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)
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.
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!
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 cultureExample 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
Merriam-Webster, Inc.
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P.O. Box 281
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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-
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.
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! |
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.
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-
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!
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:
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.
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!
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!
It's a vacation! Right on time, too! WOO-HOO!
Oh, BTW, the pictures below were a bit of an underhanded clue. They're taken from a little slice of Heaven where I get to spend one week each year. I'll be there in just 3 more days!
Since I'll be gone, I want to wish each of you a wonderful few weekends, I doubt that I will be blogging while there (I just can't deal with dial-up anymore, and the connection isn't too good from out there.) So, be safe, everybody!
Peace out, y'all!
It's coming.
You can't stop it from coming.
You can't run from it.
You can't hide from it.
You can change, move, or even delete it.
You can love it, or hate it, but seldom at the same time.
It doesn't care about you, or your friends.
It might be near, it might be far, but it never starts where you are.
You can't give it away, but maybe give a way away.
WHAT IS IT?
Mike's blog is a funny good time (Funny ha-ha?), and I'd like to borrow from his 'good friggin' picture' idea and share an image here and there. I make no promises for regularity (and I won't promise to share pictures weekly like Mike does, either.) I don't know any cool photogs like Mike does, but Shawna takes/makes some pretty cool pictures. So here they are, copyrighted as usual.
Things are getting busy already this summer, but who am I to complain? It just means that I'm a bit tardy in posting.
I had an opportunity to reflect on a rather crazy thing I did once, which of course led me to think of a few more. One was speeding down the highway in a '79 T-bird (the one with the super long nose and vacuum powered headlight covers) but I was using the left shoulder as my own lane. This happened to be on I-94 where the only thing separating East & West was the good ol' concrete barrier, so I was squeezing that T-bird between cars using the proper lane and the concrete wall at 90-100mph. Pretty stoopid.
Stoopidity #2 was for my Senior Prom, and also involved speeding on I-94. (A troubling pattern seems to be forming here.) On this occasion I was driving back to my hometown in a hot new Mazda RX-7 Limited Edition that my brother had purchased just weeks before. The fool loaned it to me for my prom night! Well, the Limited Edition had a souped up engine, and I decided to let the ponies run. In broad daylight. Oh, and it was raining too. Let me just say that at about 140mph the bullet-shaped nose of the RX-7 started to lift quite noticeably.
Speeding (again!) down a country road at night in heavy fog. That was fun zipping into and out of the clouds, watching them flow over the hood of the car and zip up over the windshield. (And this was BEFORE drugs!) Reality came in the form of a large dairy cow standing watch at the edge of the road. Moooooooooo!
Although I'm not a member of the Mile High club, I did make love to a beautiful girl just off the taxi-way at a local airport. This was back when you could just drive your car up to the hangars, which of course meant that you could drive your car anywhere on the airport property you wanted, so we found a nice quiet spot, and yada-yada-yada..... I'm thinking that 9/11 has probably changed that 'access' to the taxiway.
So- What are some of the crazy things you've done? Do you regret any of them?
Whew! Was I sweating that one out. I've been referred to as a book of worthless trivia, so you can imagine how worried I was over this personality identifier.
I think I should feel good about this, but then I'm conflicted. You see, the connotation is that nerds know many things, most of them not cool things. On the other hand, the beautiful people know many things also. Things like what time 'The Simple Life' is on, and which one is Nicole Richie. One of the guys I work with is your atypical Leisure Suit Larry, for he's pretty cool, but he's a total lech. (He's Man Dibbles from a previous entry.) Today Man Dibbles calls me from his desk, and in a low voice he asks me how to spell a word. Now, I must admit, this word is difficult; for it is used at least three different ways, but pronounced and spelled the same way in all three cases. (What is that? A homonym? Geez, I just Googled 'homonym' and I'm right. Of all the luck, NERD!)
What was the word, you ask? Brace yourself- the magical yet difficult word was:
stool.
I can hear the muted trombones, screeching tires and record needles being dragged as you are reading this, fellow blogger. So let me get this right: Simple Life air times=cool, spell 'stool'=not cool. I'm not nerdy, but I might just be a fool.
Somehow, I ended up over at immigration and this lady there gave me a test. Damn, the results were interesting, if not encouraging, but they only got me a fast trip back home.
