Upon a Midnight clear

Damn, those company Christmas parties.

This year, I went to my company's party stag as Wifey was not feeling real well after fighting the CRUD for over a week. All told, the party was a great time. It was on a private floor of this multi- level drunk-plex, so when it came time to shut it down we could just go to one of the other levels. There were almost 20 of us having a great time so we kep-it-goin downstairs.

I was pimped-out pretty well in black on black (it's slimming, right?) with a deep gold shirt under the camel hair jacket. So I'm talking to a cohort from another division, drink in my right hand where it usually is, left hand in my pocket (where it usually is if I'm talking to someone on my left) and as I agree with what he's saying my head is nodding. I may have been nodding emphatically as a result of a good bass track thumping at the same time. Anywho- down the stairs comes this cougar (you know, she's on the prowl and looking for a fleshy target...) and as we were near the stairs I glanced in that general direction, my head still a-bobbing in the "yup, yer right, I hear ya" mode. The cougar says something indistinguishable- it might have been a warning, I couldn't see if her ears were back or not due to the seriously spiked 'do- and then she pounces, grabbing my arm and tearing my left hand outta it's resting place.

"YOU'RE MARRIED!!" the cougar screams. Yes, I am. Was this some sort of guessing game? Should I blurt out that she's divorced and dropped her kids off at the laundramat? Nah, that would spoil all the fun I think she had envisioned. So instead, I just asked if she was doing a poll or something. "You were trying to hook-up and you're married!" she screamed again. Oh- NOW I get it. A guy nodding means he's trying to screw you with his eyes. Wow, dating must be really hard nowadays. So I fight the cougar off and it scampers into the bushes to use the loo.

The cohort and I finish our conversation and maybe 5 minutes later the cougar springs unsuspectingly from the rocky ledge she must be walking nowadays, circling her prey. "I didn't mean to scare you" she purrs. "It's just you're the best looking guy here and you were nodding at me," she continues. [I need to clarify something for you folks: this place holds 1,500 people easy. There's 4 or 5 places to eat, most of which become some sort of nightclub. I'm on the high end of the age brackets present, my six-pack is usually in the fridge, there's NO way she's mistaking me for someone THAT good looking. But thanks for the positive stroke nonetheless.] The cougar is still circling distantly, both implying disinterest and looking for that one wrong move so she can strike again, hoping to fell her prey. "So can you dance?" This purr sounded breathy, but maybe I'm slurring her speech. Anyway, I tell her yeah, but I'm no good at it.

Apparently, that's what cougars prefer, as this one latched onto my wrist and dragged me out to the dimly lit dance floor. There also must be a specific way to dance with a cougar, cuz this one left no question as to where my hands were supposed to be: firmly planted on her ASS! Are you kidding me?! Where was this species of wild game back when I was in college? If that's not bad enough, when you lift your hand from a cougar's ass it uses its lightning-fast reflexes to bat your hand back onto its ass. Through all this uncomfortable time, I WAS able to find out that the cougar's got kids the same ages as mine (I still had to resist the urge to ask her what laundramat she dropped them off at, though!) As hints weren't striking their target, I distracted the cougar with the ol' "Coworker, five o-clock" warning. It worked perfectly: the cougar spun 180 to protect her booty- er, prey. Released from my bonds, my hands and I bounded back to the herd.


Now I know why the male members of the species are prone to that "I don't see nuthin' " gaze just above the heads of the crowd. I think it's got something to do with avoiding eye contact or playing dead or sumthin'. So fellas, protect yourselves. Never go to the watering hole alone, all eyes are on you. I'm one of the lucky ones- this rabid animal not only attacked prey in a crowd but she also attacked in the light. I learned from watching "Old Yeller" when I was a kid that only rabid animals will attack prey that's in the light of a fire or daylight.

Still counting my blessings-

Today's message

A pretty creative advertisement from the folks at Hobby Lobby. Have a great day, all!

Suicide just sucks, people!

Jazzy Jen sums it up best: horrible. I'm talking about the tragic suicide in the family of Indianapolis Colts head coach Tony Dungy, his own son! I can't imagine the pain they must be in. I grew up in the same town as Tony but never knew him as he was about 8 years older than I. My brother played against him in high school and I can only remember that he said he was quick. I remember how proud of him the town was as he moved into the college and professional levels. Tony was somewhat of a hero to me, such a successful person coming from my blue collar town; a town left behind by the auto industry. He was one of those few bright spots I recall growing up. It really is so sad that this kind of thing has happened to such a great person. Jen also posted this link to a well-written article on ESPN.com.

****************************************************
I know that many of you have been touched by suicide's suffocating tentacles at some point in your lives. If not, please count your blessings and then count them again because you are truly lucky. The anguish, doubt and rage you experience have few equals. I've lost more than I care to ever count: a good family friend, a woman I loved, and I nearly lost my sister, too. There were others I knew from high school but were not necessarily close to; each was one too many. Thankfully, I was spared the most grisly facets of their deaths as they did not occur when I was nearby; however the pain of not being able to pay my respects and mourn with the support of others affected by each loss will remain forever.

I am thankful, too, that I had 5 minutes to kneel beside, pray for, cry, and, well - SEE Mick's face one more time. I could not attend his funeral as my brother had literally JUST entered recovery that week, and my employer at that time would only allow me one day off. As much as it pained me to "abandon" their family at such a disastrous time, I felt that it would be better to be there for my brother, his life could still be saved. My family and Mick's were very close; our parents were the equivalent of "best friends" when you're in elementary school, so I knew him well. We were the same age, went to the same schools, and spent weeks during the summer at their cottage on Lake Michigan. The shadow of mental illness slowly set-upon Mick after his father died when we were in the 10th grade, and through the next 6 years it marched- growing steadily and without quarter- until his life ended that Friday in June.

I was in Albany visiting my fiance' that weekend, and clearly remember my Mom's voice- the hesitation and deep breath she took to brace herself- when she called to give me the news. I had heard that only once before when my couin's first child died from SIDS just minutes after he dropped him off at their daycare. "What's wrong?" I asked as I braced myself. Being locked into an arline itinerary, my only chance for visitation was Sunday evening after my flight got back. I was practically psychotic after my flight arrived early in the evening, I still had to get a taxi to my car, and then drive the 80 minutes back to our hometown.

I arrived in the fading twilight as the last family members were leaving and the director was actually locking-up for the night. I don't really remember parking my car, or closing the door, or even turning it off. I can only clearly remember hugging his sister and falling apart from the explosion of emotion and the thought of not arriving in time. Even after being allowed inside for a few minutes, . . . just not how I wanted to say goodbye.

Mick is buried in a rolling cemetary near where his father is also buried in a quiet corner under majestic old pines. When the wind moves through the trees it sounds as though the spirits are murmuring, yet I can't for the life of me make out their message.

****************************************************
I found out about Karan's death when I returned to college to start my second year. We had met and briefly dated the April before as the school year was finishing. Our plans for the summer took us in separate directions so things ended amicably enough. I ran into her roommate from the previous term and asked about Karan and was met with a simple "She didn't come back." I knew Karan was having a hard go of things that previous term so I just put it in my mind that she dropped out, another one shaken loose from the tree of higher learning. I was not prepared for the news her ex-roomie gave me later that night after she pulled me aside, telling me that there was something she wanted to tell me that afternoon but didn't feel it was the best setting. (Yeah, somehow it was better to pull me aside and break it to me easy when I'm half in the bag, and alone in the dark.) I can't be bitter though, she was very deliberate in not telling me that afternoon and I really can't imagine how heavy the burden of knowing what she did must have been. Poor timing aside, the flood of emotion she released by telling me was just plain huge.

I feel bad that I didn't know her family, that I've never made the time when I drive by her hometown to stop at the library and get the details about where they laid her to rest so I can visit and pay my respects, that the pain in her life was so great that she put the car in the garage and let it carry her to a better place, that her family didn't put an obituary in the paper so her friends could say goodbye, that THAT better place was where no one could ever see her again, that I could never see her again, hold her again, be intoxicated by her presence again, talk til a new day dawned again. Never, again.

Although there are many signs of trouble in someone's life, one of the hardest things to accept is that the average Jim, Jane and Jerry are not trained to see them and often NOBODY sees it coming, and that it is not their fault when someone they love attempts or commits suicide. You learn from it, but you can't let it kill you too because it is what they wanted, and they take careful steps to succeed. Often those that don't are crying out in pain. Before he died, Mick made a number of phone calls to various people, one to my brother asking if they could meet for lunch. Unfortunately he was unable to meet with Mick that day, and Mick died that night. Again- there was no way to see that Mick was saying goodbye, but it haunts my brother still.

Let those that you love KNOW it, help those that need it, respect those that are suffering from mental illness and learn more about it to help reduce the stigma and the shame.

Flippin Idiots

I am a candidate for Road Rage Class.

The scene: Saturday, 6pm. I'm late for the company Christmas party, Wifey was a late dropout due to the CRUD from hell still lingering so I was behind the 8-ball after calling the sitter to cancel (Wifey's choice, really!) So, I'm driving these city streets a bit fast, and come up behind a Chevy Abortion van (some call it the Astro, but have you ever ridden shotgun in the damn thing? WHERE does your right foot go?)

Anyway, the Chevy is doing 25, tic-toc-tic-toc I'm going nuts, but the thing shows me the light of day as it angles to the right curb while approaches a corner. "Ahhhh, finally the bugger's gonna make a right and get outta my way" I think to myself as I ease a bit left to clear its back bumper. Then, just as my car noses past his back bumper I see the left tail-light blink and the fecker's car is edging- no, turning- left, HARD!

Oh no you don't! Keep edging left and lay on the horn (the road was slippery with lake-effect grease, there was no way I would have been able to stop.) So, after I get my car under control I see in my mirror he's wiggling a bit, stops for a moment, and then hits the brights and guns after me. That's all I need.

He comes right up on me, flashes, etc., and tails me for a few miles. Really, what did he hope to accomplish? Lesson learned: give the ghetto cruiser plenty of time to make up his meth-head mind and stay back, WAY back.

Drive safe, all.

Peace~

KUDOS, MENUDOS

Gotta give props to the GVSU Football and Volleyball teams, capturing Division II National Championships on consecutive Saturdays. The ladies went to the hostile confines of Kearney, NE last weekend and beat the #1 ranked Nebraska-Kearney team on their home court. Not to be outdone, the men followed-up this weekend by winning the National crown for the 3rd time in 4 years, besting Northwest Missouri State by a score of 21-17.

Both Wifey and I earned our degrees from Grand Valley, and it's amazing to see this school progress from what was a 5,000 student population back in tha day (ok, late 80's for those counting) to a burgeoning student body somewhere north of 23,000 today. They say they want to stay in Division II, but I'm beginning to wonder what the NCAA has to say about that relative to the student population.



KUDOS ALSO TO THE BEARCATS OF NORTHWEST MISSOURI-----

Those guys played a great game. I honestly think they outplayed GVSU, especially when you consider that their student body is half the size of GVSU's (but GVSU has a large graduate program as well as regional campuses.) NWMSU barely made the playoffs with a record of 6-3, and then opened up a six-pack of whup-ass as they pounded their way through Division II's playoff bracket (who needs a BCS, anyway?) This team was inspired, and played all-out straight on football with awesome running, passing, catches and big-league hits that made me cringe from the comfort of the cushy furniture at my brother's house (great job hosting, bro'!)

The Bearcats fell just short, dropping a go-ahead touchdown pass in the end-zone and then two plays later completing a pass to the 4 yard line as time thankfully ran out. I think winning meant more to the Bearcats as they had tasted the National Championship twice before in 1998 and 1999; their vengeful march through their playoff bracket a strong testament to their capabilities. I almost feel that the Lakers 'escaped' with a victory, and would like for them to play for the National Championship again in 2006 to settle the matter. As the seniors on each team would no longer be there it wouldn't be the same, but you know what I mean.

So congrats to the Bearcats, they done good this year. And, I finally was able to see my alma mater take 'em on after a couple of near-misses. To next year: huzzah!

Picture time

Today's post is motivated by Tiffany. Visit, and often.

Her assignment was to post a picture from your youth. I just happened across some a few days ago, so this one was easy. Here goes. . . . . . .




Handsome l'il devil, huh? Look at the stylish, Metrosexual turtleneck and hairstyle. What a hottie!!

Season's Greetings and Happy Holidays to all.

Thanksgiving?! What Thanksgiving?

So yeah, it snowed like the bajeezus on Thanksgiving. Got the kiddies all worked-up into a frenzy, building snow bunkers under European Horn Bean trees (STILL holding onto all their leaves! Wretched Europeans. . . . . . ) the Christmas tree assembled and decorated, outdoor trimmings installed, and good behavior oooozing from their pores. The l'il cherubs!

This evening, under balmy springtime temps (you should see the weather man's color bars indicating the 40 degree drop in temps between here and Minnesota,) all the snow has melted except a few of the bumps which WERE the protective walls of the "West Side" bunkers. There's no sign of the "East Side" bunkers across the street, I think they scrammed under cover of night. . . .


Hey!

Did'ja hear??? Dumb-ass Matt Millen spackled another layer of Desitin on his whiney-hiney and fired Mariucci. Gotta love the fine folks in the Ford family for giving that bloated dork a 5 YEAR extension on his contract. (For the liberals out there who might be sports challenged, Millen is the equivalent of a fat George W.) Unbelievable. It's time for Old Man Bill to end our suffering and park his car in the garage with the engine running while talking strategy with Millen about how to build the perfect submarine sandwich.

Of course, to make it up to the Ford family, I have to give credit where credit is due. Have you seen this car?

Love it. Lovett? LUV. IT.

Of course, purchasing one would go against my self-proclaimed pragmatism whereby I WILL NOT purchase another new car. In my defense, we've outgrown the Focus. Yep, absolutely outgrown it. No way that little car can possibly meet our needs any more. Nope, gotta pull a Jefferson and move on up. Sometime.

So them's my bumps. See y'all down the road, Jack!

Open your mind

Checking-up on Storm's vaca, and she reports that she done went to a sooth-sayer. You know, a seer, diviner, prophetess, clairvoyant, medium, (ok- that's pushing it a bit. Did you see her picture?? No? Check again. Gaze into those eyes and I'm butta', I tell ya!) mind reader, mitt reader, oracle. Ya got guts, Storm (that's sisu to you Finns oot dere in da UP.) No, check that. Cojones.

I mean, that's like letting someone rifle through your underwear drawer. There's just too much for them to find out. (I'm talking about mine, not yours. You know what I mean. I hope.) Not even most trusted friends have access there, let alone a master mind-bender.

I've had 3 brushes with Clare Voyant, and it was like The Three Bears: this one's too hot, this one's too cold, and this one's juuuuust right. Please, I beg you, allow me to put it in bruinilogical order for you.

Scene 1- Cut to 1992, young DINNKs (double income, no kids) being jetted to glitzy, glorious Merrilville, IN so Wifey can interview with large conglomerate. Jimmy was out of sorts on this trip, a fish out of water. First of all, I had to swallow my pride; this would make our life "unconventional" in the Ward and June Cleaver sense of things. Next thing hard to shake was that feeling that Mitchell McDeere had in The Firm when he started to pick up on how the firm does everything for you (and this was BEFORE the movie came out.) While Wifey interviewed and tested, they had a realtor drive me around to see some areas (Valpo was nice), and a feeling of dread came over me when I saw something: a gated community. Things started clicking in my mind about something I had heard from a coworker who hit the fleece markets in Northern Indiana quite a bit, something about a pretty heavy supremacist area nearby, complete with their own "force". The guard shack at the gate definitely gave you the creeps. After I got back to the hotel, I needed to veg- but didn't want to hang in the room (THEY might be watching!) SO- wandering the lobby I come across a lady who interprets your handwriting. I will just say that it was pretty frightening how quick she was. But I will admit to not having a game-face on like Storm did. I don't play Texas Hold-em, for a very good reason.


Scene 2- Same DINNKs are in Chicago for a baseball weekend with mucho amigos. Doing the pub crawl from Wrigley Field back to Lincoln Park, we start hitting the pubs on Halstead and wander into the Corner Pocket. As luck would have it, just before we got there there was a fortune teller working a folding table at the corner. The girls saw it, and you could tell the train-wreck was on. We weren't in the pub for 5 minutes and they were pacing like a Yorkie on a windowsill hearing the faucet running after drinking a bottled water. It was killing them, so off they went. 20 minutes later they're back. And they're not talking. 2 of them got the bad news that "they're not the one". Wifey was told of our reproductive future. 1-2-3 I'm Out!


Scene 3- We're in college, so we're not DINNKs yet. Campus Life has a funnier-than-shit comedian/hypnotist in to work his magic on a Thursday night (I think his name was Tom DeLuca. If so, props to Tom!) I'd been hypnotized before, and needed no convincing of its capabilities. It's extremely powerful. But to see what he could do to those poor unsuspecting folks, how he could make them think they're completely naked up on stage at the mere utterance of a single word, or that they've caught the biggest marlin ever and they've got to reel. it. in. with. all. their. might. Mmm-mm. Nope. I'll just do some mescaline if I want to have my mind outta my body like that.

So that's the hot, cold, and juuuust right of it. The bad and the ugly was back in high school after a good family friend died when I was in 10th grade. Some time later, I heard that one of his daughters had been to a card reader months before he died and Clare Voyant flipped a death card or some Yu-gi-oh super power card like that. The card stopped her cold, she had a vision that she could see her with her sisters looking down and crying, and it seemed that they were kneeling.

He died of a massive heart-attack on the dance floor at a daughter's wedding. The family has been nearly destroyed since that time: suicide, drunkicide, etc. I wonder, what else did she see? Did she tell her everything? Did she see that his own brother would steal everything from their firm and leave his sister-in-law a pauper, with two still in school? Or did she see death's grip in his own family's future and remain silent, perhaps with the crooked grin seen on so many gypsy's faces in bad movies through the years?

For certain, I will never know. I'm still sorting issues, folding them neatly, and tucking them away in my underwear drawer.

In a BlogFog, and I can't find my dog

Wow, am I tardy. It's been what, two and a half weeks? During which time I've served myself heaping portions of all y'alls updates and gotten long in the tooth with my comments, but just couldn't come up with the time to git-r-dunne myself. It's like this: I'm tired. (My mind immediately shifts gears and I'm picturing Madeline Khan in a hot little number complaining about the thousands of men- again and again -all the coming and going, going and coming. . . [ let's face it, I'm tired.] She did that role so well. I miss her.)

SNAP! Back to reality- Things are piling up, had mucho travel in September/October/now, which means work piles up in the office and at home, Wifey and I were both gone last week (although Grandma of course attacked the laundry demon growling behind the pocket door, thanks Ma,) it's the busy season now so piles grow quicker than you can imagine, P-T conferences were today, Wifey's going "shopping" this weekend with the girls-in-laws, Good Buddy's moving, Li'l Bro's building a house, the Sibling Syndicate is debating when to have the family get-together for Christmas, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGHHHHHHHHH!

I'M JUST LIKE YOU PEOPLE!!! (Most of you, anyways. Except I'm not quite as pre-occupied about sex as some of you seem to be. I am giving HNT some thought though. But that's all. Nothing more. Feel free to keep writing your stuff though, I think I'm going to learn a thing or three. Just don't stop. Just don't. Don't stop. )

So, the pic above is fog rolling-in along the shores of the Holy Water. Apologies for it being shot through the window screen, but it was damn damp outside at the time. I thought of it immediately when the word "fog" came to mind for this post's title.

CANCER-LIKE UPDATES
Brave Little Niece continues to do well, and is just now getting out of the wheelchair. I still can't believe they don't put casts on kids for this kind of injury, especially with them removing material from the tumor and the cyst. The leg just can't be that strong with all that bone excavated out. She is a trooper, though.

The bad news is a co-worker's son will now have to have his leg amputated. He had a bout with bone cancer, had treatments and a section removed, surgery to put a steel shaft in its place, grueling PT to get used to the thing, and now the leg is basically dead. Little circulation, no feeling, and prone to serious infection. Thankfully, there is still no sign of cancer, but geez! How much more can they take? Stay strong-

OFFICE CHAT, 'N SHIT
I just love our new IM at the office. I didn't think I would, but recently I spent a day at home and brought work with me. It's lengthy, but hey, you've stayed with me this long. The beginning is clipped off (I had to jump from a 2 person to 5 person session). . .

ME/... (Imagine Beavis&Butt-head voice)
Hm-hm-hm ha-ha. You said "hard", heh-heh-heh. you're 5
minutes too late.
ME/...
ME/... Is there anybody out there?
G #1/... where to busy laughing
G #1/... do you like my grammer!
ME/... Yeah, and your grammar's good too!
G #1/... I give up! I'm going back to the first grade.
BOSS LADY/... james james, what are you doing?
ME/... I've never met your Grammer. Is she nice? Wifey's
Granny was a terrific person, I bet your Grammer is too.
ME/... What do you mean, BOSS LADY?
G #2/... OK off the subject, So jimmy, if you get your work
done in the growler before 4, are you going to take the
offsppring in?
BOSS LADY/... you took the day off just so you could email and i/m?
ME/... Did [Vampiress] show up with the proper bagelage?
G #1/... Yes...[Vampiress] know's how to makes us happy!
ME/... No, I doubt I will bring the kids in. First, Girl M
doesn't get out until 3:50 or so. Then, how to go all the way
home and then be back at the CAN-tina in time for FORMER CO-WORKER's
send-off?
G #2/... what;s taking you so long jimmy?
ME/... Growler masterpieces can't be rushed, G #2.
G #2/... are you going to take a picture?
ME/... you know I don't work well under pressure
G #3/... What's this about the brown trout?
ME/... Picture??? I didn't know you cared. Maybe I can
work up another masterpiece and send a pic later
G #3/... Are the kids in the pool yet?
ME/... I sent the li'l bastards up the river.
G #3/... Ah, the magic of technology.
ME/... So glad you joined the party G #3
G #3/... I'll here for ya.
ME/... Has she seen all the earlier messages?
G #3/... No. Sniff...
G #1/... that's o.k. she doesn't need to bother.
G #3/... I think I know what the topic is....
ME/... G #1's being a party "pooper"
G #3/... ...one of my favorite.
BOSS LADY/... it's like a regular friday around here. james
might not be here physically, but in spirit. No, I don't think
she can see past notes, only what is typed after she gets here.
funny she knew what we were talking about.
G #3/... s.
ME/... h
ME/... i
G #3/... i
ME/... t
G #3/... t
BOSS LADY/... grammer again
ME/... quit reading my mind
G #1/... leave me alone!!
G #3/... OK. Back to the main topic....Plop
plop....fizz...fizz..oh what a relief it is...
ME/... yes, very refreshing
G #3/... So did you dress up as a BROWN M & M today?
BOSS LADY/... is Wifey home?
ME/... nope x 2
G #3/... p
G #3/... a
G #3/... r
G #3/...
G #3/... t
G #3/... a
G #3/... y
ME/... woo-hoo!
BOSS LADY/... have you started drinking yet?
G #3/... Yes, I have. Thanks for asking.
G #1/... We thought it would be fun to start in the office, but
didn't think it was a good idea with the kiddies coming in.
ME/... What shows do you guys need updates on, I can give you
the play-by-play
G #1/... What happened on Dr. Phil?
BOSS LADY/... oprah too.
G #2/... I have to stay for the kiddie haloween party clean
up . bah.
ME/... I dunno. Ellen, Montel, or Maury. A rerun of The Nanny
is on also. (nasal laugh goes here)
ME/... boot the brats out at 5!
BOSS LADY/... work question here james, do you want me to tell
[HQ] to keep the [customer] spec?
ME/... Ummmmmm. . . . yes, for now. They're still selling the
things.
G #2/... wokr? Jimmy's on vacay right now. give the guy a
break.
BOSS LADY/... okay, now, back to booting out the brats.
seriously, that needs to end at 4:30
ME/... Ooooooh! Maury's got Disturbing Paternity Test Results.
Looks like a winner!
G #3/... Yet another reason not to be on the Activities
Committee...G #2, you gotta resign...soon.
G #2/... Give examples. any alien fathers?
ME/... hang on, waiting for the damn colortyme comercial to end.
BOSS LADY/... or was the father really the uncle?
G #1/... better yet the brother
G #2/... Oh- you don't need to give me reasons not to be on
the committee. I m well aware of them, and I'll be retirirng at
the end of the year.
ME/... That's "better", G #1? You've been up in [PODUNK] too long. . . .
G #1/... I hate this thing. I want spell check added.
G #2/... oh - but deciphering is half of the fun
ME/... 3 months ago Sharnita's life fell apart. Today, she's
100% sure that Alfonzo's the father.
BOSS LADY/... and? is she correct?
G #2/... oh dear. how's alfonzo taking it?
ME/... c'mon, you know we'll have to wait until the end for the
answer.
ME/... Alfonzo's thuggin'
G #1/... Any hitting or climbing over chairs yet
G #2/... slow down guys - BOSS LADY needs to eat
G #3/... James, let us know when there is a commercial so we
can go and smoke. Thanks.
G #3/... I NEED A SMOKE.
ME/... 'Fonzo sez she cheated on him. Well, he's more like
yelling. "I aint no foo! I. AM. GONE!"
BOSS LADY/... did he leave?
G #2/... so are you letting us smoke?
G #2/... and eat?
BOSS LADY/... i'm going anyway.
ME/... "even if this child is mine, that means he was 'hittin'
it' at the same time!"
ME/... Sharnita's turned her back on him. It's getting edgy.
I can't watch.
G #3/... We'll be right back James. Be strong.
ME/... OH WAIT!
BOSS LADY/... the other guy is there, right?
G #3/... Wha?
G #2/... jimmy - don't get too involved. this is the kind
of story that willo break your heart.
ME/... He's the father of of the 2 year old, but not the 8
month old.
BOSS LADY/... who is? Fonzo?
ME/... Yup. got the last word, too. "You can't turn a ho
into a housewife."
ME/... Even Maury's powers can't match 'Fonzo.
ME/... OVER.
ME/... AND.
ME/... OUT!

Media Just Don't Understand

Will Smith rulez. Props and homage to Will. If you can't quite catch my meaning, just ask.

Down to business: my browser's(go Firefox!) home page is MyWay.com. When I opened it today, one of the "Top News" headlines was "Storm continues to Last Mexican Coastline". This, of course, set my right eyebrow raising in the sarcastic way that it often does when I see the media goof something up. I think I'm a bit OC about this, too. (No, I don't mean to imply that I'm like Peter Gallagher's character on a certain TV show. I mean OC as in OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.) I don't quite understand why I'm this way about goofs from the media. Maybe it's the way that they present themselves sometimes, omniscient lords gracing the lower masses with their wisdom and wit.

Anyway, below is the beginning of the page which appeared when I followed the link (http://apnews.myway.com//article/20051023/D8DDOL8G2.html):

"Storm Continues to Last Mexican Coastline

Oct 23, 9:05 AM (ET)

By WILL WEISSERT

CANCUN, Mexico (AP) - Hurricane Wilma drifted northward away from the Yucatan peninsula Sunday, but furious winds and rain were still punishing Mexico's Caribbean coastline, where the storm killed...."

Now, I was certain that the headline was meant to read: "Storm continues to LASH Mexican Coastline", and I wanted to immediately send a message to Mr. Weissert and ridicule him for mixing his words up in that headline. For a number of reasons I didn't do this. One is that there's no "Send a scathing e-mail to author" button on most news web pages. Another reason is that many headlines are not written by the author of the article, but rather another staffer at the outlet. (At my local paper they are masters of all that is CORNY. To wit: "U-M uncovers field of gleams" and "MSU heads south, losing to Northwestern". Need I say more?) Finally, being quite a self-doubter at times, I decided to look up the definition of "last" at yourDictionary.com and one definition gave me pause, at least for a little bit. It was a verb meaning to continue on, or to survive.

When you look at it one way it could have been meant to say that the hurricane is "surviving" its brush with the Yucatan peninsula, which- since it is still a hurricane- it is. On the other hand, it would mean that it continues to continue, which seems a bit deliberate, even for the media. Especially when you consider the opening sentence where the wind and rain were still "punishing" the coastline, it's pretty apparent that "lash" was the intended word. So, AP, congratulations. You've got a dolt on staff who's succeeded in feeding many of your subscribers (including ABC News) your mistakes.

http://apnews.myway.com//article/20051023/D8DDOL8G2.html
http://abcnews.go.com/International/wireStory?id=1241616


On a completely separate note, here's one for the folks at Parents behaving badly. Oh, wait! They're on the case already! What WILL we think of next? And here I was worrying about my 8 year old daughter's attire (she's real skinny, so she rolls her sweat-pant waistband down. It's just that you can see her bloomers when she's got them rolled down far enough to hold the pants up.) Or am I being obtuse?

A quick poll & some great news

Good News: Results are negative! Whattarelief! Long recovery ahead while her leg heals where things were removed, and the poor girl has 3 scars on her leg from the surgery. I just hope that's the only scars that result from this. I truly want to thank all of you for keeping fingers crossed and warm thoughts pointed her way. That fabled "kindness of strangers" is a great thing.

Poll:
Okay, I'm spoiled by a broadband connection and I know it. When traveling for work, I have to check e-mail and do my work duties through a dial-up connection and I grit my teeth the whole time. But this made me think (I know, a RARE occurrence!) What percentage of the visitors to my world here are coming via dial-up connections? I'm wondering if the hotcodez videos are annoying to you dial-uppers? If not a dial-upper, do they bother you anyway? Is there a cooler way to refer to the dial-uppers? I need some new slang.

Next question: How many of you are blogging while at work? Be honest, I promise not to tell!

Just checking in/News/Tagged!

In the midst of my Not-in-my-bed-for-3-consecutive-Saturdays weeks of business travels and family commitments, I wanted to check in with alls y'all on the list shown on the right. My second stop was Randi (the list order is randomized, so you're EACH at the top of my speed-dial) and wouldn't you know it, the filly tagged me. Now I've got homework!

But before I get into that, I'm yankin' on the prayer chain for those of you who partake in such an activity for a couple of reasons: #1) I lost another Auntie M, actually my Grand Aunt on my father's side. She was a strong woman of great stature who raised my father's cousin on her own as her husband died very early-on. (I was not aware of that fact until the memorial service!) Your thoughts will help her family as they work through the grieving process. Thanks-

#2 is a bit more serious. (Ironic, I know. How much more serious is there than the death of a loved one? My view is that the death can't be undone, so focus your strength and energy on healing and helping.) My step-niece, a beautiful girl all of 10 years old, knows how to sew, takes violin lessons, extremely compassionate. . . one of those souls that you get the feeling has walked this earth before. Last weekend she was at a skate park celebrating her birthday and broke her femur (that's the largest bone in your body, located in your upper leg. It doesn't break all that often.) X-rays showed a tumorous growth, so they operated Monday morning to remove the tumor and found a cyst along the way. The jackass doctor had the balls to discuss options-- should the biopsy show a malignancy-- while in front of the young girl. You know, the comforting words like "chemo", "radiation therapy", and "additional surgery". If that wasn't enough, he threw in "amputation" for good measure.

Are. You. FUCKING! Kidding. Me?

So, things around this large family are quite a bit edgy right now. Although the surgeon did say that the material removed did not appear malignant, it will take 10 days for the results of the biopsy. I just hate the big C, for I've only known 2 to survive brushes with it. It took a wonderful neighbor in less than 8 weeks, and my beloved Aunt M after just 4 months. One angel was already called back this year, they don't need another one. Not THIS one.


Back to Randi's assignment:

The Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

The sentence: -S'mores.

The meaning: One of the many things from our vacation this summer.


My victims: Mike the Hick, Shandi, The Amateur Dad (cuz he doesn't have enough on his hands), Jaime (cuz she doesn't have enough on her hands, YET!), and finally, Funny Mike (who doesn't do tags but I'm givin' him the shout out b/c he's just danged funny. And because my paperperson won't deliver the Conschohocken Recorder, so I've no way to support Mike financially [but his friends keep calling and asking anyway])

Gotta run. You be good!

Goals

This pic sort of sums up the past weekend, positive scores in many ways. The boy's team did well, as this shot of him scoring shows. Daughter's team didn't fare so well, they were trounced by what seemed to be an army of mutant 7&8 year-olds fed nothing but genetically engineered hybrid corn and hormone-laced milk. These kids were giants, plain and simple, and the flatfooted Sonics were absolutely no match for them.

No matter. Once back home the party began in honor of our daughter and some cousins. Oh, Michigan State was on the TV, too. We had the house properly decorated with just the right touch of Spartan support (you know, flag, wind sock, grill cover, shirt on my back. . . ) Many of my B-I-Ls are UofM fans, so I needed to extend the proper hospitality to them of course. And the TV was readily available if they needed/wanted to check-in on the score of the Michigan/Wisconsin game (hint: they weren't happy campers.) But that's not important.

The kids all enjoyed themselves immensely; what with badminton, volleyball, rasslin', gamin', eatin', singin'- you get the idea. They did what cousins do: catch up with each other in their busy, 14-and-under lives, see their grandparents, eat cake-and-ice-cream-and-chips-and-dips-and-veggies-and-fruit-and-nuts-and-sodas-bubble-gum and if I could think of anything else I'd type that too! They burned off some pent-up energy as they last got together about 6 weeks ago, and reaffirmed the various bonds that develop as you grow-up separate but alongside family. Heck, they even drew names for Kris Kringles already. Could you get kids any more wound up? Too fun!

So- now that they're all fired-up- I'm skipping town on Monday for an overnight trip, and I won't have a Saturday night in my bed until October 22. I just hope they're good for Wifey, it's hard to lower the boom over the phone- especially when they're in a trance watching TV or playing a game.

Have a great week everybody. Set, then reach your goals!

What to do when you can't report much

Gotta love the Blogthings:

This one got it wrong. James/Jim is Jimu in Japanese. Dorks! But I do know how to use chopsticks (AND I can play them on the piano. D-Definitely time for Wapner)

Your Japanese Name Is...

Akio Yamashina

What's your Japanese Name?

This one doesn't match me perfectly, but neither does my color scheme. It's SORT-OF yellow, though.

Your Blog Should Be Yellow

You're a cheerful, upbeat blogger who tends to make everyone laugh. You are a great storyteller, and the first to post the latest funny link. You're also friendly and welcoming to everyone who comments on your blog.

What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?

Do people really say "Mack Daddy" any more? Holla back, y'all!

Your Daddy Is Arnold Schwarzenegger

What You Call Him: Pops Why You Love Him: He's the Mack Daddy

Who's Your Daddy?

Your Personality Profile

You are elegant, withdrawn, and brilliant. Your mind is a weapon, able to solve any puzzle. You are also great at poking holes in arguments and common beliefs. For you, comfort and calm are very important. You tend to thrive on your own and shrug off most affection. You prefer to protect your emotions and stay strong.

The World's Shortest Personality Test

SEPT 19: TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY

Dang-it all, I missed it again! 9/19 is the worldwide, international Talk Like a Pirate day, and I didn't find out until five-tharrrty tonight. In honor of the wondrous occasion, I have unmasked the plundering "Privateer Orange Arse". Not sure about the orange arse, b/c if it was, me lad would be goin' t' the doctor.

Jim , your pirate name is
Privateer Orange Arse

What is YOUR pirate name?


Another generator gave me the name: "Almost-Crazy Butch Grimm" Now THIS guy sounds more like a rum-drinkin scurvy dog! Go now, buckos. Ye best be gettin t' plunderin'!

MSU 44 ND 41 Are you kidding me?!

To my Irish friends, I feel for ya. Honest! Think back to last Halloween, MSU was beating Michigan pretty well, at least until the mir-frickin-aculous Wolverine comeback. Does this sound familiar? No? Ok, how about this? Triple fucking overtime. Does that ring any bells? So yeah, I been there.

BUT NOW IT'S OUR TURN!! WOO-HOO! And to win it the way we lost to Michigan last year.

Yes, Virginia. There is a God!

Pit Viper

I love working in an office, really I do. The building I work in houses 3 divisions, plus a warehouse. It's great, full of disgruntled employees and way too many incompetent managers. Add to this a huge mix of "temporary" employees. "Temporary" meaning our company's too cheap to step up to the plate and offer them benes like they should.

One of the unfortunate benefits of having so many "temps" around is the mistakes they make. You see, where I work is right outta Wisteria Lane, except t'aint no one near as good lookin' as you see on TV. When a newcomer arrives, there's a whole subdivision which circles their prey, not offering an ounce of assistance, but for sure loaded for bear when that poor newbie crosses a line. Any line. Line in the sand, line on your forehead, lunch line, you name it. It usually starts out with an incredulous "Didn't you know?!" Well duh! How could they? There isn't ONE training manual in the fargin' place. And you've gotta love a company whose employee handbook is a PDF file on a network drive.

That said, I just HAVE to share with you a typical e-mail pounce by one of our Queens. She has an incredible wit, and is sharp as hell. Let me set the scene: the original message is from the latest H.R. temp to split the fold. She lasted all of about 2 months. Young, might have had a degree, and spent a-lot of time planning a wedding. . ..

I just wanted to send out a quick email letting everyone know how much i
have enjoyed working here at [Your Company Here]. I wanted to thank everyone
for being so kind and welcoming to me. Monday i will be starting a new job
at [Horrors! It's a charter school] in their HR department. I will truly miss
working here.

Thanks again for everything and best wishes to all of you.

Nice. Warm enough to not burn a bridge, but oh, the veiled passive-aggressive "so kind and welcoming". She's good!

All hail the queen:

No Stompy, Thank YOU. For getting the hell out of here. Your voice and
the sound of your thighs rubbing together as you stomp by has been
grating on my nerves for far too long now. And you'll never make any of us
believe that you really think Skippy is funny. So now you can quit laughing at
his lame ass jokes.

I hope she learns that "I" should be capitalized regardless of where it
is used in the sentence. They probably don't teach that in History 101.

Buy, Stompy. Farwell. Yule bee mist.

How can you compete with that? Some nights, I can't sleep.

Violate Me: Chapter Two

I was reading Shan's post today about one of those unfortunate procedures some that walk this Earth must endure. Luckily, I'm one of the hominids keeping myself pure for just the right, er-, woman. I was, however, a victim of a much more inhumane "treatment" maybe 10 years ago.

During a routine physical for a new job, some blood was detected in my bodily fluid-waste. The next step was to go to a urologist for a more thorough "exam". Thorough is an understatement, this was the mother of all exams. First you're turned into a lab rat, made to lie on a table while they inject you with Josef Mengele's secret formula that makes your head want to explode. You can taste metal, you're sweating head-to-toe, and you have to lay still for something like 19 X-Rays while they track this junk's path through your bodily filtration system and into your bladder. Just when you think they're done, they make you go empty your bladder and come back for one more. "Nice guys, I wonder what they do for fun on weekends?" I think to myself. A real, live pissing contest. The fun was just beginning.

After waiting for the 20lbs of celluloid to be developed, I get to transport them to the big U's office. They were fascinating to look at really, showing kidneys and other stuff working the junk to the bladder. Big U thought he might see a common deformation where the mesh in the middle of your kidney is loosely formed, thereby allowing a few blood cells to pass though every now and then. "Nothing to worry about" says he, "but we'll need to do one more test to be sure." Okey-dokey, what's the harm? How bad could it be?

"Put on this gown and get nekkid" was the next instruction. Okay, that's not EXACTLY what he said, but you get my drift. You gotta love those paper gowns they give nowadays, the thing was slipping off my shoulder so much I felt a bit like the girl in Flashdance, but more like Jodie Foster in The Accused right about the time she decided she din't want to dance no more. Especially when I spied more of Mengele's tools on a table nearby, one of them looked a bit like a fiber-optic cable. Uh-oh. He's going in for a better look.

Now, before they violate a man front-wise like, they shoot some numbing gel up there first. Knowing this, I think it makes the good Doctor more careless. After all, the road's already been paved, so to speak. After a few minutes, when 'Slick Willy' is in no mood to fight, the Insertion Procedure begins. His first words were, and this is no joke: "Relax." Like I should just lie back and learn to enjoy myself or something. At least the ladies get stirrups, and the proctos get knocked out. I'm sitting there watching the guy struggle to jam the damn thing up my l'il Jimmy and I'm supposed to relax?!

Of course, this isn't bad enough. Before he can look through the scope, it needs to be cleaned. This process involves a fluid being flushed through the scope, which promptly then follows the path the scope has created and you basically urinate all over yourself. Nice warm feeling. The- *ahem*- 'pinnacle' of all this abuse, was when the good Doctor, now satisfied with his work, proudly declares that I have a "beautiful bladder". So I've got THAT going for me. Which is nice.

At least he didn't leave a finsky on the dresser.

Where did summer go? Vol. II

Man, how time flies. I can't believe how fast the sun seems to set nowadays. Too fast.

WAY. TOO. FAST.

We were fortunate to have good times with great family and friends. And can you tell that I love the water? (Well, at least when I can touch bottom, anyways.) So, let's go for a trip around my world, so to speak. Starting at 11, you've got a young Nephew finishing up a little project I'll call Fiefdom of Dreams because if you build it, "They" will come. They always do, the li'l rascals; every fiefdom dies a quick death underneath Keds, sandals and water shoes. With valor. The 1:00 cherub smashing another fortress (with glee, I might add) is a friend's daughter.

3:00 siesta is occupied by another friend, my great college buddy. He's a 'sangineer' (sand castle engineer) and built the 1:00 fortress. He knows more techniques than anyone should; if he had the time I think he'd love to enter one of those sand sculpting contests coming to a beach near you. At the bottom of the hour is the deck that was my 'Summer Project' which began on Father's Day weekend. THAT was fun. (Did I mention that this was the hottest summer in at least 5 years?) After opening weekend, it was an after work project interrupted by our summer trip Up North, some golf, and a few business trips too. Drilling and screwing each board down was a thrilling monotony of indescribable proportions. It's not perfect, but it's finished- at least until I put some skirting around it to keep varmints (real or otherwise) from under it.

8:30 has Daughter and 1/2Twin sampling some 'fruits of the fire'. S'mores are great, aren't they? Finally, at 10:30 I just HAD to let a sunset into the fray, if for nothing more than the symbolism of the passing season.

Thanks for touring with me. Now, tell me about your favorite memories from this summer!

And on the lighter side

OK blogdomites, bring your 'A' game! It's football season, and my local paper had the *ahem* balls to print this picture in their (super-dramatic, exciting music inserted here)

COLLEGE FOOTBALL PREVIEW.

(That's a primer to you sophisticated folks on my right, or on my WAY right.)

Anywho- it's picture caption time. So take the gloves off (ta-dum-dum) and "give it yer best shot".

Feelin' for ya, but thankful

Living in West Michigan we get some weather benefits, and one that can't be overlooked is the buffering effect that Lake Michigan can have on some nasty weather. Moisture laden thunderstorms churning across the Midwest are often drained of energy as they coast over Big Blue's cooler waters. While it's not perfect by any means (hello- "Lake Effect", anyone?) it does spare us- sometimes- from nature's fury. And today I am thankful, not only for that but other blessings as well.

I've been out of touch with the media for a few days and was only remotely aware of some of the tragic loss of life that has taken place in the deep south. I say "out of touch", but don't get me wrong; I was cognizant of the power expected from Katrina, the risks New Orleans faced from a full-on landfall, etc., but I am not a media addict. I work hard and don't often leave my desk for lunch, so as Monday progressed I missed out on the events of the day surrounding the hurricane. Especially because I spent Monday afternoon driving to Detroit with friends to watch the Lions' first MNF appearance in who knows HOW long (to you Catholics out there, I did 3 hours of purgatory. What's that leave me with?)

The result of all this windage was that I was basically in a media blackout until I got to the office this morning. As fate would have it, I have a relative whose youngest is entering their first year at Tulane this fall. While I'm driving back in the literal and figurative darkness last night, I start to recall that Tulane is in New Orleans, of all places. Ohhhhh, shit.

I can't imagine the frightening circumstances anyone down there faced as the hurricane went through. Terrible, just woefully terrible is what it must have been like to huddle for hours, hoping to stay safe. To those of you who scoff and say "They were warned! It's their own damn fault!" you know you're wrong about the sick, the suffering, the indigent members of society who haven't either the strength or the means to get gone good. But here's a twist for you: what about those who traveled to New Orleans by plane, DIDN'T rent a car because of the prevalence of courtesy shuttles and taxis, and then are unsuccessful in trying to get a flight out? I give you any family delivering a co-ed to Tulane.


I finally was able to connect tonight and found out all are OK. It was quite an ordeal, though, so sit for a spell.

Saturday morning was move-in and by 9:30am they had finished unloading and locked the dorm room. When they got back downstairs the word was that an evacuation was being ordered. (This is where time would stand still for me.) Tulane has a hurricane plan whereby the students are bussed to Jackson, Mississippi, so their child was being ushered in that direction while they quickly called the airlines. The agent told them they got the last 2 tickets on the flight out that afternoon.

They made their way back to their hotel and as they entered the lobby the looks on many of the faces put a chill through their spine. All they could see was fear in other's eyes. Mom went up to get the bags while Dad tracked down a reliable doorman he's gotten to know through all his numerous visits; he's always stayed at this hotel. Dad explained the situation: they've got tickets on a flight that afternoon, but need to get to the airport. This gracious doorman, he immediately set to blowing his doorman's whistle (whatever you call that thing that makes taxis come running,) but was unsuccessful at getting a taxi to stop until he literally ran into the street to stop one. What normally is a ride of 30 minutes or less took two and a half hours.

Can you imagine the pandemonium? This was Saturday afternoon, I think he said it was still sunny and beautiful at that time. How frantic it must have been Sunday and Monday in the hours before it hit. Thankfully, they made it back to Michigan Saturday night. The amazing thing is they were gone less than 24 hours.

Now, Tulane's plan to ship the co-eds to Jackson, MS is normally sufficient; it's 150 miles to the north. As the hours passed Saturday there were growing concerns that it wouldn't be far enough, but what could they do now? Some time Saturday, Dad's cell phone rings. On the line is the father of another student from the same dorm. After move-in, once they had reached the ground floor they had met this gentleman, shook hands, exchanged cell phone numbers, wished each other good luck with another child in college, blah, blah, blah. Luckily, this guy had kept his cell phone number because he was taking matters into his own hands, 'retrieving' his child from the Jackson, MS site and driving back to the east coast. Would they like him to get their son, too?

OMG! How cool is THAT? Hells yeah!

So today they drove down near Cleveland to get their son and were all back home by dinner time.

To all my blogging friends 'back east': (Mike, for one. Craig, you're guilty too as you're near the hand-off. Dawn, Bob, 'Fidget', 'Slant' [who many fear has suffered a catastrophe already,] hell even JL and Dol, too) Thank you for your warmth and hospitality. I have slighted many things 'East' in my past (Joisey, New Yawk, Bah Habba, Basston, Whooshta. . .) and I owe you a debt of gratitude for rubbing-off just enough humanity on this stranger to take it upon himself with this kind deed. I'm truly blessed and humbled yet again by another reminder of how frail this life is.

Reminder of Yester-year: Oh, those college days

After reading Randi's post, I went to go see The Man known as Van's website. He had a post about a time in his past where he got quite a surprise in the bathroom, and it was all caught on film. This got me to thinking about something that happened waayyy back in college (cue the Wayne & Garth wavy flashback video. Duh-duh-duh-do, duh-duh-duh-do, duh-duh-duh-do...)

It was Friday, early March. I was in my second year at a regional college in Michigan. By this time I had learned the importance of scheduling classes only on Monday through Thursday, so Fridays were always free. It was a tough lesson that I learned my very first term when I had scheduled 8am classes on M-W-F. Kids, don't make that mistake. My grades were horrible that term, the worst grades I've ever had. Anywho, back to the news.

So after learning my lesson about Fridays, I was enjoying this crisp, sunny day to the fullest. The ground was still covered with snow, and the light pouring in my apartment window when I finally got out of bed was blinding at first. During this time of year the air is heavy with anticipation; snow is going to melt, the air will warm and you can't help but feel the movement of the seasons as you are brushed by a moist, dense spring breeze.

After taking care of some homework I decided to head out for some lunch. Just as I exited my apartment I bumped into some friends also going for some grub so I hitched a ride to BK with them. On our way back to campus, Benny (who lived with his parents just off campus) mentioned that he had rented Amadeus and Vision Quest, so we all went over to his place and watched movies for about five hours.

Near the end of our little film festival, I remembered that my buddy Paul from back home was coming up to visit that day. In a panic, I called his parents to try to find out where he was. (You have to remember, this was back before cell phones were common except on shows like Dallas or Knight Rider.) In talking with his Dad, he told me that Paul got a late start and don't worry, I would be back at my apartment before Paul would arrive. He even sounded confident, but I didn't want to let my buddy down.

Of course, after scrambling back to my darkened apartment I was sure I would find Paul banging the door down. My roomate had plans, and the other two guys were going to be out of town. There was no way for Paul to get into my apartment. As I turned and entered the hallway to my apartment there was no sign of him. The girls two doors down must have been having a party, at least it sounded like that as I walked by their closed door. I entered my apartment and it was just like I left it: dark , cold and empty. I set about putting my coat and some other things away when after a few moments there was a knock on the door.

It was Kari from the aforementioned apartment two doors down. They were having some friends over and wanted to know if I wanted to join them. I explained that I was waiting for a friend to show up, but Kari was able to convince me that we'd be able to keep an eye out for him and as he'd have to walk by their door to get to my apartment we'd for sure see him. What can I say? I'm easily convinced so I gladly followed Kari over to their door and followed her in. What happened next was unexpected to say the least. I had never been attacked with such speed and vigor, for as soon as the door opened out flowed a h-fn-uge "SURPRISE!"

My mind went blank, what did they just say? I swear I must have grimaced, I had never experienced such a rush before. The place was packed wall to wall, too. Upon looking around, there were many of my friends present, and Paul was there as well. From the ceiling hung a sign that read "Happy Birthday Vik and Jim", it was a joint party for Susies boyfriend as well (which explained the size of the crowd. I didn't have THAT many friends!)

"How'd they do that?" I wondered. To this day I still wonder. I mean it's been almost 20 years since that day so I'm entitled to forget some things, but these guys were good. "How good?" you ask? Get this- the whole day was not under my control from the moment I stepped out of my apartment. Yes, I said THE WHOLE DAY. Benny was in on it and removed my corpse from the scene so the crime could take place. Kari and Susie somehow got my friend Paul involved in advance, and I have no idea how they got his phone number as his parents were unlisted.

It was an extremely special day, and it is difficult to think of another thing that someone has done for me that could out-rank that party. It was a wonderful surprise, and the party just plain rocked for hours. Of course, I needed no convincing that I was going to have a good time. And that I did. I can't find any pictures from that day, but this is a recent one that duplicates the feeling.




If you get the chance, plan one for someone you know. It may be the experience of a lifetime for them, I know it was for me. Hell, you never know, you might just be planning one for me!

meme: M-W's Word of the Day

This is sure to start a blogging firestorm. I've considered the word
'meme' to be pronounced "me-me" and to be used more as an expression about
oneself rather than something moving from person to person. While this
definition shown below certainly fits, I'm going to have a hard time using
the pronunciation "meem".

I'm also going to have to re-think the assumption that when I'm tagged
people really want to know about me. I guess it's as Dr. Phil says: "IT'S
NOT ABOUT YEWW!!" (At least that's what I'm led to believe he says by the
fine folks at Bob & Tom's morning show.)

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The Word of the Day for August 18
is:

meme \MEEM\ noun
: an idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person
within a culture

Example sentence:
"Blogs are an interesting way... of seeing which ideas, memes, trends and
news events are getting the most comment." (Clive Thompson, quoted in the
_Sunday Tribune_, February 6, 2005)

Did you know?
In 1976, British scientist Richard Dawkins wrote _The Selfish Gene_, and in
his book he defended his new creation, the word "meme." Having first
considered, then rejected, "mimeme," he wrote: "'Mimeme' comes from a
suitable Greek root, but I want a monosyllable that sounds a bit like
'gene.' I hope my classicist friends will forgive me if I abbreviate
'mimeme' to 'meme.'" The suitable Greek root was "mim-," meaning "mime" or
"mimic." Dawkins's "mimeme" was formed from "mim-" plus "-eme," an English
noun suffix that indicates a distinctive unit of language structure (as in
"grapheme," "lexeme," and "phoneme"). "Meme" itself, like a good meme,
caught on pretty quickly, spreading from person to person as it established
itself in the language.

(c) 2005 by Merriam-Webster, Incorporated

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P.O. Box 281
Springfield, MA 01102

I have a cramp

Sorry folks. I haven't left town or anything, but I DO have a serious case of writer's cramp. I haven't had any single idea drift before my eyes and grow. I feel as though I've let the good folks of Jim's World down, I know how many of you stop by each and every day.

Thank you-

Peter Jennings: Dead at 67

Wow, that was quick. Eerily quick. Diagnosed in April, died 4 months later. My Aunt was also diagnosed in April and died on August 12th.

I was all set to talk about how I wasn't a fan of his, etc., but that similarity hit me square on the head with a gong-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g (<<< That's meant to bring to your mind the continuing ringing you hear after banging a really big gong.) He was a fellow human being who suffered an unfortunate sickness and death, and that's too bad.

I'll leave the "kicking them when they're down (or worse)" to Rush. Ten bucks says he loses track of good sense tomorrow and either a) celebrates Peter's demise or b) makes some sort of ill-timed wisecrack. You heard it here first.

R.I.P.

"You're Weird"

Thanks to Jazzy Jen for this l'il gem. I've always known of my weirdness, but now I'm confused about what to do with this new piece of information.

I feel like the proverbial dog that's chased and caught its tail, and I'm biting hard but don't know what to do with it now. Thanks Jen!

You Are 40% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

How Weird Are You?

I hate goodbyes

We moved into this house almost seven years ago. It was nearly love at first sight, very similar to the chaos-filled homes we each grew up in as we both come from large families. It was and still is a great neighborhood.

We purchased the house from the original owners who built the house as they started their family. When we moved in, much of the neighborhood was still the elder residents who had built these homes. Today there has been many more turned-over to the younger generations to build or raise their own families; it is a vibrant neighborhood full of youthful life and activity.

After we moved in, we quickly got to know our neighbors. To the north, a second-owner home who had themselves raised their children in their home; a wonderful family of five, very Christian, would do anything for you, and so darn nice my brother refers to them as the Brady Bunch. To the south, a couple nearing eighty who had three sons, one of which they cared for in their home as he was born with cerebral palsy and then at some point suffered a brain injury. The other two had careers and families of their own; one was 6 hours away and the other was 6 minutes away. Their son at home was a gentle giant, about 50 years old when we moved in. The three of them would sit in lawn chairs in their driveway and strike up conversations with anyone walking by, and though his speech was difficult to understand the gentle giant would soon control the conversation. He had a firm handshake, even though it was difficult for him to walk. We often worried about Mom and Dad, for he was so much bigger than they. (They loved our kids as their own, too, so it seems natural to refer to them as Mom and Dad.)

Almost one year ago they finally decided to place him in a care facility. It was more difficult for Mom, she had cared for this man all of his life, knew all the nuances of his speech, how could a stranger care for him like she had? Over time she has accepted it as the best for him. After his first night away they went to have breakfast with him the next morning, his first words were that he did not want to return home! He was happy, had a place of his own, and I think he realized that it was the best for his parents too.

Shortly after finally emptying their nest, the other local son went through a messy divorce and he moved-in with them. Can you believe it? Now 80+ years old, and one returns to the nest. This one was no joy either. Supposedly suffered from debilitating headaches, needed to live in a darkened room kept at a very cool temperature. When he did venture outside he was skin and bones, rudely outspoken, and treated Dad like dirt. Two years later he's still living there, and still treating Dad like dirt. We worry that psychology is to blame for his problems, but Mom would never hear it.

When we returned from our summer vacation this year we noticed that Mom was sitting in a chair in the sun. She always looked tired and worn, but she looked utterly exhausted now. Since we were returning after being away for 10 days we had much to do with unpacking and cleaning and sadly didn't make the time to at least go say "Hi". The next day our neighbor to the north informed us that Mom had been diagnosed with cancer, and the initial prognosis was not optimistic. This was confirmed within the week at a follow-up appointment and there might be six months left for her. Still, they kept to their routine as much as possible, having breakfast with the Gentle one, helping change his clothes, etc. It was enough to make you think that her will alone would carry her through.


Last Friday our neighborhood had a block party. It was a great time, and with more fresh faces in the neighborhood it was good to mingle and meet so many of the new neighbors. The kids all had fun; there was a bicycle parade, goody bags, face painting, and best of all the fire truck. After the crew got a bite to eat, all the kids were given rides in the fire truck complete with lights, sirens, and even blaring horns. As the driver would round the curve to come back up the hill she would apply the engine brake to help slow the rig down, it makes an unmistakable muffled popping sound as the rig slows. It took three or four loads to get all the kids a turn at riding in the truck, so the sound was etched in my mind by the end of the night.


By now Mom has grown much weaker and they were unable to attend the party, so Wifey and another neighbor went to visit and take them some of the wonderful treats from the party. Mom could only worry about her hair, of all things! She hadn't been to the salon in so long, and wanted nothing more than to have her hair curled, so Wifey set an appointment to curl her hair the next day at 11:00 in the morning. Wifey was there promptly at 11, but was back after a few minutes to get a spray bottle. Daughter M wanted to go see "Gramma D" so together they went. She was so grateful, it took almost two hours before Wifey and Daughter made it back home. There was so much to talk about, and Mom loved to see Daughter M.

I heard it again later that day, and at first thought that maybe the firefighters had some responsibility to remove the barricades put in place by the city for the block party. After a few seconds I realized that they had stopped at Mom & Dad's next door. Wifey heard it too and rushed over to offer a hand. I checked on all the kids, who were extremely curious but I was proud of their restraint as they never wandered to the other side of the yard for a better look. Mom was confused, her legs were numb, and she couldn't get warm so they took her to the hospital to try and get her stable.

After a few days she came back home on Tuesday and is now getting daily visits by hospice workers. As I left for the office this morning Dad was returning from breakfast with the Gentle one and tooted the horn as he pulled into their driveway, so I went and said hello. His emotions are getting the better of him with each passing day, but we communicated more in silence than in the words which were spoken. He knows that we'll help in any way we can, but will not ask. Ironically, I'm the same way. I hope that as I walk this Earth I do it with the same grace that these two have.

I hate goodbyes.

Sir Charles

Better late than never, right?

Last weekend we went to a friend's place just off the shore of Lake Michigan. It was a super great time, the party was intended to be a Vinyl party so we all brought our old records from college. Unfortunately the TWO (yup, I said two) turntables that our friend brought were out of commission. One had a broken needle, and the other broke its belt just as he fired it up.

The night wasn't a total loss as we ended up moving to another friends house which was much larger and more accomodating. They warned us that rain was coming, and after about 20 minutes of frantic activity the tent and its protective tarp were packed so everybody headed over to the alternate site. What a feast! Ribs, burgers, corn, taters, salad, fruit, brownies, cookies, beer and some great wines; is it any wonder why I slept like a poisoned puppy?

Being so close to Lake Michigan was great, too. We only had to walk about 400 paces and we were on the beach ready to build sand castles, catch footballs and cool off in the lake's refreshing 72 degree water. On Sunday we were treated to a bonus of giant waves thanks to a strong southwestern wind. While it brought more of the dreaded heat I've been complaining about, the wind churned up some great 5 footers that were great for body surfing. Unfortunately, with the wind coming in at an angle to the shoreline, a nasty rip-current was moving along the beach to the north that made it far too dangerous to swim out and catch the best waves. This let me stay out in the water the entire time to play 'Lifeguard' for the little ones. While it was cute to see the 10 year-olds holding hands and protecting the 7 year-old, it was a concern nonetheless. As it turns out, the concerns were warranted and sadly a 21 year-old man drowned at a beach 20 miles south.

Once we returned home I caved-in to the heat and took refuge in an air-conditioned movie theater to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with my daughter. Having grown up watching Gene Wilder play Willie Wonka I was disappointed with Johnny Depp's portrayal, but the rest of the movie more than made up for it. I especially liked some of Tim Burton's modernizing twists like the pumped-up Oompa-loompa music numbers and having all the loompas portrayed by the diminutive Deep Roy was genius. There are other twists, but I will leave it to you to discover them for yourself. I don't want to spoil it for everybody.

So, plunk down a month's worth of 401K contributions and check it out for yourself. Consider the flavored cheese shakers for your popcorn an unplanned bonus just as I did. I guess I've gotta' get out more. . .

Later-

I FOUND IT!

YAY! YIPPEE! MP3 has come back to me!

The damn thing was in the pocket of my ski jacket hanging in the closet (which was covered by another coat for lack of hangers.) Using it to RIP some FOO worked great, and now I can enjoy more than 3 tracks at a time on my player (which does NOT allow uploading, so the Fookin' copyrights are safe with my player just in case Dave Grohl is wasting his time GOOGLING hisself. He probably is ogling himself considering the damn picture on the autoload player with the CD!)

I must admit: I stand corrected. I spoke in anger with my last post, it's not a one-hit CD. After listening to most of the tracks in order to decide which I wanted to load on my player, I can say that about half of it will be successful in getting airplay. If you find it for $10 at your favorite store, I'd say go buy it. That's pretty much a "thumbs-up", folks. Or an "around the world and back snap" if you're so inclined (and bless you, fellow humorist, if you are!)


~~~~~~~ <--- That's a heat wave!
It's still hotter than shite here, with this weekend climbing into the 90s with plenty of spore-fostering humidity to go with it. You can be sure that there'll be frantic calls for ozone action (or inaction as it were.) Fear not, fellow huggers and granola eaters, I will be enjoying the sun with friends, maybe frolicking in Lake Michigan, and hydrating aplenty with a lemon twist or even some limes.

You have a nice weekend. Bye now. Buh-bye!

Boo Foo! Boo-hoo two-

Today is a collection of bitchings.

First off, I need to call Foo Fighters onto my carpet for some bitching. Being a fair and responsible member of society, I went to a local store and purchased their latest release "In Your Honor". Now, I'm a big fan of MP3 players, especially those using Flash memory (no skipping!) so my plan was to rip the tracks and load them onto my player. Except one small problem, the Fookers have gone overboard with copyright protection. In a CD player, no problem. In a computer, it installs software to manage copyrights, loads "keys" from an unknown source, initially plays using Media Player (garbage, people!) and does that in an annoying full screen mode complete with the Foo boys smiling at you from a large picture. It doesn't stop here, for the CD will not play on your PC unless you load the copyright software, and the licensing language (as well as the language used on a support website) is confusing to say the least about what information may be gathered, and how it is reported.

It gets worse: the software allows the music to be ripped, (in fact, the intrusive full-screen interface makes it easy to do) but it only rips to WMA files and not MP3, so it isn't guaranteed to work with ALL players. In my opinion, WMA is an inferior format. To top it all off, the software seemingly only allows you to put 3 tracks onto your player. This is from a readme file on the CD:

• "The Standard "Check-In - Check-Out" Process: With Cd3 Technology, you have the functionality to easily access your new digital tracks for enjoyment on your portable digital devices. You have the capability to "check-out" up to three tracks at a time. Simply "check back in" the tracks you have out to make 3 more selections available. Thank you for your purchase of this "expanded experience" CD. We hope you have as much fun playing it as we had putting it together for you."

What kind of bullshit is that? Just because I choose to listen to the CD I purchased through a smaller device, they're going to tell me I can only put 3 songs on it at a time?!? And I will have to check songs in and out like I'm at a friggin' library? They can kiss my a$$, for that's all they're after it it's gone too far. On top of that, The Best of You is the only agreeable song I've heard (although I haven't completely listened to the 2nd CD yet.) So I'm out $14, and for a crappy one-hit piece of junk. F[_]CK YOU, FOO! Who are you kidding? Are you telling me that as burnouts in the 80s you didn't copy tapes, tape off the radio, etc. in order to make your own compilations? How does today's technology change that? The speed is immaterial, I've paid for the music, and should be able to listen to it in whatever format/method that I choose. This is my first FOO purchase, and will be my last. FOOls.

Next up: My old MP3 player is missing in action. It was a smaller unit (256MB)but it had one great feature, a Mic In port which allowed you to record whatever you wanted (perhaps clips from your favorite movie?) Even though we have a larger unit, it doesn't have the ability to record on the fly. I've looked everywhere I can think of, do you have it??

Finally, this summer is a scorcher and I am ready for the heat to back off. Flame on!

Reminder of Violence; or I was violated

I was checking out Jason's wife's-
blog and she was talking about a magical spa treatment that made her want to go Divinyls all over herself. This got me thinking about my first ever massage. (Well, my first "Professional" massage anyways. The "friends with benefits" kind back in college don't count. Well those counted, don't get me wrong. . . ah, I'll shut up now!)

My first massage experience wasn't such a luxurious thing, although it WAS at what I thought is a very nice spa- Mandalay Bay in Vegas. Wifey wanted to get a couples massage, but those were all booked so we got separate ones. The only thing left I could get was a 'deep tissue' massage.

My masseur was Bam-Bam hisself, no joke! He stood about 5'6", and probably needed a size 56 jacket or something obscene like that. After applying liberal amounts of oil to my back (I thought this was a safe area for a 'deep tissue' massage) he started kneading my tenderloins. I was finding it hard to breathe, but Bam-Bam was only warming up at this point. His next trick was to jab his elbow just to one side of the spine way up by the shoulder blade and then drag it all the way to the associated butt-tock. Now I understood two things: THIS is what all the damn oil was for, and without a doubt I was no longer capable of breathing.

Bam-Bam must've been a caring soul, for he felt it necessary to inquire about my well-being. "M-fffine!" I grunted, trying to sound masculine and unaffected by his brute strength. The only problem was my back was literally quivering, and this was in no way an erotic kind of thing. I should have never tried to feign indifference, because Bam-Bam decided the other back strap needed immediate attention. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse- after all, Bam-Bam had made mincemeat out of both sides so what else was there- Bam-Bam dove in with both guns this time. I think the arch in my back was a dead give-away because he stopped and starting talking some mumbo-jumbo about "toxins releasing" and "drinking plenty of water to flush them out" and how that would be better for me. As it turns out, my time was up. Geez, I'd been assaulted and violated and damn water was going to save me?

The saving grace was that as a paid guest of the spa, we now had the run of the place. So, I immediately set to assuaging my new aches and pains by visiting the steam room and then a nice long soak in their lavish Greco-Roman bath; a lagoon-sized jacuzzi with multiple cascades, it was surrounded by huge cushy lounge chairs. And many large men were asleep in them.

"This is where husbands go to die" I thought to myself as I settled into a lounger, ready to start slugging the water and "detoxify" myself. Paradise indeed.

WE HAD A BALL!

What a week!
-Nearly 1,000 miles.
-3 destinations.
-2 family visitors stopped by for a few days.
-S'mores.


-Campfires.
-Pig roast.
-Fireworks.
-Fire trucks!


-Wind & waves!


-And of course, sunsets!


This week has been grueling, but thankfully shortened greatly by the Independence Day holiday. After an action-packed vacation it's back to finishing the deck started Father's Day weekend, so my nights have been filled and a steamer is coming for tomorrow (anything over 85 degrees is a steamer in Michigan.)

Thanks all for checking on the place while we were gone. You RULE!

Liar, liar, pants on fire

Okay, I lied, a-gain. I'm the only one awake, WIDE awake, so I'm keepin' Ma Bell happy by burning up the phone line.

Thank GAWD we're up here (for those NOT from Michigan, 'up here' means you are somewhere North, typically North of where you normally reside. See: Up North. 'Pop' is a beverage some call soda or coke.) It's been hotter than h-e-dubl-L the past week, and as soon as we got near the water the temps dropped a good 10 degrees or more. It's actually downright cool. If I sound a bit excited it's because we don't have A/C at home; and I turn into quite a grumpy grizzly bear once it starts getting over 90 during the day (and yes, it DOES stick to my fur!)

The double bonus was the JetSki ride after getting everything unpacked and eating lunch. After heading back to town to the launch, it was looking like rain and had clouded over with some wind. I forgot to pack my wetsuit, so I was starting to get a bit concerned that I could get hypothermic during the 20 minute ride back to the cottage. After launching (thanks, Wifey!!) I head out to round the point and go north; it's a bit choppy, but traffic is light and what traffic there is turns out to be mostly sail-ers. Round the point and North it is, open 'er up to 60 for a bit just to loosen up my sea legs. After a few good bumps my knees tell me to sit back down and act my age (I wish they made WD-40 for achey joints, what a pain!)

Being seated allows for some S-turns and general tom-foolery while I make my way to the Northernmost point, and when I near that point I realize that the wind has gone dead calm. Glass is coming! Feeling my oats, I pause to turn my cell phone on and taunt my brother about the conditions and the weather; he's back in the heat near where I live. HA-HA, SUCKER!

Glass makes for smooth, comfy riding; probably a good thing until my joints loosen up enough to let me take on some wave jumping and general thrashing later in the week. Until then there's plenty of rides to give the kids.

SO GOOD TO BE AWAY FROM THE OFFICE!