Tides opener with friends
Packing, windy, procrastinating
Anxious, xena
Da boys
Handshake and hug
The wind!
Gigantic olives from the bar
Flat stomach
Granby bars
Tides game
No sighting
Red Dog
Hideous 'nachos' made with thick potato chips
Desperately alone
Drove Keith to his jeep
Last heart-to-heart
Cried all the way home
Let the girls out
White mock turtle & dark blue jeans
Staring in the mirror
Texting
Dogs barking, dogs won't stop barking
Sleepy
Awake
So disappointed
New friend goes above and beyond
Best friend in the world
Mom
Bodhi, sweet Bodhi
Time marches on and on and on
and on................
Thankful?
Always.
Numb?
To a point.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Randy Pausch - Live Your Childhood Dreams
I so love the collective consciousness, although lately it's been giving me a bit of a headache. Between my 20th high school reunion, our new Class of '87 website, the TV show "High School Reunion" (whose participants are from a TX Class of '87), and my discussion with my good friend Lisa the other night about age, relationships, babies, and life, I was mentally exhausted. And then I opened Parade Magazine this morning and read just the thing I needed. I hope you'll all read it and watch the video. I was surprised to see in the first minute that the speaker has moved to Chesapeake, VA which is just minutes from where I live. I'm not sure why, but I'm tickled that he lives so close. I'm just sorry that he won't be there for very long. Thanks for sharing this with us, Mr. Pausch. You're a tremendous person.
From Parade:
The Lessons I'm Leaving Behind
By Randy Pausch
Published: April 6, 2008
At many colleges, professors are asked to give a “last lecture.” In this talk, they ruminate on what matters most to them. As they speak, audiences mull the same question: What wisdom would you impart to the world if you knew it was your last chance?
Last year, I agreed to give a last lecture at Carnegie Mellon University, where I’m a professor in the computer science department. A few weeks later, I learned that I had only months to live—I was dying of pancreatic cancer.
I knew I could cancel. I have three young children, I’m married to Jai, the woman of my dreams, and there were so many things to be done. But by speaking, I knew I could put myself in a bottle that would one day wash up on the beach for my children, Dylan, Logan and Chloe. Here’s what I want to share.
Always Have Fun
Before I spoke, Carnegie Mellon’s president, Jared Cohon, said to me, “Please tell them about having fun, because that’s what I’ll remember you for.”
I came to an early realization. Each of us must make a decision, best captured in A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh characters. Am I a fun-loving Tigger or a sad-sack Eeyore? It’s clear where I stand.
For my last Halloween, Jai, our kids and I dressed up as the Incredibles. I put a photo of us on my website and explained that chemo had not affected my superpowers. I got smiling e-mails in response.
I won’t let go of the Tigger in me. Someone asked what I want on my tombstone. I said: “Randy Pausch: He Lived 30 Years After a Terminal Diagnosis.” I could pack a lot of fun into 30 years. If that’s not to be, I’ll pack fun into the time I have.
Dream Big
I was 8 in the summer of 1969, when men first walked on the moon. I was at camp, and we campers were brought to the main house to watch the moment on TV. But the astronauts were taking a while, and it was late. The counselors sent us to our tents to sleep, and we missed the first walk.
I was peeved. I thought: “My species has gotten off our planet and is in a new world for the first time, and you people think bedtime matters?”
When I got home, my dad gave me a photo that he’d taken of our TV set the second Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon. We still have that photo.
Give yourself permission to dream. Fuel your kids’ dreams too. Once in a while, that might even mean letting them stay up past their bedtimes.
Ask for What You Want
On a trip to Disney World, my dad and I were at the monorail with my son Dylan, then 4. Dylan wanted to sit in the nose-cone with the driver, and my father thought it would be a kick too.
“Too bad they don’t let regular people sit there,” Dad said.
“Actually, I’ve learned there’s a trick to getting to sit up front,” I said. “Do you want to see it?”
I walked over to the attendant and said: “Excuse me. Could we please sit in the front car?”
“Certainly,” the attendant said. He led us to the nose-cone. It was one of the only times I ever saw my dad flabbergasted. “I said there was a trick,” I told him. “I didn’t say it was a hard trick.”
Now I’ve gotten even better at “just asking.” As we all know, it can take days to get medical results. Waiting is not how I want to spend my time, so I ask: “What’s the fastest I can get these results?”
“Oh,” they often respond, “we might be able to have them for you within an hour.”
Ask. More often than you’d suspect, the answer you’ll get is, “Sure.”
Dare To Take a Risk
In a virtual-reality course I taught, I encouraged students to attempt hard things and not worry about failing. At the end of the semester, I presented a stuffed penguin—“The First Penguin Award”—to the team that took the biggest gamble while not meeting its goals. The award came from the idea that when penguins jump in water that might have predators, well, one of them’s got to be the first penguin. In essence, it was a prize for “glorious failure.”
Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you wanted. And it can be the most valuable thing you have to offer.
Look for the Best In Everybody
I got this advice from Jon Snoddy, my hero at Disney Imagineering. “If you wait long enough,” he said, “people will surprise and impress you.” When you’re frustrated with people, when you’re angry, it may be because you haven’t given them enough time. Jon warned that this took great patience, even years. “In the end,” he said, “people will show you their good side. Just keep waiting. It will come out.”
Make Time for What Matters
When Jai and I went on our honeymoon, we wanted to be left alone. Since my boss demanded a way for people to reach me, I recorded this greeting:
“Hi, this is Randy. I waited until I was 39 to get married, so my wife and I are going away for a month. I hope you don’t have a problem with that, but my boss does. Apparently, I have to be reachable.” I then gave the names of Jai’s parents and the city where they lived. “If you call directory assistance, you can get their phone number. And then, if you can convince my in-laws that your emergency merits interrupting their only daughter’s honeymoon, they have our number.” We didn’t get any calls.
Time is all you have. And you may find one day that you have less than you think.
Let Kids Be Themselves
Because I’ve been so vocal about my childhood dreams, people have asked me about the dreams I have for my own kids. As a professor, I’ve seen how disruptive it can be for parents to have specific dreams for their children. My job is to help my kids foster a joy for life and develop the tools to fulfill their own wishes. My wishes for them are very exact and, given that I won’t be there, I want to be clear: Kids, don’t try to figure out what I wanted you to become. I want you to become what you want to become. And I want you to feel as if I am there with you, whatever path you choose.
Adapted from the book The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch and Wall Street Journal reporter Jeffrey Zaslow. Copyright © 2008 Randy Pausch. To be published by Hyperion. All rights reserved.
AFTER THE LECTURE
After I gave my lecture in September, I expected to go home and quietly spend time with my family. I never imagined that my talk would be viewed online by millions worldwide. The response has overwhelmed and moved me. Thousands of people have written to me about their life lessons. I’ve also been buoyed by former students who’ve told me how my teaching made a difference to them. There’s no greater gift for a teacher.
I’ve used my unexpected fame to advocate for pancreatic cancer research. Last month, I testified before Congress to seek funding for my disease, which is considered the deadliest of cancers.
I’ve had great fun too. In my lecture, I told of two childhood dreams: playing in the NFL and being Captain Kirk on Star Trek. Strangers fulfilled those wishes. I was invited to scrimmage with the Pittsburgh Steelers and got to say a line in a new Star Trek film. Both experiences were thrilling.
I’m lucky to be living longer than I expected, allowing me more time with my kids. I’ve tried to do unforgettable things with them—such as swimming with dolphins—so they’ll have concrete memories of us and of my love for them.
I am honored that my lecture will live on and that people have found it beneficial. Honestly, though, the talk was for my kids, and it gives me comfort to know that they will one day watch it.
From Parade:
The Lessons I'm Leaving Behind
By Randy Pausch
Published: April 6, 2008
At many colleges, professors are asked to give a “last lecture.” In this talk, they ruminate on what matters most to them. As they speak, audiences mull the same question: What wisdom would you impart to the world if you knew it was your last chance?
Last year, I agreed to give a last lecture at Carnegie Mellon University, where I’m a professor in the computer science department. A few weeks later, I learned that I had only months to live—I was dying of pancreatic cancer.
I knew I could cancel. I have three young children, I’m married to Jai, the woman of my dreams, and there were so many things to be done. But by speaking, I knew I could put myself in a bottle that would one day wash up on the beach for my children, Dylan, Logan and Chloe. Here’s what I want to share.
Always Have Fun
Before I spoke, Carnegie Mellon’s president, Jared Cohon, said to me, “Please tell them about having fun, because that’s what I’ll remember you for.”
I came to an early realization. Each of us must make a decision, best captured in A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh characters. Am I a fun-loving Tigger or a sad-sack Eeyore? It’s clear where I stand.
For my last Halloween, Jai, our kids and I dressed up as the Incredibles. I put a photo of us on my website and explained that chemo had not affected my superpowers. I got smiling e-mails in response.
I won’t let go of the Tigger in me. Someone asked what I want on my tombstone. I said: “Randy Pausch: He Lived 30 Years After a Terminal Diagnosis.” I could pack a lot of fun into 30 years. If that’s not to be, I’ll pack fun into the time I have.
Dream Big
I was 8 in the summer of 1969, when men first walked on the moon. I was at camp, and we campers were brought to the main house to watch the moment on TV. But the astronauts were taking a while, and it was late. The counselors sent us to our tents to sleep, and we missed the first walk.
I was peeved. I thought: “My species has gotten off our planet and is in a new world for the first time, and you people think bedtime matters?”
When I got home, my dad gave me a photo that he’d taken of our TV set the second Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon. We still have that photo.
Give yourself permission to dream. Fuel your kids’ dreams too. Once in a while, that might even mean letting them stay up past their bedtimes.
Ask for What You Want
On a trip to Disney World, my dad and I were at the monorail with my son Dylan, then 4. Dylan wanted to sit in the nose-cone with the driver, and my father thought it would be a kick too.
“Too bad they don’t let regular people sit there,” Dad said.
“Actually, I’ve learned there’s a trick to getting to sit up front,” I said. “Do you want to see it?”
I walked over to the attendant and said: “Excuse me. Could we please sit in the front car?”
“Certainly,” the attendant said. He led us to the nose-cone. It was one of the only times I ever saw my dad flabbergasted. “I said there was a trick,” I told him. “I didn’t say it was a hard trick.”
Now I’ve gotten even better at “just asking.” As we all know, it can take days to get medical results. Waiting is not how I want to spend my time, so I ask: “What’s the fastest I can get these results?”
“Oh,” they often respond, “we might be able to have them for you within an hour.”
Ask. More often than you’d suspect, the answer you’ll get is, “Sure.”
Dare To Take a Risk
In a virtual-reality course I taught, I encouraged students to attempt hard things and not worry about failing. At the end of the semester, I presented a stuffed penguin—“The First Penguin Award”—to the team that took the biggest gamble while not meeting its goals. The award came from the idea that when penguins jump in water that might have predators, well, one of them’s got to be the first penguin. In essence, it was a prize for “glorious failure.”
Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you wanted. And it can be the most valuable thing you have to offer.
Look for the Best In Everybody
I got this advice from Jon Snoddy, my hero at Disney Imagineering. “If you wait long enough,” he said, “people will surprise and impress you.” When you’re frustrated with people, when you’re angry, it may be because you haven’t given them enough time. Jon warned that this took great patience, even years. “In the end,” he said, “people will show you their good side. Just keep waiting. It will come out.”
Make Time for What Matters
When Jai and I went on our honeymoon, we wanted to be left alone. Since my boss demanded a way for people to reach me, I recorded this greeting:
“Hi, this is Randy. I waited until I was 39 to get married, so my wife and I are going away for a month. I hope you don’t have a problem with that, but my boss does. Apparently, I have to be reachable.” I then gave the names of Jai’s parents and the city where they lived. “If you call directory assistance, you can get their phone number. And then, if you can convince my in-laws that your emergency merits interrupting their only daughter’s honeymoon, they have our number.” We didn’t get any calls.
Time is all you have. And you may find one day that you have less than you think.
Let Kids Be Themselves
Because I’ve been so vocal about my childhood dreams, people have asked me about the dreams I have for my own kids. As a professor, I’ve seen how disruptive it can be for parents to have specific dreams for their children. My job is to help my kids foster a joy for life and develop the tools to fulfill their own wishes. My wishes for them are very exact and, given that I won’t be there, I want to be clear: Kids, don’t try to figure out what I wanted you to become. I want you to become what you want to become. And I want you to feel as if I am there with you, whatever path you choose.
Adapted from the book The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch and Wall Street Journal reporter Jeffrey Zaslow. Copyright © 2008 Randy Pausch. To be published by Hyperion. All rights reserved.
AFTER THE LECTURE
After I gave my lecture in September, I expected to go home and quietly spend time with my family. I never imagined that my talk would be viewed online by millions worldwide. The response has overwhelmed and moved me. Thousands of people have written to me about their life lessons. I’ve also been buoyed by former students who’ve told me how my teaching made a difference to them. There’s no greater gift for a teacher.
I’ve used my unexpected fame to advocate for pancreatic cancer research. Last month, I testified before Congress to seek funding for my disease, which is considered the deadliest of cancers.
I’ve had great fun too. In my lecture, I told of two childhood dreams: playing in the NFL and being Captain Kirk on Star Trek. Strangers fulfilled those wishes. I was invited to scrimmage with the Pittsburgh Steelers and got to say a line in a new Star Trek film. Both experiences were thrilling.
I’m lucky to be living longer than I expected, allowing me more time with my kids. I’ve tried to do unforgettable things with them—such as swimming with dolphins—so they’ll have concrete memories of us and of my love for them.
I am honored that my lecture will live on and that people have found it beneficial. Honestly, though, the talk was for my kids, and it gives me comfort to know that they will one day watch it.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Um...Coppertone, anyone?
Dear god, this is clearly before the days of slathering SPF 75 on children and then covering them head-to-toe in clothing and plopping them underneath an umbrella at the beach. Is it just me, or do I look like an Oompa Loompa to anyone else? Look at those eyebrows! LOL.
There I am, first day of Kindergarten, after two weeks' vacation down the shore (that's "at the Jersey Shore" for you heathens). It seems like yesterday. I've been flooded with childhood memories over the last 24 hours. My high school friends who organized our 20th reunion in 2007 have now created a private online social network for our class. We're up to about 50 people right now and many of them didn't make it to the reunion. So everyone's leaving comments for each other and uploading pictures from now, pictures from the past, and pictures of children (human, canine, and/or feline). Such fun! And as best I can tell, I'm the only kickball-, softball-, beach volleyball-playing, running, Forensic Scientist in the bunch, so I carved a wee notch out for myself in our class after all... I can't wait to find out what everyone else has been up to. I'm sure there are very few of us who wound up anywhwere near what we expected. What a great chance this is to see where we've been, where we are, and maybe where we're going. We already have one romantic couple that formed at the reunion, who knows what else is in store?
Signing off,
Oompa Loompa
Class of 1987
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
They're baaaaaack
A new protest demonstration by the dancing Filipino inmates! I want to see these guys go up against Jabberwockies... My real reason for posting it is because the song is a fave of a dear friend of mine. Enjoy!
Alas, this is still my favorite version of this song:
Alas, this is still my favorite version of this song:
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Bad blogger, bad!
I just stumbled upon two comments left on here following my blog about Bodhi's surgery way back when. Blogspot doesn't alert me when I get comments, so I had no idea. I feel like such a bad blogger for not checking! One friend requested an update (she's a good friend and coworker and actually knows how Bodhi is doing) and the other is a friend who I think I may have updated a few weeks ago. But just in case.......thank you so much for your concern and I'm sorry I didn't see your comments sooner!
Bodhi seems to be doing well. Unfortunately, all that modern veterinary science has to offer in the way of mast cell tumor prevention is that I have to keep feeling her up to see if I detect any new tumors. Can you imagine if this is what we had to do for breast cancer? Oh wait, this is pretty darn similar to what we have to do.
Sorry, I just got distracted. I have "Hell's Kitchen" on in the background and one of the new contestants just said, "...my dawta's fawtha." AWESOME. Can't wait to hear her tawk some mawr.
OK, I've lost my train of thought and my feet are swelling because I've been sitting on my exercise ball (why, what else would I do with it?) and surfing the net for an hour. Hope everyone has a great evening! Do a Spring dance for me if you think of it. I am ready for some Spring!!!
Bodhi seems to be doing well. Unfortunately, all that modern veterinary science has to offer in the way of mast cell tumor prevention is that I have to keep feeling her up to see if I detect any new tumors. Can you imagine if this is what we had to do for breast cancer? Oh wait, this is pretty darn similar to what we have to do.
Sorry, I just got distracted. I have "Hell's Kitchen" on in the background and one of the new contestants just said, "...my dawta's fawtha." AWESOME. Can't wait to hear her tawk some mawr.
OK, I've lost my train of thought and my feet are swelling because I've been sitting on my exercise ball (why, what else would I do with it?) and surfing the net for an hour. Hope everyone has a great evening! Do a Spring dance for me if you think of it. I am ready for some Spring!!!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Never feed a Gremlin after midnight
Since Thursday, the local paper has been keeping readers posted daily on the status of an early Thursday morning shooting spree two yahoos went on along I-64 in western Virginia. I believe there were six different shootings on or near Interstate 64 in the Charlottesville area. The police have since arrested a nineteen-year-old man (who looks somewhat satanic in his pic) and a sixteen-year-old juvenile, whose identity is being protected. These geniuses [allegedly] shot at moving cars from different overpasses and also shot at a bank. There's a tidbit in each telling of the story that I find welcome. The ne'er-do-wells' vehicle of choice? A 1974 AMC Gremlin.
When was the last time you heard of anyone driving a Gremlin or even saw one? If you were going to go on a shooting spree, wouldn't you choose something a little more mundane? A Gremlin? Really?? Shame the boys also took those shots at the bank -- since its surveillance camera was able to capture this unique car. Good lord, how long did it take them to track down the owner? Must have used some pretty sophisticated forensics on that one. I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that there's only one such car out in those parts (this is the land of pickup trucks after all) and that at least one of the responding police officers knew it belonged to Slade Woodson of Afton.
I will say this for the Gremlin: it may not be attractive, it may not have much room inside, it may not have any replacement parts in existence anymore (I'm just assuming), but dang it got some good gas mileage. My friend Dave Anthony had one in high school and we were able to drive around all night on $1.36 in gas. Granted, this was in the 80s and we got close to three gallons for that. But still....
Regardless, if you're going to drive around shooting at people, you may want to choose something a little more sedate. Unless of course, the whole reason these guys were so angry in the first place is because they were stuck driving around in this thing all night, trying to score chicks:
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Don't it make my brown eyes blue
Holy cow, I just saw a human Papa Smurf on Oprah! He even left Dr. Oz speechless. This genius saw an ad for colloidal silver that touted it as a cure for petroleum poisoning and since his friend suffered from petroleum poisoning, he ordered some. And being an aforementioned genius and a good friend, he figured he couldn't very well recommend that his friend take this stuff without trying it out himself. Of course, he wasn't actually suffering from petroleum poisoning. Well, he tried it for a bit and it helped his acid reflux, so he eventually started applying it to his skin after he developed some dermatitis. He was caring for his elderly parents and not getting out much (and apparently not looking in a mirror) so it wasn't until a friend happened by that he even discovered he was turning blue! And he's not just a faint blue. Oh, no. He's the color of a grape jelly Jelly Belly.
So what is this stuff anyway? Colloidal silver is a liquid suspension of silver particles. Waaaay back in the day, it was used medicinally to kill bacteria until something called 'antibiotics' were developed and found to be more effective. Not only were they more effective, but they did not have this interesting side effect: argyria. Seems that those silver particles, once absorbed by the skin either internally or externally, have a tendency to turn blue/gray when exposed to sunlight. Kind of like the silver particles in photographic paper darkening when exposed to light. As Dr. Oz said, he's essentially tattooed himself!
And finally, the reveal:
That's his fiance on the right. She met him after this had happened and like most women of a certain age, she wasn't discouraged when she learned he was blue. I wonder if she was thinking he just needed some cheering up?
Monday, February 18, 2008
Bloggedy blog blog
Got an email from the NaBloPoMo folks this week saying they're proposing a monthly blog-posting contest/drive/whathaveyou. The next one starts up March 1st, so I guess it's time to stretch the ol' fingers, clear up the cobwebs between my ears, and see if I can't find something inane to babble about for a few minutes.
Hmmm, speaking of inane, I bring you this: I became addicted to The View when I was home in December recuperating from my arm surgery (by the way, if you're listening Dr. Running Surgeon: my arm's still clicking!) I can't seem to help myself. I despise Elizabeth and would like someone to smack Babwa on the back of the head with a cast iron pan, but I can't stop watching. I DVR the darn thing and watch the Hot Topics segment each evening when I get home from work. And today they had a doozy of a tidbit, inane in its own right: seems that somewhere in my adopted state of Virginia, a book about two male pengiuns raising a baby penguin was banned. Whoopi was trying to explain that this sometimes happens in the wild when the mother can no longer care for her offspring (read: she gets eaten) and another penguin steps in to increase the offspring's survival. Joy added that the book is in fact based on some penguins in Central Park. Which should be the first clue that these are in fact homo penguins. The horror! And that brings us to Sherri. Poor Sherri. She spoke slowly and cautiously, knowing that Whoopi and Joy and the media would most likely pounce on her comments. She then proceeded to explain that she would not read this book to her son. That if he wanted to read it when he got older, then maybe. Now, I've heard Sheri's comments concerning her son before and am confident that by "older," she in fact means eighteen and/or not living under her roof. At which point, I would think the bigger issue would be that she has an adult son who is reading children's books...
Anyway, she and Grand Wizard Hasselbeck then proceeded to explain that the book wasn't just about two male penguins coming together to nurture an orphaned penguin, rather as the book progresses, the male penguins become very good friends and LOVE each other.
This was said with a great deal of import.
Two male penguins become very good friends and love each other.
Say it with me. Two male penguins become very good friends and love each other.
Oh my god!! Quick, get the children out of the room!!! Two male penguins become very good friends and love each other!!!!!!!!
Can you imagine what this would teach children?? That they never have to be afraid of being abandoned. That someone will always take care of them. That it's okay for men to be close. That it's okay for men to care for each other and care for children. That men make good parents. Holy hell, it's time for a book burning!! This filth must be destroyed and if it can't be destroyed, well it should be banned. Thank goodness I'm in a state that sees this so clearly.
Just don't ask how many children live in poverty here. Oh, and don't worry yourselves over those fatherless families. And by all means, look the other way when some boys beat the crap out of some fags.
Virginia is for lovers. As long as they're not two male penguins.
Hmmm, speaking of inane, I bring you this: I became addicted to The View when I was home in December recuperating from my arm surgery (by the way, if you're listening Dr. Running Surgeon: my arm's still clicking!) I can't seem to help myself. I despise Elizabeth and would like someone to smack Babwa on the back of the head with a cast iron pan, but I can't stop watching. I DVR the darn thing and watch the Hot Topics segment each evening when I get home from work. And today they had a doozy of a tidbit, inane in its own right: seems that somewhere in my adopted state of Virginia, a book about two male pengiuns raising a baby penguin was banned. Whoopi was trying to explain that this sometimes happens in the wild when the mother can no longer care for her offspring (read: she gets eaten) and another penguin steps in to increase the offspring's survival. Joy added that the book is in fact based on some penguins in Central Park. Which should be the first clue that these are in fact homo penguins. The horror! And that brings us to Sherri. Poor Sherri. She spoke slowly and cautiously, knowing that Whoopi and Joy and the media would most likely pounce on her comments. She then proceeded to explain that she would not read this book to her son. That if he wanted to read it when he got older, then maybe. Now, I've heard Sheri's comments concerning her son before and am confident that by "older," she in fact means eighteen and/or not living under her roof. At which point, I would think the bigger issue would be that she has an adult son who is reading children's books...
Anyway, she and Grand Wizard Hasselbeck then proceeded to explain that the book wasn't just about two male penguins coming together to nurture an orphaned penguin, rather as the book progresses, the male penguins become very good friends and LOVE each other.
This was said with a great deal of import.
Two male penguins become very good friends and love each other.
Say it with me. Two male penguins become very good friends and love each other.
Oh my god!! Quick, get the children out of the room!!! Two male penguins become very good friends and love each other!!!!!!!!
Can you imagine what this would teach children?? That they never have to be afraid of being abandoned. That someone will always take care of them. That it's okay for men to be close. That it's okay for men to care for each other and care for children. That men make good parents. Holy hell, it's time for a book burning!! This filth must be destroyed and if it can't be destroyed, well it should be banned. Thank goodness I'm in a state that sees this so clearly.
Just don't ask how many children live in poverty here. Oh, and don't worry yourselves over those fatherless families. And by all means, look the other way when some boys beat the crap out of some fags.
Virginia is for lovers. As long as they're not two male penguins.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
You Take the Good, You Take the Bad
What a day of ups and downs. I've only got 5 minutes before American Idol starts and I really need to laugh right now, so I'm going to try to make this brief. The following things have happened within the last 24-48 hours:
- had a good outside run at lunch; felt like I might survive 15.5 miler this Saturday;
- took dog to vet because doggie daycare folks kept hounding me about something I had already run by the vet. Figured I'd just take her there, find out she was ok, and then I could tell them to stuff it. That really should have been my first clue;
- vet aspirated the same growth he told me not to worry about six months ago and informed me it's a mast cell tumor -- the dog equivalent of a malignant carcinoma;
- came home and had a mini-meltdown over dog's surgery (scheduled for this Friday), my role in her illness, and her prognosis;
- consequently, I'm probably not running 15.5 miler on Saturday because after neglecting her so much that she got cancer, I probably shouldn't neglect her the day after her surgery;
- discovered Heath Ledger had died;
- received word that my friends were organizing a charity kickball tournament to raise money for the family of a recently-slain local police officer -- I'm incredibly proud of them for thinking of this and making it happen;
- and all the while, running through the background of my mind is the suspicion that two acquaintances/friends of mine who have been in a committed relationship for close to a decade have broken up and a new friend of mine has played a part in that.
Very sad, almost all of it is very sad. And yet, life just marches on. I was on the phone with my mother before, checking on my great aunt who has finally returned to my mother's house following her triple bypass surgery of a few weeks ago -- and after crying about Bodhi (my dog), I found myself cracking cancer jokes in Bodhi's voice. The "Bodhi voice" is just something I do. And if you like me, you find it somewhat charming/disturbing, while if you don't, I imagine you think it's just disturbing.
Ah, American Idol's on. As to the point of this blog, I really have no idea. I just know that the first girl just sang one of my favorite songs, "Someone to Watch Over Me." It's also a song that reminds me of my late father. Who in turn reminds me that life just marches on. Whether you've lost your parents, or your dog, or your husband has been murdered, or relationships that were never supposed to end have ended....life marches on. It can seem so incredibly cold at the time, but I imagine it's the only way we can survive. If we were to stay in the pain for too long, it would drive us mad. So I find myself doing "the Bodhi voice" and saying to you, "Buy a daffodil -- my mam gave me cancer."
Be well my friends, and find the funny. :)
- had a good outside run at lunch; felt like I might survive 15.5 miler this Saturday;
- took dog to vet because doggie daycare folks kept hounding me about something I had already run by the vet. Figured I'd just take her there, find out she was ok, and then I could tell them to stuff it. That really should have been my first clue;
- vet aspirated the same growth he told me not to worry about six months ago and informed me it's a mast cell tumor -- the dog equivalent of a malignant carcinoma;
- came home and had a mini-meltdown over dog's surgery (scheduled for this Friday), my role in her illness, and her prognosis;
- consequently, I'm probably not running 15.5 miler on Saturday because after neglecting her so much that she got cancer, I probably shouldn't neglect her the day after her surgery;
- discovered Heath Ledger had died;
- received word that my friends were organizing a charity kickball tournament to raise money for the family of a recently-slain local police officer -- I'm incredibly proud of them for thinking of this and making it happen;
- and all the while, running through the background of my mind is the suspicion that two acquaintances/friends of mine who have been in a committed relationship for close to a decade have broken up and a new friend of mine has played a part in that.
Very sad, almost all of it is very sad. And yet, life just marches on. I was on the phone with my mother before, checking on my great aunt who has finally returned to my mother's house following her triple bypass surgery of a few weeks ago -- and after crying about Bodhi (my dog), I found myself cracking cancer jokes in Bodhi's voice. The "Bodhi voice" is just something I do. And if you like me, you find it somewhat charming/disturbing, while if you don't, I imagine you think it's just disturbing.
Ah, American Idol's on. As to the point of this blog, I really have no idea. I just know that the first girl just sang one of my favorite songs, "Someone to Watch Over Me." It's also a song that reminds me of my late father. Who in turn reminds me that life just marches on. Whether you've lost your parents, or your dog, or your husband has been murdered, or relationships that were never supposed to end have ended....life marches on. It can seem so incredibly cold at the time, but I imagine it's the only way we can survive. If we were to stay in the pain for too long, it would drive us mad. So I find myself doing "the Bodhi voice" and saying to you, "Buy a daffodil -- my mam gave me cancer."
Be well my friends, and find the funny. :)
Saturday, January 5, 2008
She May Want to Invest in Disposable Pens
Well, I survived the 20K race this morning. I can't really express what it's like to just up and run 12.4 miles when one hasn't run in months. I have a lot of respect for the people who train properly and run really fast, but there has to be something said for those of us who are either so determined or so stupid that we would go out and do such a thing. It really wasn't as bad as I expected and I'm just shaking my head. I wonder how well I'd do if I actually ran all year long and trained properly? Something tells me I may never find out!
Among my friends, we all have different reasons why we run. I'm not even sure of all the reasons I do it, but one is that I enjoy seeing my running friends and hanging out with them before, during, and after the races and our training runs. There are no negative runners and it's wonderful to have that outlet of challenge and encouragement. We seem to have temporarily lost one of our regulars, Celeste, but two of our regulars who took a year off, Geoff and Dolores, surprised us and showed up today. Dolores is kind of the pied piper of running and it was good to have her back. Geoff's just a good guy and fun to have around.
After we all survived our grueling morning, we were drinking our victory beers and eating our dried out grilled cheese sandwiches (there are some penalties for running really slow) and Geoff told a story that I feel I need to pass along to you.
He and Dolores were at a work function last night and a single mother at the table shared the following: her 12-year-old son recently came to her somewhat ashamedly and told her that he had masturbated for the first time. She told him that was okay, gave the usual "in private" speech, and added that he didn't need to tell her. Either this kid is Catholic or he gets off (sorry for the pun) on torturing his mother, because he leaves little notes on her bedside table that say, "Dear Mom, I jerked off again. I'm sorry." each and every time he does! And did I mention he's twelve? That's got to be a lot of notes.
WHAT THE HELL? She's told him repeatedly that she doesn't want to know, but he just keeps doing it. It's gotten to the point that she's stopped reading the notes and just throws them out when she sees them. I asked if she bought him a 100-pack of athletic socks, facial tissues, and lotion for Christmas and Geoff said, "No," but that the kid soiled some PJs last week. He was wearing one pair, the mother went outside to take the trash out, was back in 5 minutes and he was wearing a different pair. Somehow, not knowing enough to NOT ask, she said, "What happened to your pajamas?" and he explained that he had -- well, I don't know what he said because I was too busy cracking jokes at this point, along the lines of, "What, didn't he have time to write a note??" Regardless, the mother gathered up her son's laundry and was very disturbed to discover exactly what had happened to her sons pajamas!
Boys, you gotta love 'em. Demented little f*cks.
Among my friends, we all have different reasons why we run. I'm not even sure of all the reasons I do it, but one is that I enjoy seeing my running friends and hanging out with them before, during, and after the races and our training runs. There are no negative runners and it's wonderful to have that outlet of challenge and encouragement. We seem to have temporarily lost one of our regulars, Celeste, but two of our regulars who took a year off, Geoff and Dolores, surprised us and showed up today. Dolores is kind of the pied piper of running and it was good to have her back. Geoff's just a good guy and fun to have around.
After we all survived our grueling morning, we were drinking our victory beers and eating our dried out grilled cheese sandwiches (there are some penalties for running really slow) and Geoff told a story that I feel I need to pass along to you.
He and Dolores were at a work function last night and a single mother at the table shared the following: her 12-year-old son recently came to her somewhat ashamedly and told her that he had masturbated for the first time. She told him that was okay, gave the usual "in private" speech, and added that he didn't need to tell her. Either this kid is Catholic or he gets off (sorry for the pun) on torturing his mother, because he leaves little notes on her bedside table that say, "Dear Mom, I jerked off again. I'm sorry." each and every time he does! And did I mention he's twelve? That's got to be a lot of notes.
WHAT THE HELL? She's told him repeatedly that she doesn't want to know, but he just keeps doing it. It's gotten to the point that she's stopped reading the notes and just throws them out when she sees them. I asked if she bought him a 100-pack of athletic socks, facial tissues, and lotion for Christmas and Geoff said, "No," but that the kid soiled some PJs last week. He was wearing one pair, the mother went outside to take the trash out, was back in 5 minutes and he was wearing a different pair. Somehow, not knowing enough to NOT ask, she said, "What happened to your pajamas?" and he explained that he had -- well, I don't know what he said because I was too busy cracking jokes at this point, along the lines of, "What, didn't he have time to write a note??" Regardless, the mother gathered up her son's laundry and was very disturbed to discover exactly what had happened to her sons pajamas!
Boys, you gotta love 'em. Demented little f*cks.
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