, drive them to Bowman's, get the leaves out of the trash bags, take the truck back to Ben, and then come home.
But wait! How about I cut down some of these things that have been growing and acting like I want them to be there. Pretty and all, but I don't think I want a tree growling RIGHT next to the house, disappearing between the ground and my foundation.
So after all this fun and exciting work, I went inside and caught my breath... and realized the rough draft of Chapter 4 of my thesis was due the same day I was going to be doing all this leaf-hauling.
Okay, if you've been waiting for the exciting and interesting part, you've never read this blog before... but we've finally reached today in this story...
I woke up at 8:00, made a quick breakfast, headed out to get Ben's truck, and was back home with it by a little after 10:00. This was according to plan. Nineteen bags of leaves did not fit in the back of the truck. This was not according to plan.
However, I improvised.
It took me about 30 minutes to get the truck loaded up, which surprised me, as I left about 90 for the task. I came back inside and visited with some of the family members that were here at the time, then went back out to head out.
The bummer part about the trip to Bowman's was the trash bags were too noisy, so I had to roll the windows up and turn on the a.c.--I was digging the rolled-down windows thing. This was when it happened. The epiphany started with me realizing I had to have automatic windows on my next vehicle, because the lack of these is the main reason I don't drive around with the windows rolled down as much as I'd love to. The other (and major) epiphany was this: I flippin' love getting things done! I mean, I thought sitting around and watching television and doing nothing all day was the absolute best it got, but I feel way wrong about that now!
Don't get me wrong, I doubt I'm going to go crazy and start doing stuff every day (baby steps), but I was digging this whole "doing stuff, getting things done, driving with the windows rolled down" thing.
Anyway, got to Bowman's, got the leaves out of the truck and out of my life, and headed back home--yes, home... not for another load, but while I had the truck, I wanted to get some chairs for the patio.
Got the chairs and a couple of little tray-thingies, and got that all set up on the patio (which still needs some cleaning, but it coming along nicely) and returned the truck.
You gotta understand, normally by 3:00 (which is about when I got the truck back to Ben) all I've done is wake up, have breakfast, and maybe have thought about making lunch (or whatever you'd call that meal at that time of day).
Anyway, that's my stupid "short" entry. I found out I like to actually do things. Who would have believed it?
It's not even a blog, really... I just made it so I could get an account. It was a harrowing experience, and I don't want to relive it... just leave me alone!
Friday, July 02, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
An Ordinary Thing (Like A Light Bulb)
Big, exciting news: I changed a light bulb in my car today!
I first noticed my left-turn signal blinking faster than usual the other day, and I figured I had a light out. Sure enough, when I got to where I was headed and check, no blinker working in the back.
I've been meaning to go get a bulb and replace the one that's out, but I've also kept forgetting I needed it until I was headed somewhere else.
So today, I was wanting to get out of the house, so I got in my car figuring I'd think of somewhere to go... and then I turned left.
And still I debated whether or not to take care of it right then. Really. I thought, well, I can take care of it after I go do this.
It took a moment to figure out this did not involve a this. So I turned left again to the auto parts store.
I'd like to note that I sweat something like a gallon as I did this little task. I miss nice days. We did used to have nice days once, right? Crazy hot.
Anyway, that's the big thing I did today. An ordinary thing like that.
Tonight a friend of mine is with her mother and sisters in a hospital while her father's blood pressure continues to drop. He doesn't have long, they say.
So while you go about doing your ordinary things today, if you're the prayin' kind, send up a prayer for my friend's father, that he is able to go in peace. Pray that my friend and her family can find peace as well.
You don't need names. Just tell God it's my friend and her family. She'll know who you mean.
I first noticed my left-turn signal blinking faster than usual the other day, and I figured I had a light out. Sure enough, when I got to where I was headed and check, no blinker working in the back.
I've been meaning to go get a bulb and replace the one that's out, but I've also kept forgetting I needed it until I was headed somewhere else.
So today, I was wanting to get out of the house, so I got in my car figuring I'd think of somewhere to go... and then I turned left.
And still I debated whether or not to take care of it right then. Really. I thought, well, I can take care of it after I go do this.
It took a moment to figure out this did not involve a this. So I turned left again to the auto parts store.
I'd like to note that I sweat something like a gallon as I did this little task. I miss nice days. We did used to have nice days once, right? Crazy hot.
Anyway, that's the big thing I did today. An ordinary thing like that.
Tonight a friend of mine is with her mother and sisters in a hospital while her father's blood pressure continues to drop. He doesn't have long, they say.
So while you go about doing your ordinary things today, if you're the prayin' kind, send up a prayer for my friend's father, that he is able to go in peace. Pray that my friend and her family can find peace as well.
You don't need names. Just tell God it's my friend and her family. She'll know who you mean.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
No Wonder He Wanted To Fly Like An Eagle
It's Father's Day. There's a great story there. I'm not going to share it... mostly because every time I share it with anyone, they tell me there needs to be a movie on Lifetime about it, so I'm still considering writing the script and sending it off to those folks at Lifetime.
However, I will tell you the story of my trip to Metro North Mall the other day. It was the second time I'd been there in about a week, but the first time I just drove by--I was trying to find the closest GNC (which, it turns out, is not the one at Metro North Mall... the actual closest one I could hit with a baseball if I was standing in my front yard and threw it with some small fraction of Superman's strength. I mean, like a fifth of the fraction of his strength I'd need to hit Metro North Mall with that baseball standing in the same spot in my yard... and that's not my point and it's been way too long since that open-parenthesis, eh?), and I thought it was there. The place had to have been closed--I mean, yeah, I knew the place wasn't the hoppin' spot it was in the late 80s and early 90s, but I'd expected more than the ten vehicles or so I saw parked around the place. So I didn't go in.
A few days ago, I returned and actually went in. As it turned out, I parked at the other end of the mall from where I needed to be. This worked out well, because my shocked reaction was to walk the length of the place on both floors.
Ghost. Town.
Or, you know: Ghost. Mall.
I can't remember the last time I'd been in there. I mean, I remember the last time I'd been in there, but I didn't remember what year it was. I mean, I remembered what year it was at the time I was in there last, but I cannot now remember what year it was I was last in there.
Because blogging makes my writing English good.
Anyway, the last time I'd been there, I was there for the "Go For The Grand" finals in the northland. We had some kids on our team competing, and we'd gone to watch the finals there. I remember thinking the place was kinda dead and it was kinda said... but this last time I was there? Very dead. Very sad.
You see, back in the day, there was nothing in or near Liberty. In that sentence, "back in the day" means circa August 1985 to May 1990 or so. And "nothing" means "very little to see or do that was of interest to your average college student".
Metro North Mall was where I most often went to see movies while in college. It's where Gregg Elliott and I acted out the poster for White Knights, and where Jhoneric Campbell and Jennifer Sherburne crashed an burned trying to act out the poster for Jewel of the Nile about three seconds after Gregg and I did our thing.
Jhoneric and I wrote "Toxic Mall Rats", the award winning musical (in our minds) after a visit to Metro North Mall--and we used that mall as the template for the mall in the musical. To my knowledge, no dead body was ever found in one of the fountains, and no heavy metal songstress had a concert there, and the mall never exploded, but I still feel we captured the essence of that place.
Walking around that place the other day I kept remembering what used to be in all those empty spots. There has to be no more than 20 stores there now, and I really think it's closer to 12 than 20.
The first horrible blow was seeing the total lack of Mr. Bulky's. How are you gonna have a mall without a Mr. Bulky's?
No music stores (do they exist any more?), no place to eat (unless you count Topsy's... I think those places are like the cockroaches of businesses... they can survive anywhere... Metcalf South Mall had one the last time I was in there, and it had very little else), no book store, and only one of the four "big department store" spots is occupied.
It was horrible. It really made me kinda sick to my stomach, but the emotional one, not the "O to the M to the G, I am so gonna hurl" one.
And here's the spot where I ran into that guy I knew in high school. And here is the spot where they had the Santa Train or whatever every year (and maybe they still do, but just decided not to put it out for June), and here's the spot where Spencer Gifts used to be, and here's the spot where Duff's used to be (and where I first worked as a cook)... and on and on.
I get it, I get it. We need to have the passage of time so we'll get older and realize what idiots we were in our youth or five years ago or last week or whatever applies. But man, this whole "slippin' in the future thing" can suck.
Yeah, I know, "death of another mall," big deal. It's just... wow. Death of a mall I went to often during college. I think it's just a sort of an affront to the part of me that wants to be able to say, "This happened once. We did this." Of course, those things can still be said. Just without, you know, visual aids.
However, I will tell you the story of my trip to Metro North Mall the other day. It was the second time I'd been there in about a week, but the first time I just drove by--I was trying to find the closest GNC (which, it turns out, is not the one at Metro North Mall... the actual closest one I could hit with a baseball if I was standing in my front yard and threw it with some small fraction of Superman's strength. I mean, like a fifth of the fraction of his strength I'd need to hit Metro North Mall with that baseball standing in the same spot in my yard... and that's not my point and it's been way too long since that open-parenthesis, eh?), and I thought it was there. The place had to have been closed--I mean, yeah, I knew the place wasn't the hoppin' spot it was in the late 80s and early 90s, but I'd expected more than the ten vehicles or so I saw parked around the place. So I didn't go in.
A few days ago, I returned and actually went in. As it turned out, I parked at the other end of the mall from where I needed to be. This worked out well, because my shocked reaction was to walk the length of the place on both floors.
Ghost. Town.
Or, you know: Ghost. Mall.
I can't remember the last time I'd been in there. I mean, I remember the last time I'd been in there, but I didn't remember what year it was. I mean, I remembered what year it was at the time I was in there last, but I cannot now remember what year it was I was last in there.
Because blogging makes my writing English good.
Anyway, the last time I'd been there, I was there for the "Go For The Grand" finals in the northland. We had some kids on our team competing, and we'd gone to watch the finals there. I remember thinking the place was kinda dead and it was kinda said... but this last time I was there? Very dead. Very sad.
You see, back in the day, there was nothing in or near Liberty. In that sentence, "back in the day" means circa August 1985 to May 1990 or so. And "nothing" means "very little to see or do that was of interest to your average college student".
Metro North Mall was where I most often went to see movies while in college. It's where Gregg Elliott and I acted out the poster for White Knights, and where Jhoneric Campbell and Jennifer Sherburne crashed an burned trying to act out the poster for Jewel of the Nile about three seconds after Gregg and I did our thing.
Jhoneric and I wrote "Toxic Mall Rats", the award winning musical (in our minds) after a visit to Metro North Mall--and we used that mall as the template for the mall in the musical. To my knowledge, no dead body was ever found in one of the fountains, and no heavy metal songstress had a concert there, and the mall never exploded, but I still feel we captured the essence of that place.
Walking around that place the other day I kept remembering what used to be in all those empty spots. There has to be no more than 20 stores there now, and I really think it's closer to 12 than 20.
The first horrible blow was seeing the total lack of Mr. Bulky's. How are you gonna have a mall without a Mr. Bulky's?
No music stores (do they exist any more?), no place to eat (unless you count Topsy's... I think those places are like the cockroaches of businesses... they can survive anywhere... Metcalf South Mall had one the last time I was in there, and it had very little else), no book store, and only one of the four "big department store" spots is occupied.
It was horrible. It really made me kinda sick to my stomach, but the emotional one, not the "O to the M to the G, I am so gonna hurl" one.
And here's the spot where I ran into that guy I knew in high school. And here is the spot where they had the Santa Train or whatever every year (and maybe they still do, but just decided not to put it out for June), and here's the spot where Spencer Gifts used to be, and here's the spot where Duff's used to be (and where I first worked as a cook)... and on and on.
I get it, I get it. We need to have the passage of time so we'll get older and realize what idiots we were in our youth or five years ago or last week or whatever applies. But man, this whole "slippin' in the future thing" can suck.
Yeah, I know, "death of another mall," big deal. It's just... wow. Death of a mall I went to often during college. I think it's just a sort of an affront to the part of me that wants to be able to say, "This happened once. We did this." Of course, those things can still be said. Just without, you know, visual aids.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
The Secret Behind The "No Fear" Thing
Before I start, there's a poll over there to the left. You probably can't read it at all. Try clicking and dragging as if you were going to copy and paste. I still haven't worked out the issues with this whole new layout thing, and at the rate I'm going, won't get around to it before I change the whole thing again.
Anyway, there's a poll. As I type this, I don't even remember what it's about. I put it up the other day, but Google was being a freak about posting it for some reason, and I just figured it would show up when it showed up, and then I'd post something about it here. I just noticed tonight it's over there.
Now, back to this post.
I have probably mentioned it sometime in the past six or so years that I've been occasionally expressing my thoughts with as many embarrassing typographical errors as possible on here, but fear plays a major part in my life. Way too much of a major part in my life. I mean, in so many ways, I so could not care less about things, but in so many ways that's a huge lie.
Shut up. You're all dichotomistic. Don't try to deny it. Or argue that "dichotomistic" isn't a word. Look up dichotomy and then just look the other way like you do when I make up other words like... well, I can't think up any examples right now, but you know it's true. All of it. Not just the bit about the word-making-up-ed-ness, but the dichotomy thing, too.
Argh. Where was I?
Oh yeah: fear in my life.
It's stupid the role fear plays and has played in my life. More stupid that I've realized it and yet it still plays a huge role. As much as I don't care what people think, I'm also there, caring what people think. As much as I don't care who I make angry, I care who I make angry.
However, I can firmly say, fear plays a huge part in my life. I can't follow with, "And yet I'm so without fear." I can't think of many times I've been without fear... and you can probably change that to "I can't think of any times", were it not for my dislike for speaking in absolutes.
So as I look back at some of the highlights of my fear-filled life (the Brad Graham incident of 1985, college selection, and a whole host of things I'm afraid to mention (see!?!?)), I realize the whole "No Fear" thing probably started because I was hogging all the fear, and people were actually running out.
Don't get me wrong, I don't cower in fear at every little thing... I'm certainly less afraid of physical pain that I should be--and less afraid of the general "what will become of me" than I should be.
Really, I had a destination in mind when I started writing this. I swear I did. I'll let you know if we end up anywhere close.
Okay, for instance, the whole "Dad" thing (see Ruth's post here). I didn't want to bring it up, because I was afraid it was going to stir up sh*t. I don't mind that Ruth did, because I trust her judgement a whole lot more than I trust my own. I figured it she was willing to bring it up, it was probably okay. Then I just kick myself for not having the guts to bring it up. I just don't trust my judgement in this arena very well. I also don't trust my instincts. Just a side note there.
I mean, yes, there are times that I am not afraid to stir things up, especially if I very very very very firmly believe something is wrong. And there really do need to be that many "very"s in front of it before I'll actually grab the spoon and start stirring...
But for the most part, I think if I knew I could feed and clothe myself, and keep myself warm, I'd go live in a cave somewhere and only come out when people needed me for something. You know, like reaching something on a high-up shelf for someone.
Also, I'd like a cave with wireless internet, but that's really optional. People think this isn't so where I'm concerned, but there were several years there I lived without cable to save money... You'd be amazed at what I can do without if I have to. Especially if it meant there's less chance of me stirring stuff up!
Anyway, my fear-filled life was on my mind tonight. For some reason it came to me after I read this old post of mine from a few years back. Maybe there's a connection. No, wait, there is a connection, but I'm not going to share it for a secret reason that rhymes with smear and leer and bier.
So, um... Happy Father's Day to my dad, in the Great Beyond. Happy Father's Day to the many dads who quasi-adopted me throughout my earlier years (Mike Couch, Tom VanSkike, Les Taylor, Kim Harris, to name a few--and forgive me if I've forgotten any).
Now I have to go back and re-read this to see if I'm really gonna post it... (fear, you know)
Oh, and I have no idea if we ended up where I thought we'd end up!
Anyway, there's a poll. As I type this, I don't even remember what it's about. I put it up the other day, but Google was being a freak about posting it for some reason, and I just figured it would show up when it showed up, and then I'd post something about it here. I just noticed tonight it's over there.
Now, back to this post.
I have probably mentioned it sometime in the past six or so years that I've been occasionally expressing my thoughts with as many embarrassing typographical errors as possible on here, but fear plays a major part in my life. Way too much of a major part in my life. I mean, in so many ways, I so could not care less about things, but in so many ways that's a huge lie.
Shut up. You're all dichotomistic. Don't try to deny it. Or argue that "dichotomistic" isn't a word. Look up dichotomy and then just look the other way like you do when I make up other words like... well, I can't think up any examples right now, but you know it's true. All of it. Not just the bit about the word-making-up-ed-ness, but the dichotomy thing, too.
Argh. Where was I?
Oh yeah: fear in my life.
It's stupid the role fear plays and has played in my life. More stupid that I've realized it and yet it still plays a huge role. As much as I don't care what people think, I'm also there, caring what people think. As much as I don't care who I make angry, I care who I make angry.
However, I can firmly say, fear plays a huge part in my life. I can't follow with, "And yet I'm so without fear." I can't think of many times I've been without fear... and you can probably change that to "I can't think of any times", were it not for my dislike for speaking in absolutes.
So as I look back at some of the highlights of my fear-filled life (the Brad Graham incident of 1985, college selection, and a whole host of things I'm afraid to mention (see!?!?)), I realize the whole "No Fear" thing probably started because I was hogging all the fear, and people were actually running out.
Don't get me wrong, I don't cower in fear at every little thing... I'm certainly less afraid of physical pain that I should be--and less afraid of the general "what will become of me" than I should be.
Really, I had a destination in mind when I started writing this. I swear I did. I'll let you know if we end up anywhere close.
Okay, for instance, the whole "Dad" thing (see Ruth's post here). I didn't want to bring it up, because I was afraid it was going to stir up sh*t. I don't mind that Ruth did, because I trust her judgement a whole lot more than I trust my own. I figured it she was willing to bring it up, it was probably okay. Then I just kick myself for not having the guts to bring it up. I just don't trust my judgement in this arena very well. I also don't trust my instincts. Just a side note there.
I mean, yes, there are times that I am not afraid to stir things up, especially if I very very very very firmly believe something is wrong. And there really do need to be that many "very"s in front of it before I'll actually grab the spoon and start stirring...
But for the most part, I think if I knew I could feed and clothe myself, and keep myself warm, I'd go live in a cave somewhere and only come out when people needed me for something. You know, like reaching something on a high-up shelf for someone.
Also, I'd like a cave with wireless internet, but that's really optional. People think this isn't so where I'm concerned, but there were several years there I lived without cable to save money... You'd be amazed at what I can do without if I have to. Especially if it meant there's less chance of me stirring stuff up!
Anyway, my fear-filled life was on my mind tonight. For some reason it came to me after I read this old post of mine from a few years back. Maybe there's a connection. No, wait, there is a connection, but I'm not going to share it for a secret reason that rhymes with smear and leer and bier.
So, um... Happy Father's Day to my dad, in the Great Beyond. Happy Father's Day to the many dads who quasi-adopted me throughout my earlier years (Mike Couch, Tom VanSkike, Les Taylor, Kim Harris, to name a few--and forgive me if I've forgotten any).
Now I have to go back and re-read this to see if I'm really gonna post it... (fear, you know)
Oh, and I have no idea if we ended up where I thought we'd end up!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
We Interrupt This Blog...
I had a quick couple of things I wanted to say, and thought I forgot one of them, but now I remember it. There is no reason for me to keep all of that in this paragraph, and yet I do.
First, I'm playing with the look of this blog. I'm not married to what it is right now, so if you hate it, give it time; it will probably change.
Second, my sister is finally blogging. There's a link in one of the side bars (currently on the right, but I might move it). Her blog is The World Needed Another Blog, which I think is a great title, and very "her". Also, she makes me sound like some sort of total j.d. in her description of her blog, so go check it out.
We now return to our regularly scheduled blogging, already in lack of progress.
First, I'm playing with the look of this blog. I'm not married to what it is right now, so if you hate it, give it time; it will probably change.
Second, my sister is finally blogging. There's a link in one of the side bars (currently on the right, but I might move it). Her blog is The World Needed Another Blog, which I think is a great title, and very "her". Also, she makes me sound like some sort of total j.d. in her description of her blog, so go check it out.
We now return to our regularly scheduled blogging, already in lack of progress.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Another Jewell Visit
Twenty-five years ago today, I came to Kansas City for the first time. It was some sort of pre-registration event for incoming freshmen at Jewell. The Kansas City part was fairly short... and may have technically been a look from a slight distance, as we came across on I-70 and then headed north on... some road or another. If I had to guess now, I'd say 435, but maybe we did the 291 thing. Whatever.
Anyway, the date has always stuck in my head, as it was such a huge thing for me. I wanted to get out of Ralls County (no offense, Ralls County) so bad at that point, and I had an audition for a scholarship that day, and it was a huge deal. The night before I'd spent what seemed like hours perusing the Hannibal Public Library looking for a 4-minute monologue piece. In those days way before the internet, I had no idea how to find such a thing in my rural home town or nearby towns' libraries. June 7, 1985 was one of the first times I heard my mom drop the f-bomb, by the way.
I came in from my fruitless trip to the library in Hannibal, and Mom asked if I found anything. If you've seen that scene with Edie McClurg from "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles", what came out of my mouth was not unlike what I said to my mom at that point. However, my rant was about living in a small town and a rural community--just equally peppered with f-bombs as the one in the movie. Mom's response was similar to the one by Edie McClurg's character: "Well, f*** it." Well, similar in that it was short and had the f-bomb in it.
So I went to my trusty Apple //c and started adapting the floor show from "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe" into a four-minute monologue. I stayed up very late working on that, and had to get up very early the next morning.
We had just gotten a handicap van (with a wheelchair lift), and I seem to recall the removal or the return of one of the swivel chairs in the back the night before. The library search, the conversation with mom, seeing the chair replacement/removal, and the hours spent in front of my computer with a paperback book beside me are the main things I remember from the day before.
I got a couple of hours sleep before we had to get up, get ready, and head for Jewell. In an ideal world, I would have slept in the van. However, I had a monologue to memorize. I'll cut to the chase on the audition: it was terrible, but luckily at that point to get a theatre scholarship at Jewell if you were male, all you had to do was be in the program.
I guess the Taylor family (sans Derek, if I remember correctly) came to our house, and we all left in the van from there. I remember Les pointing out a hotel he worked on when he was in the Kansas City area working. I still think of that whenever I drive by that place on I-70.
I don't remember a lot of time details. I know early on I had my audition, which started with a meeting with Kim and his son Kyle (well, the meeting was with Kim, and Kyle was there). Kyle was on his way into 2nd grade, and his head was shaved. I thought he had leukemia or something.
I know my appointment to set up my schedule started while I was auditioning. My mom met with Dr. Dunham for that part, and I arrived later. We were in the west cafeteria, not far from where me and mine often ate dinner every night over the next several years. Apparently Dr. Dunham found my mom entertaining enough not to shoo us away upon my arrival.
We didn't look at a lot of the campus (at least, it doesn't seem like we did... I was dead tired, so maybe I sleepwalked through it). I remember seeing Joy Mincey, because she had long black hair with a streak of red it in. This small-town boy was shocked that people would go out in daylight like that.
In honor of it being the 25th anniversary of my first visit to Jewell, I went on campus today. I took a lot of pictures of the quad, and my photo-of-myself for the day was outside the theatre. And I ran into Dr. Robinson! I was in her "Teaching Reading in the Secondary School" class in... 1989 or so. She was so excited to learn of another male middle school teacher... and I learned in the course of her conversation she has been teaching there for 31 years!
I walked around the library a bit, and went into the new-fangled Student Union. It's all very different. Blink, and 25 years pass.
Apparently, lots of other changes are on the way. The school wants to "modernize" the front of the library, so it looks more like the new Student Union front. Whatever. It's all good. I've got photos of what it used to look like.
I kept thinking how much has already changed since that day. I decided to go while I was on the other side of town, so just for fun I had the Garmin tell me how to get there. I had my phone with me. I was taking pictures with my digital camera. I wondered what that me from 25 years ago would have thought about all that, were we to bump into each other on the quad. But there were probably much more important things to share with that guy. Winning Powerball numbers, for instance...
Anyway, the date has always stuck in my head, as it was such a huge thing for me. I wanted to get out of Ralls County (no offense, Ralls County) so bad at that point, and I had an audition for a scholarship that day, and it was a huge deal. The night before I'd spent what seemed like hours perusing the Hannibal Public Library looking for a 4-minute monologue piece. In those days way before the internet, I had no idea how to find such a thing in my rural home town or nearby towns' libraries. June 7, 1985 was one of the first times I heard my mom drop the f-bomb, by the way.
I came in from my fruitless trip to the library in Hannibal, and Mom asked if I found anything. If you've seen that scene with Edie McClurg from "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles", what came out of my mouth was not unlike what I said to my mom at that point. However, my rant was about living in a small town and a rural community--just equally peppered with f-bombs as the one in the movie. Mom's response was similar to the one by Edie McClurg's character: "Well, f*** it." Well, similar in that it was short and had the f-bomb in it.
So I went to my trusty Apple //c and started adapting the floor show from "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe" into a four-minute monologue. I stayed up very late working on that, and had to get up very early the next morning.
We had just gotten a handicap van (with a wheelchair lift), and I seem to recall the removal or the return of one of the swivel chairs in the back the night before. The library search, the conversation with mom, seeing the chair replacement/removal, and the hours spent in front of my computer with a paperback book beside me are the main things I remember from the day before.
I got a couple of hours sleep before we had to get up, get ready, and head for Jewell. In an ideal world, I would have slept in the van. However, I had a monologue to memorize. I'll cut to the chase on the audition: it was terrible, but luckily at that point to get a theatre scholarship at Jewell if you were male, all you had to do was be in the program.
I guess the Taylor family (sans Derek, if I remember correctly) came to our house, and we all left in the van from there. I remember Les pointing out a hotel he worked on when he was in the Kansas City area working. I still think of that whenever I drive by that place on I-70.
I don't remember a lot of time details. I know early on I had my audition, which started with a meeting with Kim and his son Kyle (well, the meeting was with Kim, and Kyle was there). Kyle was on his way into 2nd grade, and his head was shaved. I thought he had leukemia or something.
I know my appointment to set up my schedule started while I was auditioning. My mom met with Dr. Dunham for that part, and I arrived later. We were in the west cafeteria, not far from where me and mine often ate dinner every night over the next several years. Apparently Dr. Dunham found my mom entertaining enough not to shoo us away upon my arrival.
We didn't look at a lot of the campus (at least, it doesn't seem like we did... I was dead tired, so maybe I sleepwalked through it). I remember seeing Joy Mincey, because she had long black hair with a streak of red it in. This small-town boy was shocked that people would go out in daylight like that.
In honor of it being the 25th anniversary of my first visit to Jewell, I went on campus today. I took a lot of pictures of the quad, and my photo-of-myself for the day was outside the theatre. And I ran into Dr. Robinson! I was in her "Teaching Reading in the Secondary School" class in... 1989 or so. She was so excited to learn of another male middle school teacher... and I learned in the course of her conversation she has been teaching there for 31 years!
I walked around the library a bit, and went into the new-fangled Student Union. It's all very different. Blink, and 25 years pass.
Apparently, lots of other changes are on the way. The school wants to "modernize" the front of the library, so it looks more like the new Student Union front. Whatever. It's all good. I've got photos of what it used to look like.
I kept thinking how much has already changed since that day. I decided to go while I was on the other side of town, so just for fun I had the Garmin tell me how to get there. I had my phone with me. I was taking pictures with my digital camera. I wondered what that me from 25 years ago would have thought about all that, were we to bump into each other on the quad. But there were probably much more important things to share with that guy. Winning Powerball numbers, for instance...
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Consider This A Wagon Well Fallen Off Of... Or Something
Yikes! Many days have passed. Remember a couple of months ago, when I was writing daily. Those were good times, eh?
Okay, so I re-read my post about my crazy life (like two back, I think) because I got the feeling I had offended some of my commenters (and I'm going to mention at least one of you buy name, so I hope that's okay... and by name, I mean by the name I use which is your screen name or blog name or whatever... and I've gone on too long about this, haven't I?).
There was so much wrong with that last paragraph. Manchion should use it as a DOL for class tomorrow.
Anyway, I thought I should re-read the post, because I think some people took umbrage at what I said about people posting to gain readership, etc.
And I get that. I don't know if I'm going to start trying to make the pedals on this bike go backwards, but I will stop pedaling and lift my feet off the handlebars and let gravity and inertia battle it out...
I really did not mean all the people who actually SAY something, if that makes any sense. And if I was the person I meant to be when I was younger, I would go to the blog of every person who posts on here and find something positive to post on theirs. It's how I'm wired. I'm a teacher, for cryin' in a bucket! The way I discuss in my online grad school class is to find the person with the fewest responses and find SOMETHING to talk about in their initial posting. It really is how I'm wired.
However, in addition to people like Purple Cow, who actually says stuff, and Robin, who I have conversed with via comments on here and via facebook, and MANY other people who seem to be genuinely wanting to share a compliment or a thank-you (or even an opposing view, on occasion), I get some crazy spam-like comments... and if you go through, I get some comments that seem "real" until you see the similarity to so many other comments and think they are "unreal".
And the thing is, they may be real. Who knows, right?
Oh, and the blogger my brain calls "Toppo", but really it's longer than that. That person seems to be... less easily thought of as unreal.
And this Arshed person I haven't looked into yet (just meaning reading profile, checking out blog, etc., not actually, you know, LOOKING INTO like a background check or whatever), but I think is on the "Mark thinks they are real" side of things.
Not that it's some elite group everybody should want to get into. I'm just trying to lay out the map of that part of my brain for you.
Anyway, I got distracted and lost my track, which is the norm. What I'm trying to say is, after hearing from several of the people I think of as "real" (again, if I haven't mentioned you as "real", that's not to mean I don't, it just means it's late and I haven't gone through all my comments), I guess I realize I do want to take some time to read about these people.
A friend of mine in high school, who I went on and on about during many posts from early January until... I don't know how many back... I guess we have to include this one, now, too... anyway, this guy was big into the blogness. He knew people from all over, and I think he had a bit of a "no fear" attitude about it. If you knew the whole story about us, you'd see he was the poster boy for "no fear", and I was Mr. Fear 1985. So I should work on fixing that. I should go read other people's stuff. I should get to know some people, eh?
Okay, so here's my goal: I am going to read your blog--at least three entries--and comment on at least one if you comment here. If I fail to do so, then I have to prepare all of Julia C.'s recipes in a year and blog about that. Or something.
Anyway, it's late, and I've gone from silly to stupid back to silly again (but with a hint of stupid, for flavor). Good night, all.
Oh, and Brenda, I know you're real, because I've known you for nigh unto 25 years... I fell I should say that because I sense an impending comment from you...
And now that I mention it, I know all you other people I know are real too. Stop being smart-ashes.
Okay, so I re-read my post about my crazy life (like two back, I think) because I got the feeling I had offended some of my commenters (and I'm going to mention at least one of you buy name, so I hope that's okay... and by name, I mean by the name I use which is your screen name or blog name or whatever... and I've gone on too long about this, haven't I?).
There was so much wrong with that last paragraph. Manchion should use it as a DOL for class tomorrow.
Anyway, I thought I should re-read the post, because I think some people took umbrage at what I said about people posting to gain readership, etc.
And I get that. I don't know if I'm going to start trying to make the pedals on this bike go backwards, but I will stop pedaling and lift my feet off the handlebars and let gravity and inertia battle it out...
I really did not mean all the people who actually SAY something, if that makes any sense. And if I was the person I meant to be when I was younger, I would go to the blog of every person who posts on here and find something positive to post on theirs. It's how I'm wired. I'm a teacher, for cryin' in a bucket! The way I discuss in my online grad school class is to find the person with the fewest responses and find SOMETHING to talk about in their initial posting. It really is how I'm wired.
However, in addition to people like Purple Cow, who actually says stuff, and Robin, who I have conversed with via comments on here and via facebook, and MANY other people who seem to be genuinely wanting to share a compliment or a thank-you (or even an opposing view, on occasion), I get some crazy spam-like comments... and if you go through, I get some comments that seem "real" until you see the similarity to so many other comments and think they are "unreal".
And the thing is, they may be real. Who knows, right?
Oh, and the blogger my brain calls "Toppo", but really it's longer than that. That person seems to be... less easily thought of as unreal.
And this Arshed person I haven't looked into yet (just meaning reading profile, checking out blog, etc., not actually, you know, LOOKING INTO like a background check or whatever), but I think is on the "Mark thinks they are real" side of things.
Not that it's some elite group everybody should want to get into. I'm just trying to lay out the map of that part of my brain for you.
Anyway, I got distracted and lost my track, which is the norm. What I'm trying to say is, after hearing from several of the people I think of as "real" (again, if I haven't mentioned you as "real", that's not to mean I don't, it just means it's late and I haven't gone through all my comments), I guess I realize I do want to take some time to read about these people.
A friend of mine in high school, who I went on and on about during many posts from early January until... I don't know how many back... I guess we have to include this one, now, too... anyway, this guy was big into the blogness. He knew people from all over, and I think he had a bit of a "no fear" attitude about it. If you knew the whole story about us, you'd see he was the poster boy for "no fear", and I was Mr. Fear 1985. So I should work on fixing that. I should go read other people's stuff. I should get to know some people, eh?
Okay, so here's my goal: I am going to read your blog--at least three entries--and comment on at least one if you comment here. If I fail to do so, then I have to prepare all of Julia C.'s recipes in a year and blog about that. Or something.
Anyway, it's late, and I've gone from silly to stupid back to silly again (but with a hint of stupid, for flavor). Good night, all.
Oh, and Brenda, I know you're real, because I've known you for nigh unto 25 years... I fell I should say that because I sense an impending comment from you...
And now that I mention it, I know all you other people I know are real too. Stop being smart-ashes.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
As I Was Going Down The Stair
Don't read too much into this, as I have no idea what it means...
But "I feel like the man who wasn't there," keeps going through my head, and it just feels oddly appropriate. I'd love to connect it to... well, anything, really. But I'm not doing a very good job of it. I was trying to describe to myself what I felt like (I live alone, so good company for conversation isn't a staple here), and this is the phrase my brain sent me.
It's right up there with "My heart wants to sing, but it doesn't know the words," from 1989 or so. It's better than 1992's "Listen to the clear blue world," or "Welcome to the clear blue world," which my brain supplied in a dream, however.
Yeah, my brain has too much time on its hands.
Anyway, that's what I feel like right now. I just feel very... not here.
It probably doesn't help that I'm becoming more and more of a homebody. I'm home, I don't want to go out. End of story. Really. You should be here for the pep talks I give myself when I'm considering going out to a movie or to the store.
Whatever. I just thought I'd share here, because that thought is a very good reason for not writing as often as I have: I feel like the man who wasn't there.
Nobody sees me, but they wish I'd go away!
Okay, I just made myself laugh.
Also, here are some sites to check out... I need to update my link list over there, I guess. Maybe I'll just do that instead. Both would be better, I guess...
Mike Humphrey, a guy I knew in college has a column at true/slant here: http://trueslant.com/michaelhumphrey/
Brenda (she's commented on here, and I've known her since college, as well) blogs here: http://whatyoutalkin.tumblr.com/
And photoblogs here: http://thedailythousand.tumblr.com/
But "I feel like the man who wasn't there," keeps going through my head, and it just feels oddly appropriate. I'd love to connect it to... well, anything, really. But I'm not doing a very good job of it. I was trying to describe to myself what I felt like (I live alone, so good company for conversation isn't a staple here), and this is the phrase my brain sent me.
It's right up there with "My heart wants to sing, but it doesn't know the words," from 1989 or so. It's better than 1992's "Listen to the clear blue world," or "Welcome to the clear blue world," which my brain supplied in a dream, however.
Yeah, my brain has too much time on its hands.
Anyway, that's what I feel like right now. I just feel very... not here.
It probably doesn't help that I'm becoming more and more of a homebody. I'm home, I don't want to go out. End of story. Really. You should be here for the pep talks I give myself when I'm considering going out to a movie or to the store.
Whatever. I just thought I'd share here, because that thought is a very good reason for not writing as often as I have: I feel like the man who wasn't there.
Nobody sees me, but they wish I'd go away!
Okay, I just made myself laugh.
Also, here are some sites to check out... I need to update my link list over there, I guess. Maybe I'll just do that instead. Both would be better, I guess...
Mike Humphrey, a guy I knew in college has a column at true/slant here: http://trueslant.com/michaelhumphrey/
Brenda (she's commented on here, and I've known her since college, as well) blogs here: http://whatyoutalkin.tumblr.com/
And photoblogs here: http://thedailythousand.tumblr.com/
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
And I Am Back...
Okay, things got a little crazy there for a while. The last couple of weeks of class were a bit insane, and I was starting to get a little freaked out by some of the posts to my blog entries... While I love being told how people love my writing style, the similarity of the postings makes me doubt the sincerity of the sentiment... and makes me wonder if I'm in some political office and people are telling me how the "really feel" by copying and pasting e-mail content to me. It's strange.
I guess it's a way to increase readership or whatever, and that's great... but even the blogs I like to read are blogs I seldom read. Part of it is my crazy life, and the other part of it is... the rest of my crazy life, I guess.
Anyway, the facebook folks know this, but I'll share for the rest of you: I had Binx in my care for several days. I am pretty sure he's no worse for having experienced this. Jordan came over last weekend and we stayed up too late playing Super Mario Brothers Wii the night before church.
Oh, and I got an A- in that class that I was having such a frustrating time with. A smaller part of my frustration comes from the style of writing. I hate reading that sort of writing, so I loathe writing it. I don't get the style, anyway. Why do you want to make getting information such a horrible freakin' chore?
I just deleted the rest of that tirade. Gone... mourn it, yet be thankful.
So that's my life. I'll try to get back to daily posts if for no other reason than to bother people.
Oh, and I've yet to hear from the sleep study folks. I think I need to make a phone call tomorrow, eh?
I guess it's a way to increase readership or whatever, and that's great... but even the blogs I like to read are blogs I seldom read. Part of it is my crazy life, and the other part of it is... the rest of my crazy life, I guess.
Anyway, the facebook folks know this, but I'll share for the rest of you: I had Binx in my care for several days. I am pretty sure he's no worse for having experienced this. Jordan came over last weekend and we stayed up too late playing Super Mario Brothers Wii the night before church.
Oh, and I got an A- in that class that I was having such a frustrating time with. A smaller part of my frustration comes from the style of writing. I hate reading that sort of writing, so I loathe writing it. I don't get the style, anyway. Why do you want to make getting information such a horrible freakin' chore?
I just deleted the rest of that tirade. Gone... mourn it, yet be thankful.
So that's my life. I'll try to get back to daily posts if for no other reason than to bother people.
Oh, and I've yet to hear from the sleep study folks. I think I need to make a phone call tomorrow, eh?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Anybody Got Any Short'nin' Bread?
So I went to the doctor for my "Health & Wellness Visit"... which is like a physical, but with a longer name... and fewer awkward moments.
I got to finally mention all of the things I've been wanting to ask my doctor about for a while, so that was nice.
They didn't want me to eat anything for twelve hours, which is easy to do when you make the appointment for fairly early in the morning and you don't keep much in the way of food in the house. But because they asked this of me, I started wondering last night if this meant anything in particular... especially involving the digestion system... and more specifically, the end bit of it.
So I called Say, who was busy working a crazy-long day and thus didn't answer. I left her a message asking if the doctor was going to do that thing where I'd at least like a little sweet talk before he started, and said some other stuff and left it at that. I was at rehearsal, so when Say didn't call back for a while, I found Mark, who is a nurse, and asked him. He assured me it was all about blood work, not butt work.
Say confirmed this on a message she left after I called her again during the break to ask how she could abandon me in the middle of a medical emergency like this...
Imagine my discomfort this morning, then, when the nurse got out some rubber gloves and a tube of... I'm trying to think of a non-gross-sounding word for it... and I've failed, so we'll move on.
She said, "I'll get these out, just in case..." and left the room.
Now that was a fun wait. There is some mental preparation that goes into this. I mean, I hardly know the man...
Sorry for the delay that you didn't notice because it happened as I was typing this, not as you were reading it. I was just cracking myself up with all the possible next lines. I've opted to just pretend I didn't just set up a bawdy joke.
So he comes in, we go through all the questions and the awkward non-hind-end touching that goes with a "Health and Wellness Visit"... which is all above the waist, for those of you with your mind in the gutter... or at least below the waist. And I ask my questions, and he asks counter-questions, and the whole time the pair of gloves and the tube of whatever are just hanging there in the air between us, the elephant in the room, as it were. But, you know, and elephant that can hang in the air sort of thing.
Finally, he points to the items and says, "We're not going to do that today. I think they just get those out to scare people."
I sighed a big sigh of relief, and then immediately felt bad, so I said, "Don't get me wrong. I do like you, but as a friend only..."
I kid.
Anyway, nothing exciting to report. All of the little this'n'thats I was asking about were either answered with, "We can do that if you want, but you're okay if you don't" or "Losing weight and exercising will help with that", and for the most part I called all of those in the second category before I even went in to see him.
I am going to do another sleep study, even though the one 5 years ago was enough to get me on a whatchamahookey... because it was 5 years ago and I never got on a whatchamahookey.
I'm looking forward to it, however. Apparently there are many health benefits to a good night's sleep.
I got to finally mention all of the things I've been wanting to ask my doctor about for a while, so that was nice.
They didn't want me to eat anything for twelve hours, which is easy to do when you make the appointment for fairly early in the morning and you don't keep much in the way of food in the house. But because they asked this of me, I started wondering last night if this meant anything in particular... especially involving the digestion system... and more specifically, the end bit of it.
So I called Say, who was busy working a crazy-long day and thus didn't answer. I left her a message asking if the doctor was going to do that thing where I'd at least like a little sweet talk before he started, and said some other stuff and left it at that. I was at rehearsal, so when Say didn't call back for a while, I found Mark, who is a nurse, and asked him. He assured me it was all about blood work, not butt work.
Say confirmed this on a message she left after I called her again during the break to ask how she could abandon me in the middle of a medical emergency like this...
Imagine my discomfort this morning, then, when the nurse got out some rubber gloves and a tube of... I'm trying to think of a non-gross-sounding word for it... and I've failed, so we'll move on.
She said, "I'll get these out, just in case..." and left the room.
Now that was a fun wait. There is some mental preparation that goes into this. I mean, I hardly know the man...
Sorry for the delay that you didn't notice because it happened as I was typing this, not as you were reading it. I was just cracking myself up with all the possible next lines. I've opted to just pretend I didn't just set up a bawdy joke.
So he comes in, we go through all the questions and the awkward non-hind-end touching that goes with a "Health and Wellness Visit"... which is all above the waist, for those of you with your mind in the gutter... or at least below the waist. And I ask my questions, and he asks counter-questions, and the whole time the pair of gloves and the tube of whatever are just hanging there in the air between us, the elephant in the room, as it were. But, you know, and elephant that can hang in the air sort of thing.
Finally, he points to the items and says, "We're not going to do that today. I think they just get those out to scare people."
I sighed a big sigh of relief, and then immediately felt bad, so I said, "Don't get me wrong. I do like you, but as a friend only..."
I kid.
Anyway, nothing exciting to report. All of the little this'n'thats I was asking about were either answered with, "We can do that if you want, but you're okay if you don't" or "Losing weight and exercising will help with that", and for the most part I called all of those in the second category before I even went in to see him.
I am going to do another sleep study, even though the one 5 years ago was enough to get me on a whatchamahookey... because it was 5 years ago and I never got on a whatchamahookey.
I'm looking forward to it, however. Apparently there are many health benefits to a good night's sleep.
Things To Do While Killing Time Because A Website Is Down...
Actually, this is the only thing I'm going to be doing while waiting, and that's just because I thought I'd write something before I hit the sack...
Apparently there's a bad flu going around. It needs to miss me. Someone pass that along to it from me.
So I've got that 365 (and then some) Days of ME blog going on, right? But my hope was it would encourage other people with digital cameras to take pictures of me and e-mail them to me that same day--thus making me feel like the beautiful superstar supermodel I already know I am... but don't feel like, apparently.
However, the best I've managed so far is to ask people to take pictures of me with my camera. That's fun and all, but there are all these misconceptions now...
Misconception 1: I can be the only one in the shot.
Response: Nuh-uh... look at that pic of me putting Visine in Dane's eye!
Misconception 2: I don't like having my picture taken.
Response: Um... well, I used to not like it so much, but then realized people can see me when there isn't a camera pointed at me, so what's the point? Actually, I used cringe a little when I'd see myself in a photo, but you'd be amazed at how much looking at a picture of yourself every day can actually make that lessen...
I'm done with misconceptions. So there were only 2.
Anyway, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I'm just certain I'll be taking blood pressure meds by the end of the day... and my mind keeps going to the list of things I have to tell the new doctor, as well as things to ask him... and then my mind goes to all the ways there are to get sick and get sicker, and I start wondering if they'll find some secret awful thing tomorrow... and then I remember about my blood pressure and try some breathing exercises...
And I keep waiting for the district site for teachers to open back up... and then the blood pressure thing comes to mind again...
Which is why I'm going to bed now.
Apparently there's a bad flu going around. It needs to miss me. Someone pass that along to it from me.
So I've got that 365 (and then some) Days of ME blog going on, right? But my hope was it would encourage other people with digital cameras to take pictures of me and e-mail them to me that same day--thus making me feel like the beautiful superstar supermodel I already know I am... but don't feel like, apparently.
However, the best I've managed so far is to ask people to take pictures of me with my camera. That's fun and all, but there are all these misconceptions now...
Misconception 1: I can be the only one in the shot.
Response: Nuh-uh... look at that pic of me putting Visine in Dane's eye!
Misconception 2: I don't like having my picture taken.
Response: Um... well, I used to not like it so much, but then realized people can see me when there isn't a camera pointed at me, so what's the point? Actually, I used cringe a little when I'd see myself in a photo, but you'd be amazed at how much looking at a picture of yourself every day can actually make that lessen...
I'm done with misconceptions. So there were only 2.
Anyway, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I'm just certain I'll be taking blood pressure meds by the end of the day... and my mind keeps going to the list of things I have to tell the new doctor, as well as things to ask him... and then my mind goes to all the ways there are to get sick and get sicker, and I start wondering if they'll find some secret awful thing tomorrow... and then I remember about my blood pressure and try some breathing exercises...
And I keep waiting for the district site for teachers to open back up... and then the blood pressure thing comes to mind again...
Which is why I'm going to bed now.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Why I Should Not Be Allowed To Own Sharp Objects
I only wish I was lying about this.
I have cut myself again. And I'm not even goth. What's that about?
So, last night I broiled up some red meat for dinner... a late dinner, but dinner. As I was carrying my plate and utensils (utensils resting on the plate, mind you, a bad choice about which I have now learned my lesson) from the cooking area to the dining area, the steak knife started to fall.
My brain decided since something was falling, I had to catch it.
The knife, falling blade first, went into my thumb and kinda "bounced" out.
Remember how last time I said blood was everywhere or whatever? This time it really was. I thought I was gonna have a full-on freak-out.
About the time I was thinking maybe a trip to the emergency room was in order, I realized the bleeding had... well, not stopped, but seemed to have every intention of considering the possibility of stopping sometime before bedtime.
So then I got to clean up blood from all over the place, which is good practice should I decide to slaughter my own cattle.
On the up side, this has made me go see a doctor, which means it has made me finally make a decision about which doctor suggestion from co-workers would be the best one.
I've got a good feeling about this doctor. He may be the one. I didn't ask, but he appears to be younger than me--so, odds are, I won't have to doctor-shop again until after I'm dead.
Anyway, I just wanted to share, in case you were wondering why it looked like all my spaces were typed by my right hand.
I have cut myself again. And I'm not even goth. What's that about?
So, last night I broiled up some red meat for dinner... a late dinner, but dinner. As I was carrying my plate and utensils (utensils resting on the plate, mind you, a bad choice about which I have now learned my lesson) from the cooking area to the dining area, the steak knife started to fall.
My brain decided since something was falling, I had to catch it.
The knife, falling blade first, went into my thumb and kinda "bounced" out.
Remember how last time I said blood was everywhere or whatever? This time it really was. I thought I was gonna have a full-on freak-out.
About the time I was thinking maybe a trip to the emergency room was in order, I realized the bleeding had... well, not stopped, but seemed to have every intention of considering the possibility of stopping sometime before bedtime.
So then I got to clean up blood from all over the place, which is good practice should I decide to slaughter my own cattle.
On the up side, this has made me go see a doctor, which means it has made me finally make a decision about which doctor suggestion from co-workers would be the best one.
I've got a good feeling about this doctor. He may be the one. I didn't ask, but he appears to be younger than me--so, odds are, I won't have to doctor-shop again until after I'm dead.
Anyway, I just wanted to share, in case you were wondering why it looked like all my spaces were typed by my right hand.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
I may as well confess now: I've fallen off the walking wagon... or I've climbed on it. I don't know. I get confused about the wagon and what it means. I mean, I know if you fall off the wagon, you've started drinking again--which makes very little sense, because you'd have more balance and ability to stay on a wagon if you weren't drinking, but that's neither here nor there...
Since falling off the wagon implies something "bad", I think it'd be best to say I've fallen off the walking wagon... but being on the wagon seems to imply and absence of doing something.
Whatever. I need more people nagging me on facebook about the walking thing. Only my aunt Rachel has asked anything (and I avoided answering her, as I was convinced I'd get back on a regular schedule very soon).
I have no excuse except that the first time I missed I had a good excuse... and I think Terry Pratchett's character Sam Vimes puts it best in Thud! when he thinks, "Once you had a good excuse, you opened the door to bad excuses."
Anyway, whatever, I'm picking back up regularly tomorrow. There, I've typed it, so it must happen.
Barring, you know, alien attacks and whatnot.
Anyway, I've had a very full day, and should be in bed by now. I hope you're all having a wonderful time, and may the wind always be at your back, unless you're wanting to go slower. Or something.
Since falling off the wagon implies something "bad", I think it'd be best to say I've fallen off the walking wagon... but being on the wagon seems to imply and absence of doing something.
Whatever. I need more people nagging me on facebook about the walking thing. Only my aunt Rachel has asked anything (and I avoided answering her, as I was convinced I'd get back on a regular schedule very soon).
I have no excuse except that the first time I missed I had a good excuse... and I think Terry Pratchett's character Sam Vimes puts it best in Thud! when he thinks, "Once you had a good excuse, you opened the door to bad excuses."
Anyway, whatever, I'm picking back up regularly tomorrow. There, I've typed it, so it must happen.
Barring, you know, alien attacks and whatnot.
Anyway, I've had a very full day, and should be in bed by now. I hope you're all having a wonderful time, and may the wind always be at your back, unless you're wanting to go slower. Or something.
Wasn't It Christmas Like Just Yesterday?
In one week I'll be starting our Spring Break. What's up with that?
It seems like just a short time ago it was Winter Break and I was enjoying some sleeping-in time... and I guess it was more recent than what I'm used to since we did get that extra week of Winter Break with all the snow and crazy cold. But still, it doesn't seem like it's been however-many weeks...
I remember being very young and taking trips to Hannibal from Center. It seemed like the trip took months... or at least several hours.
And now years pass as if they're almost nothing. If I wasn't taking pictures daily, I might think nothing ever happens... as it stands, I think nothing ever happens other than me taking some pictures.
I kid.
Remember when time took forever? I remember thinking it would be forever before I was a senior in high school, about to graduate. Since graduation, I've had almost enough time to fit in two more K thru 12 school careers... May of 2011 will mark 26 years since I got out of high school.
And it seems like freakin' yesterday... while also seeming to be so far in the past it may as well have been Ancient Greece.
I find myself anticipating stuff a lot less. Is that just part of getting older? Don't get me wrong, I look forward to things, but I don't fret about having to wait for them to happen. I know they will happen, and I know the less I think about them, the less time it will seem to take between now and the event in question.
Very strange, this perception of the passage of time. Ever since I first noticed this strange "time seems to speed up as I get older" thing, I've had a theory that our perception of time is tainted by how much time we've been alive. Kids think time goes so slowly because a day is a much larger percentage of their life-to-date than it is for some 43-year-old.
This is where I could use Dane sitting next to me. He'd be able to tell me what fraction of my life today was and what fraction of Binx's life today was. I could figure it out, but it seems a shame not to have Dane do it.
Anyway, wasn't it Christmas like just yesterday? At the rate we're going, isn't Thanksgiving going to be like tomorrow?
It seems like just a short time ago it was Winter Break and I was enjoying some sleeping-in time... and I guess it was more recent than what I'm used to since we did get that extra week of Winter Break with all the snow and crazy cold. But still, it doesn't seem like it's been however-many weeks...
I remember being very young and taking trips to Hannibal from Center. It seemed like the trip took months... or at least several hours.
And now years pass as if they're almost nothing. If I wasn't taking pictures daily, I might think nothing ever happens... as it stands, I think nothing ever happens other than me taking some pictures.
I kid.
Remember when time took forever? I remember thinking it would be forever before I was a senior in high school, about to graduate. Since graduation, I've had almost enough time to fit in two more K thru 12 school careers... May of 2011 will mark 26 years since I got out of high school.
And it seems like freakin' yesterday... while also seeming to be so far in the past it may as well have been Ancient Greece.
I find myself anticipating stuff a lot less. Is that just part of getting older? Don't get me wrong, I look forward to things, but I don't fret about having to wait for them to happen. I know they will happen, and I know the less I think about them, the less time it will seem to take between now and the event in question.
Very strange, this perception of the passage of time. Ever since I first noticed this strange "time seems to speed up as I get older" thing, I've had a theory that our perception of time is tainted by how much time we've been alive. Kids think time goes so slowly because a day is a much larger percentage of their life-to-date than it is for some 43-year-old.
This is where I could use Dane sitting next to me. He'd be able to tell me what fraction of my life today was and what fraction of Binx's life today was. I could figure it out, but it seems a shame not to have Dane do it.
Anyway, wasn't it Christmas like just yesterday? At the rate we're going, isn't Thanksgiving going to be like tomorrow?
Thursday, March 04, 2010
It's Better Than Drinking Alone
I need to be clear at the beginning here: I enjoy living alone. I enjoy being alone. I can be just as lonely in a crowd of people I know and love as I can be by myself (not to say I always am lonely in a crowd of people I know and love, I'm just saying it's possible), so being by myself doesn't bother me, usually. I guess mostly because I believe in a way we're all alone on some level, even if we're with the person we love the mostest, etc., because in the end it's just us in here ("in here" being "in our own heads").
And maybe I've always been some sort of near-misanthrope, or maybe I grew into it, or maybe I just don't trust people as much as I used to... or maybe I get tired of rambling on in person and seeing the boredom on the faces of others... it's much easier to ramble here, as I don't have to watch the glazed look come over people as I type.
And I really do get irritated when I have something to do or somewhere to go... nothing major, mind you, but the major part of me just wants to stay home and... stay home.
Don't get me wrong, if you want to come by and hang out, I'm good with that. Heck, if you even suggest we go out and do something, I'm all about that, too. I guess I should clarify: if you're someone I can't stand or some major force of evil, that does not apply to you.
But "having to go somewhere" wears me out. Often, I enjoy myself when I go, but the thought of having to go somewhere is not pleasant. It's like how I feel about stand-up comedy acts. I loathe the idea of seeing one, but the experience is something I enjoy.
I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy.
Aren't you glad I said I wanted to be clear? Imagine what this would have read like if I'd started off wanting to be confusing...
So my point is: I don't mind being alone. In some ways, I crave it. I grew up in a house full of people. I sometimes think my mind feels I deserve all the alone time I can get. I love to have company over, and I love to be with friends and family... and I'm back to being all contradictory and confusing...
Who cares... the reason I started writing this was to reveal something somewhat personal about myself. The other night I had occasion to wish someone good-night at bedtime. I have done this on occasion with young'n's I was babysitting, and even with adults who had taken me in when whatever recent disaster had waltzed its way in to my life via whatever door or window I left open for it. It doesn't happen often that when I am about to go to bed I wish someone "good night" or have someone wish me something similar... and you'd think if I was going to have a big reaction to it, I would have by some point long before now.
But I had a really strange reaction to this. Maybe it was the full moon, or the planets were aligned just right, but I sort of ached. My mind flew back to being a kid with a house full of brothers and sisters, and everyone doing a Walton-esque good-night from their beds, and my brain went a little wonky, wondering two things: When was the last time I really thought about someone saying "good night" to me and me getting to wish the same in return, and how did I get to this point from growing up in a family that actually did the Walton closing scene thing (eventually we'd start wishing John Boy and Mary Ellen a good night, as well).
Anyway, the point of this post was to share I had this moment. It hasn't changed my life or made me want to be a better person or a worse person or a more open or more closed person. I just had this moment where my world spun around my head for a moment, and I did a bit of a free fall, looking at my life as if seeing it for the first time.
In other news, I hope I was able to correctly convey the whole thing about Ben & Killy without making it sound like Ben was all worried about the money. My point was Ben was left with a really horrible decision, and made what most anybody who knew the facts would consider to be the right one, but still felt awful about it (and probably still does). Ben is one of the nicest guys on the planet, and I'd hate to give anybody any idea to the contrary. If we were in a timeline where Tricia never met him, I'd be hunting him down so I could introduce her to him.
Also: I still can't find that pic of the girls with Killybutt. I had printed several pictures from that day, but I can't seem to narrow down the date or find the little memory stick or whatever that has them on it. Very frustrating.
Now, don't everybody go wishing me good night. It's not going to make me have a moment every time, and it's not like I have this burning need to wish someone "good night" or hear it from someone. I just wanted to say I had a very strange reaction to it the other night, and ask if anyone knew of a good psychologist.
And maybe I've always been some sort of near-misanthrope, or maybe I grew into it, or maybe I just don't trust people as much as I used to... or maybe I get tired of rambling on in person and seeing the boredom on the faces of others... it's much easier to ramble here, as I don't have to watch the glazed look come over people as I type.
And I really do get irritated when I have something to do or somewhere to go... nothing major, mind you, but the major part of me just wants to stay home and... stay home.
Don't get me wrong, if you want to come by and hang out, I'm good with that. Heck, if you even suggest we go out and do something, I'm all about that, too. I guess I should clarify: if you're someone I can't stand or some major force of evil, that does not apply to you.
But "having to go somewhere" wears me out. Often, I enjoy myself when I go, but the thought of having to go somewhere is not pleasant. It's like how I feel about stand-up comedy acts. I loathe the idea of seeing one, but the experience is something I enjoy.
I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy.
Aren't you glad I said I wanted to be clear? Imagine what this would have read like if I'd started off wanting to be confusing...
So my point is: I don't mind being alone. In some ways, I crave it. I grew up in a house full of people. I sometimes think my mind feels I deserve all the alone time I can get. I love to have company over, and I love to be with friends and family... and I'm back to being all contradictory and confusing...
Who cares... the reason I started writing this was to reveal something somewhat personal about myself. The other night I had occasion to wish someone good-night at bedtime. I have done this on occasion with young'n's I was babysitting, and even with adults who had taken me in when whatever recent disaster had waltzed its way in to my life via whatever door or window I left open for it. It doesn't happen often that when I am about to go to bed I wish someone "good night" or have someone wish me something similar... and you'd think if I was going to have a big reaction to it, I would have by some point long before now.
But I had a really strange reaction to this. Maybe it was the full moon, or the planets were aligned just right, but I sort of ached. My mind flew back to being a kid with a house full of brothers and sisters, and everyone doing a Walton-esque good-night from their beds, and my brain went a little wonky, wondering two things: When was the last time I really thought about someone saying "good night" to me and me getting to wish the same in return, and how did I get to this point from growing up in a family that actually did the Walton closing scene thing (eventually we'd start wishing John Boy and Mary Ellen a good night, as well).
Anyway, the point of this post was to share I had this moment. It hasn't changed my life or made me want to be a better person or a worse person or a more open or more closed person. I just had this moment where my world spun around my head for a moment, and I did a bit of a free fall, looking at my life as if seeing it for the first time.
In other news, I hope I was able to correctly convey the whole thing about Ben & Killy without making it sound like Ben was all worried about the money. My point was Ben was left with a really horrible decision, and made what most anybody who knew the facts would consider to be the right one, but still felt awful about it (and probably still does). Ben is one of the nicest guys on the planet, and I'd hate to give anybody any idea to the contrary. If we were in a timeline where Tricia never met him, I'd be hunting him down so I could introduce her to him.
Also: I still can't find that pic of the girls with Killybutt. I had printed several pictures from that day, but I can't seem to narrow down the date or find the little memory stick or whatever that has them on it. Very frustrating.
Now, don't everybody go wishing me good night. It's not going to make me have a moment every time, and it's not like I have this burning need to wish someone "good night" or hear it from someone. I just wanted to say I had a very strange reaction to it the other night, and ask if anyone knew of a good psychologist.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
When Buddy Welcomed Killian Home
Hey, sorry I haven't been writing for a while. Mostly I'm sorry to me, because I think there's about 28 of you following this via whatever BlogSpot uses, and another 30 or so via facebook, and of those, I don't know that "follow" is an appropriate word. Maybe more like, "occasionally have time to read". And it's cool. I ain't hatin'. I'm just saying I'm mostly sorry to me because I'm trying to get into the habit of writing for fun more, as I've gotten out of that habit at some point over the past 25 years or so.
Anyway, I'm writing. And be warned: this is going to be one of those long blathering posts that many of you... may or may not have read in the past and may or may not have hated.
We got Dane moved on Saturday. Cody and I drove to Ben & Tricia's around 9:00 or so to borrow Ben's truck. I'd forgotten to remind Ben I needed to borrow it, but it was all good when I got him called on the way there. He and Tricia were out, but the truck was at the house.
Cody went in the house first, as I was throwing something away, and when I got in, I saw Killian and was thankful that Killian has a good memory and had met Cody before. However, I didn't see Guinness anywhere. Like an idiot, I searched all over the house and out back, worried they'd accidentally left him outside before they went out. I asked Killian a couple of times where Guinness was, but his hearing has been a thing of the past for a while, so he basically ignored me. Also: dog.
When I first started hanging out with Ben & Tricia here in KC, the only dog they had was Buddy (or Bud Light, as all the dogs are named after alcoholic beverages... a funny tradition that I'd like to carry on with my pets, but I'd use condom brand names or something). I don't know what Buddy was. I would try to describe him to people who knew breeds, but never got the right answer. It's easier to just hope Tricia will post it on here as a comment. He was a little white furry thing with a missing paw. He was one of those little dogs who behaves as if he's a big dog.
I'm not a pet person, really. The allergy thing doesn't help. Also, the fact Patsy was all done with pets and all the fun that went with them by the time I was born (something Sara somehow got around, as I recall) meant that my main pet experience was via Shawn Couch and his dog, Cocoa.
Let us pause for a moment while I remember Cocoa. I forgot how much I loved Cocoa until this very minute.
Also, I love cocoa, but I'm not going to make any right now.
While I'm not (sorta not) a pet person, I do love a puppy or a kitten. When Ben & Tricia first got Killian, he was this cute little puppy we never should have let sit on the furniture but did anyway. Golden lab, or something... but with red hair... so golden red Irish lab? I don't remember him barking with an Irish accent, but who knows?
My favorite (sort of) Killy moment was when Ben & Tricia both had to go out of town while I was (I think) staying at their house (this would be the first of many such times, I believe... that is to say I believe it was the first, not that I believe there were many such times, as I have experienced the other such times and can count like a troll: one, two, many, lots). When I came home from... maybe the airport... I can't remember now... whatever... when I came home Killy had ripped the hell out of the family room furniture in a fit of puppy rage at being left at home.
I was all like, "Ooooooooooooooh you are in sooooooooooooooooo much trouble when they get home!"
Burn.
Killy had longer hair, so I think he sometimes caused my eyes to go a little red and irritated. But he was a big dog that didn't act like a big dog...
And my past tense is so giving away the plot, isn't it?
Turns out the last time I saw Killy was after I returned the truck to Ben & Tricia's Saturday afternoon. I don't even remember seeing him that time. I remember more asking him where Guinness was and him totally ignoring me because he couldn't hear a thing.
Sunday morning was bad for Killy, and Ben had to take him to the vet. I didn't know anything until I read Tricia's facebook saying it was a sad day. Before I could call to ask her why, she called me. Tears from her, wailing from the girls in the background... and me trying to process. And while she's talking to me, Ben called me. So once I got the plan for the burial and hung up with Tricia, I called Ben.
Ben told me more detail about the morning, and how it wasn't an easy decision, even though they would have had to have spent crazy dollars to keep him alive--and I guess that's a nice testimony to human nature: when the chips are down, money might be a factor, but it isn't the be-all and end-all... unless you're an insurance company, I guess.
So Killian went to sleep, and he was taken to the farm where Buddy was laid to rest several years ago.
The whole thing gave me an idea of writing a children's book about it, more about Killy the puppy running and running after having a dream about being old... and running into a field where his friend Buddy welcomed him home... and the adventures they have there.
I doubt I'll write it, unless someone is a great artist and would illustrate a one-off (or two-off, I guess, since there are two girls) copy for the girls. Think about it, artist types!
I know I have a great picture of the girls goofing around on the floor with Killy. Of course, I can't find the thing to save my life right now, and that's making me crazy. I'd love to be able to bring them each a copy of that picture on Sunday.
Killy (or Killybutt, as I more often called him) and I had a bond that I did my best to hide from Tricia. But she saw through it, just like she saw through my apparent distaste for Buddy (yeah, YOU try getting a baby-near-toddler Olivia to say good-bye to Buddy before he's going off to be put to sleep without tearing up a lot). Killy was a very huggable dog. And he didn't care what time you got up, as long as you let him go out before you went to bed at 4:00 in the morning.
Killybutt will be missed, and I'll be one of the main missers. I freely admit it.
Now dog-owners, go hug your dog.
Anyway, I'm writing. And be warned: this is going to be one of those long blathering posts that many of you... may or may not have read in the past and may or may not have hated.
We got Dane moved on Saturday. Cody and I drove to Ben & Tricia's around 9:00 or so to borrow Ben's truck. I'd forgotten to remind Ben I needed to borrow it, but it was all good when I got him called on the way there. He and Tricia were out, but the truck was at the house.
Cody went in the house first, as I was throwing something away, and when I got in, I saw Killian and was thankful that Killian has a good memory and had met Cody before. However, I didn't see Guinness anywhere. Like an idiot, I searched all over the house and out back, worried they'd accidentally left him outside before they went out. I asked Killian a couple of times where Guinness was, but his hearing has been a thing of the past for a while, so he basically ignored me. Also: dog.
When I first started hanging out with Ben & Tricia here in KC, the only dog they had was Buddy (or Bud Light, as all the dogs are named after alcoholic beverages... a funny tradition that I'd like to carry on with my pets, but I'd use condom brand names or something). I don't know what Buddy was. I would try to describe him to people who knew breeds, but never got the right answer. It's easier to just hope Tricia will post it on here as a comment. He was a little white furry thing with a missing paw. He was one of those little dogs who behaves as if he's a big dog.
I'm not a pet person, really. The allergy thing doesn't help. Also, the fact Patsy was all done with pets and all the fun that went with them by the time I was born (something Sara somehow got around, as I recall) meant that my main pet experience was via Shawn Couch and his dog, Cocoa.
Let us pause for a moment while I remember Cocoa. I forgot how much I loved Cocoa until this very minute.
Also, I love cocoa, but I'm not going to make any right now.
While I'm not (sorta not) a pet person, I do love a puppy or a kitten. When Ben & Tricia first got Killian, he was this cute little puppy we never should have let sit on the furniture but did anyway. Golden lab, or something... but with red hair... so golden red Irish lab? I don't remember him barking with an Irish accent, but who knows?
My favorite (sort of) Killy moment was when Ben & Tricia both had to go out of town while I was (I think) staying at their house (this would be the first of many such times, I believe... that is to say I believe it was the first, not that I believe there were many such times, as I have experienced the other such times and can count like a troll: one, two, many, lots). When I came home from... maybe the airport... I can't remember now... whatever... when I came home Killy had ripped the hell out of the family room furniture in a fit of puppy rage at being left at home.
I was all like, "Ooooooooooooooh you are in sooooooooooooooooo much trouble when they get home!"
Burn.
Killy had longer hair, so I think he sometimes caused my eyes to go a little red and irritated. But he was a big dog that didn't act like a big dog...
And my past tense is so giving away the plot, isn't it?
Turns out the last time I saw Killy was after I returned the truck to Ben & Tricia's Saturday afternoon. I don't even remember seeing him that time. I remember more asking him where Guinness was and him totally ignoring me because he couldn't hear a thing.
Sunday morning was bad for Killy, and Ben had to take him to the vet. I didn't know anything until I read Tricia's facebook saying it was a sad day. Before I could call to ask her why, she called me. Tears from her, wailing from the girls in the background... and me trying to process. And while she's talking to me, Ben called me. So once I got the plan for the burial and hung up with Tricia, I called Ben.
Ben told me more detail about the morning, and how it wasn't an easy decision, even though they would have had to have spent crazy dollars to keep him alive--and I guess that's a nice testimony to human nature: when the chips are down, money might be a factor, but it isn't the be-all and end-all... unless you're an insurance company, I guess.
So Killian went to sleep, and he was taken to the farm where Buddy was laid to rest several years ago.
The whole thing gave me an idea of writing a children's book about it, more about Killy the puppy running and running after having a dream about being old... and running into a field where his friend Buddy welcomed him home... and the adventures they have there.
I doubt I'll write it, unless someone is a great artist and would illustrate a one-off (or two-off, I guess, since there are two girls) copy for the girls. Think about it, artist types!
I know I have a great picture of the girls goofing around on the floor with Killy. Of course, I can't find the thing to save my life right now, and that's making me crazy. I'd love to be able to bring them each a copy of that picture on Sunday.
Killy (or Killybutt, as I more often called him) and I had a bond that I did my best to hide from Tricia. But she saw through it, just like she saw through my apparent distaste for Buddy (yeah, YOU try getting a baby-near-toddler Olivia to say good-bye to Buddy before he's going off to be put to sleep without tearing up a lot). Killy was a very huggable dog. And he didn't care what time you got up, as long as you let him go out before you went to bed at 4:00 in the morning.
Killybutt will be missed, and I'll be one of the main missers. I freely admit it.
Now dog-owners, go hug your dog.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
You Know That Thing I Hope Everyone Else Does...
You know that thing I hope everyone else does, where you are thinking back to your younger years and of people you hadn't thought of in a long time--maybe even people you cared deeply for at the time, but somehow lost touch with... and then you decide to Google them and see if you can find out what had happened in their lives in the intervening 25 years or so...
You know that thing, right? I'm not the only one who does that, right?
Just humor me. I'm feeling all fragile and stuff now.
So I just spent some time doing that, and found a lead on someone who really meant a lot to be back in the day... and if the person I found on facebook is the same person (hard to really tell from the picture, as it is from a much more recent time than 25 years ago), it's a bit heartbreaking because this person seems to have changed a lot.
I don't mean the looks... I mean judging by the things under "I'm a fan of..."
Anyway, as if I haven't had enough lessons about not digging in the past...
In other news, I think I've booked my weekends until Spring Break! This would be good news if I ran some sort of business that involved booking events or jobs or whatever. I mean, it's not really a bad thing, it's just I'm a person who enjoys an open schedule.
You know, maybe I could kill some time one day and do a Venn diagram of the me from now and the me from 25 years ago. I wonder what would overlap? I wonder if I can even channel the me from 25 years ago...
Whatever. I think I'm going to bed. It's not that you aren't all swell people and all. It's just that I'm tired.
You know that thing, right? I'm not the only one who does that, right?
Just humor me. I'm feeling all fragile and stuff now.
So I just spent some time doing that, and found a lead on someone who really meant a lot to be back in the day... and if the person I found on facebook is the same person (hard to really tell from the picture, as it is from a much more recent time than 25 years ago), it's a bit heartbreaking because this person seems to have changed a lot.
I don't mean the looks... I mean judging by the things under "I'm a fan of..."
Anyway, as if I haven't had enough lessons about not digging in the past...
In other news, I think I've booked my weekends until Spring Break! This would be good news if I ran some sort of business that involved booking events or jobs or whatever. I mean, it's not really a bad thing, it's just I'm a person who enjoys an open schedule.
You know, maybe I could kill some time one day and do a Venn diagram of the me from now and the me from 25 years ago. I wonder what would overlap? I wonder if I can even channel the me from 25 years ago...
Whatever. I think I'm going to bed. It's not that you aren't all swell people and all. It's just that I'm tired.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Nothing Lasts Forever!
I finally missed a day of posting on here! If you knew about my late evening last night, you'd forgive me. However, we'd have to be hanging out somewhere alone, with a couple of beers (or boxes of chocolate, or hours of Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes, or whatever it is that works for you) under our belts before I'd delve into the details very much.
Suffice it to say, I thought the night was going to end much earlier than it did. No, really, I demand that you suffice it. Suffice, already! SUFFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE!
I have no idea what that was about, but it did lead to my looking up "suffice" at m-w.com...
But it has reminded me of another issue I had with language recently...
For some reason, the kids asked me the difference between two words. If I could remember the words, I could remember the reason. At any rate, I e-mailed our C.A. teacher to ask her the difference between "past of..." and "past participle of...", and she was going to send me a link that would fix me up, but her life was busy. Apparently she teaches during the day or something.
Anyway, anybody want to fix me up with an answer, I'd appreciate it! Now I just wish I could remember what the two words were... one was the "past of..." and the other was the "past participle of..."
And I just remembered: swam (past of swim) and swum (past participle of swim). The word "swum" appeared in a word problem, and someone raised his or her hand to say, "I thought 'swum' wasn't a word."
Idiot that I am, I looked it up.
Now I'm going to go do some research on my own. I know I should know what "past participle" means, and it's making me crazy that I don't.
As I read over this, I realize the world was probably thankful that I missed a day...
Suffice it to say, I thought the night was going to end much earlier than it did. No, really, I demand that you suffice it. Suffice, already! SUFFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE!
I have no idea what that was about, but it did lead to my looking up "suffice" at m-w.com...
But it has reminded me of another issue I had with language recently...
For some reason, the kids asked me the difference between two words. If I could remember the words, I could remember the reason. At any rate, I e-mailed our C.A. teacher to ask her the difference between "past of..." and "past participle of...", and she was going to send me a link that would fix me up, but her life was busy. Apparently she teaches during the day or something.
Anyway, anybody want to fix me up with an answer, I'd appreciate it! Now I just wish I could remember what the two words were... one was the "past of..." and the other was the "past participle of..."
And I just remembered: swam (past of swim) and swum (past participle of swim). The word "swum" appeared in a word problem, and someone raised his or her hand to say, "I thought 'swum' wasn't a word."
Idiot that I am, I looked it up.
Now I'm going to go do some research on my own. I know I should know what "past participle" means, and it's making me crazy that I don't.
As I read over this, I realize the world was probably thankful that I missed a day...
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
May This Be The Last Snow Day Of The School Year...
Today was a snow day. It's been a long day for me, considering I didn't have to go in to work.
First, Bowman called at 5:22 to let me know school was closed. The problem is, I'm supposed to call Bowman. He was calling UP the tree instead of down it. Actually, it's not a problem, as I appreciate knowing as soon as possible--but the problem comes from the fact I have to either wait for the two other calls (the one from the person above me on the phone tree, and the one from the automated system the district uses) or be jolted awake by the phone.
I prefer to wait up, because I can say all kinds of crazy stuff to that automated voice, and she doesn't mind at all.
Anyway, I was waiting, and got wrapped up in Zuma's Revenge. Things were looking pretty bleak, with one life to spare at level 52, but somehow I made it past level 55...
Sorry, side note: It's 12:10 a.m., and I can hear someone whistling. If I don't show up at work tomorrow I've either gone ahead and had the rest of the stroke or brain freakout that has started with hearing this whistle, or I've been killed by The Whistling Killer.
Back to Zuma's Revenge: I made it past level 55, and that's exciting news (for me, anyway), because I'd been starting at level 51 for the past kerjillion times I played the game.
By the time the game was over, I felt it would be more responsible of me to start getting the grad school work wrapped up--as it was due at midnight.
So I started working on it. It's very frustrating, as anyone who sees my status updates on facebook or reads this blog must know. What I didn't already know, I don't have time to use in the classroom. However, I was being good and working hard, and I made the mistake of sitting in a reclining seat to read some of the textbook.
I feel asleep with this huge book on my face, my hand trapped between the book and my forehead, and my right arm being nearly punctured by some sharp corner on the chair.
And I slept for over and hour like that.
So my neck feels great.
I tried to get back on track when I woke up, and did a pretty good job, except I had to run to the bank, then the Evil Empire... and then another Evil Empire because the one closest to me is under construction and has absolutely nothing in stock. Upon returning home, I did some more grad school work, and then ordered a computer online.
Apparently Best Buy had it in stock, so I went to pick it up and run it to Ruth's place (where Dane will be living in just a few more days), so that Dane will have a more reliable computer.
Upon returning back home, I again worked on grad school stuff... pretty much until midnight, when I posted my final response to someone else's posting.
Now that I type it, it seems like I did nothing today.
Oh well. It was a snow day. I'm allowed.
First, Bowman called at 5:22 to let me know school was closed. The problem is, I'm supposed to call Bowman. He was calling UP the tree instead of down it. Actually, it's not a problem, as I appreciate knowing as soon as possible--but the problem comes from the fact I have to either wait for the two other calls (the one from the person above me on the phone tree, and the one from the automated system the district uses) or be jolted awake by the phone.
I prefer to wait up, because I can say all kinds of crazy stuff to that automated voice, and she doesn't mind at all.
Anyway, I was waiting, and got wrapped up in Zuma's Revenge. Things were looking pretty bleak, with one life to spare at level 52, but somehow I made it past level 55...
Sorry, side note: It's 12:10 a.m., and I can hear someone whistling. If I don't show up at work tomorrow I've either gone ahead and had the rest of the stroke or brain freakout that has started with hearing this whistle, or I've been killed by The Whistling Killer.
Back to Zuma's Revenge: I made it past level 55, and that's exciting news (for me, anyway), because I'd been starting at level 51 for the past kerjillion times I played the game.
By the time the game was over, I felt it would be more responsible of me to start getting the grad school work wrapped up--as it was due at midnight.
So I started working on it. It's very frustrating, as anyone who sees my status updates on facebook or reads this blog must know. What I didn't already know, I don't have time to use in the classroom. However, I was being good and working hard, and I made the mistake of sitting in a reclining seat to read some of the textbook.
I feel asleep with this huge book on my face, my hand trapped between the book and my forehead, and my right arm being nearly punctured by some sharp corner on the chair.
And I slept for over and hour like that.
So my neck feels great.
I tried to get back on track when I woke up, and did a pretty good job, except I had to run to the bank, then the Evil Empire... and then another Evil Empire because the one closest to me is under construction and has absolutely nothing in stock. Upon returning home, I did some more grad school work, and then ordered a computer online.
Apparently Best Buy had it in stock, so I went to pick it up and run it to Ruth's place (where Dane will be living in just a few more days), so that Dane will have a more reliable computer.
Upon returning back home, I again worked on grad school stuff... pretty much until midnight, when I posted my final response to someone else's posting.
Now that I type it, it seems like I did nothing today.
Oh well. It was a snow day. I'm allowed.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
How Much Do I Hate Being Cut?
A lot.
Being cut is one of my big fears... or crazy-making-things. The other is zombies.
Luckily, we live in a world where cuts are far more likely (I say "luckily", but really, using movies as my major source of information, I think even I could outrun most zombies... but there's that whole "never giving up" thing they do, and I know I'd need to rest).
So tonight I was cleaning up the kitchen because... well, it needed it, mostly. I was doing great. I was looking for that brown plastic square thing designed to clean the pizza stone. While I was blindly feeling around in the drawer where most items like that are kept, I failed to remember I bought a great bread knife a short while back.
Apparently, it also works well on fingertips.
So now my nice clean kitchen looks like a bloodbath.
Not really, but there was more blood than I care to deal with.
As I stood there, applying pressure and trying to work my way from the base of my brain to my frontal lobe, I realized there was almost no chance I had a Band-Aid in the house. Any Band-Aids I had prior to the move would have been in the bathroom, and there was nothing salvageable in that bathroom after the fire.
I did run the past ten months through my mind, in case I had forgotten buying Band-Aids, but my quick-replay just made me more sure I was a man without Band-Aids.
But I checked anyway.
Once I was sure there were no adhesive bandage strips to be found, I realized I would have to go to get some. By now the pressure I'd applied seemed to have stopped the bleeding, but I knew I'd be brushing this finger again an again as I reached in my pocket, put on my jacket, put on my shoes, etc., that I had to go.
And, because of all those things I just mentioned needing to avoid until I got a Band-Aid, this meant I went with no coat in my slippers, and I had to do a funny sort of dance-thing to get my keys out of my left pocket with my right hand.
On the up side, I am now stocked up on bandages. I didn't debate the issue long, as I now had recent experience with needing a Band-Aid and not having any. I got several varieties, and some Neosporin. I was looking for those little scissors you can use to cut off dead skin, because I think that's going to be an issue later, but decided it was something I didn't want to think about at that moment.
So, here I am, typing away with a finger-band-aid covering the slice in question.
At least it was just an innocent knife in a drawer (an innocent knife that has been cleaned and put in the drawer where I keep the other knives, by the way), and not a zombie wielding a knife.
Being cut is one of my big fears... or crazy-making-things. The other is zombies.
Luckily, we live in a world where cuts are far more likely (I say "luckily", but really, using movies as my major source of information, I think even I could outrun most zombies... but there's that whole "never giving up" thing they do, and I know I'd need to rest).
So tonight I was cleaning up the kitchen because... well, it needed it, mostly. I was doing great. I was looking for that brown plastic square thing designed to clean the pizza stone. While I was blindly feeling around in the drawer where most items like that are kept, I failed to remember I bought a great bread knife a short while back.
Apparently, it also works well on fingertips.
So now my nice clean kitchen looks like a bloodbath.
Not really, but there was more blood than I care to deal with.
As I stood there, applying pressure and trying to work my way from the base of my brain to my frontal lobe, I realized there was almost no chance I had a Band-Aid in the house. Any Band-Aids I had prior to the move would have been in the bathroom, and there was nothing salvageable in that bathroom after the fire.
I did run the past ten months through my mind, in case I had forgotten buying Band-Aids, but my quick-replay just made me more sure I was a man without Band-Aids.
But I checked anyway.
Once I was sure there were no adhesive bandage strips to be found, I realized I would have to go to get some. By now the pressure I'd applied seemed to have stopped the bleeding, but I knew I'd be brushing this finger again an again as I reached in my pocket, put on my jacket, put on my shoes, etc., that I had to go.
And, because of all those things I just mentioned needing to avoid until I got a Band-Aid, this meant I went with no coat in my slippers, and I had to do a funny sort of dance-thing to get my keys out of my left pocket with my right hand.
On the up side, I am now stocked up on bandages. I didn't debate the issue long, as I now had recent experience with needing a Band-Aid and not having any. I got several varieties, and some Neosporin. I was looking for those little scissors you can use to cut off dead skin, because I think that's going to be an issue later, but decided it was something I didn't want to think about at that moment.
So, here I am, typing away with a finger-band-aid covering the slice in question.
At least it was just an innocent knife in a drawer (an innocent knife that has been cleaned and put in the drawer where I keep the other knives, by the way), and not a zombie wielding a knife.
Grad School Avoidance
If I get through this current class, it will only be through some sort of miracle... like me hunkering down and just gettin' 'er done.
Words cannot describe how "well-duh"-ish this ed psych stuff is. I mean, yes, very important if I'm Joe Undergrad, or Joe Grad-But-Never-Set-Foot-In-A-Classroom, but really, I'm just learning the names for stuff I already know... and I'm not interested in knowing the names... this isn't some mystical/mythical land where knowing the name of something gives me actual power over it.
"Oh, so THAT'S why I'll never have kids who are prepared for what I am here to teach. I feel so much more powerful knowing there's a name for it."
Not.
And, as I've already mentioned, this cite, cite, cite, crap is killing me. Even if I try to write my responses and then go find citations to back it up, I spend the whole time making sure I don't say that much while seeming like I'm saying something, just because I don't have the whole day every day to go look up crap.
So I do what I can, then take breaks. It makes for long days and long nights of work/break/play/work/play/break/work/nap/play/work/play...
Because it really does wear my brain out.
The class on teaching integers? Loved it.
The class on teaching functions? Loved it.
The class on teaching rational numbers? Loved it.
And the common thread in those classes... okay, one of the two major common threads, with the first being those are specific to the content area I teach, is I am learning stuff I can actually use the very next day in class.
"Kids, I get why your social relations are much more important than what I have to tell you because of (Whoop D. Doodle, 1997), and that I need to make sure you get plenty of practice, because of (Blahdy Blah, 2005)..."
No, not working for me.
Anyway, feel free to post a "You can do it!" or "Hunker down, Mark!" or even an annoying "Get 'er done!"
This, too, shall pass.
The only way out is through.
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.
Words cannot describe how "well-duh"-ish this ed psych stuff is. I mean, yes, very important if I'm Joe Undergrad, or Joe Grad-But-Never-Set-Foot-In-A-Classroom, but really, I'm just learning the names for stuff I already know... and I'm not interested in knowing the names... this isn't some mystical/mythical land where knowing the name of something gives me actual power over it.
"Oh, so THAT'S why I'll never have kids who are prepared for what I am here to teach. I feel so much more powerful knowing there's a name for it."
Not.
And, as I've already mentioned, this cite, cite, cite, crap is killing me. Even if I try to write my responses and then go find citations to back it up, I spend the whole time making sure I don't say that much while seeming like I'm saying something, just because I don't have the whole day every day to go look up crap.
So I do what I can, then take breaks. It makes for long days and long nights of work/break/play/work/play/break/work/nap/play/work/play...
Because it really does wear my brain out.
The class on teaching integers? Loved it.
The class on teaching functions? Loved it.
The class on teaching rational numbers? Loved it.
And the common thread in those classes... okay, one of the two major common threads, with the first being those are specific to the content area I teach, is I am learning stuff I can actually use the very next day in class.
"Kids, I get why your social relations are much more important than what I have to tell you because of (Whoop D. Doodle, 1997), and that I need to make sure you get plenty of practice, because of (Blahdy Blah, 2005)..."
No, not working for me.
Anyway, feel free to post a "You can do it!" or "Hunker down, Mark!" or even an annoying "Get 'er done!"
This, too, shall pass.
The only way out is through.
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.
Friday, February 19, 2010
On A Wonderful Day Like Today
Yowza, was this day just a load of fun!
First, I was stupid and made plans. This is never a good plan. The best plan is to make no plan, which I suppose is some sort of paradox or at least a paranursepractitioners.
Anyway, my big plan was to run my car to get the wheel looked at (pothole-related issues) and the oil changed and whatever else needing changed changed during my plan time. The plan was to ask someone to follow me and give me a ride right back to school, then worry about picking it up later.
Smaller plans included having the kids take what I thought would be a 15-20 minutes pop quiz of sorts, then have them look over their most recent tests while I quickly graded the quizzes and talked to the kids who just weren't getting it.
Problem 1: Apparently 48 minutes was not enough time to finish the quiz question--a good sign that most of them aren't getting it, eh? There were about four kids who were able to turn in a finished project before class ended. The good news: at least I know we need to spend some more time making tables and graphs...
Problem 2: The grade book program decided to go crazy when I had one more student's test score to put in (about five kids were absent when we took the test yesterday, but they all showed up today, so I'd been entering their test scores and printing new progress reports as I went along. I'd told this young lady I'd have her progress report in homeroom at the end of the day. So I spent the first part of my plan time fighting the computer.
Whatever.
So the car didn't get taken in until after school, and the place is actually on my walk route, so it made no sense to hang out there for 90 minutes when I could walk home and hang out there. So check it out: extra walking!
Problem: very cold, and also wet and crazy.
Speaking of cold and wet and crazy: during fifth hour we had the craziest snow going on outside. The kids were working on the quiz, and I'd gone to my desk to do something, and found myself staring out the window and thinking of how peaceful it was to just watch snow falling. I know a lot of people around here are sick of winter, but I love a beautiful snowfall.
Anyway, apparently my staring out the window attracted the attention of some of the kids, and minutes passed without anyone getting much done. Figuring they were already distracted, I opened the window to get some pictures. I did this again when the snowflakes became these gigantic chicken-feather looking things...
Now it is officially the weekend. I have things to do, so I wanted to get this out before it go too late... as if 9:12 isn't late.
First, I was stupid and made plans. This is never a good plan. The best plan is to make no plan, which I suppose is some sort of paradox or at least a paranursepractitioners.
Anyway, my big plan was to run my car to get the wheel looked at (pothole-related issues) and the oil changed and whatever else needing changed changed during my plan time. The plan was to ask someone to follow me and give me a ride right back to school, then worry about picking it up later.
Smaller plans included having the kids take what I thought would be a 15-20 minutes pop quiz of sorts, then have them look over their most recent tests while I quickly graded the quizzes and talked to the kids who just weren't getting it.
Problem 1: Apparently 48 minutes was not enough time to finish the quiz question--a good sign that most of them aren't getting it, eh? There were about four kids who were able to turn in a finished project before class ended. The good news: at least I know we need to spend some more time making tables and graphs...
Problem 2: The grade book program decided to go crazy when I had one more student's test score to put in (about five kids were absent when we took the test yesterday, but they all showed up today, so I'd been entering their test scores and printing new progress reports as I went along. I'd told this young lady I'd have her progress report in homeroom at the end of the day. So I spent the first part of my plan time fighting the computer.
Whatever.
So the car didn't get taken in until after school, and the place is actually on my walk route, so it made no sense to hang out there for 90 minutes when I could walk home and hang out there. So check it out: extra walking!
Problem: very cold, and also wet and crazy.
Speaking of cold and wet and crazy: during fifth hour we had the craziest snow going on outside. The kids were working on the quiz, and I'd gone to my desk to do something, and found myself staring out the window and thinking of how peaceful it was to just watch snow falling. I know a lot of people around here are sick of winter, but I love a beautiful snowfall.
Anyway, apparently my staring out the window attracted the attention of some of the kids, and minutes passed without anyone getting much done. Figuring they were already distracted, I opened the window to get some pictures. I did this again when the snowflakes became these gigantic chicken-feather looking things...
Now it is officially the weekend. I have things to do, so I wanted to get this out before it go too late... as if 9:12 isn't late.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Insider Information
I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: From the insider perspective, the school year is almost over.
Oh, it seems like there's lots of time, I know, but the second semester--traditionally the longer of the two semesters in the district in which I work--is like that one thingy at the Winter Olympics where you ride in a sled real fast down what looks like a frozen water slide.
Oops, my lack of interest in the Olympics is showing...
But it is, no lie. About the time you get your classes back into the swing of things, it's time for the mid-quarter progress reports, which means Spring Break is just few weeks away, and after that it's a couple of weeks to MAP testing, and after that the days just roll by.
Now is about the time my inner panic starts to rear its ugly head. "Where did all the time go," I wonder. "How can I get these kids prepared for the MAP test, eighth grade, high school, and life? I only have so much time!"
No worries, however, my inner "shut up and sit down, panic" kicked in at least a couple of years back.
The up side is this year I feel less like I'm just running triage than any other year. That's a good thing. I feel like things have gotten to a good place where I can get some people caught up. I'm probably deluding myself, but it's a nice feeling, anyway.
So, yes, it's still Winter. Yes, the end of May is so far away.
But it's not.
Oh, it seems like there's lots of time, I know, but the second semester--traditionally the longer of the two semesters in the district in which I work--is like that one thingy at the Winter Olympics where you ride in a sled real fast down what looks like a frozen water slide.
Oops, my lack of interest in the Olympics is showing...
But it is, no lie. About the time you get your classes back into the swing of things, it's time for the mid-quarter progress reports, which means Spring Break is just few weeks away, and after that it's a couple of weeks to MAP testing, and after that the days just roll by.
Now is about the time my inner panic starts to rear its ugly head. "Where did all the time go," I wonder. "How can I get these kids prepared for the MAP test, eighth grade, high school, and life? I only have so much time!"
No worries, however, my inner "shut up and sit down, panic" kicked in at least a couple of years back.
The up side is this year I feel less like I'm just running triage than any other year. That's a good thing. I feel like things have gotten to a good place where I can get some people caught up. I'm probably deluding myself, but it's a nice feeling, anyway.
So, yes, it's still Winter. Yes, the end of May is so far away.
But it's not.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Scene From A Crazy School Day
Yesterday in my seminar class, I had a group of four or five students gathered around my desk while the twenty other students in the class were working at different "stations". The crowd around my desk were having their conference day with me.
The young man directly in front of my desk, whose code name shall be "Ronnie" needed to three-hole-punch something, and I thought he referred to my three-hole-punch as "Dorothy."
I was taken aback, as Mr. Malia called his three-hole-punch "Dorothy" back when I was in high school, and--even though for that very reason I had named my three-hole-punch the same thing--I didn't recall telling my students I'd given it that name, or at least not this year. So I turned back to "Ronnie" and said, "Did you just call my three-hole-punch 'Dorothy'?"
"Ronnie" looked at me as if I had gone insane (or more so), and told me he hadn't. I looked at the other students and asked if anyone else heard someone say "Dorothy". Another student, who we shall call "Jesse", said, "I thought I heard him say 'Dorothy,' too."
So I turned back and said, "Did you call it 'Dorothy?' Have I told you guys that's the name I gave it?"
At which point "Jesse" said, "Now's the point where the screen goes black and "LOST" appears on the screen..."
The young man directly in front of my desk, whose code name shall be "Ronnie" needed to three-hole-punch something, and I thought he referred to my three-hole-punch as "Dorothy."
I was taken aback, as Mr. Malia called his three-hole-punch "Dorothy" back when I was in high school, and--even though for that very reason I had named my three-hole-punch the same thing--I didn't recall telling my students I'd given it that name, or at least not this year. So I turned back to "Ronnie" and said, "Did you just call my three-hole-punch 'Dorothy'?"
"Ronnie" looked at me as if I had gone insane (or more so), and told me he hadn't. I looked at the other students and asked if anyone else heard someone say "Dorothy". Another student, who we shall call "Jesse", said, "I thought I heard him say 'Dorothy,' too."
So I turned back and said, "Did you call it 'Dorothy?' Have I told you guys that's the name I gave it?"
At which point "Jesse" said, "Now's the point where the screen goes black and "LOST" appears on the screen..."
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Twenty-Five Years Ago Today
Twenty-five years ago today, I worked a shift at McDonald's. I don't remember a lot of details about the shift, although I believe I got off early.
I remember that part, because I considered for a brief moment going to see Dad at the hospital. I can't emphasize enough how brief that moment was.
It seems to me someone from the family stopped by the store to let me know they were going to see him that day. It seems to me they were trying to give me a subtle hint to go see him.
But that may be the revisionist history part of my brain at work.
The last time I saw Dad alive was the day he went to the hospital. I won't bore you with the details (too late), and not just because many people had done the angry young man thing before me, and many have done it since, and most of them did it way better than me.
Short version: I honestly felt I felt nothing for the man.
I was driving down what I think is called Public Street in Center, but my mental name for it is "the-main-drag-that-isn't-Highway-19". I looked up and saw Wade flagging me down not far from the grocery store. I slowed down and rolled down the window. He walked up to my door and said, "Dad died."
I don't remember my response. I imagine it was a stupid question of the sort that always gets asked at these times. I just remember going home, not knowing what to do... not understanding why I felt anything. Mostly I was just being an 18-year-old going a little crazy, if you get what I'm saying.
After about five minutes (or maybe several hours) of trying to figure out what was wrong with me that I should have actual feelings for this man I'd resented for years for his terrible sin of being so much older than everyone else's father, I had to get out.
I headed to New London to my "other" parents (I've had so many sets of parents, and--not counting Say--I'd guess Les & Paulette were set number 4... Mom and Dad being 1, Mike & Judy Couch being 2, Tom & Toni Vanskike being 3...) and had a bit of a freak out, trying to figure out why I felt anything at all.
Yes, folks, loving me is the same as signing up for the occasional freakshow...
I remember eventually heading back home. Then all the stupid rituals were going full force: people bringing over food, seeing people I hadn't seen in years or even knew were still among the living (I didn't know my aunt Lois' first husband was still alive... nobody ever said anything about him), and figuring out that Glen was somehow a cousin on my father's side--which made why he was always at Auntie's house a little more clear, but was generally upsetting to realize I hadn't known he was a cousin for over 18 years.
Of course, the fun went on past the 16th, but I won't dwell on all those fun stories here. The important part is how I had the perfect chance to learn my lesson about being aware of how I feel while people are still alive, and failed miserably... and continue to do so to this day!
I remember that part, because I considered for a brief moment going to see Dad at the hospital. I can't emphasize enough how brief that moment was.
It seems to me someone from the family stopped by the store to let me know they were going to see him that day. It seems to me they were trying to give me a subtle hint to go see him.
But that may be the revisionist history part of my brain at work.
The last time I saw Dad alive was the day he went to the hospital. I won't bore you with the details (too late), and not just because many people had done the angry young man thing before me, and many have done it since, and most of them did it way better than me.
Short version: I honestly felt I felt nothing for the man.
I was driving down what I think is called Public Street in Center, but my mental name for it is "the-main-drag-that-isn't-Highway-19". I looked up and saw Wade flagging me down not far from the grocery store. I slowed down and rolled down the window. He walked up to my door and said, "Dad died."
I don't remember my response. I imagine it was a stupid question of the sort that always gets asked at these times. I just remember going home, not knowing what to do... not understanding why I felt anything. Mostly I was just being an 18-year-old going a little crazy, if you get what I'm saying.
After about five minutes (or maybe several hours) of trying to figure out what was wrong with me that I should have actual feelings for this man I'd resented for years for his terrible sin of being so much older than everyone else's father, I had to get out.
I headed to New London to my "other" parents (I've had so many sets of parents, and--not counting Say--I'd guess Les & Paulette were set number 4... Mom and Dad being 1, Mike & Judy Couch being 2, Tom & Toni Vanskike being 3...) and had a bit of a freak out, trying to figure out why I felt anything at all.
Yes, folks, loving me is the same as signing up for the occasional freakshow...
I remember eventually heading back home. Then all the stupid rituals were going full force: people bringing over food, seeing people I hadn't seen in years or even knew were still among the living (I didn't know my aunt Lois' first husband was still alive... nobody ever said anything about him), and figuring out that Glen was somehow a cousin on my father's side--which made why he was always at Auntie's house a little more clear, but was generally upsetting to realize I hadn't known he was a cousin for over 18 years.
Of course, the fun went on past the 16th, but I won't dwell on all those fun stories here. The important part is how I had the perfect chance to learn my lesson about being aware of how I feel while people are still alive, and failed miserably... and continue to do so to this day!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Best President's Day EVER
What a fine three-day weekend it has been. On the down side, I've missed a day of walking. On the up side... um...
Anyway, I hope everyone had a great Chinese New Year yesterday. I'm almost caught up on my grad school work, and plan to be totally caught up by Wednesday--actually, I'm caught up now, I hope not to fall behind on Wednesday when there's another deadline...
As I have mentioned elsewhere, tomorrow will be the 25th anniversary of Harland Gregory Riggs' passing. If I am up to it, I'll try to give a detailed account of the day--or as detailed as I deem appropriate. I'd make a poll about it, but I figure there's not enough time for word to spread across the internet that such an important poll is on my blog.
Right now I am basking in the world of the vertex, the focus, and the directrix. Ah, directrix, in raspberry red, lemon yellow, orange orange...
Since we're working with parabolas, I should parabobly be paying attention!
Oh, for fun.
By the way: there is so much MST3K stuff on youtube, and I was up so late the other night laughing my hind end off... that I could argue Heaven and our plane of existence are sometimes occupying the same space.
Anyway, I hope everyone had a great Chinese New Year yesterday. I'm almost caught up on my grad school work, and plan to be totally caught up by Wednesday--actually, I'm caught up now, I hope not to fall behind on Wednesday when there's another deadline...
As I have mentioned elsewhere, tomorrow will be the 25th anniversary of Harland Gregory Riggs' passing. If I am up to it, I'll try to give a detailed account of the day--or as detailed as I deem appropriate. I'd make a poll about it, but I figure there's not enough time for word to spread across the internet that such an important poll is on my blog.
Right now I am basking in the world of the vertex, the focus, and the directrix. Ah, directrix, in raspberry red, lemon yellow, orange orange...
Since we're working with parabolas, I should parabobly be paying attention!
Oh, for fun.
By the way: there is so much MST3K stuff on youtube, and I was up so late the other night laughing my hind end off... that I could argue Heaven and our plane of existence are sometimes occupying the same space.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Thinkin' About Thinkin'
I should just ask Brenda, as in my mind she is the one I hear singing that line (the one in the title of this post)... but my mind has often attributed cool-and-quirky things to Brenda just because she's one of my coolest-quirkiest friends, and not because she actually said them.
I am, however, pretty sure she is the person I suddenly and very non-sequiturously (it's a word, because I just made it up) turned to at Applebee's on night in the mid-to-late 80s and asked, "What's dot-dot-dash in Morse Code?" However, the quirky there was all mine.
Anyway, I am doing my Ed Psych homework (no, you're really not, Mark... you're typing on your blog which is so not your homework for Ed Psych) and one of the 8,000 topics I am to discuss this week is metacognition, which is thinking about how you think (and is also two words, according to the spell check on here, but is one word according to my text book... or textbook). Or, as the song goes: "Thinkin' about thinkin'!"
However, I don't know what the song is. Was it a Schoolhouse Rock thing? Was it something else? I really want to know. So if you know, let me know, and then I'll know. Know, know, Knanette.
Now I have to get back to work on my assignment, which means I'm going to go to bed.
I am, however, pretty sure she is the person I suddenly and very non-sequiturously (it's a word, because I just made it up) turned to at Applebee's on night in the mid-to-late 80s and asked, "What's dot-dot-dash in Morse Code?" However, the quirky there was all mine.
Anyway, I am doing my Ed Psych homework (no, you're really not, Mark... you're typing on your blog which is so not your homework for Ed Psych) and one of the 8,000 topics I am to discuss this week is metacognition, which is thinking about how you think (and is also two words, according to the spell check on here, but is one word according to my text book... or textbook). Or, as the song goes: "Thinkin' about thinkin'!"
However, I don't know what the song is. Was it a Schoolhouse Rock thing? Was it something else? I really want to know. So if you know, let me know, and then I'll know. Know, know, Knanette.
Now I have to get back to work on my assignment, which means I'm going to go to bed.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Walk Music Side Note
Somehow I have managed to put a song on my "Walk CD" that has a secret power over my legs.
Fortunately, it falls right about the time I'm ready to slow down to a near-crawl, so it helps me keep a decent pace... but still, it bothers me that I can't seem to resist the power of this song.
Brace yourself.
"Groove is in the Heart" by Deeee-Lite (and I don't know if I have the right number of "e"s in there or not).
This song comes on and my left foot insists on hitting the ground on the beat... and where the left foot goes, the right foot will follow.
I'm pretty sure this song wasn't on my "Walk Tape", but I think it needs to survive to the mp3 incarnation of the walk music...
A wiser person than me would probably do some research to find other songs I can't resist, although this power my be one that comes and goes, as "She Thinks She's Edith Head" by They Might Be Giants used to have a power like this over me, but no longer seems to do so. Also: TMBG's "Take Out the Trash" (which follows GIITH on the CD) also seems to have this power, which may one day kill me, because I'm walking uphill by the time this song ends.
In other "Walk CD"-related news: I seem to be walking more quickly. I'm getting home a full song earlier now. I wonder if that means I should add a half mile to my walk? I'll ask one of the P.E. folks at school for advice on that when I get back on Tuesday--if I remember.
Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Everybody be sure to do the very romantic thing and make sure your honey knows how much you love him or her on the day that every other couple around you is doing the same thing.
::sigh:: Ah, spontaneity...
Fortunately, it falls right about the time I'm ready to slow down to a near-crawl, so it helps me keep a decent pace... but still, it bothers me that I can't seem to resist the power of this song.
Brace yourself.
"Groove is in the Heart" by Deeee-Lite (and I don't know if I have the right number of "e"s in there or not).
This song comes on and my left foot insists on hitting the ground on the beat... and where the left foot goes, the right foot will follow.
I'm pretty sure this song wasn't on my "Walk Tape", but I think it needs to survive to the mp3 incarnation of the walk music...
A wiser person than me would probably do some research to find other songs I can't resist, although this power my be one that comes and goes, as "She Thinks She's Edith Head" by They Might Be Giants used to have a power like this over me, but no longer seems to do so. Also: TMBG's "Take Out the Trash" (which follows GIITH on the CD) also seems to have this power, which may one day kill me, because I'm walking uphill by the time this song ends.
In other "Walk CD"-related news: I seem to be walking more quickly. I'm getting home a full song earlier now. I wonder if that means I should add a half mile to my walk? I'll ask one of the P.E. folks at school for advice on that when I get back on Tuesday--if I remember.
Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Everybody be sure to do the very romantic thing and make sure your honey knows how much you love him or her on the day that every other couple around you is doing the same thing.
::sigh:: Ah, spontaneity...
Granny Weatherwax On "What Might Have Been"
I think sometimes things you really need to know are hidden in the books you read.
I was reading Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett the other night, and this jumped right out at me. To set the scene, the Archchancellor of Unseen University (the wizarding university) is talking with Granny Weatherwax. (Witches all agree they don't have a leader... and they all agree the leader they don't have is Granny Weatherwax.) When they were both very young, he came to the Ramtops for a visit and fell in love with her (and her with him, it would seem), but it didn't work out.
I do love most everything that Granny says or does--even if I have a hard time actually applying what she says to my life.
In other news, today was the day all the kids bring in Valentine's stuff for the teachers. Not my best V.D. haul ever, but I didn't make out too poorly.
I thought about typing up a little explanation of my photo-of-me philosophy, but I'd been meaning to post that excerpt for a couple of days now, so I opted to do that. Plus, my photo-of-me philosophy is: There's no sense hiding a bad picture of you, since the odds are you don't look perfect every moment of the day, anyway.
Heck, I've gone whole decades not looking perfect. Many of them, actually.
That's sort of why I find the photoblog of me so funny--because I think I'm just photogenic enough to not cause people to turn to stone upon looking at me. The thought of having a photoblog dedicated to "look at me" cracks me up. I do wish more people would take pictures of me, however. I just keep forgetting to ask people to do it.
If only I'd started that photoblog earlier. Things would have been perfect...
I was reading Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett the other night, and this jumped right out at me. To set the scene, the Archchancellor of Unseen University (the wizarding university) is talking with Granny Weatherwax. (Witches all agree they don't have a leader... and they all agree the leader they don't have is Granny Weatherwax.) When they were both very young, he came to the Ramtops for a visit and fell in love with her (and her with him, it would seem), but it didn't work out.
“Did you ever wonder what life would have been like if you’d said yes?” said Ridcully.
“No.”
“I suppose we’d have settled down, had children, grandchildren, that sort of thing...”
Granny shrugged. It was the sort of thing romantic idiots said. But there was something in the air tonight...
“What about the fire?” she said.
“What fire?”
“Swept through our house just after we were married. Killed us both.”
“What fire? I don’t know anything about any fire?”
Granny turned around.
“Of course not! It didn't happen. But the point is, it might have happened. You can’t say ‘if this didn't happen then that would have happened’ because you don’t know everything that might have happened. You might think something’d be good, but for all you know it could have turned out horrible. You can’t say ‘if only I’d..’ because you could be wishing for anything. The point is, you'll never know. You’ve gone past. So there’s no use thinking about it. So I don’t."
--from Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett
I do love most everything that Granny says or does--even if I have a hard time actually applying what she says to my life.
In other news, today was the day all the kids bring in Valentine's stuff for the teachers. Not my best V.D. haul ever, but I didn't make out too poorly.
I thought about typing up a little explanation of my photo-of-me philosophy, but I'd been meaning to post that excerpt for a couple of days now, so I opted to do that. Plus, my photo-of-me philosophy is: There's no sense hiding a bad picture of you, since the odds are you don't look perfect every moment of the day, anyway.
Heck, I've gone whole decades not looking perfect. Many of them, actually.
That's sort of why I find the photoblog of me so funny--because I think I'm just photogenic enough to not cause people to turn to stone upon looking at me. The thought of having a photoblog dedicated to "look at me" cracks me up. I do wish more people would take pictures of me, however. I just keep forgetting to ask people to do it.
If only I'd started that photoblog earlier. Things would have been perfect...
Friday, February 12, 2010
Not A Normal Day
I didn't go to work today. Not only that, but as the result of some sleep aid, I barely woke up at 7:00 to call it in (I scheduled it around 12:30 or 1:00 or so, but a call-in is still required (I think... they may have changed the policy and I missed the memo), and I didn't make it back awake after that until way later than I wish I had.
At any rate, the walk didn't happen this morning. It happened this evening... barely... I think it started on Thursday and ended on Friday--the bulk of the walk happening on Friday, even.
So the 365 (and then some) Days of ME blog photo for the day is probably the least pretty one of me, ever, as it is me just in from the walk. I can't decide if it's worse that the one you can see in the picture, which is a photo of me I keep on the fridge to remind me why I should regret whatever bad choice I just pulled out.
At any rate, I got the walk done, I'm ready for tomorrow's day of school (half day with the kids, other half is building-wide staff development), now I just need to squeeze in enough sleep to make it a good night's sleep. Oh, and I'm over a day late on this week's assignment for my class I'm in.
So it goes.
Anyway, feel free to vote on which picture you think is worse of me. I'm not making a new survey... you can just vote in the comments here or over there. And I'm not going to scan the other picture in so you can see it better. I can only stand so much shame in one night, people.
At any rate, the walk didn't happen this morning. It happened this evening... barely... I think it started on Thursday and ended on Friday--the bulk of the walk happening on Friday, even.
So the 365 (and then some) Days of ME blog photo for the day is probably the least pretty one of me, ever, as it is me just in from the walk. I can't decide if it's worse that the one you can see in the picture, which is a photo of me I keep on the fridge to remind me why I should regret whatever bad choice I just pulled out.
At any rate, I got the walk done, I'm ready for tomorrow's day of school (half day with the kids, other half is building-wide staff development), now I just need to squeeze in enough sleep to make it a good night's sleep. Oh, and I'm over a day late on this week's assignment for my class I'm in.
So it goes.
Anyway, feel free to vote on which picture you think is worse of me. I'm not making a new survey... you can just vote in the comments here or over there. And I'm not going to scan the other picture in so you can see it better. I can only stand so much shame in one night, people.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Dinner Dinner Dinner
There isn't a lot to report today. Just a shorter long day, really.
However, I had dinner at Jason's. And this made me start thinking about how many married friends have me over for dinner. Then I think I should have them over, but most of the ones I know also have kids, and that usually leads to them feeling it's easier to have me over.
I'm wishing there was a way I could work this into some sort of scam...
However, I had dinner at Jason's. And this made me start thinking about how many married friends have me over for dinner. Then I think I should have them over, but most of the ones I know also have kids, and that usually leads to them feeling it's easier to have me over.
I'm wishing there was a way I could work this into some sort of scam...
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Counterpoint: The Prospect Of Future Despair
Okay, fans and followers, sorry about that. I'll try to explain and then be my regular hiLARious self...
The nemesis of the Hope of Future Laughter is the Prospect of Future Despair. In my tired and weakened state (seriously, how many walking trips will it take before I start feeling good, already?) I made the mistake of looking into the future.
This is never a good thing--unless I'm looking forward to the day I can look back on my current hell and laugh and laugh and laugh.
Oh, sometimes it's good--if I'm looking forward to a visit, or one of my friends' kids graduation ceremony, etc., or that day I win Powerball and rule my little corner of my little universe...
But you get the idea. When I get super-tired, bad things happen--mainly to the happy-go-lucky lands in my head.
Also, I'm prone to crankiness due to this class I'm trying to keep up in... and failing to keep up in. So it goes.
Anyway, I was so tired I skipped my solo callback tonight. I had to get home. I want to be in bed sooner, rather than later. I have things to do tomorrow (for instance, this week's assignment is due by midnight, the budget stuff is due at school, and I have to finish grading a bunch of tests for progress reports going home on Thursday...) and I need to prepare for that tired.
The Prospect of Future Exhaustion. There's a new one!
The nemesis of the Hope of Future Laughter is the Prospect of Future Despair. In my tired and weakened state (seriously, how many walking trips will it take before I start feeling good, already?) I made the mistake of looking into the future.
This is never a good thing--unless I'm looking forward to the day I can look back on my current hell and laugh and laugh and laugh.
Oh, sometimes it's good--if I'm looking forward to a visit, or one of my friends' kids graduation ceremony, etc., or that day I win Powerball and rule my little corner of my little universe...
But you get the idea. When I get super-tired, bad things happen--mainly to the happy-go-lucky lands in my head.
Also, I'm prone to crankiness due to this class I'm trying to keep up in... and failing to keep up in. So it goes.
Anyway, I was so tired I skipped my solo callback tonight. I had to get home. I want to be in bed sooner, rather than later. I have things to do tomorrow (for instance, this week's assignment is due by midnight, the budget stuff is due at school, and I have to finish grading a bunch of tests for progress reports going home on Thursday...) and I need to prepare for that tired.
The Prospect of Future Exhaustion. There's a new one!
Monday, February 08, 2010
The Future Is Now (Or Now Was The Future At All Points On The Timeline Prior To Now)
I'm feeling very overwhelmed by the future right now. It's almost enough to make me not able to function at all.
Luckily I have all this stuff to do tomorrow, so my mind has things to take up space this ink-spill of despair might otherwise seep into.
Sometimes I'm very haunted by the fact I was in the back of an ambulance one day and I came to terms with what seemed at the time to be my imminent death. I'm haunted because it was such a calming feeling, unlike anything I'd felt up to that point, and I have such a hard time coming close to that feeling now.
We're all just so very alone, and it sucks to realize it, I suppose.
In other news, I will be getting up in about 6 hours and 10 minutes to do some walking. I'm hoping to spend most of that time sleeping--and maybe hitting the emotional reset button. Wish me luck!
(How odd is it I can feel this negative and still think, "But I need to be sure to get up and walk in the morning..."? What's that about? Freak.)
Luckily I have all this stuff to do tomorrow, so my mind has things to take up space this ink-spill of despair might otherwise seep into.
Sometimes I'm very haunted by the fact I was in the back of an ambulance one day and I came to terms with what seemed at the time to be my imminent death. I'm haunted because it was such a calming feeling, unlike anything I'd felt up to that point, and I have such a hard time coming close to that feeling now.
We're all just so very alone, and it sucks to realize it, I suppose.
In other news, I will be getting up in about 6 hours and 10 minutes to do some walking. I'm hoping to spend most of that time sleeping--and maybe hitting the emotional reset button. Wish me luck!
(How odd is it I can feel this negative and still think, "But I need to be sure to get up and walk in the morning..."? What's that about? Freak.)
Too Much Time Off My Hands
I have lots of thoughts about time right now--mostly thoughts about how I waste too much of it, even though it seems I have so little of it around to waste.
Also, I keep hoping a time machine will fall into my lap. Or near my lap, if it's a really big time machine.
I have often thought it would be great to be young again, but with the knowledge and what passes for wisdom in me that comes with some years out of junior high and high school. I've just always felt it would be nice to experience it again with an eye for what's important, which had little to do with what I thought was important the first time around.
Now I realize I'd be very lonely, because everyone around me would be worried about that not-important stuff, and plus, jacking with the timeline would mean I'd have to orchestrate meeting all the friends I have now, and who knows how that would go.
So maybe I wouldn't use the time machine to try to put my current mind in my junior high self. Maybe I'd just use it to stop time and try to get everything done that I need to get done--which would also be a lonely experience, unless I stopped team for other people as well... but eventually they'd want their other friends un-stopped, and so on, and then it's be just as easy to go ahead and let time run again.
Maybe I can spend the rest of my life inventing a time machine... and when I finally perfect it, I can go back in time and allow myself to do all the stuff I missed because I was too busy fretting about the past...
Also, I keep hoping a time machine will fall into my lap. Or near my lap, if it's a really big time machine.
I have often thought it would be great to be young again, but with the knowledge and what passes for wisdom in me that comes with some years out of junior high and high school. I've just always felt it would be nice to experience it again with an eye for what's important, which had little to do with what I thought was important the first time around.
Now I realize I'd be very lonely, because everyone around me would be worried about that not-important stuff, and plus, jacking with the timeline would mean I'd have to orchestrate meeting all the friends I have now, and who knows how that would go.
So maybe I wouldn't use the time machine to try to put my current mind in my junior high self. Maybe I'd just use it to stop time and try to get everything done that I need to get done--which would also be a lonely experience, unless I stopped team for other people as well... but eventually they'd want their other friends un-stopped, and so on, and then it's be just as easy to go ahead and let time run again.
Maybe I can spend the rest of my life inventing a time machine... and when I finally perfect it, I can go back in time and allow myself to do all the stuff I missed because I was too busy fretting about the past...
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Awake
I'm awake this late? Don't ask!
At any rate, I just wanted to officially chime in about the big game later: don't care.
Also: I might not make it to church, but I will be walking 2 miles sometime today.
That is all. Good night.
At any rate, I just wanted to officially chime in about the big game later: don't care.
Also: I might not make it to church, but I will be walking 2 miles sometime today.
That is all. Good night.
Friday, February 05, 2010
Tomorrow is going to be a full day. Currently scheduled:
5:30 a.m. - Wake up and go for a walk.
6:30 a.m. - Shower and get ready to head out
7:00 a.m. - Call Cody to see if he's ready to help Ruth move
7:15 a.m. - Head south to help Ruth move
8:00 a.m. - Help Ruth move
4:15 p.m. - Absolute latest I can return up North
5:00 p.m. - Absolute latest I can drop off Cody
6:00 p.m. - Friends arrive to hang out and enjoy the evening
11:59 p.m. - Absolute latest I can turn in this week's grad school work (which is mostly done, but needs tweaking)
Somewhere in there I need to make a couple of phone calls, and do some tweaking on the grad school work. I'm hoping the moving of Ruth doesn't take from 8:00 to 4:15, but if it does, I can deal.
Now I'm going to go to bed to read some Terry Pratchett (Lords and Ladies) and try to sleep. Feel free to call me at 5:30 to make sure I wake up!
5:30 a.m. - Wake up and go for a walk.
6:30 a.m. - Shower and get ready to head out
7:00 a.m. - Call Cody to see if he's ready to help Ruth move
7:15 a.m. - Head south to help Ruth move
8:00 a.m. - Help Ruth move
4:15 p.m. - Absolute latest I can return up North
5:00 p.m. - Absolute latest I can drop off Cody
6:00 p.m. - Friends arrive to hang out and enjoy the evening
11:59 p.m. - Absolute latest I can turn in this week's grad school work (which is mostly done, but needs tweaking)
Somewhere in there I need to make a couple of phone calls, and do some tweaking on the grad school work. I'm hoping the moving of Ruth doesn't take from 8:00 to 4:15, but if it does, I can deal.
Now I'm going to go to bed to read some Terry Pratchett (Lords and Ladies) and try to sleep. Feel free to call me at 5:30 to make sure I wake up!
Thursday, February 04, 2010
"Everything's Up To Date In Kansas City," My A**!
I walked two miles this morning. I was urged to only walk 1 to 1.5, but my brain refuses to walk unless there's a place to walk to. The closest thing I could think of was a nearby grocery store--or the closest thing that would be open at 5:30 (or 6:00, as it turned out) in the morning. It's a mile away from my house.
So, despite the fact it might be better to just walk around my neighborhood with no "halfway goal" in sight, I just can't do it. I walked up to Vivion, and walked down one side of it or the other until I got to the grocery store.
There's a sidewalk (of sorts) on Vivion. Both sides have a sort of asphalt approximation of a regular sidewalk. There weren't any major trip-up spots, unlike my old walking route in the Westport area, so that was nice. But once I get close to businesses, this sidewalk first became a "regular sidewalk," and then... disappeared.
Suddenly, there was just grass... and a freakin' bush. So for about five seconds I have to walk in the street, then go back to walking in grass. Fortunately, this is soon replaced with large rocks serving as a sort of giant gravel alternative.
If you ever find yourself north of the river in K.C. and singing "Everything's Up to Date in Kansas City," just stop by the intersection of Vivion and Chouteau and try to find a proper walking surface by the freakin' crosswalk!
My plan is to walk on days of the week that begin with an "S" or a "T". Let's see if I get 'er done on Saturday, eh?
So, despite the fact it might be better to just walk around my neighborhood with no "halfway goal" in sight, I just can't do it. I walked up to Vivion, and walked down one side of it or the other until I got to the grocery store.
There's a sidewalk (of sorts) on Vivion. Both sides have a sort of asphalt approximation of a regular sidewalk. There weren't any major trip-up spots, unlike my old walking route in the Westport area, so that was nice. But once I get close to businesses, this sidewalk first became a "regular sidewalk," and then... disappeared.
Suddenly, there was just grass... and a freakin' bush. So for about five seconds I have to walk in the street, then go back to walking in grass. Fortunately, this is soon replaced with large rocks serving as a sort of giant gravel alternative.
If you ever find yourself north of the river in K.C. and singing "Everything's Up to Date in Kansas City," just stop by the intersection of Vivion and Chouteau and try to find a proper walking surface by the freakin' crosswalk!
My plan is to walk on days of the week that begin with an "S" or a "T". Let's see if I get 'er done on Saturday, eh?
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
If My Superpower Isn't Laughter, It's The Hope Of Future Laughter
Here's the latest of my controversial opinions: 7th grade was a kind of hell.
I'll let you calm down so your anger at my obviously controversial opinion won't get in the way of hearing what I'm trying to say here.
I remember walking home from school (actually, walking home from the elementary school. where the buses would drop off the town kids), hating the misery that was my life. I remember cutting across Shawn's Grandma Great's front patch of yard to cut across our side yard to get to the back door of our house.
I remember it was a very warm afternoon. I remember thinking I couldn't stand how complicated and stupid everything was. I remember I was just entering our yard when I thought, "Someday I'll look back on all this and laugh."
You'd think it wasn't much consolation. I imagine if someone had approached me with it as a piece of advice, I'd have told them to go away, only with an f-bomb. But it did console me. The hope of future laughter was enough to make me think I could survive it all.
I can even remember what "it all" included: the thought I had to play football because Wade played football and Todd played football, and the thought that I just wasn't a football-playin' kind of guy (never had been, never would be, never will have never been (for you time-travelin' folks)). I was just starting to figure out who I was, and it was beginning to look like the world was a round hole, and all I saw when I looked in the mirror were the edges of what could only be a square peg.
I suppose what I was consoled by was simple hope. But to me that specific piece of information that I would look back on that moment and laugh... that made all the difference.
I got the super-power of persistent laughter from my mother. She was a big fan of saying, "You just as well laugh as cry," and I guess at some point it sank in.
For a long time, I thought everybody had this. I suspect most people do, as it seems to help to make stupid jokes when people are going through a rough patch (either that or they're too polite to hit me with a shovel to shut me up). But I've also found people who aren't able to think about these terrible times as something to be looked back on later.
To be truthful, there have been times that the hope of future laughter didn't kick in immediately. (I was about to say didn't work, but when I think back to these times, I realize I was too busy mourning my situation and looking backwards at what I should have done differently to think of that hope of future laughter.)
I don't know. I guess I put a lot of stock in laughter. I've been thinking about that a lot lately, and it made me think of that day in 7th grade... I've shared that story with some people in the past (sorry if it's a re-run for you), but I hadn't thought about it in such detail.
May your days be filled with laughter, or at least the hope of future laughter.
I'll let you calm down so your anger at my obviously controversial opinion won't get in the way of hearing what I'm trying to say here.
I remember walking home from school (actually, walking home from the elementary school. where the buses would drop off the town kids), hating the misery that was my life. I remember cutting across Shawn's Grandma Great's front patch of yard to cut across our side yard to get to the back door of our house.
I remember it was a very warm afternoon. I remember thinking I couldn't stand how complicated and stupid everything was. I remember I was just entering our yard when I thought, "Someday I'll look back on all this and laugh."
You'd think it wasn't much consolation. I imagine if someone had approached me with it as a piece of advice, I'd have told them to go away, only with an f-bomb. But it did console me. The hope of future laughter was enough to make me think I could survive it all.
I can even remember what "it all" included: the thought I had to play football because Wade played football and Todd played football, and the thought that I just wasn't a football-playin' kind of guy (never had been, never would be, never will have never been (for you time-travelin' folks)). I was just starting to figure out who I was, and it was beginning to look like the world was a round hole, and all I saw when I looked in the mirror were the edges of what could only be a square peg.
I suppose what I was consoled by was simple hope. But to me that specific piece of information that I would look back on that moment and laugh... that made all the difference.
I got the super-power of persistent laughter from my mother. She was a big fan of saying, "You just as well laugh as cry," and I guess at some point it sank in.
For a long time, I thought everybody had this. I suspect most people do, as it seems to help to make stupid jokes when people are going through a rough patch (either that or they're too polite to hit me with a shovel to shut me up). But I've also found people who aren't able to think about these terrible times as something to be looked back on later.
To be truthful, there have been times that the hope of future laughter didn't kick in immediately. (I was about to say didn't work, but when I think back to these times, I realize I was too busy mourning my situation and looking backwards at what I should have done differently to think of that hope of future laughter.)
I don't know. I guess I put a lot of stock in laughter. I've been thinking about that a lot lately, and it made me think of that day in 7th grade... I've shared that story with some people in the past (sorry if it's a re-run for you), but I hadn't thought about it in such detail.
May your days be filled with laughter, or at least the hope of future laughter.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Remembering Stuff Sucks
The down side to having a good memory for things like how irritating things adults said were when I was a teen is that now I'm an adult and realize how right the adults often were, I feel it's pointless to say most anything useful to a teen.
Here are the news highlights:
1. Dead squirrel. If you know my squirrel story, that makes sense to you. If not, no worries.
2. Did not audition for a solo. I figured there was only one I could sing very well, but realized there were others I hadn't really looked at very closely once I was there. I held out for the song I'd practiced, which turned out to be the last song of solo auditions. The first two people did the song way better than I ever could, and my philosophy there is: if someone sings in it a way you love hearing it sung, why would you go and sing it? Whatevs. I told Joe I'd sing one of the solos nobody was chomping at the bit for later if he needed someone and wanted to hear what I sounded like, but I figure they've got it all covered.
3. They're totally changing the way things are budgeted at school. Apparently I have to know all of the supplies I need for school next year by... I don't know, next week or something. This sorta thumbs its nose at the concept of "monitor and adjust", but I've been teaching long enough to know that the left hand doesn't care what the right hand knows about teaching.
4. I got a bad review from the instructor on my first posting for the current class. I was a little stressed until I saw I still scored 94.4% on the posting. Um, with scoring like that, who needs to work at it, eh?
Yeah, the answer is "me". I know.
Okay, I am going to get to bed. I've sorta made a deal with another person with an unhealthy habit that I'd start walking four times a week if this person gives up the unhealthy habit--or at least makes a very serious attempt to do so. We shall see. The important part if I have to get to bed at a decent hour tomorrow so I can get up to go walking on Thursday.
Here are the news highlights:
1. Dead squirrel. If you know my squirrel story, that makes sense to you. If not, no worries.
2. Did not audition for a solo. I figured there was only one I could sing very well, but realized there were others I hadn't really looked at very closely once I was there. I held out for the song I'd practiced, which turned out to be the last song of solo auditions. The first two people did the song way better than I ever could, and my philosophy there is: if someone sings in it a way you love hearing it sung, why would you go and sing it? Whatevs. I told Joe I'd sing one of the solos nobody was chomping at the bit for later if he needed someone and wanted to hear what I sounded like, but I figure they've got it all covered.
3. They're totally changing the way things are budgeted at school. Apparently I have to know all of the supplies I need for school next year by... I don't know, next week or something. This sorta thumbs its nose at the concept of "monitor and adjust", but I've been teaching long enough to know that the left hand doesn't care what the right hand knows about teaching.
4. I got a bad review from the instructor on my first posting for the current class. I was a little stressed until I saw I still scored 94.4% on the posting. Um, with scoring like that, who needs to work at it, eh?
Yeah, the answer is "me". I know.
Okay, I am going to get to bed. I've sorta made a deal with another person with an unhealthy habit that I'd start walking four times a week if this person gives up the unhealthy habit--or at least makes a very serious attempt to do so. We shall see. The important part if I have to get to bed at a decent hour tomorrow so I can get up to go walking on Thursday.
"I Can Make Love"
"I can make love," is not a sentence a 7th grade teacher wants to hear coming from a 7th grade student, especially when the student in question is saying this directly to him.
I mean, The Police have a song about this. And the police enforce laws about this. Also: ew.
However, this innocent lamb went on to show that if you enter 3^07 on a calculator and turn it upside-down, you have, indeed, "Made 'Love'," as it were. I'm pretty sure she had no clue what she said. A nicer teacher would have said, "That's great, but please don't go around telling people you can make love."
Oh, to be a nicer teacher...
I mean, The Police have a song about this. And the police enforce laws about this. Also: ew.
However, this innocent lamb went on to show that if you enter 3^07 on a calculator and turn it upside-down, you have, indeed, "Made 'Love'," as it were. I'm pretty sure she had no clue what she said. A nicer teacher would have said, "That's great, but please don't go around telling people you can make love."
Oh, to be a nicer teacher...
Monday, February 01, 2010
For Jhoneric: Do I Know You?
JEC used to ask that a lot. It was a fave. When we saw Winona Ryder ask it in the movie Dracula, I thought we were both gonna wet ourselves laughing.
Now I'm getting odd comments and people following my blog... and it's all good, global village, blogopshere, huzzah... but it's just odd to me. I mean, I'm pretty sure most people I know aren't reading this--so if there's not much to interest them here in what has become my daily ramblings...
But to each his or her own, eh?
However, I'm left to wonder a few things:
First, how are they finding this blog? Is there a blogroll somewhere that randomly plops blog entries into people's lives? I know there used to be something like that for photos posted on here. My thought is: if there is, maybe the fact I'm writing more just increases the probability someone will see something I've written and feel the need to comment on it. It's cool and all, but make sure it doesn't look like a spam post, folks, or it's outta here!
Second, how are those spam-esque comments making it on. I have that whole text-recognition-retype thingy turned on (I think). Am I wrong in thinking I've got that on (I just checked, and it appears to be on)? Somebody post a comment and let me know if you had to type the freaky word/sequence of characters, okay?
Whatevs. I'm up late because I was finishing grad school work. Last week's, that is. Tomorrow, I must get this week's up. Luckily there are only two modules for study this week. Last week had three, plus four articles and a slide show presentation. Blurgh.
P.S.: I didn't mean to say "odd people" up there in the second paragraph. I meant "people I don't know". Some of the comments have been odd (spammy), however.
Now I'm getting odd comments and people following my blog... and it's all good, global village, blogopshere, huzzah... but it's just odd to me. I mean, I'm pretty sure most people I know aren't reading this--so if there's not much to interest them here in what has become my daily ramblings...
But to each his or her own, eh?
However, I'm left to wonder a few things:
First, how are they finding this blog? Is there a blogroll somewhere that randomly plops blog entries into people's lives? I know there used to be something like that for photos posted on here. My thought is: if there is, maybe the fact I'm writing more just increases the probability someone will see something I've written and feel the need to comment on it. It's cool and all, but make sure it doesn't look like a spam post, folks, or it's outta here!
Second, how are those spam-esque comments making it on. I have that whole text-recognition-retype thingy turned on (I think). Am I wrong in thinking I've got that on (I just checked, and it appears to be on)? Somebody post a comment and let me know if you had to type the freaky word/sequence of characters, okay?
Whatevs. I'm up late because I was finishing grad school work. Last week's, that is. Tomorrow, I must get this week's up. Luckily there are only two modules for study this week. Last week had three, plus four articles and a slide show presentation. Blurgh.
P.S.: I didn't mean to say "odd people" up there in the second paragraph. I meant "people I don't know". Some of the comments have been odd (spammy), however.
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