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December 18, 2007
Veni Vidi ViciI feel something coming on in my life, something that I can't escape. I feel change and I don't mean wearing gray socks versus the usual black. Several months ago, we were told that my office was potentially moving to Bedford Massachusetts from its current location in Portsmouth. I am used to hearing this; in my 17 years here, this suggestion comes up every five or so years, only to be shot down. This time the threat seemed more imminent. Relocations and structural changes have been occurring throughout my organization in vast amounts and I knew better than to not take this scenario seriously. I know that on my salary I can't possibly afford to live in Massachusetts, and I figured if I sold my house and found something here in Portsmouth or Kittery, I could just commute as I've been doing from Sanford. I am not so naive as to think that the commutes are comparable. I have pretty smooth sailing between Sanford and Portsmouth and back every day, and long though it may be, I'm rarely if ever stuck in traffic. Commuting from Portsmouth to Boston and back every day has been reported as brutal and not recommended for any but the hardiest of individuals, say, those who climb K-2 on their holiday. It's a commute I was not looking forward to making, but my hands seemed tied. I would just have to toughen up. Sure enough, we were told just a couple of weeks ago that the move is definite, and our office will be relocated by January 2009. I put in for another federal position here in the local area, interviewed for it, and was told a couple of weeks later that I had not been selected. Time to move to plan B - sell my house. In a panic I put my house on craigslist, at a rock-bottom fee, hoping to have it sold and a new home in place before that fateful date. I knew I had no other alternative, other than to go looking on the civilian market for a job. If I were childless, this would be a no brainer -- I would be free to pursue any pipe dreams I have ever had - music, animal sciences, home based business, doggie daycare... But I am not childless and carefree, and having over 20 years in with the same company kind of leaves me - at the very least - hesitant to leave my time and benefits behind. Sure, I want to be a rock star, but at 39 years old, I'll have to be a rock star after I retire from the real world and my kid is out of school, and I've got 15 more years until I can do that. I've been in a bit of a frenzy, trying to paste up the house as well as I can. I'm spinning around in circles, doing 1/4 of a room, tiling a floor but not finishing it, moving piles of crap I need to sort out from room to room. The problem is, I felt wrong. The whole thing felt wrong. I've been waffling about selling my house for about a year now, and although I felt determined to sell the house and make this location change work, it didn't ring true. Enter, a small miracle, a small bit of karma that I'm still trying to figure out - a job offer. A week ago, I get a call from the organization with the job that I'd applied and been turned down for. They were now offering me a job, and it's right here in Kittery. I can start in February 2008. I felt a wave of relief wash over me at first, but as the giddiness at not having to commute to Boston, at not having to sell my house wore off, a feeling of wariness was creeping in. A new job. A different employer. A different stack of duties. A big, big change. I have been with the same company for nearly 20 years and with the same office for 17. I'm not too embarrassed to admit that I'm scared out of my freaking mind! It will be a big adjustment but you know what? It's something that I really believe I need. Even if my office announced that the relocation was off, I feel that I would have to move on anyway. It's time. There are so many changes that I have been wanting to make in my stagnant life and I just can't seem to get started on any of it. I want to pursue serious writing; I want to become involved in music again; I want to be more physically active; I want to start on my big list of things to do before I die. This new job feels like a catalyst for something even bigger - for breaking out of my safe little chrysalis and transforming for perhaps one final time in my life. It's time to move on from my 20 year safe little habit of a job, it's time to sell this house which has become more of my life than I really meant it to be, it's time to start living my life rather than just getting through it. I was in my basement last night, staring at my old octopus-style converted coal burner as I folded my laundry and found myself choking up with emotion over it. Do I really want to sell this house? After all, now that I'm not relocating with my employer, I really don't have to. I can hold on to it, preventing as much change as possible. Everything about this house meant so much to me at the time - my first house, my first bid at adulthood. I loved this house from the minute I saw it. This house was the first goal I set for myself as an adult and I mercilessly pursued it until I got it. I won. I've put so much into it, physically and emotionally, until it has eclipsed any other goal I might have set for myself. But now, it's time. I won, and now I need to move on to another goal, another victory. The house no longer means what it once did for me. It has gone from a sweet triumph to a burden, as much as it hurts to admit it. I want to have time to explore activities other than caulking and painting and tiling. I am also a little sad to say that this will be my final blog entry in Bullyland. It was fun while it lasted and the blog has served its purpose - proving to myself that I'm capable of holding an audience with my written words. I'd like to move on to a more fruitful writing career. It's time to go for it, to shake off the moss and start rolling. Veni, vidi, vici. And so, onward ho. Posted by Bullyland at 01:57 PM | Comments (1) September 11, 2007
September 11, 2007Angels are fragile Because I am the one who will never die young And there are babies laughing So will you save me a seat Because I am the one who will never die young excerpt from "Never Die Young" Here's one perspective: TWO THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED NINETY SIX
THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED SIXTY TWO
SEVENTY EIGHT THOUSAND
ONE
Posted by Bullyland at 02:37 PM | Comments (2) August 20, 2007
August 20, 1975Today is my brother's birthday. I remember the day he was born in 1975. He came into this world on a hot August Texas day with a huge to-do; a nearly 11 pound baby who had a few difficulties finding his way out. Once he was here, though, he was a force to be reckoned with. My brother's personality was practically developed at birth - all his life he would keep us on our toes with his uniqueness, his inquisitiveness, his quest for everything he could experience in life. Nothing in our world would ever be the same. It is the first birthday without him here. It's a sad day but also a day that holds so many fond memories. My brother adored birthdays. He would get SO excited about his birthday as a little boy and as a teenager, and the thrill never wore off for him. He planned his birthday months ahead of time. He would find concerts near his birthday, or festivals, or fairs... He would plan the "special thing" he wanted to do for his birthday with an enthusiastic detail I found both unnerving and amusing. I teased him about having birthweek versus birthday. He was such a little kid about birthdays. I never in my wildest imagination, growing up with him, would have dreamed that maybe God made him this way because He knew my brother would only have thirty one of them on earth. In honor of my brother's love for big-production birthdays, and because he asked my mom to do it, we packed up the clan and headed to Fenway yesterday. We each had a button with my brother's photo on it, our Red Sox hats, t-shirts and other assorted get-ups, and piled into the narrow seating behind home & third. The Sox lost, but I think my brother would have appreciated the humor there. Never give up your faith! I could almost hear him saying it. My mom arranged the message in the following photo through the friends and contacts she made at Fenway while my brother was ill.
My mother wrote the following for her friends on a website for parents dealing with the loss of their children. She's made many friends through the website and I'm glad it allows her to channel some of her grief into creativity - another thing my brother would surely approve of. She let me read it and with her permission I'm printing it here. It brought tears to my eye but also a smile here and there. Monday, August 20, 2007, is Mike's birthday---our first without him. A person's birthday is such a huge event in their lives; it celebrates their beginning, the arrival of a new spirit into this world, the moment of life's beginning for them. When they are placed in our arms, our happiness is almost indescribable---remember? "Hey world, this is my baby; isn't he/she absolutely the most beautiful baby you've ever seen? Isn't he/she the smartest, the happiest, the sweetest?" We all traveled this road when our child was born. We all reveled in the joy of it. We all were beside ourselves with pride and love and feeling so very blessed--life is wonderful. Happy Birthday, bro. I hope your first in Heaven was your best one yet. Posted by Bullyland at 09:33 AM | Comments (3) August 10, 2007
Thank You for Not SmokingYeah, I've got a dirty little secret (well, it's not really a secret). I smoke. I've been smoking since I was about 14 years old. I love to smoke. I hate to smoke. It feels like I've always smoked - and I have. I'm 39 years old so I've been smoking for 25 years - two thirds of my lifetime. I've smoked enough Camel Lights to buy Park Avenue. I had enough Camel Cash to buy a Camel Jetliner. R.J. Reynolds & Co. sent me an iPod shuffle - seriously - just to say, "I love you, too." I have not smoked twice in my life, during both pregnancies. During my first pregnancy it was a no-brainer. It made me physically ill even to smell second hand smoke. It was a breeze to quit. The day after my son was born, I was bumming a Virginia Slim off another new mother in the break room. I always thought if I ever had another child it would be as easy to quit. With my second pregnancy, however, came an unpleasant realization. It was very hard not to smoke. I craved cigarettes every day of my pregnancy. It was horrible! Other than that, I've never really tried to QUIT. I have bouts of guilt now and again, but I am really great at denial when it comes to smoking. I won't get cancer, I won't have a heart attack, I won't develop C.O.P.D. - which my dad does have - even though he quit over 20 years ago, my hair doesn't stink, my breath doesn't stink, there's no smoke residue in the car to harm my child, etc. You name it, I'll deny it, when it comes to smoking my Camel Lights. I make Jesus cry with my denial when it comes to smoking. I would jog five miles and light up afterward. I would eat organic salad and light up afterward. I would pay $4 a pack - at the cheapest store - and put only $16 in my gas tank if I only had one twenty dollar bill left to my name. My legacy for my 22 year old son? Camel Lights. Yes folks, he won't even smoke a different brand. "Mom, do you have any smokes, can I get one?" The truth is, my habit is disgusting. It's pathetic. It's time for a change. Guess what? After 25 years, I'm finally ready. My youngest son has never seemed to notice my smoking much. I didn't really "hide" it from him, as so many smoking parents I know do, but I don't smoke in the house, or when he's in the car with me, etc. The other day, however, out of the blue, he called me out on it. "MOM! You have to quit smoking! You're going to die." He paused, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was for dramatic effect. "I'm going to be a kid whose Mom died young." I tell you, it was like a cinder block to my heart. You may know I lost my brother last fall. His brain cancer was not caused by smoking, but by a random twist of fate. His kids ARE kids whose Dad died young. I KNOW the tragedy first hand. And yet here I am, tempting death head-on, selfishly taking the chance that my kids lose their mother early. My oldest son would be an orphan if I died. My youngest... well, I don't even want to think about how he'd react. After my son layed this on me I had a revelation. Yes. I would quit smoking. I would pick a date, and I would never light up again. Period. I said to him, "Guess what? I'm going to quit." He stopped and looked me in the eye. "What? Really? Do you mean it?" Another cinder block - it hadn't occurred to him at all that I would agree with him. For the first time, I feel good about quitting, I mean - always before, I'd think about it but with a big sense of dread. Of course, I'd never get around to it. Now though, I'm feeling happy about it, I'm looking forward with a giddy feeling to the date I chose to quit. I'm quitting August 20th, my brother's 32nd birthday. The Gatorade jug he and I used as an ashtray on my mom & dad's porch last fall is still on the porch. I'm going to bury that Gatorade jug in the woods on August 20th. I know my bro will have my back on this; he is my mojo. Wish me luck! Posted by Bullyland at 09:45 AM | Comments (20) July 12, 2007
Is it just me?I was watching TV last night and I usually mute the ads but I decided to watch them this time. Anyone who knows me knows I can't stand advertising. I get my hackles up over manipulation of any kind and I am pleased to report that Madison Avenue is still not as clever as I. Keep trying, ladies and gentlemen, maybe one day an ad will persuade me to spend money. Maybe not. I have to ask, am I the only one who notices how cheesy restaurant commercials are? Why is the food always wet? Why is it always flying through the air? Seriously. If I walk into the kitchen at Chilis or Wendy's, will I see food prep people tossing wet, sliced red onions back and forth? Will I see wet, chopped tomatoes flying across the counter? It's kind of scary. And the people eating at said restaurant are so ridiculously happy, like they've been waiting all their lives for this very moment. Wow. Is it supposed to make me, a clearly unhappy person since I'm sitting at home while other people live it up at the 99, want to go out to eat? What it really does is creep me out. I don't want to go to a restaurant where airborne lettuce may hit my head and fellow diners are having orgasms over the Endless Pasta special. Runners up for most cheesy ads would be tooth whitener and Botox. I've never seen scarier smiles. As if anyone walks into a room grinning ear to ear with every tooth exposed at a party (tooth whitener). And who the hell jumps up and down while tossing their heads back, laughing riotously at the thought of Botox? Please, we all know Botox freezes your face no matter how animated the model's smile is. I found myself wondering also if there's a law that prevents minorities from looking stupid in commercials. Family #1 (white) is upset because their incompetent mother/wife didn't use the good baggies and now their chicken is all freezer-burned. Family #2 (Asian/black/Hispanic/Eskimo) is ecstatic and going to eat well tonight, because their savvy mother/wife went with the good baggies, and Family #2's chicken breasts are vacuum sealed and airtight. Or blonde WASP-y woman walks all the way to the end of the driveway only to have her trash bag burst all over her feet - and AT THAT EXACT MOMENT, as if she were waiting for blondie to take the trash out so she can rub it in - an Hispanic woman trots out her bag which plops neatly into the can. I am ashamed to be a white girl, I will try to improve myself by buying the right bags. I love the Law Offices of Joe Bornstein ads. I am always tempted to call the 1-800 number and when they ask me how they can help me, I'll say "I don't know, you tell me. Robert Vaughn just told me to call RIGHT NOW." Honestly cute is the Aquaboggan water park ad with the three big kids in goggles & trunks sitting in a baby pool, waving. "Wave pool." Get it? Posted by Bullyland at 01:02 PM | Comments (7) July 02, 2007
Racial Tensions in the Mid EastOf course, I'm not talking about the Mid East that's usually in the news. I'm talking about the Mid-East coast, most specifically, eastern Virginia. My sister has lived near the Virginia coast for over a decade and has made it her permanent home. She has two daughters and a wonderful fiancee who also has grown children. They are loving life, and it shows. We had a blast in Virginia, relaxing by the pool, at the beach, visiting and catching up with each other. My son re-bonded quickly with his cousins and all the kids enjoyed themselves to the fullest. So what's this I mean when I say racial tension? Well, living in Maine doesn't exactly expose one to a cultural rainbow. The schools go heavy on Martin Luther King, Jr in January, and segue easily into Black History Month during February. My eight year old can tell you all about MLKJ and name at least 10 African American heroes of the past, not to mention a play-by-play recall of the history of slavery in the United States. He is virtually saturated in diversity training at school. Problem is, he doesn't really get to practice it. He has one biracial child in his class; a lovely boy whom my son has gone to school with since Kindergarten. It seems unfortunate that he isn't as immersed in diversity as I was growing up as a military brat, but when I take a closer look at things, I can't help but wonder if he's actually fortunate to be avoiding stereotypes and racial tension. He doesn't have a clue that some white people still hate black people and vice versa. I hope when he's grown up and ready to do some traveling himself, he'll take his untainted, "everybody really is equal" attitude with him and spread it around. I noticed as we traveled down through Massachusetts, Maryland, Delaware, NJ, et al that the diversity at the rest stops was steadily growing. My son asked me at a restaurant "Mommy, how come there are so many brown skinned people here?" I explained to him that for whatever reason there just aren't that many other colors in Maine, but he should expect a lot more different people as he travels the country. He was happy with that. He was fascinated by all the colors, languages and accents that we encountered as we traveled southward. He was particularly taken with a young Mexican boy about his age who had a brindle colored Chihuahua on a string. As the child's father and brother spoke to one another in Spanish, the boy's lilting accent accentuated his speech as he told my son, "We call him Tiger because he has stripes like the tiger." My son could identify with this child completely. Skin color, accents, and parents who speak another language were not a factor for my son when sharing his love for tiny dogs with this other boy. It was heart lifting. Anyway, once we settled in Virginia, I couldn't help but notice that things weren't all melting-pot brotherly love. My sister and her family are in the minority in most parts of her town. I could sense the tension in casual comments made by white people I encountered. At the beach, I noticed a family had left behind empty bottles, wrappers and cigarette butts in the sand. There were five trash cans within tossing distance of this mess! I made a comment about how disgusting that was and heard, "They don't care about making a filthy mess for others to clean." "They," was I supposed to surmise, were black people? But what about the family to our left? They were black people. I observed the mother chasing a stray Kleenex for about five yards and they were meticulous about cleaning their mess. As I got into an elevator at the hotel, a black man entered with me. He was wearing tourist casual - nice jeans, a polo shirt and some loafers. He was about my age. At the next floor, a middle aged white woman boarded the lift and glanced toward the black man but not at his face. "To the lobby please?" she said to him. I had to stop my mouth from falling open. I could not believe this woman assumed that this black man on the elevator was actually working the elevator. To this guy's credit, he did not even blink. He simply grinned and pushed "L" for her. When she exited the lift she tossed a meek "Thank you" over her shoulder at him. The guy must have an unbelievable tolerance level. It has been a long time since I lived anywhere but New Hampshire or Maine and I forget what it's like to be immersed in cultural diversity. I forget what it's like to be directly exposed to black American culture - i.e., rap music, bling, ebonics, etc - all of which were present in crowds of teenagers in Virginia. I don't know any black people in Virginia and didn't hang out much and so I didn't get a fair and balanced view of racial tensions. Having only spent a week there I am not exactly reeling with culture shock but I am a bit disoriented by it. I don't really remember a lot of racial tension when I was growing up in the racially integrated Air Force, other than the usual cliques which were more defined by musical tastes and class than by race. Aside from the bubble of weirdness that was the realization that racial tensions do in fact still exist in this country, I had a spectacular time in Virginia. I got quite attached to the hotel pool, which turned out to be an oasis in the heat wave where children get along famously, get lots of exercise and get tired out enough to fall asleep without a hassle. I got to know my sister and my nieces again and finally meet her fiancee, who is definitely a keeper. My sister in her new relationship is more like the old girl I grew up with - silly, happy, funny, and loveable. My nieces are such personalities, with the oldest grabbing my heart because she is so much like I was at that age, and the youngest overflowing with comedic possibility. Virginia was beautiful, the skies were fantastic, the countryside ravishing and the prices low. But, I love New England and could never move. I wish so much they lived closer to me in New England. I wonder how they'd handle the culture shock!
Posted by Bullyland at 10:37 AM | Comments (11) June 19, 2007
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted...Was that enough to get Belinda Carlisle's annoying voice stuck in your head? Sorry 'bout that. I'm going on vacation. Me and the li'l squirt and my mom will be heading down to that famous place for lovers - that's right - Virginia (not Fallujah).
We'll visit my sis and my adorable neices, we'll eat out every night, swim in a pool, take in Busch Gardens and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. We'll forget how to spell "homework" and we'll work on our tan lines. We'll spend over a week away from home in Forget-About-It Land. Oh, I'll bring a little home along with me of course. I'll fret about my pets and plants and house, although each pet is getting a "vacation" of its own with my friends & family. I think I'm going to sneak up on my dad with my potted plants. "Dad, you don't mind babysitting about 20 different planters, do you? And while you're at it, feed my fish, okay?" Hey, he's getting a whole week alone to spend as much time in his recliner as he wants, I'm sure he'll oblige me. I haven't gone out of town for more than a couple of days in so long that I'm kind of in a panic. Will my fish die? Will my house burn down? Will I pack enough underwear? I only own one decent bra, will I remember the Woolite? Will I have enough clothes for my son? Better head to K-Mart. Do I have enough "Virginia" summer clothing? I have lots of "New England" summer clothing, but as you may or may not know, Virginia summers are quite a different story than up in these parts. A walk from your front porch to your car can challenge all but the most aggressive anti-perspirants. Black pocket t-shirts just won't do; better to have plenty of spaghetti straps and tank tops, and keep a bottle of Arid XXX in my purse. Will I have enough spending money? Well, the answer to that is obviously no, so why worry? Will I be so worried about packing for my son that I forget my one decent bra and my Arid XXX? We leave in a couple of days, and I'll let you know how it went. Hopefully I'll return relaxed, refreshed, and ready to go back to work. Weeelllll, maybe two out of three anyway. Posted by Bullyland at 01:10 PM | Comments (4) May 24, 2007
Can I Get Another Amen?VOTE FOR RON PAUL. Please. He's the only guy making any sense anymore. Check out his website. Read his history and where he stands on issues. Google him. Vote in online polls for him. Anything! A sampling of Ron Paul quotes from www.brainyquote.com: A system of capitalism presumes sound money, not fiat money manipulated by a central bank. Capitalism cherishes voluntary contracts and interest rates that are determined by savings, not credit creation by a central bank. I'm not normally very political as far as stumping for a candidate or being involved in a particular party. But frankly I've had it. I want a change. I want our country back. Don't you? Ron Paul wants to give it back to you and I. I want people to once more be confident enough in their country and leadership that they don't feel the need to vote for control freaks for protection. I want Ron Paul for president. Holiday Hear the sound of the falling rain Hear the dogs howling out of key I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies Hear the drum pounding out of time Can I get another Amen? I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies The representative from California has the floor Sieg Heil to the president Gasman I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies This is our lives on holiday - green day Posted by Bullyland at 01:07 PM | Comments (32) May 15, 2007
39 and holding and I still miss youI'm not one to toot about my birthday, in fact most years I lay low and quietly hope they'll forget about it. But it's usually right next to, if not on, Mother's Day and pretty hard to forget. This year I felt...let's say...less than celebratory. All I could think about was my brother - how he never forgot my mom on Mother's day - even usually giving or making me a card. With my brother, you wished for a homemade card, since they were the best. He was so funny and drew the cleverest pictures. I couldn't bear the thought of him not getting my mom a card this year, so I picked one out for him. My dad thought that was weird, but my mom loved it. Well, we decided to have my birthday cake on Mother's Day, since my actual birthday was on a Monday. On Sunday, I sat on my parents' porch and had a "moment." Toward the end of his life, my parents' porch was on some days, highlights of my brother's day. He'd be watching TV and I would say, "Are you ready?" and his face would usually light up, or alternately, he'd roll his eyes at my ridiculous question. Of COURSE he was ready to go outside. I would help him out there and into a patio chair for some fresh air and an American Spirit ciggie. Sometimes my older son would join us. Sometimes we'd play the stereo loud enough to hear on the porch. He wasn't very talkative at that stage and I'd spend the time outside rambling on and on, hoping that I was entertaining him. He'd either laugh at me (I'd told a good joke), or roll his eyes at me (I'd told a bad joke), or raise his eyebrows (he doubted my story). On Sunday as I was sitting on the porch, I could practically see him sitting there under the sun umbrella. I could see him stubbornly trying to get his cigarette butt into the narrow opening of an old Gatorade jug, hands shaking but making it into the hole nonetheless. The jug is still there, his butts still in it. I cried like a baby. I shouldn't have let myself get so melancholy at my birthday cake, since the kids were there, but I couldn't help it. I was born on the fourteenth, the same day that my brother died. I don't know if I'll ever want to celebrate my birthday again, so for the time being, I'm 39 and holding. Posted by Bullyland at 11:01 AM | Comments (3) May 14, 2007
I Haven't Been Ignoring You!!I recently found out that my friend was being blocked from submitting comments to my blog - I am happy to report that problem is fixed. It seems she wasn't the only one being blocked. If you've received this message in the past: "Thank You for Commenting Your comment has been received. To protect against malicious comments, I have enabled a feature that allows your comments to be held for approval the first time you post a comment. I'll approve your comment when convenient; there is no need to re-post your comment. Return to the comment page" or something similar, and still haven't seen your comments, email me at ashtabulababy@yahoo.com and let me know. Thanks! Posted by Bullyland at 01:27 PM | Comments (2) May 08, 2007
Our society is enabling drama queens!I had an accident on Friday afternoon. At the intersection of Maplewood & Woodbury, you know, that busy "Y" intersection, I rear-ended a guy. Now, before you start thinking what an ass I was, let me defend myself. It was rush hour and we were both stopped waiting for an entrance onto Woodbury. He found his and started to go, and after my stop, I started to go too, and then he stopped again. I heard a "POP" and realized I'd bumped him. I thought, oh man, what the flim flam! I had my son's and my dogs with me and my plan was grab an iced coffee and take them to the dog park. This would suck to have them in the car for a while on a hot day, in the middle of an intersection. Well, I barely tapped him so I figured there wouldn't be more than perhaps a couple of scratches. I got out of my car and was very relieved to see absolutely no damage to either car. I mean, he had a brand new Nissan Versa, shiny black monochrome bumper, and there wasn't even a mark you could rub out with your thumb. Yes!! Then, I noticed he wasn't exiting his car. I thought, well, maybe he just wants to leave, but he should at least check that there's no damage. So I went up to his window and he's gripping the steering wheel for dear life, rolling his eyes in all directions a la Marty Feldman and saying, "My back! My back!" I remember thinking, how is that possible? I barely tapped the guy. He started freaking out, saying things such as this had never happened to him before, and he wasn't sure what to do, and he knows that after an accident you're supposed to call the police and not move your vehicles... I could see the guy was more shook up than he should have been. I mean, I didn't have to look twice to see that the guy was a bit of a drama queen. At first, I thought he looked familiar, like I may have met him before. Then I realized that was because he looked a little like James Spader, if Picasso had imagined him. He had unusual facial angles, and eyes that kind of rolled about even when he wasn't rolling them about on purpose. Anyway, I said, "Are you going to be okay? If it'll make you feel better, there's no damage to your car." He continued to freak out but eventually got out of his car and made his way back to the bumper. "You're right! I can't believe it. There's not even a scratch! You've got to love a Nissan!" I said, "Yes, man, that'll be the next car I buy. What luck." I'd already written my insurance info down for him, not really knowing what for because there was no damage, but it was clear I had to, since he'd already called his insurance company. He went back to the front of the car to get his info and at that moment an Amesbury EMT truck pulled up. The EMT came over and asked me if everything was okay. "I'm fine, the cars are fine, but he says his back hurts." The EMT told the guy that if his back was hurt he shouldn't be up walking around and led him back to his driver's seat. The EMT then proceeded to radio for local help. Next thing I knew there was the ambulance, the fire truck and a cop on a motorcycle. I watched from the other side of my car as the medical personnel had the guy answer some questions, do a few duck squats, reach for the sky, and then someone determined that he was good to drive off, or he refused the ambulance, I don't know which. I heard him complain to someone that the firemen seemed more concerned about my dogs than him. No one wanted to tell him, well dumbass, that's because the dogs are sitting in a hot car in the middle of the sun because you have to be a drama queen about absolutely nothing! No one had the heart or the balls to tell the guy he was wasting everyone's time and valuable resources, and that he needed to shut up and get moving. No one (myself included, I'll admit!) had the heart or the balls to tell the guy the truth. "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU, GO HOME." The cop looked at the cars and said we could pull our cars over to exchange info. The guy asked the cop if we did the right thing by not moving the cars, and the cop replied that since there was no damage, it would have been fine to move them out of the way. The guy, Paris M. as I found out when I gave him my info, was still half-heartedly emoting about his back after the EMTs and firemen had left the scene. I was at a complete loss as to how to handle him. I was absolutely speechless over everything that had transpired. Had I had the luck to hit a normal human being, we would have looked at each other's cars, laughed, said how lucky we were and drove our separate ways. I hate drama. According to my friends, I've turned into a virtual hermit and the main reason may be that I hate drama. I can't understand anyone who likes it. I can't understand anyone who creates it. I can't understand Paris M.'s desire to make a mountain out of a molehill, to want to go through paperwork and red tape. I got a call from our insurance company - turns out we share the same company - and was asked to make a recorded statement about what happened. As I told my story I really bit my tongue and held back the negative adjectives regarding Paris. When I got to the point about being lucky there was no damage, the agent stopped me. "Mr. M. said there were some scratches and scuffs, and he's taking it in to get an estimate. We'll be taking care of all that for you, so you won't have to worry about anything." "Wait a minute," I said. "You don't understand. I know I'm at fault, but there was NO damage. Not even a smudge you could wipe off with a cotton ball. How could he claim there was any damage?" The agent said well, he had. I said. "Hold on one second. Since I'm being recorded, I just want to say for the record that Paris himself said - quote - 'You're right! I can't believe it. There's not even a scratch! You've got to love a Nissan!' - unquote - and frankly I don't understand how he had the nerve to get an estimate. What's he going to say to the body shop? Paris: 'I'd like an estimate on repairs for my car.' Bodyshop guy: 'For what?' Paris: 'To see how much it'll cost to buff out those invisible scratches.' I mean, if I were him, I'd be embarrassed. I'm embarrassed for him. What a drama queen." The insurance agent laughed a little, a little taken aback by my forthright comments, obvy. He mentioned that he would have it looked into. Clearly, he as well as everyone else in this world has been conditioned to "be nice" instead of telling it like it is. Someone should have probably called Paris on his melodrama when he was 5 or 6 years old, then maybe he wouldn't be a forty-year old loser who has to make a big deal out of nothing, get the cops, the ambulance, the fire department all involved and tax dollars wasted for nothing - save a little attention. The more I thought about it, the more angry I became. I had Paris' contact info in my hand. I grabbed my phone, planning on getting him on the phone and calling him on his lies and his drama. Then I remembered a long talk me and my mom had just had with my 8 year old about his anger. He's been losing his temper a lot lately, and a lot of drama has become of it. I'm trying to nip this bad habit in the bud - that habit of jumping the gun and getting angry or melodramatic over small, everyday things. I felt as though I couldn't very well call Paris and chew him out if I was preaching the exact opposite to my son. So I took a few deep breaths, relaxed my clenched fists, hung up the phone, and forced myself to laugh. I started giggling, then laughing, then got the hiccups, then I started feeling - gasp - empathy for Paris. This poor dude has such a boring life that he not only had time for - but created - the extra footwork for himself making a big deal out of this nonissue. Then I picked up the phone again and instead of dialing Paris' phone number, I dialed the insurance company. "I forgot to mention the fact that there was a motorcycle cop at the scene, along with four firemen and two EMTs. You may want to get the police report as I'm certain it will include the fact that there was zero damage to either car - as well as the names & contact info of the six other professionals who witnessed the car and the fact that Paris was doing duck walks and refused the ambulance. Just in case you really did want to investigate, you know, to save your company from a little fraud by not pandering to the drama queens." "Thanks - we didn't know about the police or the fire department or ambulance. We are definitely looking into it." You're welcome. I'm just doing my part in preventing America's enabling of melodrama. Post script: My friend Heather is an EMT in Manchester. Upon hearing this story, she declared, "Welcome to my world, sweetheart."
Posted by Bullyland at 11:11 AM | Comments (9) April 24, 2007
Time flies when your knee's on iceI can't believe it's been over a month since I felt the urge to write anything. Ah well, that's the top benefit of working for free. To be honest I've been pretty lazy about nurturing my creative side. Well, I did paint the kitchen and living room. One piece of advice - don't paint your walls red. Sure, it's gorgeous. Sure, the ruby sheen has the exact effect I was hoping for - exotic yet homey, startling yet comforting. I should have listened, however, when the Aubuchon hardware guy gently warned me away from red. "You'll need gray primer," he said. "And some really good rollers. And several coats. And make sure there are no defects in the plaster." "No problem!" I breezily replied. I was gung ho for red walls. Oh. My. God. He was not kidding. I mean, after two coats of gray primer (specially tinted), three $9.00 roller pads, and SEVEN coats of the perfect shade of red later, I had my red walls. Well, two of them anyway. After 4 straight weekends of painting, I decided that two opposing red walls were just lovely next to the two opposing off-white walls. Really. The kitchen was cake, comparatively - even taking off all the cabinet doors and hardware and cleaning the beadboard with vinegar before painting was easy compared to the dreaded red experiment. But, I got my desired red walls which indeed make a nice backdrop for my big fish tank and are, for me anyway, extremely aesthetically pleasing. I also began a task that seemed easy at first - tiling my kitchen floor. My floor and my bathroom are covered in the same ugly ca. 1950 linoleum that I'm sure used to be white, but is now several different shades of yellow. The effect is a hideous pee-stained look. My best friend Heather, who has been my renovation muse since I bought this money trap of a house, motivated me to purchase black and white tiles and supplies with some of my meager tax return and get going. That first weekend we worked with a manic vigor, making a few newbie mistakes and finally getting the hang of cutting the tiles and laying the adhesive. Of course, all during this kitchen floor project, everything that had previously occupied my kitchen floor - the island table, microwave cart, dog food bin, trash can, litter box, etc - was rehomed in either my dining room or the living room. We'd been living around these items uncomfortably all week, but with the goal in mind. The second weekend she came over again with the intent of finishing the project. I popped out to procure some refreshment and before I even stepped into the store my cell phone rang. "I need to go to the emergency room," I heard a plaintive little voice say. "I cut my finger." I rushed home to find that Heather in her haste had gotten sloppy for a moment, not using the metal straight-edge to guide the knife, and sliced her fingertip to shreds. Needless to say the project was off for the time being. (note - Heather is okay and amazingly took only three stitches.) ********************* There is another reason besides lack of pay why I've been unmotivated to write. In late February (after painting my walls) I fell directly on my knees on the ice at my parents' driveway. It hardly hurt; I felt lucky to only have to dust a little snow off my pants. Almost an entire week later I woke up in agony. One of my knees was swollen like a cantaloupe. I tried to let it heal on its own, knowing that for knees - like toes - there's really nothing the doctor can do. After a week of excruciating pain I gave in and made an appointment and sure enough, there was nothing they could do for it. Now, I'm overweight, that's no secret. In fact, in the past 6 or 8 months I've put on even more weight. However I have always been relatively active. Even though 5 mile jogs - hell, any jogs - are a thing of my thinner past, a nice walk on my lunch break is a daily routine for me. This knee thing was really deflating my spirit. Having to hobble up and down stairs was a total drag. Laundry was a nightmare. Getting in and out of the car was a hassle. Getting up and down from my computer chair at work was particularly painful. Even sleeping was uncomfortable. I started developing pain in my other joints with the effort it took to readjust my movement. I started to despair that I would ever be normal again, that I would always walk with a gimpy gait. After many, many weeks I'm finally about 95% healed. Since this orthopedic nightmare has ended, I am raring to go. This past weekend's lovely weather was the launchpad I needed to get going again. I spent it raking year-old leaves, sawing through gianormous pine tree branches that have fallen in my yard, riding bikes and walking to the playground with my son, etc. I have been walking daily, and with a renewed energy. I've dropped seven pounds without even trying to drop seven pounds. ******************** I'm feeling pretty good, and I can't wait to get out in my garden. Last summer through fall when my brother's tumor returned, I spent as much time with him and my family as possible. Gardening and home improvement were the last things on my mind. For the first time since I bought my house in 2002, I left leaves on the ground to be covered up by snow. This spring, I have a determined sense of purpose. I've decided to sell my house and move closer to where I work in Portsmouth. I have a new goal, one that is very important to me, and I know I must get off my ass and finish these renovation projects if I want to make any money at all on this house. I need to make that garden look as beautiful as possible. I need my floors and walls to shimmer with beauty. My knee is healed, my garden is beckoning, the kitchen floor is nearly finished and my waistband is looser. And I finally feel like writing something. Posted by Bullyland at 09:35 AM | Comments (6) February 12, 2007
Turning JapaneseNo, this entry isn't about the Vapors' song nor is it about the song's supposed insinuated act. This entry is just my musings on being Japanese, or more generally, Asian, be it Japanese, Chinese, Korean, or any other far Eastern nationality. Why is it that in the movies, Japanese men and women seem so incredibly dignified and desirable? Americans and Europeans seem so intensely awkward, noisy, greedy, and inept next to the elegant and esoteric Asian characters. I just watched the Last Samurai again. Tom Cruise looks like such a crass dork next to all the quiet and august Japanese villagers he lives with - until he starts turning Japanese - wearing his hair all Samurai, putting on the silk robe, twirling a polished stick, meditating and remembering to take off his muddy shoes when entering the pristine little Japanese houses. Only when he began to emulate all the virtuous habits of his fellow villagers did we the audience start feeling any empathy or admiration toward his character. Maybe it's the futons. I mean, most people have slept on futons, right? It's like padded wood under your back. No springs, no fluff. This could contribute to the discipline of the Japanese - having to sleep on a hard surface such as a futon. Maybe it's the rice paper walls. You've seen them right? One can see through them, hear through them, and fall through them if one wasn't careful. Those walls must encourage quiet, focus and discipline. It could be the food, too. Eating steamed veggies with minimal amount of meat, usually fish, must keep the body upright and demure. Making intricate presentations of meals, using chop sticks, tiny tea cups, etcetera is all very practiced, very deliberate. I wish I were so beautiful and delicate as the Asian women I see in movies and read about in literature. Even the uber bitchy Hatsumomo from "Memoirs of a Geisha" was a fragile butterfly compared to me. I know I'm probably being a bigot by assuming that the stereotypes in movies and books are true. For all I know, the average Japanese or Chinese household has sheetrock walls and sleeps on memory foam instead of rice paper and futons. For all I know, they are eating spaghetti with plastic forks and knives instead of sushi with chopsticks. For all I know, their children run through the house colliding with every third object they encounter, the women are sneaking ciggies behind the porch between loads of laundry, and pet hair gathers in little balls under their loveseats. But it's nice to imagine that they are like the beautiful Asian characters I see in movies, and that their gentle discipline and understatement is something I can aspire to. Posted by Bullyland at 09:53 AM | Comments (10) January 24, 2007
It's Different for Her.I move through my grief over my brother's death. I notice so many things I've never noticed; I feel so many feelings I've never felt. I've never experienced grief before. Three of my grandparents died in my lifetime; I had no real grief. Uncles, an aunt passed; I had no real grief. I felt separated by miles and time from these people, few if any really shared my life with me. I came upon a forum created by a woman whose brother had died; the forum was specifically for grieving siblings. Her "mission statement" is what caught me. She writes: "It is said that when your parents die, you lose your past; when your spouse dies, you lose your present; and when your child dies, you lose your future. However, when your sibling dies, you lose your past, your present, and your future." This moved me to tears - for days. I know I'm not alone in my grief, and I don't really need a forum to let me know that. My whole family, tens of relatives and friends, we're all grieving for my brother. My mother, however is the only one I know of that still weeps inconsolably, day in, day out. I tear up everyday, I'm sure my sister does too. I'd bet my life that my father cries every day for his only son, his future. My mother, though... My brother was their last born child, their baby, coming a full seven years after his two sisters. His sisters were born so close together to my mother who was barely out of her teens. I can only imagine how overwhelmed she must have been with no one to show her how to handle these impossibly delicate and devilish baby girls, with her husband in Thailand, her siblings all much older and scattered to the four corners of Massachusetts, her parents from the Old School, her friends just as hapless as she. When my brother came along, things were totally different. Here at last was a child she knew how to hold, how to care for... here was a child she could raise while breathing at the same time. I've been reading "The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingsolver, and this passage from a mother's point of view who just lost her youngest child halted my breath, tripped my little hairs, made my heart ache for my mother and not for me or my sister, or my brother, or even my father. It's different for her. "As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer's long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn't touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I just didn't stop. from The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver Posted by Bullyland at 03:39 PM | Comments (10) January 12, 2007
I can only avoid it for so longWhat, you ask? What is this thing I can no longer avoid? Ugh - New Year's resolutions, that's what. I've avoided the topic thusfar and I could probably avoid it for a little longer, after all, it's still January, right? Ugh. I'm so ornery, I'm so set in my ways, that my gut reaction is to ignore the new year's dawning. What is this business about making resolutions to change, improve, begin a new chapter? Why is it so ingrained in our culture? It's just another month. It doesn't mean anything. Or does it? There's nothing like a whole new digit and a blank calendar to inspire the list making optimist in one. As I was telling my sister blogger Internet Geek, I can no longer hide from the fact that at best, my life is half over. I know it sounds alarmist, defeatist and pessimistic to proclaim, but it's only the bald faced truth. I have another forty years on this planet *if* I'm lucky. And as this fact hovers in front of my consciousness like a swarm of no-see-ums on a muggy day in August, I am forced to confront the reality. I'm in a rut. I've been in a rut. I need to do something, and fast, to get myself out of this rut. I brought these observations to my shrink. She suggested I make a list of things I want to do before I die and choose the one thing I can work on right now. ( Why didn't I think of that? What a simple but incredibly astute suggestion.) If I want to be repeating myself 10 years from now, when I'm closer to fifty than forty, I'd better take the bull by the horns (snort!) and get busy. I know once I get started doing new things I'll break out of this terrible state of suspended development for good. I want to absorb all the culture of this planet that I can possibly absorb. There are things I want to do - things I've always wanted to do, and I need to get started doing them. As terrible lessons have taught me this past year, I've only got one shot here in this life. I need to start making it happen. So here are the beginnings of my list. I want to learn Spanish. One of my best friends is planning on settling in Argentina - her fiancee has purchased a winery there and I would love to mete out my golden years assisting her with the place. I want to travel to Alaska and the mid- and southwest, the sections of America that I have either never seen or only driven through; I want to see the vast portions of wilderness that still exists in this country (before they're gone). I want to be able to jog 5 miles like I used to. This may seem petty but it's really not. When I was jogging a few years ago I had so much more engery, mentally and physically. I don't think I will accomplish much else on my list if I don't get into that kind of physical shape again. I used to live for crystal winter days, chilly fall days, new spring days, all SORTS of days when it was perfect weather to jog. Now, when one of those days occurs, I just get melancholy thinking about how pumped up I used to get with anticipation of my lunchtime jog. I want it back. I want to learn more about the arts & humanities, subjects I adored in school and still do. I want to study individual artists and study different eras of humanity's development. So, that's what I have so far. There are more things to...mundane things like, keeping my house in order and getting out of debt, but those are boring and predictable so I won't bother listing them. I haven't made any progress toward any of these lofty goals yet; I figure my first lofty goal is to finish the list which will take a lot of thoughtful effort. I don't want to haphazardly throw a list together that will end up under a leaky coffee cup or something. I want it to mean something. I'm going to print it in 18K gold when I'm finished and frame it. I have started working toward the jogging goal, though. This is one thing I can do in the meantime, while I complete my list. I upped my effort on my daily walk yesterday, going another 5 or 10 minutes and never slowing down. Today I plan on doing the same, only actually break a sweat. That'll be new. Happy New Year's, y'all. Posted by Bullyland at 11:27 AM | Comments (2) January 08, 2007
Fuck off, I'm readingZoiks! Lots of attention being given today to a Seacoastconnects.com forum thread regarding partner swapping. Not so much to my own little thread about book swapping. I guess it's just not as titillating. I for one would rather talk about book swapping than partner swapping, since I have an overabundance of the former and not even one of the latter. I love books, I always have. I remember carving out a little hole in my closet when I was about 11 or 12 - complete with tiny bookshelf, battery-powered hurricane lamp, and snack box - just so I could read and read and read (and snack). This stressed my mother out to no end and she tried to abolish my little hidey-hole, but it didn't work. Eventually she just limited my time in there (I would have been in there every waking moment if I had my way). I have no reading hidey-hole anymore; but hey, I am the mistress of my entire house. I can read anywhere I care to and don't have to worry about being snatched from my book in order to clean my room or something.* I've read a lot in my lifetime, but I do tend to go in spurts. I've been on a bender lately. It's reminiscent of my short-lived affair with Blockbuster.com. (As predicted, my movie splurge ended abruptly with the second or third payment after my free trial was over.) I've been working my way through Oprah's entire Book Club with a determined zeal, thanks to Paperback Book Swap, an online free book trading service. It's awesome, totally free except for postage (you pay postage to send books to someone, but no postage when books are sent to you). As I get most of my books from the Goodwill anyway, this has worked out enormously. My little boy is an avid reader as well and we've already swapped out some great Berenstain and Beverly Cleary books. I've passed on a few to my older son as well (he really got into "A Million Little Pieces," as did I). In the past few weeks, I've managed to polish off the following: The Reader And I've unloaded quite a few books as well. As soon as I've finished a book I post it. The more books you post, the more chances you have that someone will request one of your books. You can't request a book unless you have credits, and you get one credit for each book you ship out (two credits for audio books). And yes, hardcover books are more than welcome. I'm so besotted with this new club that I've even written to suggest this blog entry's title as their new slogan, but oddly enough, no one really warmed to it. Oh well. Anyway, give it a shot, whether you are a bookworm like myself, a self-help junkie, a history buff, or just a casual reader it's a great website. *I do most of my reading after my son is asleep so there is no one to distract me anyway. My cats, usually possessing full domain of my ample lap, know and obey only one command..."fuck off, I'm reading." Posted by Bullyland at 02:47 PM | Comments (1) Snort, stamp, gnash teeth...or notOy, I've fallen on hard times. Seems my little blog has slipped to the #4 position on blogthecoast.com from a respectable #2 a little over a year ago. How have I come to this lowly stature? I guess I'm just not fashionable enough. Seems like Runway Ready is eating up all the page hits lately. Who knew I just had to get my "fash-on"? Isn't being Bully fashionable enough? If only I could be as funny and random as Funtime Sindy and Terribly Happy... Or as controversial as Kelly... Or as smart as Internet Geek... Or as hip as Beth... Or as entertaining as Mallory... Or as cunning as Union Jack... Or as disgusting as Kung Fu Mike... Or as brave as Chris... Hey wait a minute, I just guaranteed some page hits for all these people, further edging myself out of the running. Oh well, at least they have some talent. I've never been exactly one to "excel" at anything. I've always been a fast and impressive starter, only to fizzle out when real effort and/or little payoff were involved. None can beat me at mediocrity, I guess. I have that. Whoops. Looks like these two already did. Damn! Posted by Bullyland at 02:12 PM | Comments (5) January 04, 2007
[White] America Runs on Dunkin's?I am a regular customer of Dunkin Donuts, even though I love my own coffee even better*. I usually have at least two cups from DD every week. A friend I work with was addicted to their Dunkaccinos (sp?) and was crestfallen when she learned that DD has recently replaced their Dunkaccino offering with the "New White Hot Chocolate." (Moreso because she'd just received a gift card). To make matters worse, the little placard that they have by the register screams: WHITE. THE NEW BROWN. What? It seems positively...Aryan. Do they realize how bad that sounds? Well, probably not, and I'm sure the white hot chocolate is tasty enough. But I wish they'd bring back the Dunkaccino PDQ. My coworker is also the boss' favorite, and he was in the habit of bringing her a Dunkaccino in the morning - and of course so as to not betray his secret little crush, he'd bring us all coffees as well. Since Dunkaccino left, my friend no longer wants anything to do with Dunkin Donuts, and thus me and my other coworker suffer Dunkin-less mornings and that is not cool. Dunkins, what are you thinking taking away Dunkaccino? What are you thinking with this NEW BROWN campaign!? You don't have to eighty-six the Dunkaccino just to bring out some white hot chocolate. I should mention that my Dunkaccino-jonesing friend is also BROWN, and a lovely CHOCOLATE shade at that. This is like, a double insult to her. Bleah! * My friend Sharon returned from Australia for the holidays and informs me that after drinking the delectable European coffee found there, Dunkin Donuts is now "swill." Posted by Bullyland at 01:53 PM | Comments (4) January 03, 2007
The Cutest Boy in the WorldI hope everyone got a chance to play in the snow with a child this weekend. It sure did wonders for my soul. I finally figured out the video on my digital camera and managed to take a few of my little boy while we were sledding. You'll see for yourself how the boy deserves the title of Cutest in the World: This clip is the first one I shot - after he and I had completed several successful runs. Goes to show you can't figure on anything 100%. Let's try this one more time: Following is the only clip he managed to get of me - he forgot to push the on button until I'd already made it down the hill. There are mysterious forces working toward keeping my identity a secret, I tell you.
Posted by Bullyland at 01:36 PM | Comments (4) RE: ReincarnationWould you be If you could be also And what if being Posted by Bullyland at 08:55 AM | Comments (1) December 12, 2006
James the Cat Arrested in Welfare Fraud!Turns out James the Cat, the little scoundrel, is a professional con artist. After tugging at my heartstrings for weeks on end, it comes to light that he is, after all, stalking Miss Puss. My oldest son revealed to my father that he knows this cat, and it belongs to a friend of his that lives the block over. The sneaky devil (I mean the cat this time, not my son, although the title has been used in conjuction with my son) is sniffing after my folks' sweet kitten, who isn't even a year old yet and hasn't even had a heat cycle. He'd better back down...after being fooled so badly I won't hesitate to bring charges of corrupting a minor. I guess my parents had better make an appointment with Doctor Doolittle P.D.Q. if they don't want little James Juniors swinging from their sheer curtains. I can't believe I've been had by a cat! Posted by Bullyland at 09:31 AM | Comments (6) December 11, 2006
Can you help James the Cat?I had a nightmare last night, it was horrible. In the dream, I was in my parents' yard walking through the snow. My foot bumped something, and I looked down. It was a black cat. The cat was frozen solid, tongue out, tail up. He had died in the freezing temperatures and was stuck tight to a bank of ice. I'll admit I'm a sucker for animals. I'm always taking in foster kittens and finding homes for them. Sometimes the home ends up being mine for a long time, or forever, as was the case with my dog. In fact I have a kitten that has overstayed her foster time by about 3 months. James, as I've recently named him (his personality reminds me of my brother, whose first name is James), started showing up on my parents' porch a few weeks ago. He wanders from front porch to back porch to side porch in an attempt to find an open door and boot-scoot his way into the house. He has an ingratiating smile. My folks adopted one of my foster kittens, Brie (renamed "Miss Puss-Puss") and at first we joked that this big black cat was after her. However, Miss Puss, as sexy as she is, isn't in heat. I believe that it's not my parents' female cat that James has sniffed out, but rather he has sniffed out a family with a cat, a safe haven, and is trying his damndest to align himself with them. A family with a warm, happy and well fed cat is like a magnet for a cold, scared and underfed cat. My parents aren't nearly as soppy as I am about animals. I had to wheedle and annoy the hell out of them to adopt Brie..oops, I mean, Miss Puss. They roll their eyes and bite their tongues when I speak of my menagerie in one breath and my empty wallet in another. I don't expect them to take in James, who has a mild case of dandruff, one ear that is only half-there and the other pocked with teeth and claw marks, and is likely a walking flea-hotel. James is unneutered as well and most certainly in need of shots. James isn't skinny - it's rare to find a skinny cat as they will eat anything in order to survive - but he is most definitely homeless. I am smitten with James. He is friendly and unafraid, allowing my dog to sniff at him playfully once when we came for a visit. He won't be "shooed." His optimism has gotten under my skin. No one has fed him (well, uh...ahem...cough... perhaps I let a few pieces of cat chow fall out of my pocket the other day), no one has let him inside, no one has given him hope that this is a house he will be accepted into and cared for - yet he continues to wander from side to back to front door in hopes that he will. I would like nothing more than to take James home and give him the warm lap and bowl of cat chow that he so clearly desires. However, I cannot afford to buy the flea control and shots that he so desperately needs. Will you help James? If you have it in your heart and pocketbook to help James come home with me and be loved and cared for, please click on the "tip jar" at the right hand side of Bullyland's homepage and give what you can to his shots-and-Frontline trust fund. Or perhaps you have a place in your home for James. I'm inspired enough by James' faith in human beings to believe that by Christmas, James will find his way into the door of his dreams. Posted by Bullyland at 11:25 AM | Comments (2) December 07, 2006
I wear my sunglasses at nightWell, not really. However, I never realized just how much I do wear them until I lost them recently.
My sunglasses are my babies - prescription, polarized lenses of just the right tint of dark gray, Ray Ban Wayfarer frames. I waited and waited for the opportunity to afford these and I absolutely love them. I want to marry my sunglasses. Anyway, I lost them the other day and man, oh man, was I frantic. My eyes are photosensitive. I can't stand glare. I can't stand looking people in the eyes.
It's true. Sure, I'm a tad sensitive to the light and practically blinded during a snowstorm and really must wear my sunglasses for these purposes...but...I've developed a disturbing habit of wearing them even when I don't need them, into stores, the library, just about everywhere. I feel ridiculously safe behind my dark shades, so big, black and consuming that if I robbed a 7-11, they'd have to use my freaky hair to identify me. "Yes, officer... she had, uh.. hair that stands straight up, and I...uh...I can't remember her face." You may get the feeling I like anonymity, and you'd be correct. I hide behind many things, my screen name, this blog, my weight - oh, yes...and big, black sunglasses. I can't help myself. I'm really an introvert at heart. I'm afraid, though. I fear for my future - wallowing in aloneness, no one knowing who I am, ending up a spinster with several cats and an abnormal amount of plastic grocery bags filled with God-knows-what. I had the unwanted opportunity this past several days to learn to live without them. Sure, I have an old back up pair - but they are the wrong prescription and so badly scuffed and chewed by dogs that they're almost impossible to wear. I had to look people in the eyes - and more frightening - let them look into mine. The first few days were horrible! I felt naked! Exposed! Then I started getting used to it. I started to realize what a freak I'm allowing myself to turn into with all this covertness. Finally, I began to actually enjoy face-to-face contact with strangers, and didn't even think twice that I was, say, sitting in a library reading books with a NAKED FACE. Ha! My eyes aren't really windows to my soul, which can be pried open and slipped into, and robbed of all my inner workings. They are only eyes, and people can see them, and I won't die if they do. I did come upon my sunglasses - today. Turns out they weren't lost after all, but simply tucked inside a shamefully unused athletic sneaker. Hooray! My babies are back, safe and sound, in my possession. I still live in fear of blinding sunshine or glare from rain or snow. But perhaps I can leave them in their case now and again too, as I no longer fear exposing my soul without them. I'm free!
Posted by Bullyland at 04:23 PM | Comments (1) December 01, 2006
I know this much is trueI've been reading the book with the above title by Wally Lamb, (yes I admit to an "Oprah's Book Club" addiction, what can I say, her choices rock)... but this entry is more about... well, what I know. I know that my hair grows straight up. I noticed this only when I got it cut very short. As in, growing pointed toward the Heavens. As in, Cosmo Kramer. As in, if I dyed it bright orange and was really grumpy, you might mistake me for the Heat Miser.
If they didn't make "product," I could make some money at the circus with this hair. All I can say is Thank God for Aussie Aussome Volume Mousee-Gel Fusion. I know that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are ageless. I know that I can make a meal out of macaroni and cheese several times a week, and keep it healthy. I know that sometimes, the unraked leaves just have to stay unraked. I know that you don't know how to go grocery shopping just because you move out on your own. This is evidenced by my appointment with my oldest son, who recently moved into his first real apartment, to bring him to the supermarket and demonstrate how to get more than 2 days' worth of food for $50. I know that you can't make Christmas go away just because you are sad. You might as well be happy, if you're going to have to pretend that you are.. I know that friends are truly only appreciated when they aren't readily available. Two of my best friends recently moved away - one to Australia, and one to Colorado. Man I wish they were still here! I know that it is physiologically impossible to resist a fat kitten.
I know that I am really, really, REALLY glad that Friday afternoon has finally arrived. Have a great weekend!
Posted by Bullyland at 04:36 PM | Comments (5) November 29, 2006
A Domestic "Situation"Sometimes I wonder why I watch the news at all. Some stories get me so upset, I literally can't sleep. This was one of them. Thirteen year old Anthony Tucker was killed in the home he shared with his mother April Cooley, his siblings and his mother's boyfriend Todd Curry. Curry has been charged with the murder. As if this tragedy weren't bad enough, the news story added insult to injury (well, not injury...MURDER). First they interviewed Anthony's neighbor from across the street, Donna True. Ms True sat in her chair and talked to the police, averting her eyes several times when discussing her neighbors. "I'd seen those kids out there, acting like they didn't dare go inside." She'd seen the mother chased down the street with a gun before - but only called the police after she heard gunshots fired. Could she have done nothing else? She said she knew the children were in an abusive situation. She did almost nothing. She didn't call in the gunshots that killed Anthony to the police, because she heard on the police scanner that gunshots "from up here" had been reported. Incredibly, she attempted to turn the pity on to herself, lamenting how sick and violently ill she's been since the incident. Aw, poor baby. Domestic violence was reported in that household on more than one occasion, including the time Ms True actually decided to call the police after hearing gunshots. Curry took a restraining order out against Cooley but then dropped it. Currently, the police are calling this cold blooded murder of a thirteen year old child "a domestic situation." What the flim flam? A DOMESTIC SITUATION? Are they trying to cover their asses or what? This is not a domestic situation. They cannot temper the tragedy with these words. This was a murder of a child that could have been prevented. April Cooley, the children's mother, should be arrested as an accessory to murder. This woman should not have kept her children under the same roof as this violent man. I had flashbacks of little baby Kassidy and her evil mother Amanda Bortner, just watching as her boyfriend slowly murdered her child through abuse. I just can't understand it. How can you stay with someone like that? How can you watch your own child be abused by a man, who isn't even the father of your child? The final blow for me with this fucked up story was the principal of the school. He stated, "We'd like to see some of the kids on a one-to-one basis, you know, to try and keep the rumor mill down to a minimum." What? As if there could be a rumor WORSE THAN A KID'S MOTHER'S BOYFRIEND GUNNING HIM DOWN AND KILLING HIM. I don't know what he needs more - a reality check, a sensitivity class, or a kick in the ass. Probably all three. People, don't let this kind of thing happen in your town. If you know your neighbors are violently abusive, rattle some cages until something's done about it. Don't just peek out from behind your curtains for your next opportunity to gossip about it later. If the police do nothing, call them again. And again. And again. Call the Department of Human Services. Call the school. Call anyone who will do something about it. Maybe you could save someone's life. I hope little Anthony Tucker gets the peace his mother and the man that murdered him should never know.
Posted by Bullyland at 10:30 AM | Comments (1) November 20, 2006
This Just In - God Hates BlogsWell, just because I'm all depressed doesn't mean a website can't make me laugh. Thankfully, this one did. Taken from the October 8 entry on Cruel.com: Sunday, October 08, 2006 Bloggers are going to hell one entry at a time, according to Kevin D. Denee of the Restored Church of God's Ambassador Youth magazine: Should teenagers and others in the Church express themselves to the world through blogs? Because of the obvious dangers; the clear biblical principles that apply; the fact that it gives one a voice; that it is almost always idle words; that teens often do not think before they do; that it is acting out of boredom; and it is filled with appearances of evil -- blogging is simply not to be done in the Church. It should be clear that it is unnecessary and in fact dangerous on many levels. Let me emphasize that no one -- including adults -- should have a blog or personal website (unless it is for legitimate business purposes). Photo sharing is acceptable to the Restored Lord in some circumstances: Some questions naturally arise: "Can I have a photo gallery?" For example, maybe you visited an exotic country and want to share your photos with close friends. This can be done, but certain guidelines apply. Of course, there should never be any inappropriate pictures (again, be careful of the appearance of evil); it should be private and password protected, and only shown to family and closest friends. Footnote: I found Cruel.com while perusing Candyboots.com, another website that caters to dry senses of humor. Posted by Bullyland at 04:37 PM | Comments (1) Tis the season.I noticed it a few days ago. Lately I don’t want to eat; food is tasteless in my mouth and nothing in my kitchen appeals to me. I wake up several times a week at 3 AM with an upset stomach. I go to sleep only after chugging baking-soda-laced bottles of water to quell the heartburn and nausea. A feeling of weight, heaviness; a physical despair that is getting harder and harder to shake off is beginning to envelop me. At first it was just at night, and I attributed it to my brother’s recent death. Now, though, it starts on me first thing in the morning and stays with me throughout the day. I have a headache that’s taken up permanent residence at the very top of my skull, sometimes migrating east or west, front or back, but always there and only barely repressed with regular doses of aspirin. My back aches every morning when I wake. With winter’s inevitable departure of geese, leaves, and sunlight, so goes my emotional well-being. And, like the inevitable arrival of snow, Christmas decorations, and icy windshields, comes my old arch-nemesis, depression. The most curious thing about depression, I think – is the physical aspect. I’ve lived with it long enough to know when it’s coming on and my emotional downslides are nearly always hailed in advance by these physical ailments. (Some people develop physical symptoms after the onset of depression. I, of course, being so weird, develop the physical symptoms first.) Probably the most curious of all is the feeling of weight. Anyone who has ever been covered by a lead apron before an x-ray has an idea of this feeling. Imagine wearing a lead jumpsuit, complete with lead ski mask. The other symptoms – digestive troubles, headaches, arthritis-like issues – are all common enough in life. The feeling of weight, however, is unique to depression as far as I know, and the most tell-tale sign that I’m heading down that slope. I so do not want to spend this Christmas weeping incessantly, wearing a phony smile, struggling to get out of bed every morning. I so do not want to go the route I’ve gone every single year of my life that I can remember. When I was a young girl, I was abnormally crabby at Christmastime. Nothing pleased me. I wanted to be happy – I really did – but there was always a blackness inside my heart that I was too young to understand or deal with. Now I know of course that I've probably had this illness for most of my life, and those early Christmas bad moods were predecessors of my adult-sized depression. So it has been, so it goes, and so it will go, year after year. I will make an appointment with Shrinky. She will adjust my medication or perhaps suggest a new course, and we will work together to keep a grip on my sanity throughout the winter. I have given up all hope of ever having a symptom-free winter; I’ve resigned myself to this fate. What I strive for now is simply to make it to April in one piece and perhaps even with a few good days along the way. Wish me luck. Posted by Bullyland at 03:53 PM | Comments (1) November 17, 2006
Let the Weekend BeginAllow me to leave you for the weekend with a few things that made me smile. A smile is a precious commodity, and one you don't realize the value of until it's hard to find. My first smile is complements of my dad who snapped this awesome pic of my nephews and my son. The three older ones did the cha-cha-cha line around the house several times before the little guy grabbed on to the end. I call this photo "Three-and-a-half Cabaleros:" A dear friend from high school recently contacted me - we've been out of touch for years. It was really great to hear from Anne, and at that low point in my life, it couldn't have been nicer to "run into" an old friend. She's a linguist in the Air Force, currently in Hawaii with her husband and four kids. Anyway, she recently sent me this link which made me laugh out loud. Three cheers to TSgt Tucker for kicking my sadness to the curb! Got Puppy?
Got Baby?
Signs you may have seen before, worth another peek. (P.S., the rest of sillyprat.com is worth checking out as well!) Now, this is just plain silly. And more silly stuff. Have a great weekend. I hope I made you smile at least once! Posted by Bullyland at 10:10 AM | Comments (0) November 14, 2006
Thirty one days.I can hardly believe it's been a month since my brother died. I wasn't thinking about it in terms of time, but my dad sent me an email this morning. From my dad (you can see where I get my penchant for collecting lyrics): Subject: Awakening thoughts on the 1st month's anniversary of Mike's death I woke up this morning with an old sacred song rumbling through my head: Farther along, we’ll know all about it Then, just the words from one off Vince Gill’s song he wrote for his brother when he died. Titled: “Go Rest High Upon That Mountain”. I know your life on earth was troubled Go rest high on that mountain Oh, how we cried the day you left us When I opened his email it really hit me how little time has passed. I thought I had been doing a spectacular job holding up and healing - my bro would be proud. The other day while we were out to eat, my mom let me listen to a voicemail message my brother left from May, that mysteriously showed up on my father's cell phone after he died. I heard about 5 words and couldn't finish it - I started bawling. (I had to reassure the slightly shaken waitress that it wasn't because the seafood Newburg hadn't worked out.) I had no idea that much pain was still inside me. I'm all about remembering the happy times and believing he is in a better place and not being miserable about his death as I know he doesn't want us to be. But, it totally struck me like a ton of broken glass to hear his voice - healthy, happy, alive. The sadness came back like it never had left. This obviously isn't one that can be boxed up for the cold case files. It's going to remain open as long as I live. My brother was thirty-one years old when he died. It's been thirty-one days since he died. I know now that it's going to take longer than that to heal. Like, forever. My Dear Old Friend how will we smile ever again how will we laugh just like before will there be someone to remember how the birds sang in the morning how will we smile ever again -patty griffin Posted by Bullyland at 10:57 AM | Comments (0) November 13, 2006
Secret LoversWe have a foster kitten who is completely without fear of my dog (or anything else); I've caught her nibbling on the tip of the dog's marrow bone - while my dog was eating it! Anyway, our dog has always displayed a certain disdain for the cats, as well as being clearly put out that they are able to climb onto my lap and other high places where she cannot. I busted my dog succumbing to the kitten's charms. Check out the procession of pics: Kitten: "Snorgle, snorgle" Dog: "What are you doing?" Kitten: "it's okay, no one's watching us..."
Sleeping together...Both: "Honk-shu! Honk-shu!" (and other assorted snorts & gurgles of fuzzy content)
Busted! Dog: "Hnh? Wha? Omigod!" Kitten: "So?"
Dog: "I am SO outta here!" *So embarrassed at being busted snorgling with an annoying-but-irresistable kit-teh, she gets her face out of camera as soon as possible to avoid identification*
Kit-teh's name is Teeny Taily-o and she's dangerously close to becoming another permanent contributor to my dustbunny collection. Posted by Bullyland at 04:26 PM | Comments (0) November 09, 2006
What a tool!As a fat-cat government employee I have the distinguished benefit of getting tomorrow off. Well, I do work with and support future veterans - active duty military members. So I don't feel the least bit guilty that you're paying for my three day weekend. Snort! Anyway, I just thought I'd leave you for my 'oliday with this "Strange But True" article from the Seacoastconnects.com site. I had to laugh out loud that my blog was linked with an article that uses "tool" and "rectum" in its very first sentence. I know I'm "strange, but true..." but ... Naked man arrested for concealed weapon -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- EL CERRITO, Calif. - A man was arrested on suspicion of carrying a concealed weapon after police found him outdoors — naked — and he told them he had a tool in his rectum, authorities said. John Sheehan, 33, of Pittsburg, was initially arrested on suspicion of indecent exposure. But when asked whether he was carrying anything police should know about, Sheehan mentioned the tool, said El Cerrito Detective Cpl. Don Horgan. "You can't get much more concealed than that," Horgan said. Officers drew their weapons and firefighters were called to the scene. Sheehan removed a 6-inch metal awl wrapped in black electrical tape without incident. Sheehan, who was paroled from state prison last week, was then booked into jail on suspicion of parole violations, indecent exposure and one felony count of possessing a concealed weapon. "When you're talking about an awl or an ice pick and you're dealing with somebody who's fresh out of prison, it's a weapon. That's a stabbing instrument," Horgan said. It was not immediately clear what Sheehan was on parole for. A person answering the phone at the jail Friday night did not know whether Sheehan had a lawyer. ************************************************************** Aw, c'mon, give him a break! Clearly the guy had no pockets. No, you just "can't get much more concealed than that." Well, on that "bottom" note, I hope you have a great weekend. Posted by Bullyland at 04:23 PM | Comments (2) China: One Child, One Dog, No SoulOfficials in Beijing, China have enacted a "one dog only" policy to its citizens. This is supposedly to stem the nation's growing rabies problem. If you read the article you may, like I was, be filled with a sense of unreality. This can't be real. Are these people for real? Do they really think that limiting households to owning one dog is going to stop the rabies virus? Do they not realize that instead of banning additional dogs, they might want to mandate a rabies vaccine. Only one dog is allowed per household. Dog owners are not allowed to take their pets out in public. Large dogs have also been banned. PeTA stepped up to the plate to make themselves look incredibly stupid, predictably. PeTA's president, Ingrid Newkirk, states: "China may be barking up the right tree. It's sad that it comes to this, but for the dog's sake, restricting people to one dog stops impulse acquisition, encourages better care and will reduce the numbers who are suffering in the streets." This wouldn't be such a stupid statement, in fact it kind of makes sense. If she hadn't followed it by urging "a grandfather clause so that people who have more than one dearly loved dog don't now have to kill them." Does this woman (and I use that term loosely) really think that Chinese officials who so far have massacred over fifty thousand pets, some brutally beaten in front of their owners, are going to allow a grandfather clause? Anyway, I'm not annoyed that the Chinese government has enacted the one-small-dog-only law. It's their country, whatever. I am only bewildered that they would be so stupid as to think that is going to end the rabies epidemic. Well, I guess I am a little annoyed. But not surprised.
Posted by Bullyland at 02:00 PM | Comments (0) November 08, 2006
Elliot and Barry, It Was Worth It.I am usually very annoyed by furniture ads. Be it Bernie and Phyl, or Bob, or Elliot and Barry. They all make used car salesmen look attractive. These people are so weird, I mean, do you think they were the type of kids that were always jockeying for attention somehow but just didn't have any real talents? You know the type. They want to be a rock star or something, but can't sing or act or maybe they don't have the edge for politics. So they go into the furniture business which allows them to ham it up as much as they want in ads they produce themselves. I think Elliot and Barry (of Jordan's Furniture) are the worst offenders. Then again, they are the best at what they do. They truly are hams, and love being in the spotlight, and are as annoying as hell. However, they have managed to put together a kid friendly, extremely entertaining way to get you into their stores besides their smarmy ads. They have IMAX. In addition, they've constructed a virtual funhouse too. My folks and I took my nephews and my son to see the latest computer-animated kids' flick at the Jordan's store in Reading a couple of weekends ago. I had no idea what to expect. We walked in and found the entire front entrance made from Jelly Belly jellybeans. The floors are made of jellybeans, the walls, statues, buildings, you name it. There is a Jelly Belly store. There is a trapeze school - $10 will get you a quickie lesson and a swing on the trapeze. There is a giant, roboticized Wally the Green Monster that holds a hapless Yankees mannequin in his huge hand. There are liquid fireworks every 1/2 hour. There is a Fuddruckers and an ice cream joint. And of course, the IMAX theater. Three-dimensional movies today are not the sketchy 3-D flicks of my childhood. Gone are the red and blue lensed paper shades that never sat well on the nose bridge. Gone are the red and blue shadows on the actual movie screen. I have no idea how they do it, but if you watch the movie without the most excellent gray-lensed, plastic glasses they give you, you can't even tell it's a 3-D movie. And when you do watch the movie with the glasses, it's awesome! It really does jump out at you. I'd love to see an action flick in IMAX if the kiddie show entertained me so much. My brother was supposed to have gone on this outing with us. His presence was both felt and missed, tremendously. I know he would have loved the free jelly bean samples. He would have stood close enough to the liquid fireworks to get wet, just like all three boys. He would have gone up & down the escalator with the boys as if it were a carnival ride. He would have loved to take the trapeze lesson. He would have loved it all. I applaud ol' Elliot and Barry (so hammish that they had to insert themselves into a comedy short before the movie) and forgive them their cheesy TV ads. They've really outdone themselves (and Bernie and Phyl, and Bob) with this set up. We really had a great time and we never even had to buy a piece of furniture. Mike, I know you were there with us, but I still wish you could have swung on that trapeze.
Posted by Bullyland at 10:52 AM | Comments (5) November 03, 2006
Have You Seen This Dog?Anyone who regularly walks, jogs, bikes or hell, even drives through Portsmouth has seen the flyer for the missing shaggy black dog. I noticed them earlier this week, in the Proprietor's cemetery, where I have indeed seen this dog - but that was before she went missing. I am so touched at the perseverance of her owners, who have plastered this plea for their lost dog over nearly every telephone pole within a 10 mile radius of the cemetery. I really hope these people find their dog. I snatched a flyer from a telephone pole that had not one but two posters stapled to it, so that I could post it here in hopes of helping somehow (see poster below). (I'll put it back.)
As the former owner of a Cairn terrier - a dog born to run - I know the feeling of helpless terror as I watched my little dog slip her lead and dash out into traffic. Once she escaped her halter in the Pet Quarters parking lot - at 8 o'clock at night, in the snow. I thought she was gone for sure. Luckily a resourceful woman saw this happen and opened her car door, and my shaggy little escapee hopped right in. So, have you seen this dog? If she's been stolen, I can only say to the thief: Have you no dignity? Redeem yourself now and return Shandi to her people. That has to be the worst possible karma around! I truly hope she is united with her family soon.
Posted by Bullyland at 01:48 PM | Comments (1) Am I the only one who gets into these situations?Last night my younger son and I met my parents, my sister-in-law, my nephew, and my brother's best friend to get a bite to eat before we headed over to the church for a service for the departed, in which my brother was included. All was going pretty well, when my nephew (not yet 2) started choking on a pizza crust. His mom was in the restroom. My mom jumped up and so did I, and fortunately he stopped choking right away. We watched as he rolled the pizza crust around in his mouth, and my mom said, "Do you still have that in your mouth?" to which he nodded yes. Then, my mom put her hand near his chin and said, "Come on and spit that out, it's yucky now." My precious nephew proceeded to open his mouth and deposit a great, seemingly endless stream of vomit into her hand (and arm, and lap, and table). Super! Well, we got him cleaned up as much as we could with my mom sopping and me keeping the train of paper towels streaming from dispenser to child to garbage. Unfortunately my sister-in-law had to skip the service since she had no extra clothes for my nephew, and he was clearly ruined for church. However, the rest of our party attended the service, which was beautiful and touching. After the service, I took my son home and we ended the evening without incident. At about 3 AM, I awoke with a very queasy stomach and a metallic taste in my mouth. I tossed and turned, and eventually couldn't resist the forces within. I threw up a couple of times, and lay awake for the rest of the night twitching uncomfortably. My skin was clammy, my insides quivery. I am pegged to sing the National Anthem at 3 o'clock this afternoon, for a former boss of mine. This guy is the best boss I ever had in my entire life. I love this guy. He's retiring and asked me to sing for his ceremony and I was really happy to oblige. Now this!! I'm on my lunch hour now, and I'm sitting here writing this in hopes I can keep myself distracted and push away the queasiness inside. I practiced the song in my car on the way in to work and did alright, so that helps allay my fears that I'm going to spew like Vesuvius in the middle of my performance. Anyway, I'm not sure if I caught something from my nephew, or if I just have a 24 hour thing, or if it was something I ate, but I've got my fingers crossed that I don't spoil my favorite boss of all time's special moment. That just wouldn't do. Ewuggabuggashivva! Posted by Bullyland at 11:30 AM | Comments (1) November 02, 2006
Free LivingI've gone into a "minimalist" mode and have been trying to get my home up to par with my desire to end all clutter. Freecycle has been a Godsend to me. I thought I'd post about Freecycle because so many people don't really know what it's about. I used to sell a ton of stuff on ebay (okay, I bought a ton of stuff, too). It was fun for a while but eventually became tedious and a major butt pain. Keeping up with which address went with which item, paying my ebay fees, etc. It was draining. If I could have done it full time and made as much as my job, that would have been great. However, trying to keep up with it was impossible while maintaining a full time job and a household. Anyway, someone tipped me off to Freecyle, which is in my opinion, easier than ebay. Sure, you don't make any money - but here's a "for example:" I got rid of my humongous, overbearing entertainment center when I was first getting into my minimalist decorating phase. I'd had it a couple of years, it was in great shape, but it took up a third of my wall space and weighed a ton. I put it on the Freecycle site and it was gone the next day. I never had to move it an inch and the woman who took it was ecstatic - it was exactly what she wanted and needed. Two very happy parties. This is the why Freecycle is so awesome. Here's how it works. You have to join one or more Freecycle groups, through Yahoo. Go to the Freecycle website. and find your local areas. Once you've been accepted as a member you can start posting. There are four types of posts, "Offer," "Wanted," "Taken," and "Received." You include your item and your town in the subject line, so that only interested parties need open the email. Your subject line could read: OFFER, Portsmouth, entertainment center. You don't even need to include much in the actual email, unless there are details you need to relay. If you see an "offer" that you want, you just reply to the email. Some items are popular and the giver may receive a ton of requests for it, so don't feel put out if they never get back to you. Hopefully, they'll post a "Taken" email once the item's been picked up. I've given away so many things, usually with minimal effort on my part. Sometimes I'll offer to bring the item to them if they're housebound or something, but usually it's a pick up right at my doorstep or office. Here's a list of some of the things that found happy homes: Entertainment center, several fish tanks (as I kept trading up in size), full sized mattress and box spring, twin sized mattress, box spring and bedframe, ugly work table, child's ride-on toys, child's clothes and coats, an easy-set pool, a turntable, a frozen turkey, four dining room chairs, hermit crabs, five dog crates, two giant cat towers, two reclining chairs, and even more. I've also gotten some really sweet things - some things were much needed and some were just really nice to get. Here's my "received" list: 40 gallon fish tank complete setup, skateboard, antique bed frame, full and twin sized mattress and box springs (since freecycled away), child sized futon mattress (dog uses for bed), toys, candles, duvet covers, and more. It's funny how some people interprete some emails. When I had given away the hermit crabs, I sent out an email: "TAKEN - Hermit crabs - Portsmouth." The content of the email read: Taken, please pick up (or PPU as freecyclers put it). I soon got an email from a woman responding to the "Taken" subject email that read (I've cut and pasted the exact content): "WHERE ARE YOU LOCATED AND COULD I PICK THEM UP TOMORROW I AM GRADUATING FROM COLLEGE TIS EVENING" Bemused, I responded: "This freecycle message says "Taken" which means, unfortunately, that they are taken." I must have insulted the sender because she sent back: "WELL YOU SAID PPU SO I THOUGHT YOU MEANT FOR ME TO PPU GET YOUR MESSAGES CLEAR" I laughed out loud. This person is graduating from college! "Tis" evening! Then there was the time I offered the full sized mattress & box spring. My email said: "Full sized mattress & box spring, good condition. Would be great for guest room, or with a nice mattress cover, for yourself." I received a rather abrupt email from a lady: "Is this mattress in good condition? Because I just went to pick up a mattress from another freecycler and it was ready for the GARBAGE!" I guess she was afraid I may be trying to pull a fast one by advertising it as in "good condition." Or maybe she didn't read the content. Who knows? Hers was one of the emails I just didn't respond to. I mean, I'm all about giving and helping, but a little politeness can go a long way in your favor - and rudeness will keep you out of the running. One woman chewed me out for giving away a goldfish on Freecycle - who knows what kind of torture I may be sending my goldfish out to? She was willing to make up for my mistake and take the goldfish if I told the person I'd promised the goldfish to that the deal was off. I guess she's like, the Goldfish Angel or something. Anyway, it's a really awesome set up. I always feel good when I a) get rid of clutter or unwanted items, and b) make somebody's day. Of course, getting stuff you want is pretty cool, too. Posted by Bullyland at 10:14 AM | Comments (4) November 01, 2006
Perpetual PuppyI just can't help myself when it comes to my dog. She is so cute. She's a year and four months old and everyone still thinks she's a baby. This is because she still looks like a puppy. She completely stopped growing when she was about 8 months old. She is a prosh poochie, a perpetual puppy. I'm besotted with this little brown dog, I'll admit.
She spent more time with me during my brother's illness than any human did, always in the car with me - back and forth from Mom & Dad's to my house, sleeping in the guest room with me, accompanying me and my brother to Dunkin's, accompanying me everywhere, never complaining, always listening. What a good dog.
Posted by Bullyland at 02:10 PM | Comments (1) Short Attention Span TheaterWow, I've been looking at the Blogthecoast live feed which updates new posts to blogs. There are too few new entries from the local color. All the recent blogs are non-blogthecoast entries. What gives? I wonder why the rest haven't had many entries lately? Are you all plagued with my affliction of a severe short attention span? Have you all lost your interest in writing? Have you found a paying job? (If so, please contact me to provide any leads!!) Speaking of short attention spans, it's been nearly impossible for me to focus lately. I find the seacoastconnects forums to be highly addicting and distracting. Over there, I'm able to follow many different trains of thought and change tracks in seconds; plus I get instant feedback. On the other hand, the forums don't provide me a real outlet to expend my creative energy. It's kind of like the difference between parking a few hundred yards from the store vs. jogging 3 miles. One just stretches your legs, the other burns your muscles. I've been unable to concentrate on anything for more than five minutes. My remote control is sure getting a workout. Last night I was "following" about 3 different shows. I'm knee deep in unfinished projects at home. I'm constantly asking "Sorry, what was that again?" to people who are talking to me. I've spent the past few days trying to stoke the fire above to come up with a decent blog entry, to no avail. I'm thinking I'll work on several short posts until I get my game back on. If my attention span refuses to cooperate, I'll just have to work around it. Speaking of work, I've been tinkering with the idea of writing...well...something. I can't settle on a subject though, or a media form. Songwriting? Should I begin a book? A paying writing job? Speaking of pay, I have to say that am totally looking forward to the new year (I know, it's not even Thanksgiving yet). I've had such a white-knuckle year financially, and with the new one comes a little more breathing room in my bank account. I've been holding my breath for about 8 months, so you'll forgive me if I seem to rush it? Well... I guess I should end this entry. It so far has made less than sense and is just a waste of my time and yours. I'll be back later with something more substantial and relevant. Uh, what was I talking about again?
Posted by Bullyland at 10:09 AM | Comments (0) October 24, 2006
Comfort EagleMan it's been a rough week, and it's only Tuesday of my first week back to what will have to be my new normal, without my brother. I've been out of work this past three weeks or so helping out my family with whatnot and being with my brother. Last week's memorial services were beautiful and wrenching. I was hugged thousands of times - I got more human contact in two days than I've had in two years. It's been uplifting and depressing all at the same time. I've never had someone so close to me pass away and I never want to go through it again, but the reality of it all hasn't left me untouched. Death is real. It is unavoidable. It is awful. There is no stopping that train. Somehow I've managed to cope pretty well so far. Here are some things I did or am doing to keep from having a psychotic break. Some things may be normal, some unconventional, some downright not recommended. But whatever. 1. I cry. My brother explicity said he didn't want anyone (besides Mom) to cry over him. Well I cry anyway, knowing that he'd be put out if no one really did, and so I don't feel so guilty. Whenever I do cry, I team it up with a happy memory of my brother. It works. 2. I sleep as much as I can. I'm a night owl of dangerous extent and I've found that recent events have worsened this. And so, whenever I am able to sleep, I sleep. This past Saturday I slept until 1 pm. 3. I spoil my kid and my pets. I picked up a new scooter for my little one and have allowed him to sneak downstairs for some late night couch time after he's supposed to be asleep. Dog has had extra outings and has been allowed to sit on my feet (formerly verboten). Cats get baby talk and a new dangly toy. 4. In keeping with my brother's free spirit, I gave my car to his middle son's mom. She is in dire need of a car that she and her three kids can be secure and safe in. I feel that my brother would have loved this choice. We've always been fond of her. My heart felt at least 5 ounces lighter when I saw her face light up at my offer. 5. I fell off my meds several weeks before my brother's passing, as soon as I knew he was not going to make it through this time. I began taking it again the day after his memorial service and I believe the jump start has prevented a major depression. (I don't recommend this by any means. Adult life-long medication trials and errors have led me to be a pro at med self-monitoring.) 6. I talk to my folks and visit them often. In fact it's weird actually being at my own house for more than a few hours at a time. Maybe we could get a duplex together. Har! 7. I chopped off my hair. I mean, all of it, from uniformly shoulder length to spikey curls above my ears. I did it the day before my brother's wake. I felt this overwhelming need to purposely just lose something, fast, dramatic, and permanent. I'm not sure psychologically what that feeling was all about but I'm fairly certain it was tied to the fact that I had just helplessly - out of my control - lost something, fast, dramatically, and permanently. Regardless of why I did it, I felt enormously lighter; the weight of my loss felt a little less heavy. 8. I started really cleaning my house. It has gotten so disgusting with my frequent absences, and my inability to clean it when I was actually there. I've been tossing ugly and unwanted things out left and right. I threw out an entire sinkload of dishes (how the flim-flam did they get there anyway, when no one was home to get them dirty!). I threw out my old kitchen island - this Frankenstein thing I made out of plywood shelving, velcro and the top of a wooden table - and bought an antique, 50's style linoleum bar height table in the style I've always admired. My luck it was only $17 at a roadside antiques shop. We're still living. I'd almost forgotten that. We're living here. I want us to be as carefree and happy as we can, while we can. 9. I keep something of my brother's close to me at all times. His Red Sox sweatshirt I wear to work. His photo is clipped to my dashboard. His rasta-colored sweatband swings from my rear-view mirror. A tiny Volkswagen beetle sits on my desk. I listen to music that we've shared. In the words of a couple of Cake albums, I'm finding my Comfort Eagle, I'm Prolonging the Magic. I talk to my brother and feel for his spirit around me, in the music, in the clouds, in the guest room where he last slept in my home. I guess everyone has their own ways to cope with such a loss. I can't believe that I made it through so far without getting pissed off at God. I think that's because...well...if you know your brother is going to live at someone's house forever, you want to believe the best about them. I'd like to believe that the Old Man allows his newly minted angels a few grace days to roam around earth before reporting for duty - to say goodbye to loved ones, attend their own services, to be whatever they want. I feel his essence when I see an eagle circling. I ask him if it's awesome to fly, and I imagine him rolling his eyes at me and answering, "Well, duh! What do you think?"
"Forget my sins
Posted by Bullyland at 01:10 PM | Comments (2) October 15, 2006
Could I be right beside you?This earthly world just lost one of its most unique characters. Upon learning about his new brain tumor, my brother made it his goal to live to see my father's 64th birthday. My father turned 64 on Friday. At 8:12 pm on Saturday night, my brother took his final breath, in the arms of his wife, my mother, and my father. My 8 year old son, this morning on the porch, looked up at the sky. "Mommy? Is Mike in Heaven yet?" "I'm not sure, sweet. If not, he's on his way, don't you think?" "Because I thought I saw him just now. I think he's right beside us." At that very moment, my dog ran up to us both and barked. I know he was right there, right beside us. I could feel it. I had written this letter for him the night of my dad's birthday. I'm thankful he could hear it before he left us. Mike, I wanted to tell you how I feel. Believe me the times I told you I loved you! I'm so proud of how you overcame everything you have struggled with. You are a great, loving and loyal dad, husband, brother, and son. You never stopped being a kid but still managed to become a man. You made so many impressions on so many people - everyone who meets you falls in love with you. I guess you managed to remain adorable, too. I've been looking at a lot of photos of us all - You, Mom, Dad, me and sis, your wife, all the kids, your friends. We all have something in common - our love for you. I know you're leaving this earth - as you know it so far. Please try as I'm trying to not be afraid. Great things await you! You will always remain beside us all. You'll see us all again, forever. You have affected us all with your one-of-a-kind self, your philosophies, your color, your "joie de vive." That's French - I think - for "love of life" (complete with outRAgeous accent, a'la' Monty Python, just for you). Your kids are beautiful and sweet, and brave, and bear the spirit of you - their Dad - in everything they say and do. Not too shabby a legacy, I think. Mike. My brother and my friend. There are more songs to sing, and we'll sing them together. "We'll never feel bad anymore...." Your sis ("always.") Walking Higher I carry you with me, ghost inside I carry you with me, holy shrine Could I be walking higher? The bones they bury will feed the trees Could I be walking higher? And I will feel for you in the music And I will raise my hand to the mountain Could I be walking higher? - heather nova Posted by Bullyland at 06:40 PM | Comments (4) September 26, 2006
He's Going the DistanceI am at my parents' house. Today is one of two days this week that I'm caring for my brother. He can't be alone at all now. He needs assistance getting up as his leg muscles have rebelled against him; he also needs help walking although thank God he still can, with his walker. One must stand by him at all times for extra support. Stairs are a terrifying pursuit - for those who care for him. My brother doesn't really think so. He gets a little confused. At 9:30 this AM, he was asking me what I was still doing here - "It's like, 4:30 - don't you have to get your kid?" He thinks he can get around just like always, until he tries. Hospice comes once a day, for about an hour in the morning. Mom and Dad say mornings are particularly tough as there is the bed to be changed, my brother's shower and change of clothes and grooming. Laundry is literally non-stop and my mother's lifelong habit of keeping a spotless house has had to fall by the wayside. The extra assistance is a Godsend. I promised my brother that today after the nurse left, I'd take him to Dunkin' Donuts. She left and I got his sweatshirt for him to put on. I moved his walker near the recliner where he spends a lot of his day. I helped him on with his sweatshirt. I moved to put my hand under his arm and he insisted I didn't need to do that. He tried to get up on his own but it was not going to happen. Finally he gave in and let me help pull him into a standing position. This took about 15 minutes. Once he was steady, we started the trek toward the front door. "Use the back porch door," my dad had said this morning. "The front steps are really treacherous." My brother didn't want to use the back door however, and when he's got his mind made up it's impossible to steer him elsewhere. Front porch it was, then. After a bit of clever manuevering over an area rug, a threshold, around a plastic chair, we made it to the steps. I had to get him to hold the railing and my hand instead of the walker while I put the walker on the ground below the stairs. The stairs were, indeed, treacherous. But he made it to the car and once inside, we high-fived. We took the long way to Dunkin' Donuts in Dover. We drove by where I used to live and where he was once my roommate for a few months. It was such a beautiful day. We had Cake on the iPod, vanilla bean Coolattas and the windows wide open. We sang along together: "He's going the distance! He's going for speeeeeed! She's all alone, alone, all alone in her time of neeeed!" I didn't want it to end. When we got back to the house, it was the same scenario only this time getting up the stairs, not going down. As he tenuously made it to his chair, we sang together, again, with our own lyrics: "He's going the distance, NOT going for speeeeed, to his recliner, in the corner, the corner, without any weeeeed!" and burst into giggles. I settled him in his chair with his leftover Coolatta and some peanut M&Ms. We made a bet as he dumped the candy into the Coolatta that he couldn't eat this concoction without a spoon. "Are you going to suck them (the M&Ms) up with the straw?" I asked him. "Yes," he said. "Watch me." As the cup emptied and he realized he wasn't after all going to suck the candy up with a straw he sheepishly asked for a spoon. "Dammit. You win," he said. "Har, har," said I. Twenty minutes later, he looked at his empty Coolatta cup, then at me, and said triumphantly, "Hey, you owe me five bucks!" I noticed the spoon had fallen to the floor, out of his view. I said, "Aw, you did it!" and handed him the fiver. Ah, well. It is a big deal just to go out with my brother now. I have to make sure his bag is near, with supplies inside in case something happens. I have to be prepared for his forgetfulness and careful of his tender nerve endings. If we go somewhere where he'll be getting out of the car, the wheelchair has to come along. I don't care. I don't know how long we'll be able to even go out tooling around with Coolattas and Cake. I consider caring for him an opportunity I don't want to miss. As long as he's willing and able to crack jokes with me and sing along to "He's Going the Distance," I'll go the distance, too. Posted by Bullyland at 01:26 PM | Comments (4) September 20, 2006
Who Made Jesus Cry?I hate to portray myself as a cantankerous grouch with a negative side that could eclipse the moon, but some things just plain get under my skin. I have a new take on it - That Made Jesus Cry (TMJC). It's paraphrased from a t-shirt I saw that kept me giggling for about a half an hour afterward:
I tried it on my mom when she expressed guilt at forgetting to go to church last Sunday: "Mom, You Made Jesus Cry." It got a buffalo laugh out of my brother but only a slanty glare from mom. Oh well. I was only teasing. (Jesus probably made her forget church that Sunday out of pity to get at least one thing off her overloaded plate!) Anyway, for weeks after now I've been thinking to myself "That Made Jesus Cry" everytime I saw something profoundly retarded, hideously injust or just plain God-awfully annoying. Here are the latest things That Made Jesus Cry. Audrey Hepburn is officially rolling over in her grave. Have you seen the GAP ad? My all time favorite cheesy Audrey Hepburn movie, "Funny Face", and the cheesiest scene of all whereupon she bursts into beatnik dance has been overlapped with AC/DC's song "Back in Black" to sell pants. Poor Audrey!! She's DEAD, people. That doesn't give you permission to A) put her in a commercial and B) make her dance to classic rock. Madison Avenue, quit raping dead people! TMJC!! Maine game wardens seized a Chinese restaurant owner's pet Koi fish. Seems like the little buggers, if let loose in the wild, pose a serious threat to natural wildlife. Cuong Ly, who escaped from Vietnam 25 years ago, opened his restaurant along with the fish tank 15 years ago. He's had these fish 15 years. What are the chances he's going to release them into the wild? Seems he can apply for a permit to keep the fish, but since he missed the cut off, they refuse to approve the permit. I saw the warden on the news last night. He looked like Satan compared to the poor li'l Vietnamese guy whose heart he broke & whose family he tore apart (according to Ly, the Koi are members of his family). Maine Game Wardens, spend your time in the woods catching poachers, not persecuting innocent pet owners! TMJC!! Reader's Digest, that cornerstone info-rag of doctor's office waiting rooms and nursing homes everywhere, has officially Made Jesus Cry. Knowing that about 99.3% of their reading audience is over 50, and about 99.2% of those are either routinely waiting in a doctor's office or living in a nursing home, they've peppered their pages with an un-Godly amount of perscription/over-the-counter medication advertisements. I myself was waiting in a hospital room the other day when I picked up the Reader's Digest. I was totally annoyed at all the ads, then realized that - I'm NOT exaggerating - nearly all of the ads were for some medical pill or product. I was bored, so I took out a pencil and wrote them all down. In one issue, here's what they had (keep in mind that nearly all prescription ads take up at least 3 or 4 pages, and the important info is in print so tiny even my 38 year old eyes cannot read it): Little Shop of Pets just had its 17th puppy stolen. You know, everyone who buys a puppy there has to be ignorant or impulsive, because they're not thinking ahead to when their pup inevitably develops skin disease, digestive troubles, hip displaysia or housebreaking issues. No one needs a puppy mill-bred future veterinary liability that's priced about 500% over a local reputable breeder's pups. Everyone I know who has a dog purchased there has extraordinary vet bills and ongoing health issues, if not a dead dog. How many puppies have to be stolen to shut this archaic business down? Little Shop of Pets, you peddle misery and disease. TMJC!! Oh, and one final thing that Made Jesus Cry - the day this clown registered his car: Posted by Bullyland at 02:22 PM | Comments (7) September 08, 2006
Love From My LipsLife ain't been exactly easy for me lately (I know, boo hoo, call the waah-mbulance)... financially, emotionally, etc. Luckily it's fall and it's almost physiologically impossible for me to fall into the chasm of depression but believe me when I say it's definitely burrowing up through the earth toward the soles of my feet. It's a simple miracle how music can turn your whole world around sometimes. My friend Heather blessed me with three Patty Griffin CDs several months ago - like May or something, for the iPod I got for Mother's Day. Having worn the five Patty CDs I do have* down to nubbins, I felt like Charlie Bucket at the end of the story when she did. I got so caught up in the Love From My Lips set that I completely ignored Silver Bell. The Love From My Lips recordings are really bootlegs - so bootlegged you can hear people lighting cigarettes and shuffling their feet in the little bars they were recorded in. Nearly all the songs are new to me and all of them are heartbreakingly beautiful - mostly just Patty and her guitar...shiver. I thought I'd take a spin around Portsmouth today since the weather was lovely and it might make me feel better. I decided out of the blue to listen to Silver Bell for the first time. One of the songs struck me almost dead it was so beautiful! Have you ever come across a song by accident, a song so beautiful and perfectly crafted your heart literally skipped a beat (or two!), song that was so sweet you had to stop everything you were doing just to listen (in my case, I had to pull over). That was this song. I pressed repeat on my iPod so I could be sure I wasn't just imagining the beauty of this song. I felt my mood rebounding with an amazing speed. I looked up, the sky was blue and bright, I stuck my face out the window and felt the warm breeze and the promise of fall in the air. For once a beautiful song wasn't making me weepy but lifting my mood. I can be very emotional with music and usually the teary thing is the effect I get - it's rare that the opposite happens and I cherish it. The song's music was so sweet. There was Patty of course, her voice and guitar weaving around my heart like summer vines, but also something plucking - a dobro or mandolin possibly - and a gentle steel guitar. The flowers on the vine - Emmylou Harris harmonizing in the background. The song plays in three chords but still sounds brand new. Mmmmmmm. Unfortunately for me, while googling the lyrics to share with you I found that the Dixie Chicks have covered this song. I'm not sure if it's a hit for them as I don't listen to that genre or keep up with the country scene. I want everyone to hear this song, but only as Patty - the composer - has recorded it. However, as Silver Bell isn't available in stores - it was not released - you may not be able to hear the song otherwise. I fear that the Dixie Chicks' version will be hyper-produced, layered with track upon track of swelling lap guitars and the like. I fear their rendition will be sorely lacking Patty's trademark edgy frailty and clean sound innocent of too much meddling. So you might decide for yourself to listen the the Chicks' version or instead to search around for the Silver Bell CD. I promise you if you choose the latter the effort will be worth it a million times over. Maybe you don't really care and are only bothering to reading this because you've nothing better to do. All I know is that it totally changed my day, and spread yet another layer of cement over the admiration I have for Patty Griffin. Truth #2 You don't like the sound of the truth Swing me way down south This time when you swung the bat Swing me way down south You don't like the sound of the truth patty griffin * Living With Ghosts Posted by Bullyland at 02:31 PM | Comments (3) September 07, 2006
Dogtown and Scooter BoyMy all time favorite documentary is "Dogtown and Z-Boys" which documents the (now) famous Zephyr team skateboarders of Venice, CA in the 70s. I just can't get enough of those Z-boys. I love that documentary so much that I've had the library actually tell me no, I can NOT check it out one more round without bringing it back to give someone else a chance. I ought to just buy it. Anyway, my kid has been on a major skateboard park kick lately and I've been glad to tag along. We recently discovered two skate parks in the past couple of weeks, one in our home town and the other in Portsmouth. Posted by Bullyland at 02:04 PM | Comments (3) September 06, 2006
The Company I KeepWhen I was 20 something, the crowd I was with tended toward excesses, dodging all personal responsibility and ethics, and making sure no one put a butt out in an active beer can. Although I enjoyed their company and kept up a perfect pace with their antics, I never thought I'd see the day when I was truly proud of myself or the company I kept. I had a blast tearing up the town with my rebellious buddies. We garnered a lot of attention back then, though much of it was negative. If you read my blog at all you know I'm terribly proud of my family and friends. I have bragged about my successful and lovely girlfriends, my loyal and loving family, and my bright kids. I've mentioned my military workmates but mostly in passing. This one goes out to all of them. They are a breed that most civilians do not understand. Most civilians are born and bred into the 9 to 5 life. Military members do not have a job, per say. They have a duty, and that duty entails a certain task that they perform in support of their duty. To the outsider it is a foreign concept and really not comprehensible unless you have lived it, or lived with it as a loved one. The military community truly is one big family. Not a McDonald's Crew family, not a corporate family...nowhere in this country can you find a workforce where you are that connected to your coworker. He or she is not, in fact, simply your coworker. He or she could be your lifeline one day and thus is an extension of yourself. Military members are connected 24/7. Much as a family may have members who disagree or rub each other the wrong way, so do we...but just like a family, we still support each other - there are ties that bind. I am treated as one of the family. I don't have to jog at oh-dark-thirty three times during the workweek and meet a certain weight (though I am more than welcome to) (har har). I'm not required to be available for deployment, on-duty 24 hours or wear a spiffy uniform. But I've lived my entire life in the tightly knit military community, with my father and mother setting the ultimate example of military families' bearing and loyalty, and now I serve my country in the civilian service for the U.S. Air Force. I understand how military members think because of my long-standing relationship with the military as a dependent and in civil service. I understand reverence of command and custom. I speak the secular language of acronyms, military banquets, ranks, United States Code. I know what core values are and respect service before self. I am not bound by their military contracts, but I still hold the core values dear. It's the way I was raised. You belong to the military, you are not expected to think outside the box per say, but rather bring something important to the table and do it with respect for the chain of command and your United States of America. Although I don't think the average civilian citizen comprehends the life, work, and way of thinking of a miltary member, I do believe Joe (and Jane) Citizen truly appreciates them. We all go together to lunch quite frequently, and it is a rare outing when we don't have a person approach us and thank my coworkers for their service. Sometimes it is an older gent who did a stint in the military and thus feels a natural bond. These guys (and occasional gals) are unmistakable - there's just something about their demeanor and posture that we know they are one of us. Sometimes it's a child who wants to talk about which branch we're in (with battle-dress-uniform and not blues the current uniform of the day, it's sometimes hard to tell us from our sister services). Sometimes it's an anonymous admirer who pays for our lunch on his or her way out the door, and we never even know who it was. Every time I'm with someone I work with and they are approached with benevolent gratitude, stories to share, or curiousity I get a feeling of pride to be a part of this family. These people that I see day in and out are dedicated to more than the bottom line. They know that they are serving millions of people, some of whom appreciate them, some of whom despise them, some of whom have little yellow magnets or ribbons dedicated to them, some of whom have little yellow journalist minds working against them. It doesn't matter. They see these millions of people as a whole entity worth dying for. They may not love George W. but they will do as he says as they hold the office of president with the utmost of their respect and obedience. My coworkers will die for their country based on an oath they made that takes approximately 30 seconds to say and one single signature made when they were about 19 years old. That oath is ingrained into their very fiber from the day they get on the bus to Montgomery, Alabama. Can you beat that? Working for the military means I, too, must change my taskings according to the needs of the Air Force. What I may love doing one year may change to a menial chore that taunts me. This has challenged me - a LOT - throughout my 20 year civilian service career. However, to quit my alliance with the military would be unthinkable. To abandon the people who are so devoted they would travel without question to fight in a country they could care less about on the order of their Commander-in-Chief - the people who would die for me while fighting to protect my careless freedoms - would be treason in my eyes. As long as they'll have me, I'll be here. I may not always like my job, but I love the company I keep. Posted by Bullyland at 12:54 PM | Comments (1) September 05, 2006
"That's Nature's Way"...Goodbye to Steve the Crocodile HunterToday my family mourns the passing of the Crocodile Hunter, a.k.a. Steve Irwin who died in a bizarre swimming incident wherein he was struck in the heart by a stingray. My father, my older son and my brother are all Crocodile Hunter afficianados. They can quote every "Irwinism" that ever took hold. They watch his show in rapt attention, alternately gasping and hooting with laughter. My son has a Steve Irwin impression that could make you laugh so hard you'd pee your pants. His Steve Irwin action figure has had a place of prominence for years on his dresser along with such pop culture greats as Jack Skellington, a Red Hot Chili Peppers bootleg video, the classic CD liner for his Jane's Addiction Nothing's Shocking album, a plastic army guy from a childhood collection, two signature baseballs and a miniature "Beast" action figure. Ironically, you press a button on his chest - right over where his heart would be - and he shouts, among other phrases, the illustrious "CRIKEY!" God! I've had many laughs myself during Irwin's endearing episodes and I'm stunned that he's gone. At the skateboard park with my younger son yesterday, talk among the older teenagers and young adults was constant Crocodile Hunter banter. I think the common thread among the snatches of conversation I picked up (while pretending to read The Vampire Lestat) was that they felt he had finally hit the bad chamber in his game of Animal Roullette. I disagree. According to all the reports I've read since it happened, he wasn't taking what could be called a big risk, just swimming alongside a ray while filming his daughter's TV show. Stingrays are not aggressive creatures. Thousands of nature shows have been shot featuring this ocean dweller without incident. Three people have been killed by stingrays in Australia in the past ONE HUNDRED YEARS (17 worldwide, ever). Death by stingray barb is not exactly something a scuba diver would even think about preparing for. The reports have all said he died almost instantaneously when the stingray's barb penetrated his chest and that is a blessing, I guess, if there is one to be found. He was also doing exactly what he loved to do, a life goal that many of us will never achieve. Still, he was only 44, in the best health, and suddenly left behind two small children and his wife and partner in nature, Terri. Ironically, my friend Sharon was on a Qantas flight just yesterday heading in to the land down under to begin her year there with her company. She emailed us during the trip to share the almost unbelievable (for us) irony. I'm sure she'll be entering a country in mourning. Steve, we'll miss your infectious enthusiasm and all theimpossibly catchy Irwinisms ..."Crikey!" "Atta Way, Mate!" "That's Nature's Way!" and "Ain't She a Beauty!" etc. Some may prefer the old barefoot bearded crocodile guy, but my family will always relate to the blonde guy in the shorts. Posted by Bullyland at 09:28 AM | Comments (4) August 25, 2006
Who Died and Made You King of the Universe?I'm not sure if anyone finds it very newsworthy, but Pluto has just become the "former" ninth planet of our solar system. I've always liked astronomy. I had a thing for planets as a preteen, and most kids do at some point. My youngest son's room is decorated with a space theme, some of the items culled from my oldest son's former decor. My father and brother are die-hard Star Trek fans. I fell in love with Ed Harris when I first saw "the Right Stuff." He's cute and an ASTRONAUT TOO? What is there NOT to love? Anyway, most kids are drawn to Saturn, for its rings...or Uranus, for its humorous possibilities ("Why is the Starship Enterprise like toilet paper? Because it's always circling around Uranus looking for Klingons")...or Jupiter for its big red eye. I on the other hand chose Pluto as my favorite planet. I loved dogs as a kid, and Mickey's dog Pluto was of course the ideal pet. Floppy hound dog, good nature, big bump on top of head... I couldn't help associate the adorable cartoon dog Pluto with the planet Pluto. The fact that it was the farthest out there and didn't orbit in a traditional circle had an almost human attraction for me - have I not always been the farthest out there, circling in my own peculiar orbit? That it was the smallest planet held an appeal to me too. I've always loved things wee in nature. Mercury too hot, Mars too overplayed, Earth too familiar, Venus too boring, Neptune - isn't that some cranky guy from the Little Mermaid?...Pluto was a natural as my planet of choice. Now "they" have decided that Pluto can no longer be a planet. They've kicked the little underdog right out of the clique. I was shocked! I don't pretend to follow modern astronomy. I love looking at the constellations on clear nights, staying up for meteor showers, and knowing that our little planet is circling with all our brothers and sisters right around our communal sun, every day, every year, and all is well in...well...the universe. I don't know much more than that if it's not broadcast in the news - which this little tidbit about Pluto happened to be.
I started thinking to myself. Now, who on Earth could "they" be..."those" so powerful that "they" could decide to kick out a planet that has been with us for centuries? Did God Himself come down two days ago and deliver the message? I decided to do a bit o' googling today. Here is what I discovered. Pluto's planet status has been "hotly" debated for decades. Apparently the tension over the subject grew to unbearable proportions. (Who knew?) This quote is taken from the New York Times: "Two years ago, the International Astronomical Union appointed a working group of astronomers to come up with a definition that would resolve this tension. The group, led by Iwan Williams of Queen Mary University in London, deadlocked. This year a new group with broader roots, led by Owen Gingerich of Harvard, took up the problem. According to the new rules a planet meet three criteria: it must orbit the Sun, it must be big enough for gravity to squash it into a round ball, and it must have cleared other things out of the way in its orbital neighborhood. The latter measure knocks out Pluto and Xena, which orbit among the icy wrecks of the Kuiper Belt, and Ceres, which is in the asteroid belt." Okay, that made me feel a little better. Some random telescope enthusiast didn't just ring up the news stations and declare that Pluto wasn't after all a planet. And better - the decision wasn't arbitrarily made by the President because he could push around such a tiny planet so far away from him. There is an official International Astronomical Union, with appointed leaders, made up of members from around the globe. Out of respect or science or possibly fear of world uprising, poor li'l Pluto wasn't abolished completely, but simply demoted to "dwarf planet," along with two other little ones previously ignored in bed-in-a-bag sets and school space dioramas. I guess I'll just have to trust their judgment. After all, I routinely get my Dippers confused and can't really tell Aries from Aquarius (don't tell my kids). I have no real formal education on the subject save an astronomy class I signed up for and then dropped when I realized math was involved (what the flim-flam?). So I can rest easy, and not worry too much about my son's Planet Map being a bit off kilter. I can Sharpie over little Pluto, or Sharpie in the new guys. Pluto's decal will remain on the wall. Pluto's 3-dimensional ball will remain on the mobile (taking him off would cause it to tilt). Pluto will continue to hunt Chipmunks with Mickey. Pluto will actually gain a little power in the process, forcing taxpayers everywhere to pay for new school textbooks... Hey...do you think the IAU is in cahoots with the Teacher's Union? Posted by Bullyland at 01:49 PM | Comments (0) August 18, 2006
Snakes on a Plane!Just kidding. I was too lazy to think of a title for this entry so I went with one that obviously works! A week that began with my big DOH! moment of slipping and breaking my toe and my dog being caught red-handed in attempted murder against a squirrel, has evolved into a pretty good weekend. The sun has been shining and good things are on the horizon. I'm excited to announce that my beautiful friend, 'Pril, has announced her engagement. I approve! (Like it matters, har har). I'm so happy for her and this guy is perfect (too bad for the rest of the male population). I've never known her to be more serene, happy, and in love. Yay, 'Pril!! Unfortunately for us this may mean her move away from New England but as long as she's happy, so am I. I'm happy to announce that my beautiful friend, Sharon, received a very hard earned and awesome promotion! Not only that but she was selected to transfer to Australia for a year to 18 months to work for her company there. How exciting! I've heard the men there are to die for - blonde hair, green eyes, deep tans.... mmmm.... I hate that she'll be so far away but it's only temporary... right, Sharon? RIGHT, SHARON? I'm also feeling a sense of homey comfort in anticipation of my beautiful friend, Tina, cooking for me tomorrow night at her oh-so-cozy chalet. Her S.O. Tim has constructed a tiny cottage for her behind the house which I can't wait to see and she's promised a small bonfire and as much chilled white wine as we can handle without becoming stupid. Aaaahh....relaxing in a homebuilt cottage, a cozy fire to warm our toes, good food and wine and conversation... I can't wait. I'm excited because my beautiful sister and my two nieces are coming up to visit this weekend as well. I haven't seen them in over a year! This will give me good opportunity to "work on" getting her to move up here. Wish me luck. I'm hoping we can have a regular family reunion this weekend with her, my neices, my brother and sister-in-law, my three nephews, mom and dad and hopefully both my boys. Fire up the grill! My flea population has dwindled considerably. There are zero fleas in the downstairs area, none in my son's bedroom and they are almost eliminated in the rest of the upstairs - one more flea bomb should do it totally. I can't tell you what a sigh of relief I will breathe when I can walk across my upstairs flokati rug without a tiny flea jumping on my ankle.* I am looking forward to spending the day tomorrow finishing the deep clean of my house and puttering around in my garden - something I haven't had nearly enough time for. My son is with his father this weekend and the weather forecast is nearly perfect - scattered t-storms aside. Beautiful weather, beautiful friends, beautiful family and blessedly flea-free dwelling. It's a wonderful life.
Posted by Bullyland at 03:31 PM | Comments (1) August 14, 2006
On an Island in the Sun (We'll Never Feel Bad Anymore)Holy downers, Robin, bring me my Batmeds! I realize my posts have been pretty negative lately. I apologize and warn that they will probably get only worse, as the weeks progress. I spent part of this weekend helping my mom & dad move furniture around in preparation for a hospital bed. Talk is of hospice and arrangements and friends and family visiting. I heard the Whites' "Keep On The Sunny Side" playing on an XM station and I wanted to throw the radio out the window. But if my brother can still make jokes and laugh, then the least I can do is try to follow his example. In an attempt to keep my mind from completely imploding I have stepped up the internet search for items to keep my warms fuzzied and my mind occupied. To make up for my bummer posts of late I share with you with oodles of cuteness. Enjoy. Here is a treat (pics and quotes) from my favorite source of Vitamin D, Cuteoverload.com. Cuteoverload won a webby this year and it ain’t because Meg Frost isn’t a genius. God bless you Meg, many rays of sunshine have been reserved for your precious head: Dog: snooorff Dog: [Thinking] Feels cushiony! Dog: [slurp!] Dog: [awkward hug while making large snorting sounds] ******************************* Do dogs dream? I must warn you though, before clicking on this link, you may never recover after viewing this pweshus pup.
This classic Weezer song never fails to bring up my mood. Somebody had the brilliant idea to combine it with dozens of cute animal pics for the ultimate gooey result (click on lyrics). Island in the Sun (c weezer) When you’re on a holiday On an island in the sun hip hip When you’re on a golden sea On an island in the sun We’ll run away together hip hip On an island in the sun We’ll run away together Heh heh We’ll never feel bad anymore ************************************** *********************************** Bored? Sad? This site will make you forget it all with hours of kitten clickage at your fingertips. *********************************** Nothing really cute about this, in fact it’s Non Gradus Anus Rodentum!, but you can use the site to impress your friends with your scholarly knowledge of Latin sayings. *********************************** Who knew these backyard bird-feeder thieves were so talented? And I always considered them rats with cute tails. ************************************* If only everything was always fuzzy dreams and smushy-faced kitten love.
*********************************** And now I must sign off. All this cute huntery has whet my appetite. Posted by Bullyland at 01:42 PM | Comments (3) August 08, 2006
Isn't It Ironic? (Don't You Think)I drive the same roads nearly every day. I see the same landscapes, the same buildings, everything pretty much looks like it did 10 years ago – at least the buildings are still there, though others may have popped up somewhere along the line. All through my transient childhood I longed for a home town, where all the buildings looked the same and memories were made and cemented in the ground, for me to be able to return to again and again. Now I do have a home town, or home base anyway, being many little neighboring towns joined in my life by a string of domiciles, jobs, family and friends. I can revisit the places again and again where one or another memory was made. The irony is that the one thing I longed for as a child, I got as an adult, and I totally fucked it up. So many things about my past are unsavory. So many memories lie purposely buried as if under a big tarp, like hills of garbage at a dump. If I could decimate them like one can burn refuse down to unrecognizable ashes, I would. I’ve made a total mess of the first half of my life. I spent over a decade as an adult with people I can not and do not want to ever see again, doing things with these people I never want to think about. It’s as though a big chunk - nearly one third - of my life is blacked out, like a racy letter you’d receive in prison. Most of my life is full of mistakes. Mistakes I made as a child, mistakes I made as a young teen, as a young adult… of course I’m still making mistakes, but nothing so shameful that I’ll need to shield my memory from it. The mistakes I made as a child and teenager are much easier to forgive and forget. Of course youth is always easy to blame, and when there’s something to blame, it’s not so hard to let it go. Then there’s the fact that I will never see these places where I made those mistakes again. They are scattered literally across the globe. I will never again be forced to walk the sidewalks in towns where I committed childish and adolescent crimes of selfishness, lust, treachery, ignorance, etc. But in this little string of towns I call home now, it is a different matter altogether. Not only have I been an adult since I landed in Portsmouth in 1987, I also must see these buildings every day. I walk the sidewalks. I drive the roads. They all contain ghosts of my past that I can’t take back I also can’t escape from. And so I just push it down. I drive by the same buildings, homes, roads and I try to see only buildings, homes, and roads. I try to forget that any particular road is one that leads to a town which contains a building that housed a person who had a role in my corrupt past. I can almost laugh at the extravagant amount of territory I spoiled with my past antics, but the smile dies before it fully forms on my lips. Occasionally, something – looking a little longer at a building than normal, seeing a name in print or hearing it out loud – will open my mind against its will to reveal a scene from the past that plunges me into an emotional fugue. It may knock me off kilter for weeks at a time with sadness, regret, guilt or shame. It may be something less offensive, a small sin committed in mischief that I could actually smile about. It may be a memory that is benign, fond even. That is, if only these memories weren’t associated with someone or some place that holds keys to other, darker, rooms of my soul. I know the past holds me back. Ignoring it takes so much mental energy that I don’t have much more mental stamina to do much else. I want to form intimate relationships. I want to put my heart on my sleeve once in awhile. I want to strike out from my job that up until this year has been fairly rewarding – but now is absolutely stifling. I want to take risks and allow myself to seek personal fulfillment that holds some real weight. I feel unable to do any of these things. I'm terribly uncomfortable when I try and face the wasted years I accumulated and so I don’t. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I faced my past head on - no denial, no omissions - and was able to let it go, I might be able to solve a lot of the “issues” that are holding me back. It is scary, though, and distasteful, to admit to myself these memories even happened and so I avoid them altogether. Will I ever forgive myself my past? Will I ever feel like I am truly free? Will I ever be healed enough to really move on – to do with the rest of my time on Earth something important, brave, and fulfilling? Or will I always be restricted from love, retiring in old age from a job that never challenged me, and living out the rest of my years in complacency, alone? Will I die knowing that even after I escaped certain doom from a life that was killing me, I never made the rest of it count? I mean, I appreciate irony, but this is kind of ridiculous.
I drive these same roads every day So many places with so many ghosts I’ve passed the point of no return What a mess I made of my years, What lies ahead one never knows Shoeboxes hold photos turned the other way Posted by Bullyland at 06:20 PM | Comments (2) August 07, 2006
Forcing Myself to LookI've been locked out of my blog for a few days, and I had an entry all typed up and ready to post - which I will soon. I normally type my entries and do a cursory edit before posting right away. This time, I've had a few days to re-read it, and although I'll still post it, I can't help but notice now how self-absorbed and whiney it sounds. It's all about me.... me.... me... Which normally is just par for the course here in Bullyland, right? Snort. I admittedly have a hard time seeing beyond my own four or five square feet of personal space a lot of the time. I've come to believe there's a reason that I do this. It's because to do otherwise would be to acknowledge just how useless I really am in other affairs. I've been watching a lot of world and national news programming lately, which I normally loathe since I believe most of it is biased and nearly all of it depressing. With all the hostility going on in Lebanon, and of course the continued saga in Iraq, I've been overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. There's REALLY nothing I can do. I can write about the evils of war and fighting. I can talk about it. I can voice my opinion. Otherwise my hands are tied. I am bound by a need to protect my own child by continuing to go to work every day in order to provide physical and emotional security to him. I can't adopt ten thousand orphans. I can't march up to Pennsylvania Avenue and force the powers that (unfortunately) be to end our occupation in Iraq. Nothing I can do or say will cause world leaders to really see the pictures right in front of their eyes. Terrified children are being carried away from their dismembered households by strangers in the night. Unconscious civilians are lying on stretchers with pieces of their bodies blown away (perhaps the parents of these children?). Smoke billows up from devastated cities, dogs lie dead in the streets, buildings are abandoned, food and clean water are nowhere to be had. All I can do is either look or not. In some sort of desperate attempt to shake myself out of a state of complacency, I've been forcing myself to look. One film clip of a particularly beautiful child being whisked away by paramedics continues to haunt me. All around her, a building (her home I assumed) lay in rubble and sirens blared. Several adults were being carried away on stretchers. One adult, presumably her mother, tried to sit up from the stretcher, wailed, threw her arms out trying to reach the child but they both were taken in opposite directions. The look on the child's face was absolute terror. I started thinking. Can you just imagine? Can you just imagine being her mother and not knowing at that moment what would become of you or her? Not knowing if you'd ever see her again? Not be able to be there for her when she's so frightened and confused? We are such spoiled Americans. We had one moment of fear in the entire recent history of our country, one isolated moment of fear on September 11th, 2001 when all of us could imagine the threat of death and despair. Think about how relatively quickly that fear dissipated. It was only a matter of months, really, before we were on the offensive and feeling invincible once again (and it would have not even taken that long had the administration of this country not deliberately fanned the flames of fear). I know thousands of men and women in this country live with the fear that their family members could die while stationed in Iraq. Most of them do return to us, and their families can start breathing easily again. Some do not, and that is a tragedy. However, I think I can say that as a country, we do not feel the threat upon us here in America. There are not buildings toppled and bombs dropped from the air in different parts of our country on a daily basis. We do not feel threatened as a rule by any of the evils we see every day on television. We watch from the comforts of our living rooms and feel sad, feel helpless, feel angry...but not threatened. Just imagine if you were born into living with those threats every day of your life... that it was ingrained into your way of life... that imminent destruction was only just around the corner at any time. You try and live your life in peace day in and day out; you go to work, you make dinner, you hold your kids and read them stories... but in the back of your mind you know that a bomb could drop only feet away and end it all in seconds. I wonder what would change if our leaders could really live like that for one year. Just one year of fearing their loved ones being snatched away by stretchers and strangers and feeling the fire of fear and uncertainty in their bellies that these civilians in other, less fortunate countries must feel every day of their lives. Would they continue to believe our occupation in Iraq is a humanitarian effort? Would they realize that in the eyes of innocent civilians that they are "protecting" and "liberating," they are no different than the middle-Eastern leaders that they vilify? My guess is, probably not. One would have to live one's entire life under that kind of threat in order to really comprehend the despair, and we fat American civilians and politicians simply have not and will never live our lives under metaphorical or literal clouds of napalm. I will never know what happened to that child or her mother after seeing them on television. I can only pray for them that they will. Go ahead. Force yourself to look.
*these images were gathered from Google image searches and www.thewe.cc Posted by Bullyland at 11:25 AM | Comments (4) July 29, 2006
Reading RainbowI picked up a ton of books at the Goodwill a while back and am just getting 'round to reading them. Needless to say I love to read. I remember carving out a hole in my closet when I was about 11 or 12, complete with little bench, battery-powered lamp, snack chest, and all my beloved books. My mom thought I was being freaky, but hey, I just wanted to immerse myself in the fantasy land of literature. I still do, but thankfully have outgrown the need for a hole in my closet. Here are books I've read so far or have on my list, as well as the impressive list for my son and I: Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden) - Five Stars. I just rented the movie which I have not seen and I'm hoping it does the book justice. Why didn't I read this sooner!? Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd) - Four stars. Really a great story and tenderly told but the ending is a little anti-climactic and not as strong as the rest. Almost as though someone else wrote the last couple of chapters. The Pleasure of My Company (Steve Martin) - Five stars - Steve Martin is an awesome writer and I just loved this book. I bought the audio too so I could hear it on my commute. A tender and funny little novella. The Hiding Place (Trezza Azzopardi) - Five stars (so far). I just started and it promises to be awesome. I'm having a hard time putting it down. Kick Me (and) Superstud - Paul Feig - Four and a half stars...okay...five - it was kind of hard to get through three chapters about preadolescent masturbation in "Superstud" but it was funny after all. Very humorous reminiscing of a geeky boy's childhood (Kick Me) and a funny memoir of a chaste young adulthood (Superstud). Feig is a funny guy, you just like him instantly. Teacher Man (Frank McCourt) - Four and a half stars. Another by the "Angela's Ashes" author. I started it and borrowed the audio from the library to help speed things along (was reading 3 other books at the time). I just love his voice so although this book isn't as gripping and emotional as "ashes" or his second, "T'is," it's still a great read. Mrs Dalloway (Virginia Woolfe) - Five Stars. I loved it the first time in high school, and I discovered that hey! I still love it. Interesting side note - all the semi-colons still bother me as much as they did in high school. Why all the semi-colons? I know my teach told me something about them but...they're still annoying. Teachings of a Compassionate Buddha (E.A. Burt) - Five Stars. An excellent intro to Buddhism and the intro gives a great insight into religion altogether. Charles Bukowski, Locked in the Arms of a Crazy Life (Howard Soumes) - Three stars so far. I'm about 1/3 through. It's pretty standard and not very humorous, which I'd hoped for in describing this loony, fantastically individual person's life. The Living is Easy (Dorothy West) - on my wait list Love Monkey (Kyle Smith) - on my wait list My son and I are reading together - We finished all the Sheila/Peter/Fudge books by Judy Bloom, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and the Great Glass Elevator, James & the Giant Peach, and the Witches by Roald Dahl, and we're almost through the entire Henry/Beezus/Ramona series by Beverly Cleary. We have the Wizard of Oz (L. Frank Baum) up next, and we are planning on beginning the Narnia chronicles (C.S. Lewis). So has anyone read these and have opinions or does anyone have any more suggestions for my (and my son's) summer reading frenzy? Posted by Bullyland at 06:40 PM | Comments (1) July 27, 2006
My Dog Has Fleas a.k.a. Bully's Flea CircusOh. My. God!!! Is it flea season or what? All of my animals have - overnight it seems - been infested with fleas. It's disgusting! The poor babies are constantly scratching and their fur looks so dirty and shabby. My dog Ash seems the least affected, it must be a dog thing. All four cats (my three plus the foster kitten) have been attacked relentlessly with Frank Sinatra being the hardest hit, he has severe flea-caused dermatitis. What a miserable bunch. What to do? Well, first, let me tell you what NOT to do - waste your money. Day one - I notice that Frank's skin is scabby, and all four kitties are scratching. It's harder to tell with the dog who scratches anyway. I inspect and sure enough, flea dirt. Eeewwww! Well, I'm on a very tight budget this year and any other year I would have already prevented this with some Frontline Plus. But at a little under sixty bucks for three months' worth (or one month if you're treating three cats!), I decided to try my luck with the over-the-counter old school treatments. Day two - I buy 5 flea collars and powder for the carpet & upholstery. I brush each animal, put on their collars, sprinkle the powder, vacuum, etc. following all directions. Day four - I notice the collars and powders haven't done the trick. I buy flea spot-on treatments for all 5 animals. I figure this combined with the other measures will do the trick. I opt for the less expensive spot treatments (around 8 bucks each) since I can't afford Frontline or Advantix. Day six - I can't help but notice that the fleas are not only not going away, but rapidly increasing. I buy flea spray for the animals and flea foggers for each floor of the house. I spritz each animal head to toe with the spray, cover the fishtanks and all food prep surfaces, put the cats in the basement, the dog outside, and set off the foggers. I leave for the prescribed two hour time frame. I come back. I vacuum and collapse on the couch to finally get some relief. A flea bites my ankle. Another jumps into my glass of wine. None of these treatments did a damn bit of good. In fact, they just seemed to piss off the fleas, who had by now decided that while some will stay on the animals, for safekeeping, others would jump ship and attack my and my son's ankles instead. I had nightmares caused by the tiny thugs who had created a virtual theme park in my living room. That was - when I could get to sleep, a nearly impossible task while imagining I felt fleas in my bed, and checking my son's room over and over for fleas in his bed. Day seven. I dig through the garbage for every box that every product came in. I dump them all in a bag, coffee grinds and all, and return them to the store. They start to give me a hard time, but I guess the sight of my flea-infested horns overcame their resistance. They gave me my money back. I went to Petco, I shelled out $115 for Frontline Plus for each animal and two more foggers. The moral of this story is this - save yourself the time, frustration, and money and just get the good stuff to begin with. Following is a list of products I have bought, used, and failed with. Here is a list of what NOT to buy: Hartz 4 in 1 foggers - about $8 for a three pack. So I spent a little under $50 on all these useless chemicals, not to mention all the time and frustration of applying them all and having them all fail. PLUS - I'd have had to continue to buy them all through the summer as they only last between one week and one month (technically, not at all since none of them worked!). Here is a list of what TO buy: Frontline Plus, a six month supply, in April. That's all you'll need. I guess I'll just have to work the Frontline into my budget somehow, at least through the spring & summer months. Historically (every year except this one), when I treated the dog through the summer I usually only had to treat the cats maybe once (they stay inside). My final effort in the battle of the fleas was yesterday putting on their Frontline and fogging once again. This morning my son woke up with a flea on his leg, and I did kill one that was on my shirt last night, but the animals seem much better, the kitten being completely flea free. The jury is still out on the foggers I used - Adams and Zodiac on separate floors - but I'm hoping and praying that tonight I can drink a glass of wine without an added flea. Posted by Bullyland at 04:13 PM | Comments (4) July 24, 2006
Had You FooledI never fail to be amazed at my capacity for pulling something off. Since grade school I have been a champion bullshitter. Not to say I am a liar - though in high school I had my moments - but I do have this knack at times for convincing people what I want them to believe. For example - my sanity. Just as a functional alcoholic will make it through the work week, family time, etc with 90% of people never knowing he is an alcoholic, thus I am with my mental illness*. I am medicated and have forced myself to fit in with society for the sake of my & my family's well-being. I work a nice 9-5 job with the ultimate conservatives - the military no less. I have become a good mother, always putting the child's needs before my own. I have a mortgage! Believe me, folks - for all this posing I am one fucked up, crazy, cart-pushing homeless broad in the making. Under this pleasant, normal facade, my hair is dyed three different colors and shaved up one side of my head, I have three rings in my nose, I wear the same smelly jeans day in and day out. I sleep until noon most days, I consume nothing but pixie stix, caffeine, alcohol and cocaine. I stay up for 48 hours straight writing brilliant poetry and song; I have a basement full of brilliant works that will eventually make me famous after my suicide - which, by the way, I committed years ago. I walk through the streets loudly talking to myself and anyone else who catches my eye. I have 30 cats. I find treacherous meaning in random phrases culled from the DaVinci Code and my high school math textbook. I love it when people are so convinced of my sanity that they try and reason with me and I convince them that I'm being reasoned with. I love it when people assume I have a normal, stable mind. It shows me I'm doing a good job. Well, I guess I have a normal mind for my intents and purposes. It's on loan from the Compassionate God of Raising Happy and Well-Adjusted Children until I can finally take off this ridiculous business suit for good. I'm not sure when that will happen, as my kids will never stop needing me to be normal. Perhaps in my next life, the gods will reward me for being so cunning in this one. They'll let me actually be that crazy freak that I've been repressing all these years. If only.
Posted by Bullyland at 12:06 PM | Comments (6) July 17, 2006
Saying "When"My little brown dog, Ash, has been pretty happy lately. Her personality has taken a turn for the better, and she has suddenly remembered all her early puppy training that she'd seemed to forget in this past year. She sits without even being asked, has stopped nipping my ankles when it's time to go out, and I've been able to completely eradicate her crate, formerly used for bedtime and any other time the humans had to leave the house. I'm relieved to see all this happen, as I wasn't sure whether she would mope and develop behavior problems. You see, we recently had a big change in our household. We recently gave up our other dog. I'm not sure when it started being a problem, having two dogs. I think it began when my German Shepherd, Blue, reached adulthood combined with the warm weather. Since late spring, I've had to leave the dogs at home all day. (During the cool weather, I brought them to work with me; but at times they'd have to sit in the car for a while - this is obviously impossible in warm weather.) Blue was not adjusting to being home all day. He was unable to remain outside of his crate when left alone as he would get nervous and start chewing things. He voluntarily went into his crate every morning - he was afraid of being left out. However he started having accidents in his crate, one or two times a week. We'd come home and he'd be whimpering, so ashamed and upset was he at his accident. I did everything I could think of to try and eliminate these accidents, I didn't feed them in the morning, I made sure they were out for at least a half an hour every morning, I hurried home to lessen the time he was in the crate. I tried leaving him out of the crate, he didn't have any accidents but he did destroy whatever he could find. Blue is a high-maintenance dog, as I've learned is the German Shepherd way. His high-maintenance needs were no big deal when he was in my back pocket during cooler weather. But confined to the house they seemed to explode. He was constantly stepping on my seven-year old, licking us, pacing back and forth, begging for attention and in turn making Ash a nervous wreck. Dogs don't understand the separation of their identities. If I had to scold Blue, Ash would get upset. When Blue had an accident during the day, she got upset. She started nipping in order to get past him, occasionally nipping us by mistake. I tried to compensate for the plain truth - Blue was quickly outgrowing our life. He almost got killed by a speeding truck when he ran out the door into the street after he thought my son called him. Although he tried to be a good boy, his training was slipping away due to his distractedness, no matter how many times a day I practiced the sit-stay-come routine. Now, our little brown dog, Ash, is more than content with her life. She sits quietly at home, sleeping or playing with appropriate toys, while we are away during the day. She is content to either hang at home or go out, whatever. She's definitely a low maintenance, laid back kind of porch dog. Blue is exactly the opposite. He pines when we leave, unable to deal with our absence. Things were so perfect this fall, winter and spring when my dogs were able to accompany me during the work week, and summer's restrictions took me completely by surprise. It never occurred to me that my dogs would spend *more* time indoors and get *less* exercise during summer. Blue began his coat-blowing (a semi-annual major shedding) about a month ago. Since he is forced to spend so much time in the house, the house was overwhelmed with the fur. It's insidious - covering all surfaces and getting into everything - the fishtanks, our food. I vacuumed twice a day and brushed him as many times as I could but the fact was, he should have been getting more exercise and shedding the natural way, outside. I caught myself yelling at my son as a chain reaction to issues with Blue. My boy would ask if we could have a sword battle, or play a video game, or go for a bike ride and I'd shout "No - I told you I have to clean up Blue's crate! [or vacuum the hair, or brush him, or bathe him, etc] Honey, I'm sorry but you'll have to wait!" What was going on here? My son didn't deserve to be spoken to like that, just because I'd become so frustrated and lost my temper. I'd hug him and tell him I was sorry - but the guilt was like a knife. I was upset at yet another accident, my son was upset because I was upset, and both dogs were upset because their people were upset. But I've been in full force denial, thinking it will get better, things will even out, etc. I've raised them since they were both puppies, I love my dogs. Love is blind. *********************** Blue is a good dog, and his bloodlines are indeed, blue. He has a champion pedigree and is a stunning dog. A breeder from Maine had contacted me about possibly using Blue as a stud for his female; I agreed that if I hadn't had him neutered yet when his female came into heat he could "borrow" Blue for the week. When his dog came into heat, he contacted me and we made arrangements for me to deliver Blue to him up in Mechanic Falls. The day arrived and I brought Blue up, not quite knowing what to expect from this breeder. Turns out his home is set back about 3/4 mile from the road. He owns about 7 acres of land, all undeveloped, around his home. His beautiful female German Shepherd came out to greet us, leash free. I let Blue out of the car and they instantly took off to play on the immense property. I talked with the breeder, his wife and their daughter & grandson for a while. They were very impressed with Blue's perfect physique and loving personality. I told them how he is so great with kids, how he never runs away, etc. They talked about their own dog with obvious love and pride, and by the time I left, they were in love with Blue as well. We made arrangements for me to pick up Blue later that week. He agreed to email me with details about the two dogs' "date." On my way home it hit me full-on that I am not providing my dog with the life he deserves. Blue is getting unhappier every day, and in turn making the household unhappy. I can't give him the kind of life that his new "girlfriend" has - running leash-free all day long on acres of private land and a creek to swim in, a mom who is home all day, grandkids galore visiting throughout the week. It came to me like a lightening bolt - all the denial I've been in lately - and I realized with a sad certainty that it was time to say "when." The next day I talked with the breeder and told him that I was considering finding a better home for Blue. I told him about how hard it's becoming to keep him happy, and that if he would consider adopting Blue, it might be a happy ending with everyone. I thought he was going to come through the phone, he was so excited. Yes, they would love to take him, everyone is already in love with him - them, their grandkids, their dog. Blue was having a ball exploring their homestead and being a very good boy. He admitted that he'd wanted to ask me to consider letting him buy Blue when we were talking and I was telling him about our recent struggles. I felt a huge wave of relief slide over me. It felt like a cool waterfall engulfing me on a hot day. I pictured in my mind my beautiful, happy dog running along the path behind his new house, jumping through the creek, his muscles rippling with all the exercise and his face smiling once again. I told my son when he came home from his dad's that weekend and I could see the relief wash over his entire body. I was shocked at his happiness that Blue was gone, but not for long. Of course he'd been stressed out too. We both talked about how much we would miss our dog, but my son had no regrets at all. I do have regrets - regrets that I bought the dog without thinking into the future, regrets that I kept him so long when he wasn't happy, and regrets that I'll just plain miss him. The breeder promised photos of the puppies, and told me to feel free to visit Blue if I'm in the area. I don't think I'll be able to do that, he's only been gone a few days and already there's a big pain of loss replacing the big pain of guilt that was in my heart when he was with us. I know he's happy now, so happy that he probably doesn't even think of us. But he'll always be in my heart. I'll miss you, Blue. May your new life keep you as happy as you deserve to be. Posted by Bullyland at 10:11 AM | Comments (3) July 07, 2006
This Country is Being Brought to You By Your Local Wal-MartI recently read a column by D. Allan Kerr "standing up for Wal-Mart." Now, I respect his opinion, which is in support of Wal-Mart and all the good points he sees in the chain. Kerr enjoyed being able to get everything he needed all in one place and at a good price. Among his conquests were food, pillows, frames, fans and floormats. He's thrilled he only had to make one visit and pay less than $75.00. I say, good for him! I also say - where does it end? Currently Wal-Mart offers optical services, pharmacies, groceries, (very) basic auto maintenance, and fast food in addition to retail goods. I've heard the chain plans on adding legal services, travel agencies and real estate. What next? A car dealership? An EMT service? It is not just paranoia anymore - it is the truth. Wal-Mart plans to take over corporate America. I am not a person like Mr. Kerr who likes to do all my shopping in one huge effort. I'm not a big consumer so I rarely shop; thus I don't need a "one-stop-shop." When I have to go in there it is to buy one thing, such as an electronic device that I just can't afford elsewhere (thanks, Mr. Walton! I'm sure Radio Shack thanks you, too) or to take my seven year old there to spend his allowance. (Although he is well aware of my distaste for the store, he loves it and I won't force him to bend to my philosophy.) I may end up picking up a few other items, such as dog food or garden supplies, but I don't go there to shop with a list or anything. In fact, how many do? Wal-Mart makes most of its profits on impulse spending - go in for three things, leave with thirteen. Frankly, the store has always given me the willies. I have off-and-on agoraphobia and entering a Wal-Mart can trigger a case of mild arrythmia and a desire to drink heavy amounts of alcohol. The long, cramped aisles; the infinite number of products; the birds trapped in the industrial roofing and peeping in despair; the somnolent consumers perambulating aimlessly or conversely, determinedly driving their carts like a jockey with his harness horse - either way paying no attention - all of this can get under my skin faster than my kid can twirl a quarter into the CHAD dinosaur's smiling mouth. And Oh. My. God. Super Wal-Mart - ewuggabuggashivva! - I avoid at ALL costs. The last time I got the courage to wander in there was to find one certain toy for my niece. Super Wal-Mart was the only store in a to possibly have this toy near my mom's house where I was at the time. I was trapped inside for over an hour. I left with the toy, two houseplants, an airwick deodorizer, rawhide bones, a bag of dirt, a basketball, and a package of green onions. I vaguely remember being in a zombie-like state by the time I got to the cash register. I remember handing over my debit card and feeling like I was stoned. I remember arriving home and staring at those ghastly smiley-faced bags and thinking - "How did this happen?" I didn't remember any of the experience of actually picking these items out. In fact, I needed NONE of it, except the little toy I got for my niece. Wal-Mart deploys certain tactics to squeeze more dollars out of each customer. For every "roll-back," there are two or three "roll-ups" - even if only five cents, every "roll-back" actually equals more flow. Their one and only clock is located at the front of the store - facing only the customers departing the store. Their bathrooms are conveniently located right inside the entrance. Most stores don't want people running in to just use their restroom and not buy anything, so they locate them out of the way. Wal-Mart is smarter than that (who the hell runs into a Wal-Mart only to use the loo?). They know that people who have to shop with a full bladder will take less time and spend less. They know that someone who sprints to the back of the store to use the bathroom will only work his way back through the store, versus up AND back, and spend less. If they have a secret gas that they deploy at each entrance to induce a state of confused, trance-like susceptibility in their customers, it wouldn't surprise me. In fact, I think every once in awhile, their employees inadvertantly get hit with the stuff. Thus is the experience of Wal-Mart. Blah, blah and blah. But this is skimming the surface, only mildly more deceitful than the average tactics and trickery used by retailers. The insidiousness goes much deeper than that. Anyway, I don't want to jump on the Wal-Mart Bash Party Train but I just can't help it. Yes, I've seen the PBS documentary and also "Wal-Mart, High Cost of Low Prices." However, those documentaries only served up actual facts to compliment my already formed opinion. For example - did you know that Wal-Mart advertises programs like WIC, Healthy Kids, food stamps, etc in their breakrooms? Did you know that in Florida, 71% of Wal-Mart employees are on public assistance? Did you know that Wal-Mart receives hundreds of millions of dollars from the government to subsidize their chains? Did you know that your every day low price is subsidized, in fact, by your own dollars? Stop and think about the fact that most employees cannot afford to insure their family through Wal-Mart's programs and so must turn to Medicare and welfare. Wal-Mart drains our tax dollars. Wal-Mart keeps the welfare system hopping. And of course, associates can't afford to shop anywhere else, so the few dollars Wal-Mart actually pays its employees go right back into the chain's coffers. Here is a quote from CEO Lee Scott in an effort to urge congress to raise the minimum wage: "The U.S. minimum wage of $5.15 an hour has not been raised in nearly a decade and we believe it is out of date with the times," Scott said. "We can see first-hand at Wal-Mart how many of our customers are struggling to get by. Our customers simply don't have the money to buy basic necessities between pay checks." Excuse me, but WTF? What about his own employees? Why doesn't he start by paying them more? Did you know that the employee training videos include several minutes of anti-union rhetoric? Watch the "High Cost" documentary - they show the actual footage and I laughed out loud at its ridiculous tactics - but many employees fall for it or are intimidated into going along with it. If the associates want a union, and the associates are so damned important to the Wal-Mart "family," than why are they not allowed to vote one in? Okay, let them find another job. Hmmm, maybe in retail-glutted Portsmouth, NH...but in places like Middleton, Ohio... whoops - Wal-Mart has run all the other stores out of town - not to mention property values. Let's face it, who wants to buy a home or start a business in a neighborhood full of empty, non-fillable business buildings? Really, who wants to start a retail business anywhere within 50 miles of Wal-Mart? It's only going to get worse, folks, as Wal-Mart continues to add services such as the aforementioned. Mr. Kerr, I respect your opinion but I totally disagree with it. I don't enjoy being able to do all my errands under one gianormous, intimidating roof. I don't think that $9.93 or even $9.88 is much cheaper than $9.99. I believe most consumers are more concerned about their own convenience, too much so to see or care about the big picture. Wal-Mart sucks. It is ruining free enterprise - not promoting it. It's draining our tax dollars. It's supporting the welfare system by driving its employees to it. It's forming a monopoly of a most dangerous kind - not just a telephone company, railroad or airline - but a monopoly of every source of retail goods or services you can imagine. I think I'd rather pay that extra twelve cents. Posted by Bullyland at 12:19 PM | Comments (10) June 28, 2006
Where oh where has my little heart gone?Whoooeeee, man. Things are really heating up in here. By "here," I mean, "my brain." Feels like a tropical hurricane is wrenching its way through my cranial capillaries. Although my extremities are on fire, there is an iceberg slowly rising into the gaping space where my heart ought to be. Not sure if my meds need adjusting, or if the stressors in my personal life are bubbling up to the surface (most likely a combination of the two). I have been irregular with my brain candy schedule and let's face it, being constantly broke, worrying about my family, and unhappy in my new job are not conducive to exquisite mental health. The upshot is that I've been eating poorly, not exercising enough, attempting to stay in denial, and slinging insults left and right over on the forums - in fact I got put into a "time out" by an administrator. (DOH!) I think I may put myself into a time out. I feel too mean and ornery lately. Now I usually have a friendly demeanor (as friendly as a bull can be) and am a happy person. However lately I am overstepping my boundaries (which are pretty vague anyway) by cruelly pointing out mental inferiorities, bad spelling and blatant stupidity to people on the seacoast forums. I don't want to be a big blue meanie. I just can't help myself lately - I am heartless. I want to be friendly. I want to give and receive warm, fuzzy sentiments. But these barbs and evil comments are all I can manage to get out, when what I really want to say is, MY BROTHER HAS BRAIN CANCER, MY CAR IS FALLING APART, WE'RE STILL IN IRAQ AND YOU ARE WORRIED ABOUT GARY LOST-IN-TEN-SQUARE-FEET-OF-FUCKING-WOODS DODDS? Deep breath. It is now myself that must STFU! I'm taking my ball and going home. Snuffle, snortle, snurf. I'll be back when I find my happy place.
Posted by Bullyland at 11:03 AM | Comments (7) June 15, 2006
Hey mister, can you spare a dime for a brother?My mom, brother, and sister-in-law will kill me for printing this, but I personally know a lot of the people who read my blog and I wanted to get this out to any who may be interested in helping out. Please forgive me this opportunity to solicit. I just want to do what I can for my little brother and his wife. My mom did up this letter that she sent out to family and friends, and I got hold of it, so now I'm blatantly posting it. Dear Family and Friends: First, our gratitude goes out to all of you for your prayers and support for Mike and all of us over this past year. Your prayers and good wishes have been a true comfort more times than you could ever know. Second, we have hesitated to send this letter out, but since Mike's original diagnosis last year, many people have told us to please let them know if there is anything they can do to help. Most of you already know, but for those of you who do not, Mike has recently learned that a new tumor has grown, beneath the cerebellar of his brain, and is inoperable. This has drastically affected his overall prognosis and Mike's doctor has told him that if there is anything that he had planned on doing, he should make plans to do it soon, and suggested the period after his radiation treatment ends (July 15) and before his new chemotherapy treatment resumes (Aug 15) would be best. Mike and Sarah had not taken a honeymoon at the time they were married, and they had been dreaming of trying to do this early next year, if Mike was well enough. Since the doctor has advised that any plans should take place as soon as possible, we are trying to make arrangements for them to be able to take their honeymoon trip this year, during the time the doctor suggested. So, we are sending out this request on Mike and Sarah's behalf, asking for your help in making this dream come true for them. This trip would certainly bring much joy to both of them now and also provide lots of strength-giving memories to help them face the difficult times ahead. We have started a fund to help Mike and Sarah take their trip, and ask that you consider contributing. Please know that as much as our gratitude is already on its way if you are able to help, so also is our sincere understanding if you cannot, and we ask simply that you continue to keep Mike and all of us in your thoughts and prayers, as you are all continually in ours. If you wish/are able to help with this effort, please send any donations to our address, provided below. Again, we thank you all so very much for your emotional support and prayers in the past, and for the future. Carol and Ralph Posted by Bullyland at 04:16 PM | Comments (3) June 13, 2006
Black TuesdayI commute to work, about 50 minutes either way (includes dropping kid off at school). Sometimes we listen to audiobooks, other times music, sometimes we make up stories. When my son isn't with me for the commute, sometimes I just get lost in thought with no radio, CDs or conversation at all. This morning was one of those quiet mornings where me and my child were lost in our own thoughts, he playing quietly with his Beanies and me thinking about nothing in particular. I noticed that I had three big black pickup trucks in front of me and passed two more that were parked at a convenient store. Wow, I thought, what are the odds. Then I spotted two more in oncoming traffic. I started counting trucks. Not just trucks, but black pickup trucks. By the time I got to work I'd counted 36. Can you believe that? I don't think there were any other colored trucks on the road today at all! Is black the new red in pickup trucks? Don't all these people know how hard it is to keep a black truck clean? Was there a special down at the Dodge dealer on black trucks only? I personally don't think there's anything creepier than a big black pickup truck - didn't any of these people ever see any scary movies from the 80s? I spotted at least one black SUV for every two or three black pickup trucks too, but I didn't count those. For this evening's commute I'm going to count them again, just to see if the numbers match up. Oh well, you can just file this under completely random, retarded and useless blog entries, but please don't try to sue me for your wasted time. After all, you didn't get this blog site by accident, and I do come with a disclaimer. "Howdy Ma'am! Could ya use some help with that there flat tire?"
Posted by Bullyland at 11:09 AM | Comments (2) June 09, 2006
Poor MeI've been going through an incredibly rough time financially. All year long I've been living less than paycheck to paycheck, alternating months with my bills, bargaining with utility companies, etc. I lost my cell phone when I couldn't pay the bill. I got a lien put on my house by the sewer company when I couldn't pay my bill. One week, the day before payday, I was $585.00 in the negative with my bank. To say I've been struggling would be incorrect. I'm so tightly bound I can't even struggle. Part of it is my fault. Shit, well, most of it is my fault. First I bought this house and I knew that I would always be living hand to mouth. I knew that if something serious happened I'd be screwed. I haven't saved a dime. When it was possible for me to save, I didn't - because the amount I could have saved seemed so insignificant. Now I wish I had. I haven't spent the money I have had wisely at all. It's not that I'm a spendthrift, it's just that I haven't made wise choices. And now I'm paying for it. I made some poor choices at the beginning of the year with a health tax savings plan that left me with a lot less money in each paycheck. Payday after payday goes by with no light at the end of the tunnel. If I make it to payday only a hundred dollars in the red, I'm doing pretty well. Now that I've screwed myself into this financial hole I can only do my best and wait out the storm. Hopefully next year I will be doing better moneywise - I won't be making the same mistake with the health tax plan and I'll have learned some hard, hard lessons about managing my money this year. When I think about the fact that it's only June, I have to force myself to not freak out completely. I still have more than half a year to go! Oh no! But I've made it this far, I'm half way there, and I know I'll make it to December. Christmas will definitely be basic this year, but again, it's a lesson learned. One of the girls I work with is Cape Verdean. Her family immigrated to the United States when she was a young girl. They settled in Massachusetts and her aunt now owns a restaurant featuring Cape Verdean cuisine. Her father worked his way up the corporate ranks and is now a successful businessman. His daughter, my co-worker, joined the Air Force and has completed two Associate's degrees with her Bachelor's being granted this July. None of these accomplishments are any small feat. According to Wikipedia, Cape Verde's gross domestic product ranks 158th out of 179 in the world. I'm certain her family didn't have much to go on when they arrived in this country - just a dream of providing a better life for their children. At work the day before payday, I was checking out my bank balance online. Again, I was in the red, this time a little over $100. I sighed loudly, put my head on my desk, and gave it a little thump. "I'm so sick of this," I said. "Sick of what?" my co-worker asked, not looking up, typing away at her terminal. "I'm sick of being poor," I sighed. Without stopping her typing, she looked me in the eye and without a trace of sarcasm she replied, "No. You're not poor." I felt my face starting to turn pink and, embarrassed, I sheepishly said, "No, you are right. I'm not poor. I'm just broke." "And it's your own fault." She said, the sing-song accent of her voice handing no judgement down, only a fact. "Yes," I replied. Her little poke allowed me to laugh at myself and my petty sorrows a little bit that day, as I imagined what it must have been like for her as a child, to really be poor. What constitution it must have taken for her parents to travel to a country across the world, where they barely had more than their clothes and only vaguely understood the language and customs - believing that it could only be better. Here, in America. Where I fret because I can only get the basics this week at the grocery store and have to sew a hole in my son's pants instead of buying a new pair. I am humbled, but I am not poor.
Posted by Bullyland at 02:22 PM | Comments (0) June 06, 2006
How Gay.So the president wants a constitutional amendment banning gay marriages. Where does he get off? Does he think he's king? Since when can the president tell people who they are allowed to love and be life-committed to? We have amendments that entitle women and minorities to equal rights. Why is sexual orientation such a different animal than skin color or private parts? As far as I'm concerned, marriage is a personal choice. People should be free to make a commitment to any adult they so choose. People should be allowed to legally marry the person they love in order to better provide for their family with the benefits and security that they may already possess through their employers. I admire that kind of commitment, one I could never make. We still have amendments that state anything not in the Constitution is relegated to the States and the People, yet that right is constantly trampled upon by this administration. He is taking more power away from the States every day. It is now illegal for anyone to drive without a seatbelt. States that legalized medicinal marijuana have been trumped by the federal law. Now he wants to take away the right that several states have given their citizens: the right to marry whom they choose. Doesn't anyone realize these issues violate the ninth and tenth Amendments? Amendment IX The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people. [Note: This implies that beyond the specific rights guaranteed in the other clauses and amendments (freedom of speech, press, due process, etc.) there are other rights retained by the people, which the federal government--and state governments--may not infringe] Amendment X The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people. Basically, the president is trying to get an amendment so that he can cancel out this amendment. Food for thought: We have no amendment regarding health care. We have no amendment regarding education. We have no amendment regarding social security or the welfare of our elderly citizens. We have no amendment regarding immigration. We have no amendment regarding overspending by Congress. We have no amendment regarding the power to declare war on another nation. I'm not saying there should or should not be amendments to the Constitution regarding any or all of the above points. But, how dare this president take it upon himself to attempt to amend the constitution with such a trivial matter when so many very important matters are left unattended? (Side note: How can the vice president betray his own daughter by supporting this amendment?) This president's megalomania as well as his skewed sense of perspective will never cease to amaze me. All I can say is, thank God for the twenty-second Amendment: Amendment XXII No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice, and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of the President more than once....
Posted by Bullyland at 09:34 AM | Comments (3) June 01, 2006
Veggie TalesI thought I'd post some notes on my progress as a new vegetarian as well as my exercise plan. I'm psyched at all the goodness that's come about: 1. I haven't had an acid reflux attack in over a week. It was so bad that I had prescription meds for it. Yay! 2. I have tons more energy. I've been able to get up on time for at least a week now - even when I indulge and stay up til after the late news. Just yesterday - I walked 2.5 miles at lunch, took the dogs for a walk with my son when we got home, and then we rode our bikes to the ball park where we played on the playground. Last night, I was exhausted - but in a good way - and fell right asleep. Oh yeah, that leads me to .... 3. ... Falling to sleep much easier! Staying asleep through the night! 4. I don't have this swollen feeling that was starting to get on my nerves. I was feeling more and more like I was retaining water or something, a high-blood-pressure feeling. It's almost completely gone. I want to go and check my blood pressure today. Last time I had it checked it was high for me. I'll bet it's gone down! 5. I'm setting a fab example for my 7 year old. He's been bragging to his dad & friends about how his mom is a "vedgadarian." He's starting to eat what I eat, without my nagging. He actually CHOSE an apple clear out of the blue yesterday. I usually have to offer fruit or veggies to him - and he usually won't eat them. He went LOOKING for one. Whoa! I've been getting more on track with exercising. I've been speed-walking every day as well as riding bikes with my boy, and I'm hoping to add some weightlifting soon. Too bad I gave away my dumbbells on freecycle. Oh well, I'm sure I can find some more in the same place! Hopefully within a few months I'll be jogging again. I'm definitely not ready to go vegan, and I'm not sure I ever will. I'm still eating lots of dairy - cheese, milk, yogurt. I'm still eating eggs a couple of times a week, though I'm starting to lose my taste for them. I also have had tuna once a week, so I guess I'm not a total vegetarian - more like a "veggie-tuna-tarian?" I am looking at meat with new eyes. I can't help but think of the actual cow when I see a burger or steak, the chicken when I see popcorn chicken, etc. I was asked to clean the chicken breasts for a cookout at work and was actually nauseated by the end of it. Cutting through the flesh was sickening. I'm waiting for the moment when even handling tuna makes me ill. It will, eventually, I'm sure. I have to say, I'm not projecting this on to others though. I still believe that if a person wants to eat meat, that's their choice and right. My favorite new thing is smoothies. Here is a simple smoothy that I love and gets me going in the morning: 1/2 cup nonfat vanilla yogurt Clearly I'm doing something right since I'm feeling so much better. I haven't gotten on the scale and don't see much difference in my clothes (of course, they are all baggy clothes so how would I tell?), but my rings fit much better than they did a couple of weeks ago. I won't get on the scale until I'm certain I've lost at least 10 or 15 lbs. Actually, I may never get on the scale, I just hate that freakin' thing. Muscle weighs more than fat anyway. Well, I'm off. I've got to get my breakfast (a banana, some cashews and a glass of skim milk) in time to be able to work out at noon. See ya in the produce aisle! Posted by Bullyland at 09:36 AM | Comments (6) May 24, 2006
Stress BustersMy family and friends think I'm crazy. I have too many pets - so my family says, and so my friends hint. Wouldn't my life be less complicated, my house cleaner, my car smell nicer, my wallet fatter, my stress level reduced, if only I gave up my animals? To tell the truth, the answer to all the above questions, save one, is yes. However, the one that isn't true is why I have them in the first place. Far from causing stress (outside of the occasional bad dog/naughty kitty moment), my animals bring me a sense of calm. I look forward to their smiling faces when I get home. I know that when I'm home, five living, breathing creatures adore me, worship the ground I walk on, and completely depend on me for their well being. No one in this group is going to grow up and move out. No one in this group is going to toss me a sarcastic comment when they're grumpy. In fact, no one in this group is ever grumpy! If I have to replace my dogs' daily romp with a dentist's appointment, they don't even mention it. If I forget to clean the litterboxes, my cats don't complain. If I have to cry, they vie for my personal space in a frantic competition to be the one who makes me all better. Even my goldfishes have sweet personalities, lining up and wriggling in perfect sync like tiny, aquatic Rockettes, along the edge of the tank when I walk by. (Yes, I know it's the food stimulus thing, but it's cute nonetheless.) People aren't really capable of having the unconditional quality that pets do. Really. There are always emotions involved with any human transaction. Animals don't have emotions, really -- they have devotion. There's a big difference. I have to say that at least one of my pets makes me laugh at least once a day. All five mammals are such incredible goofballs. Witness thus: Scarlet (aka Mr Smooth): One cool cat, he prefers Pinot Grigio. He really thinks no one can see him here. Check out the glowing eyes! Classic! Blue (aka Blue-bob Fluffypants): Blue is devoted to my youngest son and insists on following him everywhere - a born babysitter. Blue is like a goofy pre-adolescent, still tripping over his own big feet and still growing into his ears. I love this shot. Look at that re-donk-ulous smile! Ash (aka Bogart, Ash-bob Fattypants): Smaller than Blue, Ash makes up for it by Bogarting everything I give them - bones, toys, treats, affection. She is a champion ankle nipper when it comes to Blue. Here she is after elbowing her way past Blue - "Pick me! Oh! Pick me!!" Pele (aka Mr. Belly): Scarlet's brother, the runt of the litter no less. He was skinny and tiny until neutered - when he proceeded to gain 10 lbs. I've GOT to stop free-feeding this monster. Frank Sinatra (aka Old Blue Eyes): Very vocal, he "sings" whenever you touch him. The "miaow" lasts as long as your touch does. My older son likes to "play" him like a piano. It's hilarious. Since we brought him home at the age of 8 weeks, he has stubbornly insisted that Pele is his "mom" then...: What happens when you watch "Dog Training with the Monks of Skete" with your dogs in the same room: I'm not the type to prefer animals to humans. I don't consider my pets to be my children. I have kids, thanks. And I'm way too verbal and philosophical not to enjoy people. But I can't deny that my animals mean a lot to me. They love me just so, without any suggestions on how to improve myself. They don't care if I'm fat, or haven't showered, or late with my electric bill. They agree with my choice of DVD. They love my music. Even when they manage to screw up, I know that in their li'l fuzzy brains, they're going nuts trying to figure out exactly what it is I want them to do. Get rid of mine? How could anyone even suggest it?
THIS JUST IN: In loving memory of faithful reader Dave's precious kitty Feisty I post this adorable photo: Posted by Bullyland at 03:12 PM | Comments (8) May 18, 2006
There Are More Songs To Sing"Pls call me." This was the subject line of an email my mum sent me the other day. There was no content. So I called her, not knowing what she wanted, but not suspecting anything was amiss. "You rang?" I asked, knowing that she didn't really "ring," but it's all the same. "Yes," she said. "Um, I went to Boston with your brother today. They've found another tumor." The words fell flat over the phone, her voice was deceptively empty of invocation. I was silent. The words pinged inside my mind for a few seconds, trying to find solid thought to cling to. Images started flicking through my mind's eye - the photo of my mom and he as a preschooler with their matching mushroom haircuts; my dad holding him in the yard at age 1 because he was afraid of the grass; streaking around our lawn in Guam, 4 years old, naked and shouting "Naaaaaaked Maaan!" while we tried to catch him. I knew it would happen, I knew it wouldn't happen. The past year had gone by with so much promise, I had been lulled from hoping into believing he would be one of the chosen, miraculous few who recover from brain cancer. When my brother was first diagnosed with his tumor around this same time last year, it was both a tragedy and an answer. His personality had changed so much. He was unpredictable, subject to emotionally charged outbursts, often angry and frustrated, and simply not the boy I grew up with, not the boy my parents had raised. This change had come about over several years and so it wasn't like some blinking neon light over his head, complete with arrows pointing downward, "SOMETHING'S NOT RIGHT." To know that his erratic behavior had an outside cause, beyond his control, was important - but then, the outside cause was a tumor the size of a grapefruit. We'd rather have him cranky, thank you very much. But the choice wasn't ours. The months of May and June went by in a whirl of hospitals, doctors, commutes to Boston and tears. We knew we could lose him any time. Once the immediate threat was past - the tumor removed via surgery - our emotions seemed to stabilize. When his 30th birthday rolled around in August, we were still edgy - but not on edge. His chemo and radiation had gone well. There was no growth. In November, my family held hands at our Thanksgiving table and my brother prayed to God, thanking Him for this. I saw him squeeze his wife's hand, and in turn she squeezed their baby's hand. I knew she was thinking what we were all thinking, that miracles can happen and that maybe this was one of them. And now. I still haven't come to complete terms with the news. I haven't spent any time alone with my brother yet, so I don't know how he's dealing with this. He has gone through so much in the past year, getting poked at, cut open, stitched together, sick to his stomach, weak, bald. He actually had to have brain surgery while awake, and the pain, he said, was unspeakable. Through it all he has renewed his faith in God, kept us laughing, and I haven't yet heard him complain about any of the shit he's had to endure. His faith, sense of humor, and bravery are unbelievable - I can't believe how brave he is. I don't know if I would have the fight in me, but he sure does. It's been kind of a joke in my family about me and my brother. When he was born, I was seven and the baby of the family. I had my nose out of joint, according to Mom, since the day he came home. And I know I did. I would get insanely jealous when he touched my stuffed animals. I would pout, hiding under the bed, while my Dad bounced my baby brother on his knees. Daddy used to coddle me, now he was drawing "twucks" for the baby. Ironically, I am responsible for saving his life two times when we were children. Once, he was toddling off a cliff at a nature hike lookout, and I was the first one who saw him running for the edge. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him back from literally, a fall off of the cliff. Another time, he was two or three and we were swimming in a pond with a ton of other kids. We were in very shallow water, but he managed to fall over even so. I was snorkling and felt something paddling against my feet and legs - turned around, annoyed - and saw in the murky brown water my brother struggling underneath. I pulled him out and smacked his back. He was wet and crying, but he was alive. We always had each other's backs, too. I knew firsthand how hard it is to be the new kid, and if any brat tried to tease or threaten my little brother, I promised a butt whacking to remember. I recall him sticking up for me, he 9 and me 16, when we were both new at school. Some kids on our communal school bus started whispering and then talking loudly about my obvious pregnancy. "Shut up!" he shouted, not knowing them, being a new kid, not caring about the fallout. "She's my sister, and it's none of your business!" I remember my Mom making him take me as an escort to a Pearl Jam concert, presumably to shield him from the evils of rock and roll, not knowing that we bonded over a skinny joint after the show, giggling like idiots for the rest of the night. Maybe this is why I am having a hard time accepting that this is the truth - that the tumor is back and I can't reach into a pond or for the back of his t-shirt this time. There are more songs to sing, right? He's not going anywhere. I tell myself this. My new mantra. There are more songs to sing. My Dad called me this morning, relaying a story about my brother getting a special note from his doctor. After he was diagnosed, my brother wanted to take his wife somewhere exotic, Bermuda maybe, if they could afford it. They found that the passport process can take up to three months. The doctor wrote a note stating that he has a terminal illness, that his life expectancy is within the year, and that the passport process should be expedited. This story made me weep, but I know my brother will find a joke about using this "pass." He is a wonder. He is my little brother, and a super hero. I believe in miracles, in last minute calls of reprieve; I believe that faith can move mountains. I believe he's going to see his 31st birthday, and Christmas, and there are more songs left to sing. He has beaten so many odds in his life that one more would be par for the course. God, if you are listening, this would be a really great time to pull off another one.
There's gotta be a song left to sing One little drop of fallin rain There's gotta be a song left to sing One little drop of fallin rain Gotta be a song left to sing Posted by Bullyland at 10:47 AM | Comments (4) May 08, 2006
Bipolar Luck?I have had rollercoaster karma lately. I've been struck with the strangest bad luck/good luck situations. I truly believe in karma, or more simply, what goes around comes around. When my luck turns bad, I examine my thoughts and actions to see what I am doing to bring it upon myself. But the up-and-down luck I'm having lately has me completely boondoggled - is my fortune aligning itself with the chemical imbalance in my brain? The weirdest thing is, everything always seems to happen on a Friday. I'll illustrate with these case histories: Case #1: I lost my wallet on a Friday afternoon. I had absolutely no cash or access to get any and was almost out of gas. I assumed it stolen, as I lost it in a store parking lot, and no one ever turned it in to the store. I was in a panic and called my son's father to ask if he could lend me some money for daycare. He just happened to have a couple hundred dollars that he could lend me to pay daycare and get through the weekend (what a doll!). I spent the afternoon on the phone cancelling my debit/credit cards, my checks, etc. Three days later the Newington police find it and nothing is missing. Bad luck - lost wallet; good luck - ex lends me money; bad luck - cancelled all my cards/checks and had to start over; good luck - found wallet. Case #2: Two of my car windows - automatic - rolled down and refused to come back up again. I mean, nothing - no click, no whirr, everything indicated a wire unhooked or a switch broken. It was Friday night, and no chance of getting it fixed until Monday. I checked and rechecked the button, wiggled the door panel, fiddled incessantly and finally gave up - it was toast. I bought plastic sheeting and waterproof tape, since the weatherman predicted rain Saturday night, and spent two hours painstakingly using the hairdryer to shrink the plastic tight so I wouldn't have to have the plastic loudly bleating near my ear. (Of course it never rained). This morning - Monday - out of habit I pushed the buttons and voila - they both are mysteriously working again. WOT! I gleefully rip off the plastic - I hate the feeling of being vacuum sealed into my car - but the tape I bought worked so well ("even applies under water!" was the pitch) left behind a thick, gray, impossibly sticky residue. It won't come off! Eeew. Bad luck - windows broken; good luck - windows working; bad luck - gooey residue producing a ghetto look for my car. Case #3: I found a much needed mattress and box spring for free on freecycle.org. I brought it home on a Friday after work and hauled them both upstairs by myself, twisting my ankle in the process - OUCH! As the evening progressed, so did the pain and I was sure I'd sprained it. The next morning I woke up and the pain was almost gone - yay! Then I realized I'd accidentally given away the adjustable bed frame I needed for the new set along with the old mattress set I was replacing. DOH! Good luck - finding free mattress; bad luck - twisting ankle; good luck - ankle not sprained; bad luck - no frame for mattress. Anyway, these are just a few examples of many bad luck/good luck situations I've found myself in lately. I'm not really complaining. I'm just scratching my head and thinking, "what the heck?"
Posted by Bullyland at 01:28 PM | Comments (3) May 03, 2006
Let Them Eat Cake"Words fall upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering all the details." I've been reading Orwell's 1984 again. It’s one of those books that you may only read once but some essence of it will forever stay in your consciousness. I read it as a child, too, so the exaggerated circumstances of Orwell’s 1984 society were even more impressionable. All through my life after reading it, like any truly great work, I would bring up bits of it in my memory to compare with some event I witnessed or heard about. 1984 came to mind when I read an interview our vice president had given where he discussed the "situation" in Iraq. The way he phrased his statements and the dismissive tone he phrased them in were to me, chilling. It was as if he was only saying what we wanted to hear, what would keep us at bay for a few more months. Feeding us cake. All the things that really need to be spoken of were folded into the dough of things that he wanted to speak of. It was so bizarre how he smoothly paved over the death toll as a sidenote, ignored the obvious question marks - it was like a parody. I kept expecting the interview to end with, “Live, from New York, it’s Saturday Night!!” I thought to myself, who on this planet is still buying this crap? I don't believe the US is headed for the cataclysmic communist state that Orwell created in his book. However, something made me want to read it again after reading Mr Cheney’s interview. When I came upon the old 1984 Party slogan, "War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength," I got the willies. I was reading the part where Syme is discussing the latest Newspeak dictionary, how it was more than inventing new words, it was more importantly, the destruction of "unnecessary" words. No more adjectives or antonyms, nothing that would make the brain work "extra" to process. Everything will be destroyed and rewritten (i.e., Chaucer, Shakespeare, even newspapers - and thus, history). How in the end of it all, the goal would be to annihilate conscious thought processes or original thought and eventually any effort to protest. Though exaggerated and extreme, what Orwell was writing about wasn't so different than the exaggerated and extreme spin put on Iraq by our nation’s leaders that leaves us either complacent or confused and overwhelmed to the point of tuning out. Our president and vice president, et al, believe that they have us covered. They are so rarely contradicted to their faces that they don't even squirm anymore when they are. They have a ready supply of candy coating to wrap around the real answers and they are certain the American public will be distracted with it. (I believe President Bush at times doesn't even realize he's being contradicted or put on the spot, so convinced is he of his powers of mass mind control.) Ewuggabuggashivva!! We simply can’t stop Dick Cheney or George W. Bush or Karl Rove from hiring the best spin doctors and presenting us with cake, but we don’t have to eat it. We still live in a free nation, despite subversive attempts to squelch free thought and speech among the less educated or the poor and middle classes, and attempts to corral the more educated or wealthy into political circles. So why are they still serving it up?
"Poets, priests and politicians De do do do, de da da da Posted by Bullyland at 10:44 AM | Comments (7) May 01, 2006
Let's (Not) Roll....United 93Anyone go see United 93 this weekend? Despite so many with the opinion of "I'm not ready" the film still drew approximately 1,450,000 moviegoers.* My initial reaction to the movie was, "I don't know if I could sit through that." I had an immediate bad feeling in my gut about anyone making a movie from this event, kind of the same feeling I had when I first saw Robert DeNiro's American Express ad. Should money ever be profited by a person or entity from the story of this tragic day? I read up on the movie, however and it did seem that the director had good intentions to his credit. It was reported that he received permission from all the families of passengers of United 93. Though I would doubt complete altruism on his part, it made me feel better about the movie's existence. After watching the newscast last night though, I don't think I'll ever be able to stomach a viewing. I was watching channel 6 (Portland) and the benign anchorwoman was talking about this or that, then left for commercial promising an on-the-street piece featuring people who had just seen United 93. I was interested what these people thought, these people who either nonchalantly or with much emotional prepping decided to actually see the movie that so many others insist they are not ready for. I hung around for the piece. It wasn't any big deal, they interviewed 3 or 4 people and featured just a sentence or two from each. Most people just said predictable things such as, "It was unbelievable, you just gripped your seat, blah blah." One said something like, "It was hard to watch, but it didn't have the effect that the 'original' did." After the segment, the anchorwoman segued into commercial thus: She lowered her eyes and lost her smile for a nanosecond in what must be, for a news anchor, a heavily ingrained posture when covering a major tragedy. She then looked up, and with bright eyes and even brighter smile, chirped, "United 93 came in second place at the box office, earning nearly twelve million dollars its first weekend. When we come back, we'll have our box office report!" Jesus, I thought I would be sick. Profit will always be the bottom line in Hollywood, no matter what. No matter how well made, no matter how sensitive to the victims it might be, even no matter how much the victims' famlies wished this movie to be made, I wish it hadn't been. But maybe that's just me. *rottentomatoes.com info figured at average $8.00 ticket. Posted by Bullyland at 09:25 AM | Comments (2) April 26, 2006
Dirty GirlThe onset of spring, with its baby green offerings, really sucks me in with its promise of continuity. No matter what happens in my life, that peony is going to emerge, red and purple like a newborn baby and pushing up at an amazing speed from a blank spot in the soil every April. I am in awe and buzzing with excitement this time of year. I pace the yard every morning and evening, to see what plants are coming up, what is getting buds, repeating a kindergarten mantra under my breath, "ready, set, grow." I start making a list: dirt, compost, peat moss, purple & orange annuals for this spot, white and purple for that spot, etc. Through some mysterious metamorphosis I have become a plant loving, dirt digging obsessed maniac. I have no idea how this happened, but it began about the second year into my homeownership. It started with a couple of container plants, and by the end of the summer I'd nearly relandscaped the entire yard with over 100 new plants. Now, I've never been one to like dirty hands or clothes. I've always been comfort oriented, and dirty fingernails and muddy feet weren't in my program. Insects have always horrified me, especially spiders. I managed to contract some sort of mental disease that not only gave me a new tolerance for such things, but in some cases actually makes me desire them! I have CHAD -- Compulsive Horticultural Acquisitional Disorder. I've got it bad! Working in my garden, I have no less than 100% chance of something, usually a big hairy spider, freaking out after I've inadvertantly moved his hiding leaf or something. If not a hairy spider than a beetle of ominous posture, a centipede or a nasty white pinchy grub. Now, this isn't something that I've come to love. But I swear to you that five years ago I would have never considered rustling my hands through dead leaves to uncover something so (at the time) menial and nondeserving of risk as a crocus. I can't say that I'm exactly fearless when it comes to bugs now, but unless the little bastard is actually crawling on me or jumping at me, I don't even bother to scream. I give an involuntary peep, scoop it up with my spade, pitch it into the woods and just move on. If it's a cute bug, such as a ladybug or butterfly, or even a praying mantis I might even talk to it. (In the bug world, cuteness saves). Dirt, on the other hand...Let's just say I must have found my inner child when it comes to dirt. Some mood or presence, youthful and carefree and delighted, sets upon me when I get going in the garden. I get snips of memories, like film clips, from when I was a very young child. I remember lying on my stomach on the fresh green grass and watching all the little life move around in its own tiny ecosystem. I was too entranced with discovery --how things felt, how they grew, how they moved in the breeze outdoors -- to care about dirt or grass stains or bugs touching me. I have a renewed love for the feel of the moist soil in my hands, my hair, dampening my knees and socks, streaking my face. I love the smell of the dirt, the plant roots, the cuttings, and the mulch. And the plants themselves - I'm devoted to them all. I await with baited breath the a posse ad esse of a ripe tomato from the seed I planted. I love finding plants left for dead behind healthier ones at the Home Depot and being victorious the following season when they burst back into life. I am fond of every plant I own to a ridiculous point. Some have names. I mourn for plants that don't make it. I collect seeds and cuttings from gardens of anyone who will let me. I agonize over Japanese beetles and lily beetles and ground bees that set up their little tunnels in my annual bed. I fret pitifully on a solution to the "puppy problem." There is nowhere in my yard, currently, that the puppies can be and not dig into, chew up, or pee on something that I prize. (This will be my Garden Challenge 2006). Anyway, I welcome this time of year like I'd welcome a bottle of lithium after a six month bipolar spree. Spring and summer's opportunities to play in the dirt like a child and play god with the life in my garden are like hall passes from heaven. Every April, freedom is mine, at least for a few months. Depression cannot break through my armor of garden soil and washes down the drain with the dirt when I at last get into a hot shower. My old friend, mania, nips my heels but I am too tired from gardening to play with her, so she eventually moves on, pouting and swearing she'll be back (yeah, whatever!). I am busy getting my fill of spring and summer and dirt and plants and inner peace and childish happiness, so that when November comes and kills it all, I won't be too devastated. I know it can't last forever, so I will be a dirty girl while I can! Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
Posted by Bullyland at 10:35 AM | Comments (3) April 18, 2006
I Am WOMAN, Hear Me...Purr?I had to laugh when on the seacoastconnects.com forums I was assumed to be a man. Well, why not? Are women usually mean and sarcastic, do girls go by monikers incorporating "bull," do ladies feel the need to publicly tell certain people to STFU? Well, although I do prefer pajama pants to nylons, I am quite a girl. I have pink curtains and three Persian cats, for pete's sake. Bully is only my alter-ego, if it were up to her, she'd have beaded curtains made from the teeth of those who could use some knocked out. You may be shocked to know that I spend lots of time thinking womanly thoughts, checking out hot man-cheeks in Levis, and perusing the web for adorable photos of baby animals. I will share with you some photos from my collection that will leave no doubt in your mind of my sex. Thanks, cuteoverload.com for the daily supply of cuteness that keeps me from completely hardening over like week old Jello. (WARNING: Accessing the rest of this blog entry could cause head implosion and/or unconsciousness) "Does this hat make my head look big?"
And now, I'm off to replace my sparkly lipgloss that my German Shepherd ate. So there! Posted by Bullyland at 04:42 PM | Comments (6) April 12, 2006
Testing the LightWhile I have nearly recovered from my lengthy cold/sinusitis/pneumonia which managed to rob me of all my energy, will and spirit, I am feeling a weird sense of self retrospection. As always when I recover from an illness (or depression) that is particularly gruesome, my brain kicks into a bit of overdrive and I flirt with mania like someone smelling secondhand pot smoke. I won’t really take a puff of that joint, but it feels so good to imagine the smoke filling my lungs and embracing my brain. I realize in certain moments of clarity that I’ve sacrificed the full development of my brain for the sake of sanity now. As a young child I was “tested,” my “I.Q.” too high for “normal,” and of course was immediately placed in a “gifted” program where I promptly began to flounder. Back then, they didn’t test emotional I.Q.s, and gifted children were never mental cases. You couldn’t put the two together. Gifted children were supposed to be the shit – achievers, so together, headed for success. Ha! Now, educators know that many gifted children suffer the cut of a double edged sword. On one hand, they possess above average intelligence and capacity for learning, on the other, their minds are not in any way formed like other children. They require alternate methods of teaching, of being able to express their genius. Otherwise, their abilities lead them to a dangerous path and one they must either take and toy with insanity or not take and dull themselves with television, video games, drugs/alcohol, anything to maintain normalcy. I sensed, subconsciously, as a child that I’d need to dumb it down a bit if I ever wanted to be normal; normalcy was the nirvana I strove to achieve all my younger life. My mind works in ways I still can’t put my finger on sometimes. But I’m old enough to know that when I allow my brain to absorb knowledge, showcase its abilities, shine – I enter a realm of my own reality and balance a tightrope between normal and insane. Rarely do I really express or acknowledge my “true” brain. The brain that holds a seemingly infinite capacity to learn, express, process; the brain that once its engine gets warmed up can get a million miles to the gallon. This is because of my inner fear that it will just drive itself to the edge of the planet and keep going off into space. I read books about people like John Nash, David Helfgott, and various other brilliant freakish people who never drew the line or separated normal reality from their own realities. I wonder what it must be like. I doubt I’ll ever really know. I’ve too much at stake to really unleash my inner Nash, my Woolf or Plath. Sure, I might leave behind a wealth of brilliant work but at the cost of my life and the welfare of my family and friends. Who knows, maybe one day, when my kids are grown and I’m finally on my own completely, with no one to disappoint or hurt, I’ll go into the light, all the way until my hair catches fire. I won’t stop several feet short, feeling the warmth from a distance. I will allow my brain to gas up and go. Til then, though, it’s meds and blogs and Wonder bread. Cheers! FEELING MUCH BETTER Happy to report Happy to report Posted by Bullyland at 03:38 PM | Comments (4) April 04, 2006
I Remember Mama SaidI’ve had a tough time being myself lately. Between my oldest son’s shenanigans of late and my youngest’s emerging independence (in other words – bossy and borderline insolent), I am worn out. Constantly cutting deals with utility companies gets me in a state of semi-panic. A trip to the grocery store leaves me filled with anxiety. I am unable to sleep at night and late to work every morning. I can’t make it to a payday without the bank covering overdrafts and I’m overwhelmed with a sense of doom. I’m exhausted, depressed and feeling a bit defeated. I have barely been able to keep up with any housework. My house is filthy. Dishes are piled up in the sink, and my kitchen floors and counters resemble the old relief maps that hung on the walls in my elementary school. Animal hair has taken on a life of its own in corners, on stair landings, and formed veritable blankets under each piece of furniture. My bedroom floor has become a store-all for stacks of unwanted clothing and linens – an interrupted attempt at spring cleaning. The cat litter boxes in the basement have been ignored for two weeks. Dirty laundry piles up in the basement; I am living out of laundry baskets and wearing mismatched socks. I am sinking. I have been winging it my entire life. It rarely brings me down. I thrive on beating the odds again and again. Fat or thin, I always have a tremendous store of energy that keeps me moving. I have family and friends who love me and a formidable angel of God has always had my back. I’m able to slide through the muck with grace because I know that what I have is precious and I am privileged to have it. So what could bring me now to this lowly emotional and physical stature? It’s simple. I’ve been quite ill for several weeks. A head and chest cold that preceded bronchitis has morphed into pneumonia. I am like my usually unsinkable mother – physical illness is really the only thing that can get me down. When you throw in a full time job, (single) motherhood, sole proprietorship of a house, care of two dogs, three cats and three fish tanks, it doesn’t just suck – it is a cold, glassy, galaxy-sized vacuum of suck. Every day when I wake up, I tell myself that I will get something done that evening. I will not just collapse on the couch after my son is in bed. I spend every ounce of energy I have keeping life normal – being normal – for my son. Once he is asleep, however, I have only the ability to collect a glass of ice water and yes, collapse on the couch. I avoid the stares of my dogs, with their heads cocked and ears perked toward me in suspended confusion. (She looks like Mom, smells like Mom…but that isn’t our Mom.) The cats lounge grudgingly on the dirty carpet and regard me with disdain. Their expressions tell me that if I don’t do something about the litterbox situation soon, they’ll revolt and I’ll be stepping in cat shit. (And you thought our hairballs were disgusting, missy!) Even the fish are feeling my neglect – my catfish has developed ick. Yick. I’ve wondered lately if I can go on like this. I’m so tired, it’s too hard. I should sell the house, rehome the pets, find a no-nonsense apartment with no yard to take care of and rejoin the Laundromat scene. It would be so easy. It would be a relief at this point. I won’t give up yet, though. If I did I would spend the rest of my life gloomily ruminating my surrender. I’ve had worse times and made it through. This is nothing. In my past, when I’d been in depressions so black I could see nothing else, I’d consider ending it all. How easy it would be to just go to sleep and never have to wake up to fight another day. After months of swinging between maniacal glee and unrelenting blues, I’d be exhausted beyond belief. I could focus only on the pain that lie ahead in wait. During one of these episodes my mother, frantic and wise, begged me to hold on for just one more day. She told me that no matter how dismal life seemed today, that tomorrow would always arrive with the promise of a better day, the sun would come up again, like magic. It was such a simple concept. And it worked. Every time I was at the end of my tether and tempted to let go of it, I’d remember her words and go to sleep. In the morning, every time, there it was – a new day, a new chance that in itself lifted my spirits. I know that today I am ill, tired, and feeling pummeled by adversity. However, my illness has stopped getting worse, and now every day is the same – a plateau. If not soon, then eventually I’ll be better. Today, I feel hostage to my job, motherhood, my money trap house, my animals, my responsibilities. I’m at the end of my rope, but I’m holding on tight because I know that tomorrow is a new day and brings the chance that I will be feeling well. Then my children, my job, my house, my responsibilities will instead be my freedoms -- hard won and worth living for. (Thanks, Mom!) She could hear those words of her mama still She's fighting the wind like the crack of a whip She stepped past the clocks She says sometimes being a husband and wife But sometimes the light hits the side of his face Well they stepped past the clocks She said turn off the tv Well we'll step past the clocks -patty griffin Posted by at 11:09 AM | Comments (20) March 30, 2006
Dover Court "Guilty" of Violating Common Sense!I'm a little annoyed right now. I was reading in my good friend's blog Voter Without A Country (check it out, it's awesome) some comments about corruption in the Dover city management. I'm not sure if what happened to me and my son today has anything to do with Dover itself or if it is statewide but it's a crime. My son was charged with a violation last week. Now, there are four classes of charges: Felony, Class A Misdemeanor, Class B Misdemeanor, and Violation - violation of course being the most petty - think speeding ticket type trouble (which is a "moving" violation). He was told to appear in the Dover courthouse today to answer to it. He asked me for a ride and I offered to tag along as well. We got there at the prescribed 12:30 and we didn't leave until three P.M. It was the slowest process, unbelievably slow. There were so many people there, it was absolutely clogged. I was assuming that his matter was going to be taken care of on the spot. He planned on pleading not guilty and since it was such a simple matter, he figured that it would be decided on right then. After all, it's a violation, not a misdemeanor or felony. But, no, he was told that he would have an additional court date to plead his case. Okay, my question is this. Why the hell could he not just sign the summons with his plea, mail it in, and be sent a court date through the mail as one does a traffic ticket violation? We both took a ridiculous amount of time from work (I had to leave my own work at 11:30 to pick him up) off to appear in court ONLY to enter a plea to a puny violation class charge. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! The crime being this -- so many of the people at the court were also pleading to simple violations, so many that the courtroom was overflowing and the process tediously slow -- how many tax dollars did that eat up? Thousands, let me tell you. There were never less than 6 officials of the court present at any time and the amount of time they all took to do things was ridiculous...no - REDONKULOUS. I will be writing the court with this issue. A simple violation is a simple violation, and should be allowed to be pled via mail like a moving violation. I wonder if this is a local court policy or is it statewide? Regardless, it's an absolute boondoggling waste of taxpayers' money to force a person to show up in court to enter his plea to a simple violation charge. Baloney, fooey, and hogwash - and no common sense!
Posted by at 04:00 PM | Comments (4) March 28, 2006
Burnt ToastMy friend Tina and I used to love meeting for lunch in downtown Portsmouth. Our lives have changed a bit and so we don't get to do it often, in fact it's been several months. Our favorite meeting spot was always the Friendly Toast. We love the decor, the food (the falafel and the artichoke dip were always on our agenda) and the service was always friendly (just don't sit in a window seat at noon if you don't want a splitting headache from the glare). I never had the chance to take my kids there and always have wanted to. I got the chance to take my youngest there a couple of weeks ago during a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip to Macro Polo/G. Willikers. I was psyched to finally take him, I knew he'd love it. He actually did enjoy the visit immensely, mostly because it was so new to him, there was so much visual stimulus, and he wasn't hungry.
I for one was crestfallen. What has happened to the Friendly Toast? The entire staff was absolutely nonplussed at all times. The Apathetic Toast? It wasn't that crowded yet the meal took over an hour due to slow service. The Tired Toast? My waitress never cracked a smile; in fact, I don't believe anyone working there smiled the entire time. The Sad Toast? It was as though they'd all stirred their coffee with phenobarbital swizzlers that morning. The Zombie Toast? My son was very well behaved, polite and quiet enough so I know it wasn't us. Well, I did spill a soda, but our waitress just walked by our table obliviously, so clearly she didn't even know. I had to flag down a different waitress for help, who proceeded to bring me several napkins and leave. No inquiry as to whether I'd like a replacement, no offer to help me clean it. The Mean Toast? My son had ordered a burger, the child size portion - though the tiny burger was served with a humongous, full-sized bun that dwarfed the burger. He didn't touch it (I don't blame him, it was frightening) but did eat the fries with gusto. I guess it's pretty hard to screw up french fries. I ordered my old favorite, the falafel and home fries. The home fries were fine, but the falafel was really dry and sat uneasily in my stomach. I wondered aloud to the waitress where the tangy yogurt sauce was. She raised her eyebrows, shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in a "ummm, sorry?" kind of way. No offer to get me some, or explanation of why it was missing, nothing. Was I speaking a different language than the entire staff? It was surreal. I couldn't believe this was my lovely Friendly Toast. While waiting another ten or fifteen minutes for the check, I took a good look around, trying to absorb all the funky art that I am so fond of. I took in as much as I could hold in my memory banks because that might be the only place I'll see them again. Later that afternoon I pondered if it could have just been a bad day for everyone working there - waitresses, cooks and others. I really wanted to believe it, such was my affection for the Friendly Toast. When I woke up at 2 AM with a nauseous feeling in my stomach, I hoped it would be a passing feeling. When I was revisiting my meal at 3 AM, I decided it was really over between us. Goodbye, old friend(ly toast). It was good while it lasted! Posted by at 02:17 PM | Comments (4) March 23, 2006
Ponderings from the Peanut GalleryI wonder why... ...it takes a nasty case of bronchitis to (re)jump start my diet? I've lost 5 pounds, yay! I can barely breathe, boo! ...my car smells like ass? ...I must pay to have my phone number protected from cranks and salespeople? ...my dog turns his nose up at his kibble yet eats his own poo? (side note: This may be linked to why my car smells like ass) ...there's no actual question here, just I wonder why?? ...my checks always bounce the day before payday? Why can't they wait just another 12 hours? ...it takes me an entire week to do last week's laundry now that I have my own convenient washer & dryer - when it used to take me 2 hours at the laundromat? ...I can't stay out of Petco even though I'm broke as hell? ...I wasn't born rich, beautiful, and completely sane? What are the odds anyway? ...I'm not famous? ...pot isn't legal? ...tobacco and booze are? ...we are still in Iraq? ...Bush is still President? ...we still manufacture non-hybrid vehicles? Well, that's all from the peanut gallery for now. I'm getting too deep, and could go on forever at this rate! I'm off to buy another bottle of air freshener for the car. Pee-yoo! How come no one What happens when the tide comes in to the ocean that is creeping? How come no one Why isn’t anybody answering my questions? What happens when the tide comes in to all the people sleeping by the sea? How come no one ************************************** Posted by at 11:52 AM | Comments (3) March 17, 2006
Woolly Bully!I read a comment on Kelly’s blog yesterday from someone who said they were frightened by “Bully’s sudden tones of aggression”. I do apologize -- I mostly huff and puff and snort, but I forget that we bulls can be scary when we do so. However, my blog does come with a disclaimer – in the About Me entry. Don’t be lulled into a sedate state by my habit of posting occasional entries that reek of sensitivity. I am indeed loaded with sensitivity, but a bull is a bull and never predictable. I am also loaded with bully attitude. Don’t step into the paddock if you don’t want to face the bull. I’m afraid to say that I can be ornery, blunt to a fault and have very little patience with vapid palaver or ignorant fools. I have always been so, in my life and on this blog from the very first entries. I don’t give a cowbell for others’ opinions of me, but I do feel ashamed if I manage to frighten someone; I don’t mean to. I realize that not everyone has a backbone of barbed wire and that some don’t take the evil truth very well when I lay it on the line. To those I say, peace, friend, I mean no harm. Don’t forget that even though I can seem mean as hell, I’m still a gentle soul at heart. Snuffle, snortle, snurf. Just try and remember there is nothing personal. If one day I strike you as particularly prickly, please read my “disclaimer:” I am opinionated, bossy, and a once a month beeyatch with several years to go. I have little to no tolerance for stupidity/cruelty/ignorance/apathy. I have a hide that can withstand a five alarm fire but I can be totally sidelined by the smallest injustice. Some days I gallop at high speed across the pasture, ripping up dirt clods and tormenting the cows; other days I’m content with a warm stall, a bucket of oats and a Navajo blanket. I am Bully, pat my head, feed me grass, hear me snort! Some might prefer to do that from the other side of the fence, though. Posted by at 10:51 AM | Comments (12) March 14, 2006
STFU Volume IIIt's been a while since I've felt the real, collective need to scream just STFU to several people at once. However, many of the headlines today have propelled me to create this entry, STFU II. Enjoy. STFU Case #1 STFU Case #2
My hat's off to the winners today. Posted by at 11:17 AM | Comments (4) March 13, 2006
No SaleAah, what the American people can accomplish when completely unified. The United Arab Emirate's Dubai group ,has decided to pull out of the U.S. port sale completely due to negative reaction from the American people. So, as much as our president tried to quench the fire of fear he has fueled, and instead fan the flames of belated peace and trust, it did not matter. We, the people, in cahoots with the media (did I just say that!?), made our stance clear: “No way, no how.” So the Dubai group said, “Well, okay, fine – forget it then.” Take a look on the Rasmussen Reports website at the results of a poll on the American opinion about this subject. Just 17% agreed the sale should go through. (Sadly, very few Americans realize that many ports are already controlled by other foreign entities). Outcry was instant, very loud, unwavering and practically unanimous against this deal. I can’t remember a time when the American people were so united in their beliefs – to the point where the seemingly inevitable was overturned. It was accomplished without need for trials, legislation, red tape or trickery. We simply got our way, by simply using the power of the people. Kind of reminds me of a little thing we pulled off back in 1776. Imagine. Posted by at 12:21 PM | Comments (8) March 10, 2006
Leve us PHS kids alon, u stuped morrons!Oh my God - I am just reeling from reading all the rants and posts from seemingly illiterate PHS current students and alumnae. I realize that there is only a small sampling, three to five or so, that posted on the thread, "PHS students and substance abuse" on the seacoastconnects.com website. However, I can't believe that it is coincidence that the handful of kids posting are nearly illiterate. What are the odds - pull out four or five kids and - just coincidentally - they can't spell words like "realize," "would," "aren't," etc. nor can they manage to put a decent sentence together. Example: "these police and school officals are as dumb as a blind bat in the dark stop harrasing and drawing these little time people and students into the thick of something that they have not even got them selfs into, all i see every other week is somone from portsmouth has been arrested on drug charges and or trafficing what is a gram that bad? .... i can tell you when i attended portsmouth high from 2001 - 2004 i had more ways to skip past school and police officals with out them even knowing or haveing the clue of drug intuishion or possesion, leave these kids alone stop harrsing and ruining thier lives like max said tell em who is the rat is they will learn one day and relize being a snich is not the best for thier lives and what lies ahead of them. go after the big people the ones they gain thier product from not, the little time people who dont even have anything worth bring to trial. these kids arnt dumb they wount tell you anything. Besides half the people who are getting arrested are not even old enought to be tryed as adults a 16 yr old being tryed as an adult have fun in court. ill post my opion out to thew wrld so everyone can see this you people are a joke. these stupid trials and pictures this city keeps throwing out to everyone is rediculous..."
Maybe they could if they tried. Perhaps they are so riddled with teen angst, ADD, or self-righteousness that they simply can't slow down enough to remember their spelling, grammar and punctuation. I doubt it. My oldest son and I were both extreme ADD (and angst!) cases during high school and we can both type at a fast clip while misspelling nary a word. My son went to Oyster "Reefer" High School where Birkenstocks are required teacher's footwear and hemp the only acceptable material among the student body. There could be a half pound bag of reefer in someone's locker but the staff wouldn't think of invading someone's rights by searching students' "private property." Still, they managed to educate the kids from my son's class - one of the most unmotivated and distracted groups of kids I've ever known. Most of them went on to college the very next year. My son got lousy grades for the most part, not being genetically programmed to fit a typical school setting, but guess what? He can - and does - read, write beautifully, has perfect handwriting, and can spell his way through pages and pages of self-written poetry. My point being, either something is seriously wrong with Portsmouth's schools or the parents. Or both? Someone is clearly dropping the ball with these children. In fact, it seems to be that someone has taught these children to drop the ball. A dream of mine has always been to actually own a home in Portsmouth. I would love to live in this little town that I've worked in for 20 years - it's more like a hometown to me than the very town I do live in. However, my dreams are suddenly pointed toward Kittery, where kids can read and write and parents and teachers don't stand for such slack from their kids. Yes, Kittery has its share of "lusers" but on the seacoast, it looks to be the cream of the crop. I would give my eye teeth, or a finger, or more, if I could in some way homeschool my youngest son. But regardless, I am confident that when he is in high school and comes across a public forum that gets his juices going, he will be literate and show rational thought processes in his posts. He is already reading young adult classics and listening to symphony music (Band of Rogue's Big Band Zelda and Mario being a current favorite). Why is he so "advanced" (not advanced but right on target, if you look at WORLD statistics), you may ask? Well I believe it is an effort that is extended by not only me and his father, but the school as well. His school annoys me with their PC attitudes at times but they teach the kids well - they ensure that what they've taught STICKS IN THE CHILDRENS' HEADS. Kids are not encouraged to move on if they are not ready. They make this effort to a tremendous point during the primary years (K-3). There is a great effort extended while they are so young by the school in both its curriculum & policies and by encouraging heavy involvement of the parents. Is Portsmouth school system equal to my son's school system? I have no idea, but with the examples I've seen lately - not just in the news - but from the kids themselves - I wouldn't bet on it. Posted by at 10:13 AM | Comments (9) March 06, 2006
Aching Muscles, Amazing Photos and a Bruised DOH! GlandAh, progress. As I posted earlier last week I've stepped on to the long and winding road toward physical fitness. Of course the road can't be straight, level and with several lanes to choose from. No, dear readers, my diet journey will be more like Rte 103 than I-95. But I'm confident I'll get to my destination. Last week's trials included being talked out of a workout for a bowl of kickin' crab chowda, forgetting my sneakers & sports bra and ending week one with sole custody of my seven year old child during two days of bitter-freakin'-cold. Well, I managed to excercise without the sneakers & sports bra -- just imagine an overweight woman with jiggly boobs and muck-lucks determinedly speed walking -- yeah, I laughed too. But I did it anyway, feeling ridiculous is easy and fun with Ben Folds' Whatever and Ever Amen in my earphones. Aching calf and torso muscles are a good sign that I'm doing SOMETHING right. I was able to convince my young prodigy that exercise outside is fun in the freezing cold. In fact, he managed to get me on a few sled runs while visiting a friend with a wicked slope in her yard (thanks Michelle - was that fun or what?). We also went on a walking tour through a part of town full of old and decaying mill buildings and I gave him free license with my digital camera. Following are some of his AMAZING shots. This kid is SEVEN, can you believe the eye he has?
And finally, I, Princess Gracenot, managed to nearly total my car while doing a mere 12 miles an hour in a school zone today. On a main street. With my ex's girl friend in the car behind me just so the moronic details could be recorded for prosperity. I dropped my Dunkin Donuts cup full of hot stinky coffee into my console full of change and in the momentary freak-out of it all was able to bounce off the curb, lose complete control of my car and attract attention from school children and elderly pedestrians alike. Instead of the usual flat tire that accompanies such a DOH! moment, I of course had to completely ruin my wheel, pushing it sideways and rendering further transportation impossible. Something I never ever thought I would say when I was in my early twenties - Thank God for Kittery cops - and yes, there's a snowball in hell right now. Thank you Officer Nice Man for calling a tow, calling my work, letting me sit in your warm car and for the lift to the station to wait for my ride. I was so frazzled I forgot to get your name but I'm sending a warm batch of cookies to the station with instructions to find their way to you. Spilled Dunkins: $2 Posted by at 04:20 PM | Comments (4) March 03, 2006
Find Your Inner BullI know a man who says everyone has their own elephant. By this, I believe he means that your elephant is your innermost self, the ultimate truth about your own self that you cannot avoid. It's an elephant, for pete's sake, you can't hide from it. Greg, that's a profound philosophy but I must veer from it and say that I have my own bull. Elephants are peaceful creatures. They lumber along, eat tons of vegetation, swing their trunks gently around their infants and each other. Hey, that's not my INNER self, that's my OUTER self. My INNER self, the ultimate truth about myself that I cannot avoid is that deep within, I am full of bull. I'm full of contradictions and orneriness, poking sharp horns about and tramping the dirt with cloven hooves. I run in circles and buck people off my back as they try with all their might to just hang on to me for a few more seconds. I am Bully, hear me snort! But being a bull isn't such a bad deal. We bovines have plenty of desirable qualities, such as our shit being able to fuel a car. Ooooo, take that, Mustafa! We inspire deep thoughts.
We inspire great art.
Before they started on the gas experiment, the Japanese cloned us so they'd have an ample supply.
Often imitated but never duplicated. Well, except for the cloning thing.
We bulls are peaceful creatures by nature, it takes a lot to piss us off.
But when that line is crossed, God help you.
I have no words for this, except that this guy has earned my admiration.
And at the end of the day, all we really want is a green meadow, some grass to chew, and a nice sunset.
Oh, and a statue in our tribute would be nice.
Some folks may prefer to pamper their inner elephants, but being Bully takes more dedication. It is a higher state of mind. Find your bull and may you find happiness. Have a great weekend folks. Snort!
Posted by at 03:39 PM | Comments (3) March 01, 2006
Was it the Rocky Mountain Oysters?*Okay I'm not one to post more than one blog a day, but when I logged on to the front page of www.seacoastconnects.com, which is a great site for just about everything local or not so local, I couldn't help myself. The wonderful staffers at seacoastonline do a great job pushing our blogs. I'd probably get 5 hits a month (3 of which would be me re-reading my entries and looking for errors in my obssessive compulsive way) if it weren't for their banners and links to our blogs here at blogthecoast.com. On the seacoast connects website homepage, a kindred blog will be linked to different headliner articles. For example, under an article on pesto pizza, there will be a link to the blog "Wine Me, Dine Me." While checking out the front page I literally choked on a banana pepper (wait for the irony) when I saw what the powers that be chose to link me to:
Don't get me wrong -- I totally appreciate and welcome it when anybody or any site uses my blog as a link. The more hits the merrier and the more educated we will all be (snort!). I can't help but wonder, though, where this will take my blog as far as who will be linking to me in the future! I guess it's just my lot in life to be classified as "Strange But True." Just ask my folks. *what?. Posted by at 01:20 PM | Comments (6) Yeah, We Take 'emI have a pet peeve that I'm going to turn into a minor rant today. You know I can be excessively "wordy" so please bear with. I'm hoping someone who has a stake in my subject might take what I say to heart. I am someone who rarely carries cash on me. I mean really, it's more like, NEVER. I've had to write a check at the York tollbooth because I didn't have cash! I use my “debit” card for everything. My bank issued me a clever little piece of plastic that works like an ATM card but can be used just like a credit card with no “PIN” involved. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about – is there anyone in this country who doesn’t have a bank card? Come on! I mean, I use my bank card at Dunkin Donuts for pete’s sake! So why, why, why are there still stores that don’t accept credit cards? I realize that the credit companies, Visa, MasterCard, etc, do charge a nominal fee per transaction for the service. So what? A few pennies to the dollar (usually 1-3%) is certainly worth offering this convenience to your customers. I am a vendor. I sell things on ebay, all the time. I accept credit cards. I wouldn’t think of not accepting credit cards – do you know how much business I would lose? No one wants to wait two or three weeks for their stuff just because I had to wait for a personal check to arrive in the mail and then wait longer for it to clear. Customers love being able to click a button, type in a number, and pay me instantly, thus receiving their merchandise within a few days. I’ll put this in an open letter to all stores who don’t accept credit cards. I won’t say outright that it’s directed specifically at a convenient store that may be located near a certain little league ball park on a certain corner in Portsmouth near a certain cemetery. Dear Merchant, I just want to tell you something. I have no beef with your store itself, or your clerks. This is why I never say anything to the clerks directly – I don’t want to seem like I’m insulting them – I’ve seen plenty of customers be rude and I know they don’t need any more from me. However, I wanted to let you know why I walked out of your store without buying anything. I popped in for a soda and a sandwich, which goes for about five or six bucks, and asked if your clerk if the store took credit cards. I asked, because I always carry my bank card instead of cash. She replied, “Sorry, no, but we DO have an ATM over in the corner!” (smiles and furrows apologetic eyebrows to me). I walked to the ATM and saw that it charged a $1.95 fee or something like that. My bank charges a $1.00 fee when I use my ATM card at a merchant’s machine. So basically, I will be paying eight or nine bucks for said soda and sandwich. No thanks! I might as well enjoy a hot meal served at the Friendly Toast. I’d rather tip a waitress than an ATM. You might not accept credit cards because you are a small convenient store and you believe the charges you accrue from the credit companies are not worth it. But let me point out another view – my view (the right view, of course). I walked out of your store without buying anything because I didn’t want to pay an extra three bucks. I will also never come to your store again because I love using my bank card and you don’t accept bank cards. I will also at some point say to more than one person, “Oh, don’t go there, they don’t accept bank cards and you have to use their stupid ATM, which charges two bucks!” And likely, the people I say this to will just keep going to the next convenient store, which is TRULY “convenient,” because it doesn’t force you to use an ATM machine if you don’t have cash on you. Merchant, your store just went from quaint and convenient to a pain-in-the-ass. Do yourself a big favor and hook up with the credit corporations. I promise you that you will profit in the long run. Sincerely, An annoyed bank card holder Posted by at 09:24 AM | Comments (6) February 27, 2006
Facing the Past, the Facts, and a Ben Folds T-shirtIt’s time. It’s time for me to face the facts. The fat facts. Last week I had to visit my doctor’s office for a sinus infection. Straight up on to the scale she put me. The scale I had been avoiding for over a year. I was afraid to look. I didn’t have to; the nurse was obliged to inform me what the scale registered. The scale didn’t lie when it told me that I weighed more than I ever have. She also took my blood pressure, a not too shabby 128/92. Not too shabby – unless you take into consideration that my BP used to register around 98/62. It’s impossible to argue with cold, hard numbers. Now, don’t get me wrong. None of this was a shock to me. One can’t ignore the fact that one barely fits their FAT PANTIES anymore. I didn’t not know it, I just haven’t cared. Well, perhaps I have. But I can tell you that my current weight is really no accident. Every pound is accounted for. Every pound represents one brick in the wall I’ve been slowly building around myself. Every pound is an allegorical kung-fu kick to the head of any potential suitor who would inevitably break my heart. As someone who in the past lost 80 lbs, 60 before and 20 more after having my second child, I know it can be done. I know that I was never healthier than when I was thin. I know it takes hard work and commitment and I also know that it gets easier as the fat burns off and muscle takes its place. I had a blast being thin for a few years. I was always overweight, had been since my teens. When I was about 27 or 28, I just got motivated somehow. I started walking, then running, then combining runs with weightlifting. I stopped eating pretty much everything I used to eat. I was a salad freak; I was a lean machine. Then I got my heart broken for the millionth and final time. When I realized that no matter how svelte I was, nothing was going to make my son’s father fall in love with me, I started steadily putting on the weight I’d worked so hard to lose. Rejection is hard for anyone. For me, it’s always been a part of my life. The one single thing in my life that I have never, ever, been successful at was a relationship with the opposite sex. Every single relationship I ever had turned out bad. It’s too hard to face that I might be just a loser in love, that I have no redeeming qualities worth loving. It’s far, far softer on the old ego to have a concrete reason why no one could ever love me. So I got fat. What a perfect scapegoat for my failure to find and maintain a relationship! It’s not me, it’s just that no one loves a fat girl! Right? Right? My beautiful, sweet and loving friends are so wonderful to me. They say, “Oh, you’re not fat!” and “You may have gained some weight but you are nowhere near what you used to be, right?” and “We love you just the way you are and we know you’ll find someone [mate] who feels the same!” Well you know, it’s like Groucho Marx once said, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” I don’t want to date a guy who likes fat girls. As fat as I am, I don’t feel fat. I never thought about it while gaining the weight, but now that I am thinking about it, I really don’t believe I ever planned on staying fat. I think subconsciously I believed I would only be fat until I could get over my insecurities. I believed I would only stay heavy until I was ready to try once again to share my innermost self with someone. And I guess I am ready. The evening after my doctor’s visit, I threw out every item of junk food I had in the house. Cake and brownie mixes, oven fries, hot dogs, frozen pizza and junk cereal. I went to the store and stocked up on the foods I came to love during the years I was fit and healthy. I was a woman with a mission. I dug out my old sports bra; I found my old gym bag. Today I went for my usual walk only I left the dogs at home. I love walking them but they distract my purpose and I never feel I’m really burning any fat while I’m walking them. I took a route through residential Portsmouth that I used to take every day as a thin jogger. As I rounded a certain corner on this route it occurred to me that I used to look forward to that corner with a zealous abandonment. The corner comes after a long, steady uphill grade and it descends into a long, steady, downhill grade. Then the route flattens out and leads back to where I park the car. It was always the perfect ending to a perfect run. I wasn’t running today, but my heart jogged in place of my feet when I took that corner and I know that soon, I will be running down that hill again. I may have to purchase another sports bra for now – it wouldn’t be very good for my ego if I had to report to the emergency room to be cut out of the old small-sized one after a good, sweaty workout – but my old sneakers still fit and I’ve got plenty of baggy sweatpants to wear. My first goal is just to fit my Ben Folds concert T-shirt without any tight spots. I’ll post updates for those who might be curious as to whether I make it to that goal. Eventually, I’d like to want to show my naked self to a hot man. But I’ll take the T-shirt for now. 2000......................................................2005..............................................2006?? REALLY GOOD SEASON c'97 It’s been a really good season I’m having a grudge match with God I’m picking up where you left off It’s been a really good season I have a debt with God you see Posted by at 01:59 PM | Comments (8) February 22, 2006
Michael Moore For PresidentDoes anyone else still have their mouth hanging open after watching the news yesterday? President Bush wants to sell six of our seaports to the United Arab Emirates. He wants this deal so badly he has proclaimed that he will veto any effort to stop this sale. The $6.8 billion sale would affect commercial port operations in New York, New Jersey, Baltimore, New Orleans, Miami and Philadelphia. Bush considers the UAE our allies and thinks it would be sending "mixed signals" to deny the sale. Um, excuse me, but WTF and also, WGAS*?? Is it not sending mixed signals to spy on citizens of the nation that you were "elected" to protect the freedoms of? Is it not hypocritical to refuse to allow protests, limit free speech and overturn confidentialities that we have thusfar enjoyed as citizens of the great United States of America? Is this not the most hypocritical leader of our country's history? Republicans, including Senate majority leader Bill Frist and House Speaker Dennis Hastert, are calling for a semi-emergency state, an "immediate moratorium," to halt the sale. Both have joined a bipartisan outcry of congress who want the handover delayed and reviewed. NYC governor has declared that his state will do all it can to prevent his port from being controlled by the UAE. The deal is scheduled to close on 2 March. You know, I'm all for touchy-feely make-up sex with our middle-eastern brethren. We as a nation should be nice to Arabs as we should be nice to any nation; they are fellow human beings on this planet we all share. But selling six major ports to the Arab Emirates, which was used as a financial and operational base for some 9/11 hijackers, is in my opinion giving too much freedom too soon to the bad boyfriend to break our hearts once again. It's leaving our most vulnerable spots wide open for mischief. It's like taking a nap in a prison courtyard wearing a miniskirt and no panties. It's insane. I would rather be seen as a mistrustful nation by the UAE (yeah, like they trust us so much, snort!) than take a chance with our national security, wouldn't you? I challenge the people who scoffed at Michael Moore's Farenheit 9-11 to come forward and admit their mistaken judgement. Bush and his clan have been in bed with the Arabs for so long I'm surprised he's not wearing an Agal. Well, maybe he does in his bathroom. It's just another example of Bush's out of control megalomania setting the stage for all of us. He might as well say, "It's not my agenda what American citizens want. Who even cares what my own political party wants? My family owes these Arabs personally, and I'm going to sell off bits of America to show my appreciation for all they've done for the great Bush dynasty." I urge everyone to view, if you have or if you haven't, Farenheit 9-11 with an open mind as soon as you can. I'm not sure what, if anything, we as a nation can do to stop this madness for two more years. However, if we all start reading from the same page, perhaps we can make better choices in 2008 than we did in 2004. If we're still living in a democracy by then. _________________________________ Posted by at 08:35 AM | Comments (28) February 17, 2006
There Are Options, Part DeuxOkay, now we'll talk about options on a less serious level. Since Kelly's current Walmart blog entry is supposed to be sticking to employee issues, I thought I'd post an entry on my personal "alternative" shopping venues. Feel free to post your own. 1. Fresh Produce: Golden Harvest Produce Market, Us Route 1Kittery, ME 03904, (207) 439-2113. They have organic produce, unsalted all natural nuts, dog biscuits, natural peanut butter, juices, dairy products, imported pastas, gourmet cheeses, wine, flowers, and even a soup & salad bar and more! Ummmm! And very well priced! 2. Discount Merchandise #1: Big Lots, 2454 Lafayette Rd Ste 4 (Shaw's Plaza), Portsmouth, NH 03801, (603) 422-9973. Sometimes you can find super deals on pet items. I got a collapsible metal XL dog crate for under $50. Try that at even Walmart. Also got a huge pet bed for $20 and a covered cat pan for $5. The merchandise has a high turnover, so stop in whenever you're in the area. 3. Discount Merchandise #2: Family Dollar Store, 2454 Lafayette Rd, Ste 4 (Shaw's Plaza), Portsmouth, NH 03801, (603) 431-4413. Again, super deals on some pet items. I got a 15' tie out for $5 ($20 at Petco!). It's a good place for seasonal items, like Christmas decorations for outside, Easter stuff, etc. When you have 5 furry pets like myself, you go through a lot of small area rugs. This is a good place for such "disposable" items. You will find awesome deals on brand-name toiletries and good quality candles too. 4. Oil Change, etc: VIP Auto, 2179 Lafayette Road 03801 603-431-1125. A regular oil change for $18 and a synthetic oil change for $34.99. Most of their services rival the Walmart "Auto" centers in price, and guess what? They KNOW what they're doing! They will DO the service! When I used to use Walmart, I can't tell you how many times I heard, "Oh, we don't do that." VIP staff have always treated me right and often fixed small things for free. 5. Children's Clothing: Children's Orchard, 105 Gosling Rd, Portsmouth, NH 03801, (603) 436-8704. I have used Children's Orchard for both my boys and always find super deals on gently used clothing. Check out their "play clothes" section, you can find super specimens for 99 cents and up. They also have gently used shoes, snowclothes, toys, videos, and items like cribs, carriages, jogging strollers etc. BONUS: They buy clothing back! You have to make an appointment to bring your clothes in, but if your kids aren't exceptionally hard on clothing, you can make back a good deal of what you spent. 6. Groceries: Shaw's (many different stores): Shaw's can be pricey on some things, but they double coupons up to 99 cents and have lots of buy one, get one (or two!) free specials, as well as several dollar deals every week. Check out the flyer and clip some coupons and you can possibly save some big bucks. My biggest coup was $80 of groceries for $24. WOW! 7. Books: Goodwill Retail, 2454 Lafayette Rd, Ste 4 (Shaw's Plaza), Portsmouth, NH 03801, (603) 430-2040. If you're not looking for a specific book (I'd suggest Amazon used section for that), but just to browse a general subject or just to browse, period, try the Goodwill's book section. AWESOME! Children's books are 59 cents and 99 cents and other books are 99 cents for paperback and 1.99 for most hardback books. Great deal for an eclectic reader like myself. BONUS: You can donate them back when you're done, and take part in the American charitable tax write-off tradition. 8. Music: Bullmoose Music, 82 Congress St Apt 86, Portsmouth, NH 03801, (603) 422-9525. I LOVE BULLMOOSE. Their CDs are generally $12-14 and they have the world's best used CD/Vinyl/Video Game collection. They also have the area's best local music CDs available. If they don't have it, they will order it. BONUS: With the frequent buyer's card you collect points for half off whatever amount. ADDITIONAL BONUS: The sell-back factor. They offer fantastic rates on buying your used music/video/games. I made $100 once! You even get more if you choose store credit. Woo hoo! 9. Most Everything Else: EBAY! Check it out. If you have patience and a quick finger on the mouse, you can save some SERIOUS bucks. Think about it. On ebay, values tend to get lower, because there are so many people offering the same thing for sale. I got a humongous cat tree for $89.00 - SHIPPED. Try getting one of those at Walmart. BONUS: The sell-back factor. You can sell anything as well as buy anything. These are my favorite money-saving retail stores (you've gotta love that deal-time trifecta, Shaw's Plaza). Nine more reasons you don't have to go into Walmart. Did I mention that (with the exception of some Shaw's markets, depending on their locations) you don't have to deal with an airport-sized parking lot? Do you have any retailers you'd like to share? I'd like some ideas on: Optical care, electronics, toys, and also more examples of what I've listed as well. Bring it on! Posted by at 01:59 PM | Comments (5) February 13, 2006
There Are OptionsNever-ending media coverage of battles for and against abortion choice, fetal rights, parental notification, equal say in childbirth/adoption for both parents, etc. has lately made me do some big reflecting. Age, experience and maturity would allow me to raise another child if an unplanned pregnancy occurred within my womb (it won't). But what of the immature girl, not quite grown up herself, who chooses live birth and not adoption? She will try and raise the child while still growing up and the child will probably suffer. Why isn't adoption more championed in this country? If only I had had the adoption options available to single, pregnant girls and women today, my oldest son might have had a very different life. When I was carrying him in 1984, however, adoption "options" were virtually nonexistent. The process involved no contact between the adoptive parents and the biological mother. She was told very little, if anything, about them. She had to trust her own flesh and blood to a complete stranger to be placed in the hands of complete strangers. The mother was treated as the employee, not the client. It is so very different now. The biological mother holds all the cards. In 1984, I held no cards and wasn’t allowed to even peek at the deck. My oldest son would likely have benefited from being adopted by a mature couple ready and eager to raise him instead of an ill-prepared 17 year old girl. He was, in fact, supposed to be adopted. The agency and my parents had the adoptive couple all lined up. I knew nothing about them. All plans were made against my inner will, although outwardly I agreed to them. I signed pre-adoption papers. I tried and was encouraged to ignore the growing fetus inside me in an attempt to not bond with it. Unaware of my adoption plans, the nurses presented my son to me in the delivery room. I knew then that I wasn't going to be able to give him up to strangers. It was too terrifiying. I can't say for certain he would have been better off with the adoptive family chosen for him, because I knew nothing about the family. His adoption was arranged akin to placing an unwanted puppy in the newspaper. Word was put out in the tiny town that my baby needed a family, so someone stepped up. This was my perception; I knew nothing of the facts and had to rely on my young, inexperienced imagination to put it together. Conventional wisdom was to keep the biological mother as detached as possible to avoid any last minute upsets. All was arranged over and around, but never with, me. I’m thankful I didn’t hand him over to the unknown couple. I can't imagine life without him in it. He's my son, and I'm his mother, and I'm pretty sure that now at the age of 20 he wouldn't trade me in. (Not so sure about that five or ten years ago!) Though, had I been in the same situation in our current times with all the control, knowledge and support that the biological mother is afforded, I think I would have placed him for adoption. It would have made a lot more sense than it did in the scenario that took place twenty years ago. Adoption wouldn't have been nearly so frightening. Fast forward to over a decade later. My youngest son came at an extremely inopportune time in my life. I was making plans with my songwriting partner to quit my job and head out on tour. We were in the middle of recording our CD and had spent thousands in the studio when I found myself pregnant. A baby sure was going to muck things up. But, from the moment I knew about my pregnancy, I wanted this child. I was 29 years old and in a good place emotionally and physically, for the first time in my life. There was nothing to hold me back from being a good mother and raising a child. His father wanted me to have an abortion from the get-go. In fact he would ask me on a daily basis if I had considered it yet. I would tell him I would think about it just to appease him and get him off my case. But in truth I never considered it. I actually did consider adoption, during a period when I was feeling defeated by the baby's father's persistent reluctance. In the end, however, I knew I wanted to raise him myself, no matter what sacrifices I had to make or how much his father resisted the idea. I sit with my young son on my lap and we watch stars come out in our backyard at night. We go exploring on our bikes and we snuggle in down comforters reading bed time stories. I taught him to tie his shoes, ride a bike, read chapter books, use a potty. He turns his face up to me with questions about life and I am overcome with love. I watch the latest comedy movies with my oldest son and he points out the punch lines that I don't get. He writes beautifully lyrical rhymes and intense metaphors. I taught him how to change a tire, attended a thousand soccer games and school plays. He asks me questions about things like car care and taxes and checkbooks and I love being there to answer. I wish I could take every girl or woman considering abortion who has yet to give birth into my past and show her all I've learned. Perhaps it would change her mind? In my opinion, a woman who is selfless enough to consider adoption above her own wants & needs is more than half-way on the road to being a great mom anyway. Women who are convinced they just cannot rise to the occasion might be surprised to find that they are perfect for the job. On the other hand, a girl or woman who is truly not in a good place to take on raising a child should be automatically considering adoption, not abortion. Why isn't that the case? I believe the reason so many women choose abortion right away is because the option is constantly in their faces. Pro-lifers must not realize that they are inadvertantly pushing abortion just by keeping the issue in bright lights. I wish all the activists, pro-life and pro-choice, would turn their energies upon championing adoption and parenting options. I am sick of all their fighting, name calling, insulting, and damning each other, to the point where I don’t listen at all. Why don't both camps discard the politics and unite in the adoption and parenting options crusades? It's not as though abortion activists are "anti-life." No one wants anyone to have an abortion. Adoption as a viable solution to unplanned pregnancy is something both camps can agree on. Parenting should be encouraged as well. Let's push the abortion debate to the back burner for a while and concentrate on what it will take to convince a woman or couple to choose another option. Let's see what happens. I think if abortion clinics and counselors spent even a small amount of time researching patients' circumstances and offering alternatives, more women would be having their babies. It should be the pro-choicer's goal to reduce the number of abortions performed. Maybe abortion clinics could have copies of Lennart Nillson's book "A Child is Born" strewn about the waiting room. An adoption counselor could be on-hand with photo albums of prospective adoptive parents. Physicians or counselors could discuss the merits of parenting with each potential patient, and photos of babies with their mothers hung on the walls. More effort should be made to discourage abortions. I'm not saying that abortion should be illegal, but pro-choicers and clinic employees need to get over whatever it is that keeps them from trying to discourage abortions, or at least presenting the other options first. Most womens' clinics, where most abortions are performed, offer pregnancy, STD and birth control care also, so it's not like they would be jobless if less women chose abortions. Pro-lifers should stop parading around clinics with placards picturing disfigured fetuses and instead show compassion and focus on providing information about other options to pregnant women seeking abortions. Frightened, unsure pregnant women are not going to respond positively to gory photos and condemnation. They, and their partners, need support and maybe some kind steering toward the adoption or parenting direction. And I believe most women choosing abortion are indeed frightened and unsure. It's the rare woman who enters and leaves an abortion clinic with a happy-go-lucky smile on her face. If pro-life and pro-choice activists spent half the time and money in putting the spotlight on adoption and parenting that they put into pushing their cause and undermining the other’s cause, how many lives might be saved? How many young pregnant women would choose adoption because *that’s* all they hear about in the news? How many potential abortion patients might choose motherhood instead, with some encouragement? How many women would choose adoption at first and end up realizing they are able and willing to raise their child after having 9 months to think about it, instead of having had a knee-jerk reaction abortion? How many fathers might pester their partners for adoption or parenting instead of the traditional abortion? Will we ever know? ALIENS (c '98) He is growing daily
Posted by at 10:46 AM | Comments (12) February 02, 2006
My Bologna Has a First Name, It's O-S-C-A-RPlease don’t let this entry stop you from reading Cinemallory’s delightful-as-usual entry about the Oscars. I was just doodling around after a spirited exchange with Ms Mallory and came up with a top ten list of things I’d rather do than watch the 3 hour long Academy Awards.
BULLY'S TOP TEN WARDING OFF THE AWARDS SHOW ACTIVITIES 10. (As I noted in her blog) Open cans of cat food with a manual can opener (estimated result – one can for every five minutes X three hour show = 36 cans, I’ll be a month ahead of myself with the cat food chore). 9. Fold all my paper bags and stuff the plastic ones into one main plastic bag. I usually put this chore off and end up with a kitchen drawer full of paper and plastic bags. I could use the three hours to actually organize them. It would be months before I’d have to dig under my car seats to find a suitable poop bag for my dogs during our walks. 8. Play Monopoly with my 7 year old. This game usually takes 2 hours or so. But with my little novice it’s sure to eat up at least 3 if not 4 hours. 7. Clip my dogs’ toenails. Both dogs are notoriously evil about this chore. 1.5 hours each is about right to get all 20 digits done. 6. Watch the Papillon video I got for Christmas. Oh wait, damn, that’s only 150 minutes. Okay, with the remaining ½ hour I’ll make a list of the top ten reasons Papillon is better than the Oscars. (#10. It’s fun… #9. It’s entertaining… #8. Dega now has more integrity than Jon Stewart…) 5. Count out all the goldfish crackers in the bag to see if there really are 13 servings per bag. After all, it’s the snack that smiles back, and it shouldn’t lie. 4. Cover my body completely with shea butter in an effort to combat winter itchy skin. I’ve gained some weight, this will take some time. 3. Two words – computer solitaire. Okay, one more – hearts. 2. Open up my yahoo junk mail account and read each and every spam that has been collecting in the junk mail box since the last time I opened it – I think in October? Forward the really bad ones to rude people. Get my foot in the door for the e-annoyance law blacklist. 1. And the top thing I would rather do than watch the Oscars – re-read all of Cinemallory’s entertaining movie blog entries! (My favorite so far, the Hostel review.) So, if you are one of the people who love the ceremony, or one of the people like Mallory who dread the ceremony but love the outcome, please let me know how it went. I always find a strange, voyeuristic satisfaction from hearing how other people adore things I compare to fingernails on a chalkboard. If you are someone like me who doesn’t know who Oscar is or why Hollywood actors make so much money, please feel free to bogart from my list.
Posted by at 04:15 PM | Comments (6) January 26, 2006
Super GirlsThese are my friends. They have all faced seemingly insurmountable obstacles and challenges and come through with flying colors. They are listed in alphabetical order, as I could not choose who makes me proudest to know them. I am lucky to know these fantastic women. Wonder Women!
Supergirl #1: Debby I’ve known Debby since kindergarten. Our fathers were both in the Air Force and we were stationed together twice. We kept up our friendship and ended up settling in the same area. Debby found herself pregnant shortly after high school. At the tender age of 19, she was sure that she wanted to keep this baby. She knew she’d have the support of her family but she would have to do this on her own. At the time she worked for a Durham day care caring for Durham’s elite children. The staff fired her when they learned of her pregnancy. A pregnant, single young woman minding children for UNHs best? They thought it wouldn’t look good. They showed her the door. She went on to marry a man with THREE young children of his own. She helped support her husband through police academy while living in a tiny apartment and and with full custody of all four kids. Debby went on to earn two Associates, Early Childhood Education and Human Services and a Bachelor's in Behavioral Science. She's currently earning her Masters in Community Mental Health Counseling. She is the Director of the child care center at a major regional hospital. Her baby is now a strapping 6’2” young man and they are all doing just fine in their own home now. Thank you, Durham day care for your short sightedness. Supergirl! Supergirl #2: Heather Heather is my songwriting partner. I met her when she was just 20 and frail as a spiderweb. She had had to leave Berklee College of Music after two years due to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She had the worst case I’d ever heard about. We used to have to literally carry her sometimes. She also had severe blood glucose issues. Still, she played in and managed our band, took charge in the recording studio and played gig after gig, as we travelled all over New England. She would have to leave the stage mid-set sometimes being so ill. She still stuck with it. One day Heather decided she’d had enough of being sick and took charge of her health. She beat the CFS and started excelling at kickboxing. She went back to school and, supporting herself, earned her degree in Kinesiology, all the while pursuing a career as EMT. She is now pursuing a higher degree and EMTs with the best of them in Manch-Vegas. She looks so cute in her little blue suit, but don’t let her size fool you. I know that she carries 300 pound patients on a daily basis and drives that ambulance through Boston hospital district rush hour like a mean machine. Of course, I should mention she's one of the most brilliant guitarists and songwriters I know. Supergirl! Supergirl #3: Michelle Michelle is one of my favorite people! I’ve never known anyone with a more positive, upbeat attitude nor have I known a more creative person. She owns a home that she decorated top to bottom herself, and her garden is to die for. Michelle is a designer and was employed by an elite builder in Portsmouth. She found herself in the position of starting her own business – the week before Christmas! Our gain. She jumped in with both hands and feet, finally able to create on her own terms, free of corporate restraint. She is the successful owner and operator of her own designing firm, www.MichelleShieldsDesign.com. Please, do yourself a favor and check out her website and see some of her beautiful, unbelievable work! Supergirl! Supergirl #4: ‘Pril ‘Pril is a study in contradictions. So feminine with her soft auburn hair and clear blue eyes, she even has little freckles on her nose. She leaves men breathless behind her and knocking at her door long after she’s moved on. Her house has floral motifs and potpourri. Yet at any time, you’ll see her hockey sticks, karate belt or hiking gear leaning up against the wall. What? Hockey? That’s right. Don’t be seduced into the notion that you are stronger than she simply because she has such lovely girly curves. You’ll be embarrassed! I met ‘Pril while dating my youngest son’s father and we instantly hit it off. We found that we shared a love of songwriting and I learned that ‘Pril plays a beautiful guitar. She has a voice that makes birds stop and listen. ‘Pril is a recently single girl, and watch out mankind! She has always taken everything in stride. ‘Pril owns a beautiful log cabin in the woods that she bought in her own name after many months of determined budgeting & saving. ‘Pril is active in animal welfare and has several incredible hobbies. She worked her way up from being an administrative temp to a sweet position with a local corporate giant. She’s still climbing that ladder also, earning a higher degree and, well, making it on her own terms. Big time. Supergirl!
Sharon is one tough cookie. You wouldn’t know it by looking at her petite frame and beautiful, feminine looks. But don’t let those big brown eyes fool you. Sharon has worked her way toward the top and is reaching her destination. While married to her ex, she worked as a baker, a hairdresser, homemaker and finally a political organizer. It was this career path that came between her and her husband – you see, he wanted full control of his little wifey. He would restrict what kind of music they could have, what shows to watch, where she went. He couldn’t stand that she was developing friendships outside his little circle and a mind of her own. They divorced and he told her she wouldn’t ever amount to anything. Wrong! Sharon is the proud owner of a gorgeous house, sports car and dating life. She worked her way up to software tester and project coordinator/manager with a local technology company, and she’s still climbing that ladder. She’s finishing up her degree in Computer Science and still dabbles in politics. She's fast becoming a master of percussion with a sweet sense of rhythm. Oh, and all the while raising two fantastic teenage boys. Take that, Brad, you little, little man. Supergirl! Supergirl #6: Tina I met Tina at one of our gigs. She was a wild looking thing with blond curls flying everywhere and oblivious to all the men gawking at her. She bought us all drinks and ended up becoming a “fan” -- we could count on her presence at our shows. This turned into a deep friendship when I realized what a hot shit Tina was. If there is something that needs to be said, to anyone, at any time, Tina will say it, and be right about it. I adore her outspokenness. Tina recently broke out on her own, a newly minted single mother of a 1 year old child. This move took more bravery than she will ever give herself credit for and I look up to her for it. She is rebuilding her life from the ground up and she will never let on how hard it is – but I know she will succeed at anything. She’s a voracious reader and an excellent, dead-on critic. I predict a successful future in the editing/publishing business. We’ll be calling Tina in her NYC office one day. Supergirl! Supergirls We are Supergirls, we are Wonder Women Everything we do defies logic and theory Wouldn’t you like to know the secret that makes us (br) We are Supergirls, we are Wonder Women Posted by at 04:02 PM | Comments (7) January 19, 2006
Nowhere Man and Whiskey GirlThere is a soul mate for everyone, or so they say. Not me, for I already had mine. F was my best friend for almost 10 years and my lover off and on throughout. We were friends for several years before ever being romantically involved. No two people ever loved each other more. No two people ever had more fun or laughed together as much. I know I 'll never again meet someone who will love me as much as he did, nor I him. What happened? F is an alcoholic and I was bipolar, a bad mix. Simply put, I had to make a choice and he did too. Actually F kind of made my choice for me. He eventually drank his way into a tiny hidey-hole of life where he would come home from working construction at about 3:30, after of course stopping by the Big Apple for a 6 or 12 of Busch and refuse to go anywhere or do anything. He’d be ‘faced by 7:30 or so and fall asleep by 8 or 9. Then, up the next morning to do the same. F managed to find himself a common-law wife and a child. His son eventually brought about a change in F’s behavior. Before little C came along, the two of us would stay out all night hanging out and laughing and playing guitar and listening to Tom Waits. After C came along, we took to hanging out at his house, having a few beers and playing guitar or listening to music there. F met his common-law wife several years into our relationship and they were always off and on again too, but he continued living with her. N and I got along on careful terms; she knew how much I meant to F and didn’t interfere much. She knew our history and basically had to trust him that we weren’t “fooling around”. She knew that he had three chambers in his heart -- her, little C, and me. Actually, though, F’s biggest chamber in that old heart ended up being reserved for F. He made concessions to N and C. He stopped going out every night and never drove while drinking. He moved with her from their little apartment in the center of town (easy access for our friends and partying) to a duplex in a rural area of the town. He stayed gainfully employed and gave her his paycheck, after buying his beer. He stopped running to my apartment after they had arguments. But he never did concede to give up the drinking. I remember his eyes actually turning yellow at times toward the end of our relationship, a sure shot that his liver was in jeopardy; still he drank. F was a brilliant guitarist. He was known in our circles and throughout town to be the best. He had a Les Paul and a Fender. Sometimes we’d put a band together but they never came to fruition. We were more interested in partying, and "band practice" was the perfect excuse to get away from N and reality. Our favorite instrument though, was a little beat up acoustic of unknown origin, with stickers all over it. We’d sit at the kitchen table and he would play the blues for me to sing. That guitar had a lot of miles on it and my heart belonged to it as well as F. I remember the end of that guitar. I showed up at he and N’s apartment and it was gone. He sheepishly admitted to smashing it after getting drunk and fighting with N. I was heartbroken but I knew he felt bad enough so I never mentioned it again. Still, he drank.
Occasionally, usually after his eyes started yellowing, he would quit for a few days trying to save his liver and for his son's sake. He would go through physical and emotional withdrawals, suffering DTs and depression, and always go back to alcohol in the end. We were the loves of each other’s lives, but it did not bother me that F moved with N to the duplex in the woods. Before N and then C came along, I’d always assumed that, even though we weren’t always lovers, we would grow old together. Actually, even after N and C came along, it never dawned on me that we wouldn’t grow old together, as the best friends we were. I always thought F would be in my life. However, my son was getting older and I realized I didn’t want him to grow up thinking it’s okay to be hammered at 7:30, every night. I realized that if I wanted my and my son’s life to ever be normal, I needed to commit to therapy for my own illness, bipolar disorder, and that meant moving away from F and our freewheeling ways. When I started dating my youngest son’s father, and became pregnant, I knew for sure that chapter of my life was coming to a close. It took so long and was such a slow process that the heartbreak never really happened. We saw less and less of each other as he grew more and more insular with his alcoholism and I had my baby. The last time we saw each other was awkward. He had sold his Les Paul. He had moved on from beer to vodka. He didn’t want to go out to play some pool or even go out at all. His formerly beautiful, expressive eyes had that tell-tale yellow tinge, and my heart felt a stab to see them so. He was weirded out by my having a baby and the fact that I wasn’t the bipolar freakshow I used to be, but a stabilized and responsible grown up. I think we both knew at the time it would be our final meeting. I will always have a hole in my heart where F used to be, even though F is not the person he was. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in six years and I often wonder how he is. I think that his body had reached the point where very soon he would have to choose sobriety or death. I know death by alcoholism is slow and painful, to the dying person and to his family and friends. I hope he was able to stop for the sake of C. Can such an alcoholic really quit and lead a normal life? Is it truly a disease and an unstoppable compulsion? I will probably never know the answer to those questions. I know that although he never truly tried to quit with commitment, it nagged his heart. Deep inside, he knew he was choosing alcohol over his beloved son, and it made him feel cowardly, guilty, defensive and angry. Still, he drank. WHISKEY GIRL I'd take you down Don't you know Nowhere man - gillian welch "hell among the yearlings" Posted by at 02:49 PM | Comments (4) January 12, 2006
Snobby Neighbors, Honest Kids, and Dogs, Dogs, DogsI have to spill this story because it's a small triumph in my little suburban residential world.
I live in a pretty residential little suburb. Not a lot of space between houses -- it's a pre-planned, post WWII neighborhood, if you will. There are also not a lot of fences. Just about everyone has a dog or two. I have two, just pups, and without a fence it's a challenge. I don't have one, and neither do many of my neighbors. I have leashes for when my pups want to go out and play (frequently). They used to stay put in the yard until my backyard neighbors adopted their dog, a little Collie/Sheltie mix, a real sweet dog. I can't trust my puppies to stay now, because they run to my neighbors yard when he puts the dog out (no fence). So, my dogs are leashed when they are out.
My frontyard neighbor also has a Sheltie. They have a fence and so we rarely see their dog, but when we do, she’s a joy -- friendly and always ready to chase a tennis ball. My neighbors two doors down have two Shelties. These dogs are not so friendly – they are typical Shelties, constantly barking their shrill little warnings at everyone and everything. These neighbors take great pride in bragging that their little dogs never leave their unfenced yard. “It was a lot of work!” they say, over and over, “They NEVER leave our yard. We’ve trained them so well!” And since I’ve lived here, it has been true. As annoying as the little dogs are yapping at us from their yard, they don’t leave it. They run up and down the border of the yard as if there were an electric fence (there isn’t) yapping frantically at us when we walk by. “Hello ladies,” I say to the Shelties, “You are such good little girls.” (All the while I’m thinking I am so glad I live TWO houses down). “Yes,” says the woman. “They are SO good. They NEVER leave our yard!” I know she is hinting that my dogs do leave my yard. Once a week or every other week, my pups will get loose – always because they see the Shelties out and the Shelties are frantically yapping at my dogs from the edge of their yard. So my pups take off for their yard to try and play with them, but the Shelties always snap and yap and run back inside. Teases! Anyway, my neighbor, the man, will sigh and look down his nose at me and say once again how happy he is that his little dogs are trained, and how much work it was to do so! I have no idea how they trained their dogs and frankly couldn’t care less, but it’s obviously a very big pride thing with them, so I smile and nod as I breathlessly try to round up my two puppies from his yard while they run away from me with reckless glee. Well, a few weeks ago, I noticed that the two little Shelties were in the woods behind my house. I really didn’t care, even though they tormented my two pups on their leashes. You could practically hear them taunting, “We’re loose, and you’re not, ha ha! Our people think we are in the back yard, ha ha!” Then the other day at about 6 AM, I noticed the bolder dog, the little brown Sheltie, actually in my yard, playing with my dogs’ toys. When she saw me, she started barking fanatically as if I were intruding on to her property. The nerve! I stepped out to the yard and told her, “Oooooh, you are a naughty doggie, if your daddy sees you, you are in big trouble!” She snapped and yapped over her shoulder at me as she scooted back through the woods on her way back home. Now, really, I do not care that his dog is sneaking into my yard. Dogs will be dogs, and in my neighborhood, one really must learn tolerance for one’s neighbors’ dogs. But I was smug with myself that this guy is soooo snotty about his dogs being so perfect, and when he’s inside enjoying his designer coffee at 6AM his dog is sneaking over the border, ha ha! I wasn’t planning on ever saying anything to him. Let him find out on his own, I say. A small part of me admittedly was hoping the little dog would make a habit out of it, and maybe even wander into other neighbors’ yards, so it could be a neighborhood private joke on the snobby couple. Alas, the secret was spilled last night. As we were coming home from taking our pups to the dog park, our puppies heard the little duo over in their yard barking and took off from my station wagon before I could get their leashes on. Straight over to Mr & Mrs Snob’s yard! It was complete chaos – my bigger dog was barking in his huge voice, my littler dog was zipping back and forth in the guy’s huge lawn teasing his Shelties and threatening a poop on his lawn… I was dying of embarrassment. The man haughtily called his two dogs in and watched me while I tried rounding up my two from their shenanigans. He would occasionally try and command my dogs to come in a loud, authoritative voice, and give me a knowing look when they ignored him, as if they weren’t listening to him because I hadn’t trained them well enough. (They are puppies, for Christ’s sake!). I finally caught them and things were calming down. I started walking back toward my house, I had the bigger dog, and my 7 year old with the smaller one. The man made one more comment about how he sure is glad his dogs listen well, and NEVER LEAVE HIS YARD. My son, with all his young angel innocence, looked up at the man with big wide eyes and said, “I think we have to tell you something, sir… Did you know that your dog comes into our yard all the time?” The guy blustered and practically choked on his words to spit out, “NO THEY DON’T!!” I calmly said, cough, cough, ummm, yes she does, the little brown one. “NO, it must be one of the other Shelties on the street, my dogs would NEVER! They only go into the woods behind my house….” He trailed off as he realized the woods was a direct path to my yard, that the other dogs are either fenced or leashed, and it was indeed his dog. He turned red as a beet and started stammering something about it must be his wife’s fault. I gave him a raised eyebrow for that comment, and told him not to worry about it. He continued to stammer and bluster and I just winked. I squeezed my little boy's hand and we walked home. I leaned over and whispered, “Touche’!” My boy looked at me quizzically but didn't ask. I think he knew he'd trumped the guy. Ha! Posted by at 03:52 PM | Comments (7) January 10, 2006
Sorry, Have I E-OFFENDED You??A blog poster just sent a link for me to check out the new "e-annoyance" law signed by George W. Now, some would accuse me of being a "socialist" for my stance on animal welfare laws (animal welfare, not animal rights, for the record!) and other things I have written about. I'm not a socialist, however and though I lambast the media on a regular basis for trying to enter my living room and take a dump on my and my childrens' minds, I wouldn't want a law denying media their right to say whatever they want on the telly, on the radio, in magazines or on the internet. (I know how to turn the channel!) This law clearly goes too far. This law makes it illegal to anonymously annoy someone via the internet. What?? First of all, what consititutes annoying? What I find hilarious you might find really annoying. And what about rights to privacy? Now we must identify ourselves. I think not. Is it just me or is this country creeping toward a communist state? Frankly, I find 90% of the internet's content annoying and I have no idea who writes the stuff. Shall we just shut down the world wide web? Is this law really going to put an end to pop-ups and spam? Because that is the only good I can see coming out of such a law. What next, authors who write inflammatory material in books will not be able to use pen names? Will they try and regulate annoying content though the US mail, one of the last vessels of true privacy in this country? There is another movement that bothers me, even though I am adamantly opposed to puppy mills and back yard breeding, the PAWS act. This act will allow federal government to monitor private breeders and such and is totally the wrong way to go. Do we want to stamp out puppy mills? YES! Do we want to stamp out puppy overpopulation? YES! The way to do this is not to penalize and persecute small kennels, independent rescue organizations/clubs and breeders of hunting dogs which is what this act will do. It also paves the way for mandatory microchipping of all pets. WHAT!?? Sidenote: this act is supported by the majority of the AKC and PETA as well (PETA's support alone is enough to make me wary - buncha liars!) because of course the AKC wants no dog bred that isn't good enough to show, and PETA thinks it abhorrent for any domestic animal to give birth, ever. However the UKC openly and loudly disagrees with the act as do several other dog breed/hunting dog clubs. And let's talk about wire tapping and internet monitoring. Our president and his cohorts seem to think it's their right to spy on us, regardless of existing laws, as long as they think the one being spied on is a threat. Who decides what consitutes a threat? Your Big Brother, that's who. Presently, it might be someone looking up bomb recipes or in certain chatrooms. But how soon until the government decides something you do is threatening, and starts up a file on you and your family and friends? Too much government is not even the issue lately. It's oppressive, stupid, paranoid government. It's putting our freedoms in suspended animation. Our current administration is just free-wheeling its authority without fine tuning anything. Many of these new acts, laws, statutes seem well intentioned but they are far too wide-reaching and oppressive. What is happening to this country? Do we really have two more years of this? Will there be any freedom left at the end of it? It feels like we're moving into another cold war era, only it is taking place entirely here on the homefront, us -- the American people, vs them, the oppressive government. I don't trust our president, do you? I don't think he's going to literally nuke us, but the effects of his paranoia and megalomania on our nation are promising to be devastating. Well I am going to end this rant because I feel I have a lot more research to do on this subject. And I guess while I'm at it, I better research my options as a future defendant because now that I've anonymously published this annoying, anti-government blog entry, I'm sure I've made the list. Posted by at 08:47 AM | Comments (15) January 05, 2006
Beware the Ides of January!Those who follow my blog know I'm a proponent for public schooling - I believe a basic education is every child's RIGHT in this great country... but this time of year, the middle ("ides") of January, something always happens that makes me question the decision to put my children in the hands of the system. I'm talking CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT EDUCATION. It really, REALLY bothered me when my then-5 year old came home from Kindergarten one day in January with questions about racism because they were preparing for Martin Luther King Jr Day & Black History Month. Now I think the civil rights movement should be taught - it's an important part of our history and is unfortunately sometimes still an issue - but how much info does a 5 year old need? In my opinion, none! Before this curriculum was brought into his classroom, my son didn't even realize that "brown" people were "different." I MEAN IT! He never, ever, brought it up. He only used color as a descriptive measure - for example, pointing out to me someone in a crowd with the backpack he wanted ("One like that brown boy has, Mom!"). I was just incensed that the school took it upon themselves to decide that our five and six year olds were ready to learn about ugly old American racism. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Last year, in first grade, it got even worse. They studied Martin Luther King, Jr. My six year old came home with wide, uneasy eyes and questions about Rev. King's death. Of course, his teacher didn't divulge *all* the gory details, just enough to get his and I'm sure the rest of the class's imaginations pumping. How did he die, Mommy? Why would someone want to kill a nice man? Why would people hate other people because they are brown? NOT things I think a six year old should have to discover and ponder. I finally sent a letter (you can imagine the content after sharpening my horns with my tongue to write it) requesting that the school go easy with the curriculum this year, and why I was requesting it. I got a response that they understood and appreciated my point of view, but no real promise to lay off the crash course in I thought we were safe this year but this morning my son asked me, "Mom! Did you know, that a long long time ago, we went down to South America and Africa and STOLE people from their families and brought them back in CHAINS and handcuffs and made them work without paying them??" I'm thinking, "WE?" Who is this "WE?" What the **** are they teaching my baby!? I'm calling the school next week, before Pandora opens her box this month, and demanding an audience and an explanation of what they are teaching and why they think it is helpful. As far as I'm concerned this is volatile content, along the lines of the World and Vietnam Wars & Hiroshima, gangs, and all other evils of human society past and present et al. Why not teach our kids about all those tragedies when they are six and seven as well? Might as well desensitize them now. Why not let them watch Amistad or Apocalypse Now?? Kids this age should be learning about reading and writing and science and being in a social environment. Not about racism and assassination. Side note: This November when I went to vote on Maine's #1, regarding whether or not to rescind Maine's Anti-Discrimination Law, my little one asked me to explain it to him (he knew I was very excited about it). When I was explaining it to him outside the gym where we vote, his face drained of color and he ducked his head down suddenly and said, "MOM! Are you going to get SHOT!? Like Martin Luther King!?" I can't tell you what went through my head at that point but I wish to God I had it on video to bring with me to my meeting with the school staff. Hmmm, maybe I'll just print this blog entry out and bring it with me. Posted by at 03:47 PM | Comments (18) December 29, 2005
Hark! The Disinfectant Stings! Goriness From the Bubble Wrapped Thing!I have to apologize to readers for such delay in getting another entry on my blog (sorry, you two). I do have an excuse though -- I had to wait until my bloody, sliced, tattered fingers, hands, teeth and gums had started to heal since Christmas morning. Looking at this photo taken Christmas evening, of our sweet little tree all pooped out from excitement, you'd never guess the carnage that its offerings had caused.
For those of you who bought toys, you know what I mean. For those of you who bought electronics, you know what I mean. I’m talking about the growing trend of making it impossible to open said gifts. Whether it be an action figure, a video game, or a disc-man, you have your work cut out for you if you ever want your loved ones to actually enjoy them. You need to plan on spending at least an hour per toy, and a half hour per electronic device getting these freaking things open and ready for usage. Don’t forget to have on hand a box knife, scissors (useless, really, and you’ll only end up stabbing the webbing between finger and thumb), a strong man, and contractor-quality gloves. Not to mention a metal box to put the remnants in because if you choose your standard trash bag, the shards of plastic will reach out and slice you through the bag eventually. Why this trend? Are these measures really keeping merchandise more safe from determined looters? Did people formerly rip dolls from their bubble wrap? I was under the assumption that the whole package went into the overcoat – why would a shoplifter take the time to remove the doll? And electronics – jeez, can’t they put the anti-theft device on the actual product instead of the plastic? I’d rather put up with a half-inch piece of plastic on my portable stereo than pry said stereo from foam, plastic bubble, tape, and wiring for an hour. Let’s take a case in point: Round-up Woody doll, from Disney’s Toy Story. Woody was just like in Toy Story, same size, so cool; he had a hat, guitar, and even the pull string just like the movie. I about died laughing when I found him at K-Mart because I’m always chasing my kid around the house repeating “There’s a SNAKE IN MY BOOT” and “You’re my FAVORITE DEPUTY” for hours on end after we watch the Toy Story movies (frequently). My son has a Buzz Lightyear -- so this was a perfect find. Christmas morning Woody was a hit. My little boy laughed when he opened it and pulled Woody’s string over and over through the package before moving on to other gifts. Eventually, the dreaded words rose to my ears: “Mommy, will you help me open Woody?” Oh. My. God. I have never in my life been more tortured by a toy. Woody was secured in every possible way to his cardboard and plastic packaging with evil plastic coated wire tie-ups combined with little plastic plates. These plastic plates & wires were also covered with glued plastic. His hands, his elbows, his shoulders, his neck, his thighs, knees, and three different locations on his boots. He even had a plastic covered wire threaded through his belt loops. These plastic wires were bound so tightly it took me a solid five or more minutes to untangle each and every one. Then of course was Woody’s guitar (five more tie-ups) and his hat (held with that unknown sticky rubber stuff you have to rub off and also glued to package). I actually had to take several breaks and catch my breath. All the while Woody was staring at me with those benign, wide eyes and that sweet smile that seemed to get ghastlier as each tie up cut my fingers. I had to wash my hands twice to keep Woody from becoming Bloody. Did he know the pain I was going through? Did he know I wanted to toss him to the dogs? Was he laughing at me or sympathetic? After all, it was Woody who spent God knows how long bound and gagged into his little plastic bubble, unable to wear his beloved hat or play his guitar and at the mercy of hundreds of shoppers pulling at his string. (His battery was practically dead by Christmas morning. “Yooooouurre myyyy ffaaaaavoriiitte dep...uuteeeeeee” was more like it). At last, Woody was free and I thought I was too. Then I felt a tug at my robe sleeve: my older son gave me a helpless look and handed me his Playstation 2. “I don’t want to break it,” said he, “can you help me open it?” I stared at the boxed console, so tightly bound in its packaging the seams were practically bursting and I could only imagine the evil inside. I looked at him, smiled & nodded, and put the PS2 on the table. I went in to the kitchen to disinfect my cuts, get some more coffee and hide my bloody hands from my children. Only four more action figures, a disc man, and several CDs and games to go. Better run to the 7-11 for some back-up first aid supplies, tylenol and a new blade for the box knife. Wait - do they sell alcohol on Christmas Day? Posted by at 09:29 AM | Comments (5) December 19, 2005
Tis the Season to Be.....Grouchy?I did some Christmas shopping this weekend. I wasn't going to go "all out" this year because I really wanted to get away from the consumerism of it all. I actually believe in Christmas as a holy day, not just the Christmas morning frenzy that so many people -- Christian, Jewish, and Pagan alike partake in and enjoy. This year I really wanted to chill out on the shopping part. However, I broke my resolve when my oldest decided to move back home for a while (another blog subject in the making), and we've all been having such a grand time together the mood spilled over into my shopping and I overdid it -- for my wallet anyway. Anyway - my point is - WHAT IS UP WITH SHOPPERS this year? I have never encountered so many grumpy, out-of-sorts, sour shoppers that I can remember in my life. I mean, why shop for people if you're not going to enjoy it? If it's such a chore and putting you in to such a pissy mood, shouldn't you reevaluate some things? I for one associate the procurement of the gift as part of the gift itself and that keeps my mood elevated to an almost giddy level. Important to note - I have not encountered one grouchy retail worker. NOT ONE -- even the kid in the Subway shop was polite and happy. I have dealt with overworked and distracted retail workers, but they have been nothing but friendly and polite and the ones who are distracted apologize for it. But OMG so many shoppers I've encountered have been rude, impatient, grouchy and self-serving. I had one lady behind me start to complain to me. "HMPF. This must be MY day to WAIT in LINE. Why do they only have ONE PERSON working today?" I tried to add some levity. "Tis the season to wait in line, ha ha," I replied. She snorted and started to tell me her experience at another department store where they only had ONE PERSON working as well. I wanted to ask her which ass they should pull the extra employees from, the President of the United States or the CEO of said company? I was standing in the Subway line waiting my turn to order a delicious sandwich, which made me happy enough as it was, knowing I was going to bite down soon into warm yummy bread and fresh veggies with tasty sauce. I was also high from just scoring a PS2 for my oldest (he had to sell his a couple of years ago) for a wicked good deal at Bullmoose Music and tons of games for cheap. So I was definitely smiling. The lady behind me was not. We'd all been in line for about 10 minutes (a long time when you think about it) and the two kids working there couldn't have been more than 16, very gawky and earnest (read: slow moving). She was sighing heavily, clucking her mouth, etc. The man in line in front of me suddenly turned to me, stuck out his tongue, rolled his eyes and waggled his ears. I just burst out laughing. So did he. I wanted to hug him -- finally, a fellow consumer who is in a GOOD MOOD! Of course, this just made Grumpzilla behind me sigh even louder. Which made the two of us laugh even harder. Let's try and remember that 'tis the season to be JOLLY, not CRABBY, and that all the people who wait on you in stores, restaurants, gas stations, etc have families of their own, and their jobs are helping to pay for their families' Christmas. Try and put yourself in her shoes if she's the only one at the counter and there is a line 50 feet long and the customer she's serving has three declined credit cards, and she has to call the credit company, and no manager is answering her call. She still has to be nice to you. If you can't bring yourself to be nice to her, maybe ebay is your better bet for shopping this year. Let's also be nice to fellow shoppers. Even though I felt like smacking some people throughout the day yesterday (consumers all!) I found it much more fulfilling to smile at them instead. Sometimes, it seemed my smile or little joke actually broke their bad moods. It was contagious.
Posted by at 11:00 AM | Comments (2) December 15, 2005
On Another Planet
I hope not too many readers are wondering where I've been... (both of you, don't fret, I haven't been sent to the glue factory yet). Clearly, I've been On Another Planet (see my vacation photo, above). Seriously though... my organization just underwent an intense inspection and thanks to all my hard work (what?) we made it through with an "excellent" rating. I can breathe again. I've also had other job related stressors & issues coming at me like asteroids toward my space helmet that I've been dodging -- in zero gravity, kind of difficult -- but all that is starting to cool off too, as asteroids tend to do. Hopefully I'll be able to clear it all out of my head this weekend and return next week stomping at the gate with a rodeo cowboy on my back - I'll give him two seconds. It's good to know, though, that some people (loose term) out there in cyberspace just have nothing, nothing, NOTHING to do at all. Posted by at 04:31 PM | Comments (3) December 01, 2005
CSI Madison Avenue, New YorkOkay - My ego just can't take it. I'm so freakin' popular! The people who buy advertising on CSI must read my blog! They must, because they know I don't watch their ads. So they found a way to sneak ads in to the show instead. That’s right folks. The network has stopped bothering with blurring the line between product placement and advertising and just blatantly popped an ad right into the program. Why waste the time or money? The American public, as they are so aware, are such media sheep that they’ll accept it. It will probably be common practice by next Monday’s CSI Miami episode. I was watching my third favorite CSI, CSI New York, and frankly I was only paying attention about 2/3 of the time as I was busy potting up some amaryllis bulbs. I do this in my kitchen and have my TV in the living room so I was prancing back and forth. But, I happened to catch the ad. The two CSIs are leaving somewhere, a building (crime scene? Again, I’m only sort of watching at this point) and one of their phones ring. It’s a Coldplay song, and one CSI comments, “What’s that?” and the other answers, “It’s Coldplay, [song name here], suits my girlfriend to a T.” Or something along those lines, a clever little one-liner that got a minor laugh from the other CSI. Immediately after this scene, the show went into video of Coldplay on stage playing that same song, and I realized the show has gone to commercial. The announcer was saying – If you want to get Coldplay’s cool new ring tone [song name here], text R-I-N-G into your Veri-Nex-US-Mobi-Go-Cingu-Virgi-Tel phone! WTF!!?? I wonder if they had to threaten, cajole, or pay a little extra to the two actors to actually work this in to the storyline. Where was their dignity? How did this make them feel? They finally made it in the business, they finally stopped having to do shitty commercials for acid reducers and headache medicine and landed a great gig on a hit show, and then one day their boss tells them, well, guys, it’s like this: if you want a storyline on this week’s show (or the next!), you’ll plug the phone company. I know how it made me feel. Tricked, pissed off, and definitely NOT into buying a freakin’ ring tone from whatever the hell phone company was pushing it. Madison Avenue, since you're obviously reading (!), let me clue you in, you just don't get it. Since CSI NY is my THIRD favorite CSI show, I will now skip it and watch Law & Order next week instead...I could develop a daddy-crush on Dennis Farina. Or just stay in the kitchen with my amaryllis bulbs. Posted by at 09:52 AM | Comments (3) November 25, 2005
Three Little Bullies All In A RowI am one of those oddity parents who has two generations of children under my belt. One of my kids is 20 years old and the other a tender 7. I’m pushing 40, so when the three of us are together there are basically three generations sharing the same air.
Yesterday at the Thanksgiving table was very emotional for me. I watched as my older son teased my youngest. I watched my youngest respond and come back with his own little zingers, and observed my oldest light up with the knowledge that his little bro is developing into a real person from the boring baby he used to be. My oldest child is a rare commodity to me nowadays. He’s always on the go, never settling down long enough to hang out with Mom. I talk to him on the phone several times a week, but as any mother will tell you, that’s petty beans compared to actually spending time with a child. I have to content myself with watching from a distance as he carves his path into the adult world in his own stubborn way (where *did* he get those horns?). I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming into the phone “What the hell are you doing!” sometimes, when I know he’s heading for disaster somehow. (You are how many miles overdue for an oil change??) I bite my tongue because I have SO been there, and I know my own mother could never tell me anything, either. I know he’ll make his way to his own success eventually, on his own terms. He is so much like me it hurts. It hurts because I know the pain he has gone through, is going through, and will go through before he finally “gets it.” It is so hard to let that be – it’s in my blood to “meddle” and almost physically impossible to keep my mouth shut. I remember when I was his age. I remember being an adolescent and being in distress almost all the time. It sucked so much! I remember looking at my parents and other adults and thinking how “together” they seemed to be, and thinking that some day, I would magically hit an age where I would be so “together” as well. As if it would just happen, I would wake up one day at a certain age and all my bills would be getting paid on time, my clothes would all be folded in their drawers where they belonged, my car maintenance would be getting done, there would never be any more struggles, no more pain. But I did finally “get it.” I realized, no one is ever magically *there.* We struggle until the end, rich and poor, healthy and unhealthy, sane and insane. Everyone struggles and everyone deals with life their own way. It’s called “living!” And I feel that my job is to teach my children to live on their own terms successfully and happily, by example. I see this as I watch my youngest son with his impressionable mind’s eye view of myself and his brother. I see him watching me and I see him watching his brother and I know he’s weighing everything carefully with his developing reasoning skills. I know that he’ll be twenty years old soon enough. His life circumstances are very different than his older brother. I know his childhood path will influence him differently and he will likely have considerably less trauma. But there will still be struggle; he is stubborn and willful like myself and his brother. I see the little horn buds festering under his hairline already. Sometimes I want to take them both and squeeze them down and say stay in my house forever and never face that big ugly world outside! You do that, kids, and you’ll never ever have to have the big reality check that I did: that it is never going to get easier! To do that, though, would be to rob them of achieving for themselves the most precious thing of all, and the thing that I fought so hard for all my life, and still fight for; the immaterial thing that makes my heart sing – freedom to be who I am. I’ll sign off now with an excerpt from a song written by Ben Folds upon the birth of his son; a song I could have written myself, but didn’t – the words are simply perfect: From “Still Fighting It” Good morning, son Everybody knows Posted by at 11:46 AM | Comments (8) November 21, 2005
Get Out of Your Hamster Cage Now! Own Your Own Home for Pennies a Day.I drove past a sign in front of a real estate office last night advertising a “small, sunny, 2 bedroom apartment, heat included” in North Berwick, for $900.00. How scary, when you think that they were advertising that as a really good deal. I am dedicating this blog entry toward getting as many people as I can to go out there and buy a home, just do it, stop worrying about it, stop trying to save all the money they think they need to save – and just buy it. Don’t wait for the ideal house, it won’t come along. Don’t wait until you have $10K in the bank – it will never happen. Don’t wait for anything – just do it! I am here to tell you that had I waited for all these things, I would still be living in a 600 square foot apartment. My first month’s rent was $525. When I left two years later it was $675. Now, five years after the day I signed the lease, the rents are $925-975. And so it goes. As faithful readers may know already, I’m a single parent of two, on a very limited income. Things have steadily improved for me, income-wise, over the years but I still struggle. I get regular, if very small, payraises; my oldest son has moved out, and daycare costs have gone down as my youngest son goes to school full time. There was a time, however, when renting a little 600 square foot apartment on the third floor of a Habitrail-type building in Barrington seemed like the only option for us, and that’s what we did. I made it as nice as I could and it was our little place. We loved it for what it was – our home. But as far as a living space, it was sadly lacking. We had no storage – our one closet was taken up by a water heater. We could hear our neighbors all the time, one below, one to the right and one to the left and occasionally, the neighbors on the diagonal. I tried to pretend there weren’t so many things missing – a real yard, a real space to eat together, privacy (from the neighbors and from each other!), pets, a washer and dryer, a garden, a room for my baby (we shared a room). I began to dream of having my own little house. I would go jogging downtown Portsmouth and ogle the houses for hours on end. Day and night I would jog up and down my favorite streets, memorizing my favorite houses, memorizing my favorite gardens, peeking in the backyards, stealing glances into their windows at their living rooms and up their stairways. I began to feel as though I belonged there and not in Barrington. I began to feel sad every day driving home into that broken asphalt driveway. I would look up to the third story where my cute little curtains stood out among three hundred identical windows. I began to avoid going home. I knew I had to take action. I was making myself sick over this. I had a bad case of puppy love, only it was house love, and there was only one cure. I had to get a house of my own. There was, of course, one seemingly insurmountable problem. Real estate prices were out of my league completely and I was lucky if I made it to payday without being in the red, let alone had I been able to save any money toward a down payment. The whole idea of buying a house seemed ridiculous. I had neighbors who made more money than I did, who had two income families – and they had no hope of ever “getting out.” Why should I think I did? I thought about mobile homes. My apartment building was situated smack dab in the middle of a “higher end” mobile home park. And I would definitely have considered buying one there. It was quiet and clean and there was always a home up for sale. I called the park manager and quickly put that notion out of my mind – park rent started at $375 and was due to go up in a few months. I thought about condos. Condo fees and tenant restrictions put the condo solution out as well. Frankly, no matter how desperate I was to be out of the apartment, I had no intention of being called a “tenant” if I was a home owner. No one was ever going to tell me what size dog I could or could not have if I owned my own home. Besides… there was that condo fee. How could I afford park rent or condo fees on top of a mortgage, especially if I couldn’t put anything down on a home? It seemed hopeless. None of the hopelessness stopped me from hoping, however. I spent hours online, in the newspaper, and plucking through free real estate magazines looking at houses. Once, I called a realtor in New Hampshire and told her my situation. She practically snorted at me when she found out my income, and suggested I try the local mobile home park. Bitch! This was so disheartening I let it go for quite a few months. I finally got my nerve up to call another real estate agent. This lady was much more kind, and though she readily admitted I was not a dream client for most agents, for her, I was. I was lucky to find a woman who actually got into the business to help people. She told me that the first thing I needed to do was put her number aside and get qualified for a mortgage. Forget about finding a house right now, she said. Go get a good loan. She gave me the name of a loan officer, someone who, like her, had a reputation for helping the “little” people. I called him and he got me started on my paperwork right away. I was very excited at getting the ball rolling. I packed up the kids and moved back home with Pa and Ma in hopes of saving the big down payment I knew I’d need. I told my loan officer I would be in touch with him when I’d saved at least $2000. I figured if I needed more I could borrow it. I was determined. After six months I had almost $2000 in the bank. Then the unthinkable happened – my car died, and I needed $1500 for repairs. I was crushed. I called my loan officer and, trying to hold back the tears, told him what had happened. I don’t think I’ll ever get my own home, I told him. It’s hopeless. But wait! He told me that in no uncertain terms did I even need a down payment. If I felt comfortable enough with the mortgage payment, I could qualify for a Maine State Housing Authority/Rural Development loan for 5.75% with no down payment. He encouraged me to get my paperwork started right away. He was incredible – supportive, helpful, honest and diligent. I got my loan approved and I knew how much I had at my disposal, also how much I could afford monthly. I was set to go looking. I knew I had a few restrictions. I knew I would have to find a cheap fixer-upper that was structurally sound, as I am good with my hands but know nothing about wiring or plumbing, and it would be several years before I would be able to afford a home equity loan. I also knew I would have to go away from the immediate seacoast, and mentally prepared myself for a commute. There were absolutely no properties within 30 miles of Portsmouth that were in my price range. With these facts in hand, I started once again with the internet MLS database, the real estate magazines, et al. It was so frustrating because I would finally find something that was in my price range (and believe me, I had a tiny price range, so this was no easy task), call the realtor, only to find the property was already sold. However, it was by doing this seemingly futile task over and over that I stumbled upon my house. Eventually I came across an agent that said, “Well, the house you’re inquiring about has been sold, but I have another in that price range not too far from the location.” The rest is happily ever after for my family. I signed on the house, hooked up with a couple of ghosts and planted my very own garden. I began renovations, all by myself, all by my own hand. I waited three years before carefully considering home equity lines of credit so that I could get ahead and do some more renovations. Here’s the kicker. I pay $805 a month in mortgage payments and $125 for the line of credit. The interest on both my mortgage payment and the line of credit are tax deductible. So even though I pay high property taxes, I get a nice break at the end of the year. Had I stayed in Barrington, I’d be paying at least $925. Sure I am responsible for my own utilities but I am frugal. And if something breaks, I am the one who has to pay to get it fixed. But I have a yard, and a place for my family to eat, and privacy (from neighbors and each other!) and pets galore. And a washer and dryer. And a room for my baby. And I am no longer hostage to a landlord who decides he must raise his rent yet another time to cover his lousy tax increase. You know, if more people revolted against landlords and took the plunge by buying their own houses, perhaps rents would decrease. Who knows? Not everyone, obviously, is willing to fly by the seat of their pants and take as many financial risks as I do. I wish I could convince them to try, though. What happened to me could happen to you. There are no circumstances that should prevent anyone from buying a home if they are willing to make concessions, such as size, location, or condition. There are home loan programs for everyone in every state, just do some research. Don't settle for the first loan officer or real estate agent you come across, if they don't tell you what you want to hear. In fact, I advise you to juggle several real estate agents if your choices are really narrow financially (but find a good loan officer and stick with him/her). Now, go out there and get your house!! Posted by at 02:39 PM | Comments (3) November 18, 2005
A Small Amendment for the Sake of the InnocentSometimes I try to be so correct in my writing that I can almost feel the corset around my waist as I write. Few if any errors, no slang, no swearing. Other times I just drop that f-bomb left and right, throw in a few “y’alls and “ain’t nos” and butcher sentence structure just because impulse got the better of me, kind of like a one night stand. For the sake of the innocent baby in my banner, who happens to be my precious nephew caught in a once-in-a-lifetime perfect pout moment, I have tried to go through my blog and delete all my f-bombs. Since he is still on basic board books, I won’t be restructuring sentences or deleting any “y’alls” or “ain’ts.” It will be a tough call on the SFTU entry but he doesn’t have his alphabet quite down yet, so I’m safe. I’m in the process of a banner change – pouty baby will be replaced with something less guilt inducing. Until baby comes down I’ll be wearing the corset. Posted by at 08:41 AM | Comments (1) November 16, 2005
How About a Nice Big Glass of STFU?In light of my recent self imposed silent retreat (has it been 5 whole days?), I'd like to share my newfound religion and some trophies for some people who are obviously in dire need of a big glass of STFU. My God, we won't be able to shop at Walmart at 2 AM anymore through the Christmas season. Expressing remorse for all those stressed-out consumers was Sharon Webber, a Walmart spokesperson. Said Ms. Webber: "So many people are working so hard throughout the holidays, and they really need those extra hours to shop." I'm sure what Ms. Webber really means to say is, "Our employees will finally be able to spend some time with THEIR families and do THEIR shopping too."
Former President Clinton calls Iraq Invasion a Big Mistake. Well, waddayaknow? Sorry, Bill, you're a day late and a dollar short, and nothing you just said matters one iota! A new movie about Johnny Cash is coming out (or is it out? Mallory?), you can catch either of the box office draw stars on assorted talk shows at assorted times pretty much 24/7 this week. Now, I've got nothing against Joaquin Phoenix or Rheese (sp?) Witherspoon, but I'm getting tired of their promotional blather and have no desire to see either of them overacting or trying to sound like Johnny and June. This teen was busted for selling Oxy and pot in his school cafeteria. He has already pled "Not guilty" to the pot charge and has to wait to plea on the other, which is a felony. Hmmm, I wonder how he'll plea to that? Hey kid, tell me your sob story. Better yet - STFU! (Note: as this kid clearly shouldn't be encouraged to drink coffee, I'm bestowing on him a T-shirt from his future Alma Mater). My hat's off to the winners today. Posted by at 03:28 PM | Comments (3) ON THE OTHER HANDThough I will be boycotting the movie about "that guy" (see previous post) I am waiting with great anticipation for the Narnia chronicles to come out! Yay, finally a decent movie being made (at least the FX look cool in the trailer) about my favorite vacationland. Yeah, I have a white oval sticker on my car that says NAR... I'm such a dork! Posted by at 12:34 PM | Comments (1) DON'T WATCH THE SHOW ON THAT GUYI'll tell you who I'm talking about, but I'm not naming names. This guy lives (and kills) for the chance to see his story on TV. And I for one am not going to give him even the satisfaction of ever seeing his name here, let alone will I watch "his story" on national television. He's probably having wet dreams knowing they made a movie about him. Do you know who I'm talking about? I'm talking about that guy who murdered John Lennon. I won't say his name, and I won't say what network or day or time the movie is going to air. This guy murdered John Lennon and he did it for publicity. He admitted that. He wanted so badly to be famous that he killed for it. This guy had a back-up hit list in case he wasn't able to snuff Mr Lennon. Journalist Jack Jones who has followed this guy's case for 10 years has noted that this list included Jackie Onassis, George C. Scott and Johnny Carson. Jones says: "He killed Lennon in part because he wanted to rob the rock legend of a portion of his fame...When [this guy] killed John Lennon, he said...that if he would have been able to get his hands on an atomic bomb, he would have used it to kill millions of innocent people. He knew and he consciously reasoned, that by murdering John Lennon he could inflict pain on millions of Beatles fans all over the world." And what, now we're going to give it to him, the fame he wanted to steal? The pain he wanted to inflict? His name should never have even been given to the general public. His story should never be told for profit. His story should never be TOLD!!! Some say this guy is not responsible for his actions due to mental illness. I say, I don't care, let him rot in his prison cell. They keep him in a protected cell so other inmates can't kill him. I say, do us all a favor and put him in with the general prison population. But the greatest punishment for this guy would be to never have anyone talk about him, write about him, make a movie about him, mention his name, ever again.... I'm mad that I have to write about it here! But I really feel the need to spread the word, DON'T WATCH THIS GODDAMN MOVIE! This guy murdered a peaceful man. John Lennon's whole life was centered around spreading peace, creating peace, living peace. This was a man who told the world in 1969: "You're all beautiful and you're all geniuses." He hated no one. I loved him, I don't know anyone who didn't love him a little if not a lot. He was more than just a celebrity or an icon, famous for being famous; he really did bring something to the table. And this guy cleared that table with four bullets. He did this 25 years ago almost to this day and I still miss John. This guy stole John Lennon from his wife, sons, and the world, and we can't get him back, but we sure as hell can NOT give this guy the time of day. And that's all I'm going to say about this guy. I miss you, John! Posted by at 08:57 AM | Comments (0) November 10, 2005
Ripped From the Headlines!I couldn't help noticing how many intriguing headlines in today's online edition. Woolly bully! ONLY 3,249 MORE TO GO MOM AND DAD ARE SO PROUD ...FOR THE DARWIN AWARD! MOM AND DAD REALLY ARE SO PROUD PROOF THERE IS A GOD, AND HE IS A LOVING GOD THE "IN" PLACE TO GO AFTER HITTING THE GYM Posted by at 01:53 PM | Comments (0) You Say Hero, I Say Hoo-HaI was cleaning the house waiting for Law & Order, SVU and I had PBS on the telly. There was some ceremony going on. I was in the kitchen, but I overheard, "Presidential Medal of Freedom." Now, I work for the military, but I was not really familiar with this medal, so I scooted out to the living room, hoping to see some heroes. I love real life heroes. Instead, I saw President George W. draping a glorious looking medal around the neck of... ...the Sheriff of Mayberry? That's right folks, the Medal of Freedom being awarded to Andy Griffith. Why? I had to ask. My first research into this obviously prestigious award led me to the actual recipients. Here's the AP release:
Those to be honored at a White House ceremony this coming Wednesday are: -Muhammad Ali. The three-time heavyweight boxing champion successfully defended the title 19 times and was a gold medalist at the 1960 Olympic Games. -Carol Burnett. The actress and comedian debuted on Broadway in 1959 and starred for more than a decade on "The Carol Burnett Show." -Vinton Cerf and Robert Kahn. They designed the software code used to transmit data over the Internet. -Robert Conquest. The historian is known for his work on Soviet history, politics, and foreign policy. More than 35 years after its publication, his book, "The Great Terror: Stalin's Purge of the Thirties," remains one of the most influential studies of Soviet history. -Aretha Franklin. The singer has nearly two dozen No. 1 singles and has won numerous awards. Franklin was the first woman to be inducted into the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame. -Alan Greenspan. He has been chairman of the Federal Reserve for the past 18 years. -Andy Griffith. The actor first achieved national acclaim in the 1950s for his standup comedy routines. He went on to star in television shows such as "The Andy Griffith Show" and "Matlock" and numerous Broadway productions and films. -Paul Harvey. The radio personality's broadcasts started airing nationally in 1951. -Sonny Montgomery. A veterans' supporter during his 30 years as a member of the House of Representatives. The Montgomery GI Bill helped make education affordable for millions of veterans. -Gen. Richard Myers. He recently retired as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. -Jack Nicklaus. The golfer won 18 major tournament as professional as well as won more than 70 PGA Tour events. -Frank Robinson. The current manager of the Washington Nationals, Robinson won most valuable player awards in both the American and National leagues. He broke the color barrier for managers, becoming the first black manager in Major League Baseball in 1975. -Paul Rusesabagina. The hotelier's life was the subject of the movie "Hotel Rwanda," which depicted his courage and compassion in sheltering people at the hotel he managed during the 1994 Rwandan genocide. The Medal of Freedom, established by President Truman in 1945 to recognize civilians for their efforts during World War II. The award was reinstated by President Kennedy in 1963 to honor distinguished service. Alan Greenspan? Sure, why not, he's had a tough job, pushing capitalism through even our darkest economic hours. Hate or love him, he's put his life on the line - as chairman of the Federal Reserve, I'm sure he's been in someone's gun sight more than once. Then there are people that I just can't figure out. All I can see is that they are big celebrities. I'm not dissing their hard, lives' work. All the celebs that were honored surely put in a lifetime of entertainment. Paul Harvey? He talks on the radio and makes old people laugh. He's the funny Walter Cronkite. He has a great delivery of truly good stories. But a hero? Muhammad Ali - he's a boxer. He won, a lot. He's cute, and funny. He won a gold medal at the Olympics. I don't want to say, "big deal," but... we have a LOT of gold medal winners from Olympics past, and none of them were at this ceremony. Aretha, baby, I just LOOOOVE Aretha, she has my utmost R-E-S-P-E-C-T (sorry, just had to do it), but she's a singer. A hero? Carol Burnett? She surely made my whole family laugh for many years. But a hero? Jack Nicklaus? Andy Griffith? Am I missing something? Maybe I am, I know these people spent a lot of time entertaining us, but I believe that something so heady as a Presidential Medal of Freedom should be a little more reserved. Millions of people retire after a lifetime of serving others. They're not in the spotlight so they don't get the Presidential Medal of Freedom. As I watched Andy Griffith receiving this medal, I swear to God he looked embarrassed. Hella embarrassed, like someone receiving praise that belonged to someone else. I would have given money to read his thoughts. Andy: "I shouldn't be up here. I'm just a crusty old actor who farts and fluffs the blankets on my wife." Of course, if he did feel that way, he might have respectfully declined the medal. Ah, well. According the the webpage, it's really up to the president to choose and guidelines are vague. Originally, they weren't. The original recipient was a war hero. According to the website: "The medal was established by President Truman in 1945 to recognize notable service in the war. In 1963, President John F. Kennedy reintroduced it as an honor for distinguished civilian service in peacetime." Maybe I'm just being picky but I think celebrities get enough (unwarranted) kudos. And George W. is just showing his brilliant deductive skills again. I'm sure he grew up watching the Sheriff of Mayberry and maybe had a little mom-crush on Aunt Bea. Whatever. Just my thoughts. Back to you, Kelly. :) Posted by at 11:45 AM | Comments (2) November 09, 2005
Let's Hear if for November 8th!Some great initiatives were passed and some terrible ideas shot down yesterday. Among them, my favorite - the holy rollers were told (though by a scarily thin margin) that they are WRONG. Maine's Anti-Discrimination Act STANDS. Here's another goodie - Ogunquit , has voted down fast food chains. If only other communities could do the same. Then, teenagers would have to get jobs as actual waiters in real restaurants and learn something other than asking "will that be all?" and operating a cash register. Kittery is getting a couple of new fire stations. Nothing wrong with spending tax dollars on updating old and obtaining new equipment to save lives and property. Kittery still has a volunteer fire department. Says a lot about this lovely community. Of course, I'm glad I'm not a Lewiston resident. They had to choose a mayor - and their choices were an alleged groping bigot or a man convicted of crimes ranging from assault to engaging a prostitute. The (alleged) groper won. Time to move to Auburn? Ahhh. November 8th. No other day says "America" like voting day. No matter how small the issue, no matter how insignificant the position on the ballot (town sewer custodian?) may seem, it's good to exercise the right to vote. I stood in my rickety little ballot closet last night in the gymnasium of the church annex, marking off my choices, listening to my seven year old bouncing the basketball that the elderly volunteer had given him to play with. My son was running around the gym, trying to make baskets, squeaking his sneakers, slamming the ball. I poked my head out from the curtain and said, "Honey, please shush! You're making so much racket, you might be bothering people who are voting." And the old man replied, "Ma'am, he's fine. Everyone's fine, don't worry. We're all just glad you all are here. Son, you go ahead and play if it's okay with your mama." It was. What makes people go out and vote? Read some opinions here. For me, it's just the feeling of liberation, of being an American and being able to make the ultimate statement of what I believe in, and a love of that old gymnasium and the old folks who set it up faithfully for us every voting season. Posted by at 10:25 AM | Comments (0) November 08, 2005
HOW WILL YOU VOTE TODAY?I don't know how much of a turn out the polls will have today. Representation has been pretty bleah if you ask me. A smattering of "VOTE FOR ME" signs on the edges of little traffic islands, and a couple of flyers in the mail are all I've seen (but then, if you follow my blog at all, you know how much TV I watch). I have received exactly two flyers in the mail for town representatives and I am going to vote for them. I have no idea what their ideologies are, frankly, but they took the time to bother to try and convince me, put together a professional looking flyer, and they aren't Nazis, so they are getting my vote. Now, down to the big vote in Maine. If you are a Maine citizen and vote on nothing else, I suggest you vote on #1, the referendum to appeal Maine's current anti-discrimination law. No or yes? You be the judge. The following was taken from the "Maine Won't Discriminate" website: What does the law say? "Be it enacted by the People of the State of Maine as follows: "To protect the public health, safety and welfare, it is declared to be the policy of this State to keep continually in review all practices infringing on the basic human right to a life with dignity, and the causes of these practices, so that corrective measures may, where possible, be promptly recommended and implemented, and to prevent discrimination in employment, housing or access to public accommodations on account of race, color, sex, sexual orientation, physical or mental disability, religion, ancestry or national origin; and in employment, discrimination on account of age or because of the previous assertion of a claim or right under former Title 39 or Title 39-A and in housing because of familial status; and to prevent discrimination in the extension of credit on account of age, race, color, sex, sexual orientation, marital status, religion, ancestry or national origin; and to prevent discrimination in education on account of sex, sexual orientation or physical or mental disability." "Discrimination in employment, housing, public accommodation, credit and educational opportunity on the basis of sexual orientation, except that a religious corporation, association or organization that does not receive public funds is exempt from this provision." "Sexual orientation" means a person's actual or perceived heterosexuality, bisexuality, homosexuality or gender identity or expression." In a legal memorandum released today, leading members of Maine's legal community conclude that "the addition of sexual orientation to Maine's non-discrimination law provides no legal basis for same-sex marriage." The memo reviewed Maine's Anti-Discrimination and specifically, compared it to the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision that legalized same-sex marriage. The answer is clear -- Maine's Anti-Discrimination Act prohibits discrimination based upon sexual orientation in employments, housing, credit, public accommodations and education -- nothing more, nothing less. "Their legal analysis shows that claims that same-sex marriage is somehow tied to Maine's Anti-Discrimination Act are simply untrue ," began Ted O'Meara, Senior Advisor to Maine Won't Discriminate. "It's time we finally start having an honest discussion about what this law really does and the real people it protects.." Maine voters deserve an honest discussion about the merits of the anti-discrimination law, not the campaign of fiction and fear and misstatements that we have seen so far from those who want to repeal this law. "The reality is that the Yes on 1 campaign does not want to have an open and frank debate about whether or not it should be legal to discriminate against people simply because they are gay. They won't talk about the true issues involving Question 1, because they know that most Mainers believe that discrimination is wrong and should be illegal," concluded O'Meara. "The legal analysis released today removes the smokescreen they have been hiding behind since their campaign began." The legal memorandum, written by forty-six lead attorneys in the state, concludes that same-sex marriage and the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision, Goodridge v. Dept. of Public Health are unrelated to this November's referendum. Maine Won't Discriminate is a broad-based, bipartisan coalition of Maine citizens, businesses, religious and political groups organized to defeat the campaign to repeal Maine's Anti-Discrimination Law, which prohibits discrimination based upon sexual orientation in employment, housing, education, credit and public accommodation. ********************** The following was taken from their adversarial website "Coalition for Marriage" Why does a YES vote mean No? It's one of those frustrating Augusta political realities that goes along with running a republic. The rules say that the group or individual doing the initiating of a referendum question are the ones who get the YES vote. Our vote is odd and rare. It is odd because we are initiating a negative. It is rare because this vote is a people's veto. The best way to think of it is that you are voting YES to repeal special rights that are based on a citizen's "sexual orientation." The law contains language that indicates that it doesn't have anything to do with "same sex marriage." Why do you say we have to vote YES to protect marriage? A disingenuous amendment was added to this law just before the legislature passed it in the spring. Elected officials who lack the courage to defend their principles supported it. Most of them support "same sex marriage" but they believe the people of Maine aren't as enlightened as they are, yet. The Governor says that he "supports same sex marriage, just not now." These very same individuals forced marriage supporters to gather signatures for a second time in an unprecedented SECOND peoples veto of a law that had been rejected TWICE in the past seven years in statewide voting. Passage of this law is guaranteed to bring on "same sex marriage" in a very short period of time. Everyone admits that, on both sides. Click here to read our chairman's commentary on this topic. Is there discrimination in Maine? Against Christians who dare to publicly defend the gospel, yes. Against "gays" . . . no way. Maine citizens who are appropriate (private) about their sexuality have always been respected in Maine. One of the celebrated cases of "discrimination" against "gays" is a case where two men were kissing in a public parking lot. One of the two men claims publicly that the insurance company who employed him fired him because of the public lip lock. We are skeptical of the claim and find it hard to believe that the employer would fire them for that reason. We also think it is wrong for two men to kiss on the lips in a public parking lot. Shoot, we even think that MEN AND WOMEN should be discreet when kissing in public. Another celebrated case involves a hotel on the coast of Maine. Our attorney made some phone calls to check it out. The case is bogus. For more on this question click here. Protecting homosexuals and giving them the right to marry won't harm your family. Why do you care? We could do no better answering this question than Pastor Sandy Williams did in his commentary entitled "What Harm Would it Do?" Here it is: Let’s consider the question as it relates to two specific concerns: 1. You’ve probably heard the question often: what harm could same-sex marriage possibly do to your heterosexual marriage? The implied answer is: no harm at all. But it’s a lot like asking: what harm could counterfeit money do to the genuine currency in your wallet? The answer is NOT “no harm at all”. In one sense, counterfeit money used by someone else has no direct or immediate affect on the genuine currency I possess. My money is still just as good for use. It’s the indirect (vs. direct) and ultimate (vs. immediate) impact that we must also consider. Counterfeit money indirectly and ultimately devalues all money. Same sex “marriage” (there really is no such thing) or even same sex erotic partnerships are a counterfeit or imitation of the beautiful and valuable institution we call marriage—the unique union of a male and a female in heart, body and mind. Same sex unions often imitate marriage, but can never duplicate it. 2. What harm could the adoption of the sexual orientation law possibly do to anybody? It simply prevents someone from being discriminated against on the basis of sexual orientation when it comes to housing, credit, public accommodation and employment—what’s wrong with that? The biggest thing wrong with that is that it’s based on a lie. The lie is that all sexual orientations are created equal. Homosexuality, bisexuality and trans-gendered sexuality are all disordered sexualities. It’s not wrong or hateful or bigoted to say that. It’s premised on what has been one of the most basic beliefs of all human beings who have ever lived: humans are male and female and are meant to couple together in marriage. It’s not rocket science. Children—no less than youth and adults—intuitively recognize the normalcy of a mother and a father. They must be taught and pressured to think otherwise. ******************* HOOOOOKay.... So, These Coalition for Marriage people are really trying to convince us they are not bigoted. Maybe not hateful, but not bigoted?? Come on! They believe homosexuals are "disordered personalities" and we should accept them if they stay in the closet (be discreet). They claim that equal rights should be considered "special" rights when it comes to gay people. And the Maine Won't Discriminate camp just wants to keep the law as it is. Frankly, I am "media-challenged" and do not have as much background on this subject as I wish I did now that I've really started reading about it. I will be voting NO on #1. I say keep the law the way it is. I won't vote for discrimination, I won't vote to rescind the anti-discrimination law. I don't want to pave the way for holy-rolling closet bigots to tell the state that it can choose who to serve, rent to, hire, fire, etc. based on their sexual orientation. As Napoleon Dynamite would say "Do what you want! GOSH!" But I'd rather say, do what you KNOW is right!! GOSH!!
Posted by at 03:05 PM | Comments (0) November 07, 2005
Best Time Ever!Yeah, I have to share! I didn't get to sleep until 6 AM on Sunday morning. We got lost coming out of Boston, partly because we missed an exit, partly because we were so giddy from the concert. By the time I made it home I was so hyped up on caffeine I was in an overdose state and unable to sleep at all. I didn't care. I'd just been to the best concert in my entire life. I sold half my CD collection and several other items on ebay in order to buy these tickets and afford the other things that went along with going to the concert. Tickets: $150 Up until I actually walked into the theater, I was suffering twinges of guilt at all the money that went into the evening. Once I entered the Orpheum, however, the magic began to kick in and a feeling of teenage recklessness began to overtake me. I haven't gone so overboard since my late teens/early twenties, and probably never will again. I have to honestly say, every single cent was worth it. There were two opening acts, each to me nothing but torture, and I was seriously considering submitting an itemized bill to Mr. Folds to subtract from the funds I'd spent to see only him. I'd expected one act, but two? Come on!! I wasn't the only one that felt this way -- the lobby was crowded with people drinking Red Hook and eating hot dogs, buying T-shirts and bitching about the opening acts. I'd hate to have been one of the openers. My friend actually liked the second act and bought a CD. I snorted with disdain. "Do what you want!", I said, "GOSH!", in true Napoleon Dynamite style. I held her beer in the lobby so she could go in the theatre and listen to them. WhatEVER. I helped myself to half her beer in self-reward. While waiting for the Man, I enjoyed smiling at the multitude of Ben Folds wannabes, scores of trust-fund pretty boys trying to be ugly with their nerdy clothes and bad haircuts. I pondered how many of their glasses were actually prescription. I spent what seemed like an eternity people-watching and trying to pick out the few men/boys who were being themselves and/or genuine geeks. I even spotted one guy with a "Brooks & Dunn" T-shirt, hmmm. I also discovered that my outfit perfectly matched the decor of the ladies room, neon green and black & white, with pink accents. Coincidence? Finally, at about 8:45 they blinked the lights and I scrambled to pull up my pants in the ladies room and dash into the theater to our most excellent seats. Some kids had bogarted our seats, but the aisle seats in our row were gloriously untaken so we took those and graciously allowed the squatters to stay. Ben walked on the stage, dressed in Dickies and a sweater, finger pointed in the air in his signature dorky salute and the theater just went insane. The music began for the first song "Bastard" from his new album "Songs for Silverman," and - GASP - NO SOUND FROM HIS MICROPHONE - I thought there would be a stampede, but thank God the sound guy fixed it right away and Ben's voice came through on the second lyric. The crowd sang along to every single word and every single song thereafter. Ben is such an incredible performer. His fingertips are taped to keep his fingernails attached to his fingers. He played the piano with such a ferocious virtuosity that it seemed unreal he could be doing this live, and singing at the same time. I highly recommend the deluxe "Songs for Silverman" set for a Ben Folds primer, which includes an AWESOME DVD on the making of the CD. The DVD gives an excellent portrait of Ben the artist, the comedian, the father (includes adorable footage with his twins). Note: Unfortunately I didn't bring a camera, I was afraid it would be confiscated, stolen, etc. I saw lots of people with camera phones and what-not (techno-phobe that I am, I have no camera phone). So the photos I have here are ones that I have downloaded from the internet, I extend my sincere thanks to all the people who graciously posted them. They are true and accurate representations of the fantastic show I went to Saturday night. Except for the blue and brown t-shirt. :) Posted by at 09:39 AM | Comments (1) November 04, 2005
Note to Self: Oh Say, Can You See?I attended a military retirement ceremony today that made me really think hard about my own circumstances. It was quite touching. A captain that has been stationed here at my squadron for four years retired today after 23 years of service. It seemed like his entire family was there. His wife, his two children, sister, mom, dad, etc. all were in attendance and bursting with pride. He had asked me to sing the national anthem for the ceremony and I gladly accepted; I like the guy a lot. I had gotten no further than "what so proudly we hailed" when I noticed his wife starting to sob into a tissue, trying to keep her composure, keep her eyes on the flag. But her eyes kept wandering over to her husband, who out of formal ceremony had to be seated in another section of the theater with the commander, away from her. Her tears continued to fall all through the entire ceremony, which included comments from the commander, a flag-folding ceremony, presentation of gifts from other members, and finally parting comments from the captain himself. He offered a few sentences about serving his country proudly and his different jobs and then went straight into his main reason for being where he was today - his wife. With obvious pride and love, he talked about how she had sacrificed her college career for his, so that he could leave the enlisted life and pursue officership. He talked about how she had been left alone to sell the house, raise the two children, and manage the finances while he was at officer training school. He talked about his reason for turning down the rank of major which he had been awarded earlier this year and retiring instead, so that his wife could finally pursue her career as well, and their children would no longer have to be without their dad. All through his speech, his eyes never left his wife. When he was finished she burst out of her chair to run up and embrace him. Their children, ages 9 and 7, ran up to join them as well. It was definitely a moment. Then, to top it all off, he presented a slide show with photos taken throughout his military career and ending with his marriage and baby photos. It was so moving. It got me thinking about being a single person, a single parent. My kids will never know the feeling of unity that his kids do. Sure, my son is secure knowing that his dad and I form a united front, we raise him jointly, we don't fight, everything we do regarding our son we do it together. But it's not the same, is it? I'm so proudly single, so stuck in my ways. I'm so strong that I will never feel what it's like to let myself go weak in the arms of a husband. I'm so right that I will never have anyone to argue with me or let me know that I'm wrong. Am I right? Am I right? Yeah, I'm lonely, and I'm right. LARGER THAN LIFE c 2005 V1 V2 CHORUS (Ch): Bridge: V3: CH (x2) Posted by at 04:45 PM | Comments (2) November 02, 2005
I Really Really Really Wanna Thank YouI think everyone must have a special untouchable someone they look up to. By untouchable I mean, a celebrity, author, songwriter, actor, religious figure, what have you. My idols have always tended to be musicians. Now, I'm not talking about singers and poser bands. People like Ashlee and Jessica Simpson and any of the current line up of Weezer wannabe emo-hos (Hey Keane - Weezer rocks! You don't!) People who sing formulaic songs that other people wrote for them have never had my respect. Bands who blatantly imitate other, better bands have never had any of my respect (I don't mean when a band takes its influence from another, I mean totally bogarting a sound). In fact, I'd prefer to hear anyone sing their own highly original song completely off key than listen to Kelly Clarkson or the Maroon Five sing ANYTHING. (Do you want to know "The day the music died?" The night "American Idol" premiered). I have awesome tickets to see one of my idols, Ben Folds, this coming Saturday. I've been practically shaking with anticipation over this event. None of my friends are big fans and I've been working on one of my friends off and on for the past month or two to get her ready for the big show. Every time she comes over I've got him in the CD player, with a song I just know she'll like queued up and ready to go. I think she's starting to appreciate him and I know she's going to enjoy the concert, if not as much as I. Anyway, Ben Folds is probably one of the dorkiest people in the world. He weighs 90 lbs soaking wet, with bad hair and birth control glasses and he plays rock music on a real piano. His voice goes off center all the time. I don't care. His lyrics and music can transport me, make me think, make me cry, make me laugh out loud. He's just f*cking brilliant. My little boy asked me where I was going this weekend and I said, "Oh, I'm so excited, I'm going to see Ben Folds, baby!" To which he replied, "You mean the nerd?" (He's seen all the liner notes and came to this conclusion all on his own). My oldest son's quote: "Mom you are the only person I know who can manage to be so cool and so gay at the same time." [gay=dorky in his language]. But hey, that's probably why I love Ben Folds! I have a list of artists that have influenced me in so many ways thoughout my childhood and now into adulthood. I won't include the punk and new wave bands that I was so loyal to in the eighties because (with a few exceptions) let's face it, they didn't last. The Beatles - taught me how to harmonize, laid the foundation for my songwriting. Loved anything but mostly the love songs. My mom listened to their love songs all the time. "Meet the Beatles" was a record I stole from her and played all the time. You can't get a much sweeter introduction to music at the age of 9. Thanks, Mom! Of course as I got older I delved into the more sophisticated stuff. When John Lennon died I wanted to die too. I can't believe he's been gone so long. And now George too. Johnny Cash & Willie Nelson - These two guys are responsible for some of my earliest warm fuzzies about music. I put these two together because they will always be together in my mind. My dad used to play guitar and sing songs to me when I was very wee and his repertoire always included Johnny and Willie. ("play donnie tash, Daddy!") A Boy Named Sue to get me laughing, and Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain to get me to sleep. Oh man! Thanks, Daddy. Elvis - My cousin Lisa had the most extensive Elvis collection I've ever seen to this day. I wonder if she still has it. I swear, piles and piles of albums stacked up almost to the ceiling in her room. I used to love listening to the really cheesy stuff too, like Blue Hawaii and Viva Las Vegas, but I was always drawn to his super-early blues ("Love Me" is still a favorite). He's responsible for helping me form a sense of rhythm. Elton John - "Captain Fantastic" set the stage for me to learn about showmanship. I would stare mesmerized at his big feathery glasses and platform boots, watching Tommy and listening to all the really great old stuff. Some people dis Elton for "selling out" over the years, and I haven't liked what he's written since about 1979, but give the guy a break, he's old now. If he wants to write Disney love songs, he's earned it. Billy Joel - Punker that I was, I still had Billy 45s in my collection. "My Life" "Anthony's Song," "She's Got a Way". The media has a ball poking fun at Billy now with his bloated face and drinking habit, but I think he's always been just a lonely, gentle soul. My motto during a lot of my tumultuous adolescence? "Mama if that's movin' up than I'm movin' out!" Jackson 5/Michael Jackson - Don't laugh. Again, punker that I was, I had Thriller and everything before that. After Thriller the "thrill" wore off. I still don't know if Jackson is a writer, but I don't care. He had style, man. The Cure - Robert Smith, pioneer, cockatiel, freakshow... and brilliant artist, period. Depeche Mode - I still listen to "Black Celebration" and "Some Great Reward" on a regular basis and you just can't beat "Personal Jesus" for a great clean-your-house song. Martin Gore is a Robert Smith who just couldn't quite make it to the finish line, too busy shooting up. But a great artist nonetheless. Tori Amos - My goddess, my queen influence of all time. Every single Tori album has taken me through a period in my life that bears great import. I can take a memory from every single track on every single album she has in the U.S. I've seen her in concert 5 times and every time she just flies. I hated Tori at first, I never would listen to a complete song, my bandmate tried to get me into her and I would say, "Turn it off, that sucks!" Then my bandmate had an extra ticket to a concert (at the Wang, no less) that was just Tori and her Bosendorfer piano, no band. She begged me to go. I said, what the hell. Within three songs I was in tears, moved by her beautiful voice, beautiful playing, beautiful persona. By the end of the show I was a convert and I've never looked back. Ani DiFranco - Ani can be a bit preachy, but her smooth delivery and beautiful voice carry her message without annoying. And good Christ, if you ever google her CD library (google Righteous Babe Records) you will be overwhelmed. She has more CDs than just about any indie artist out there. And guess what? She did it all on her own. Showing her butt to an industry that thumbed their noses at her nose rings, green hair and angry folk music, she formed her own record company and definitely had the last laugh. Ani is the most successful truly independent folk artist in this country, perhaps the world. Aimee Mann - Aimee got her start in a cheesy 80s band called 'Til Tuesday, maybe you remember their big single "Voices Carry." Eewww! I never gave her a second thought until, again, my bandmate gave me one of her solo CDs. What a songwriter! This chick is the most talented songwriter in the USA today, in my humble opinion. She has it ALL, timing, rhyming, content, irony, talent, EVERYTHING. And she writes it all. Again, someone whose voice goes off key, but who cares? I have more respect for Aimee Mann than anyone else in the business. Patty Griffin - Just the name Patty Griffin can give me a shiver. This girl's voice is a gift from God himself. That can be the only explanation. And her songwriting -- I can't describe it. Patty tends to write sad songs, and in fact often jokes about eschewing depression meds in order to write better songs. But who cares... she can transport me to another universe in three notes or less. Another one I've seen in concert several times. And each time I end up in tears (the good kind, I promise). Emmylou Harris - One of my major concert coups was snagging an Emmlou Harris concert with Patty Griffin as an opener. I didn't sleep for days! Emmylou started her career in traditional country music, singing other people's songs in the traditional country genre. Emmylou has come a LONG way from there and writes her own material now. Her voice is supernatural. Although I don't have time or resources to find images to share, I'd also like to give a humongous virtual hug to the local bands & personalities that I have known, still adore, look up to and in some way or other have influenced me, unfortunately they're all disbanded but fortunately, you can catch the fantastic artists still humping their acts around town in one form or another... The Knives (Chris and Greg Elliot I love you), the Olivz (Leo Ganley), the Cause (Bruce Hilton), Heavens to Murgatroid (Rick Twombley, Tim McCoy, Tim Therriault, etc), Puddles of Joy (Brian Scanlon, Curt Hanig), and Truffle (Dave Gerard) (still around!). Well, I could go on and on and I'm sure once I hit the "post" button I'll smack my head with someone I forgot about. I wish I could take every single musician I've mentioned here and kiss him or her, thank them, tell them how much they've influenced my life. But I can't, so I'll have to content myself with this little love letter to them. I'd love to hear from other people out there, who they idolize (doesn't have to be musicians!) and why. As for me, think of me this Saturday, I'll be Rocking the Suburbs with my man Ben. Posted by at 11:42 AM | |
