Spring is setting in my lovely town. A heavy flower powered perfume fills the air. Sun rains down and the peoples are a-buzz like there is some sort of carnival in town.
The reality is that I am allergic to most everything I encounter. I sneeze until I bleed and then sneeze some more. The sound of sirens of all type are everywhere. And let me tell you about the buzzing people: They are insane!
Today we all went to the playground. My son is five years old so playgrounds are great for him. When I was five I would have given up a lung to get to leave the dregs of the side of highway suburbs to go to a playground. Of course I outgrew playgrounds around age ten. Apparently the thought that swings and tiny slides are for small children is just another of my old fashioned notions.
The park today was filled with teens and near teens. In fact, there was a "Happy twenty first birthday" sign posted for all to see. I don't think the sign was a joke. Some kids I could have mistaken for the starting defensive line of the school football team were playing "you're it" in the "Tyke's Area" of the playground.
I was amazed to see a 13 year old girl on top of a 15 year old boy in the slide outlet area. They had apparently made the 3 story tall slide trip down together headfirst embraced as they were. I won't say that I am shocked but it was not what you normally see at a playground. At least they had their clothes on.
Well I have jury duty in the morning. I am sure something interesting will come of that.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Eye See You
Hospitals suck. I am sitting in the ICU waiting room in a big ugly hospital. I hate hospitals but this one has several qualities that make it tolerable. I am sitting in a huge leather comfy chair. It is nice enough. I am drinking free coffee. This is a positive considering how much I love coffee. I am also blogging using the free guest Wi-Fi internet. All of these are positive things.
The negatives are easy to discern. I am here for a reason. The reason is that my Dad had a heart attack, balloon angio-something or another, and the subsequent few days in ICU. This stinks.
Dad is going to be okay but it is still not fun for anyone involved. This place is crazy. A line forms at the door for visitation time. We all line up and wash our hands in turn like we are in elementary school. We put on our name tags and file into the ICU secret special area. There are no chairs in ICU apparently. Your entire visit is conducted standing. Very strange.
I have no larger than life lessons drawn from this experience so far. I also don't have any advice for those going through what we just went through. I have no profound statement to make. This is all I can say about things.
The negatives are easy to discern. I am here for a reason. The reason is that my Dad had a heart attack, balloon angio-something or another, and the subsequent few days in ICU. This stinks.
Dad is going to be okay but it is still not fun for anyone involved. This place is crazy. A line forms at the door for visitation time. We all line up and wash our hands in turn like we are in elementary school. We put on our name tags and file into the ICU secret special area. There are no chairs in ICU apparently. Your entire visit is conducted standing. Very strange.
I have no larger than life lessons drawn from this experience so far. I also don't have any advice for those going through what we just went through. I have no profound statement to make. This is all I can say about things.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Jimmy and the Broom
I met a guy today. His name is Jimmy. He lives in the woods. At least that is what he said. I don't see any reason why Jimmy would lie to me. He just met me today when he asked me for $6.85 so he could buy some smokes and a beer. I paid him to sweep the sidewalk. I don't know what to think about this.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Alphabetically Speaking
I used to deride products with nonsense letter-number combos like the V2100 or the GX260. I now take all of that back. The names of cell phones like Chocolate, Pearl, and Blackberry drive me crazy.
The names are not descriptive and they are not usually something you want to talk about with other adults. I can not imagine being a sales person and having to ask a grown man if he would like a Cryzr, or Roker.
My phone is a Cingular 3100. That is a solid name and one that I am not embarrassed to say.
The names are not descriptive and they are not usually something you want to talk about with other adults. I can not imagine being a sales person and having to ask a grown man if he would like a Cryzr, or Roker.
My phone is a Cingular 3100. That is a solid name and one that I am not embarrassed to say.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Days gone by
Mrs. Jackson's kindergarten class had one entire wall of nothing but closets. In the far corner was the coat closet. The teacher would pick some suck-up to be the person to stand on a chair and put the coats on the rack. I don't remember ever having the honor of coat hanging person. In today's world of ORM and ergonomics I am sure they have replaced the pig-tailed class tattle tale on a metal folding chair with some age appropriate coat hanging solution.
I mention this because I was a spacey kid. As the third of four kids at home, I was content to sit undisturbed for hours. I would day dream about dashing into the coat closet to find the hidden door that led to a room with a vent that led straight out the top of the building. The process involved putting on some sort of suit with a cape and flying out of the closet and around the play ground. I kid you not. This is real and vivid still in my memory.
In the first grade we had a substitute teacher for most of the year. A temper filled red headed woman that happened to go to my church. I had a Kool-Aid backpack with a Velcro flap that would never stay closed. I thought that if I jumped on it that it would eventually close tight enough so as not to spill out. Mrs. Jones thought I was insane for jumping on my backpack and suggested to my parents that I needed some help.
In the third grade my teacher believed I was retarded from the start. Why else would a kid wear camo t-shirts and have an official G.I. Joe fan club belt buckle. She tried to have me put in "special classes" so as not to deal with me. My parents would have nothing of this.
The freak, I mean teacher, decided to take matters into her own hands. She brought a refrigerator box from home and cut out the back and top. She put my desk in the box and there I stayed next to the actually retarded kid in the washing machine box in the back of the class. I pretended the box was the inside of a tank and accomplished even less work than ever.
The third grade had an economy of sorts. You could earn stickers and display them on a plastic box. I had one sticker for every 15 that my peers had on their boxes. When I would earn one it would not be a "scratch and sniff" one because those were for the good kids. I don't think I learned anything that whole year and my cursive handwriting and multiplication skills prove it.
In sixth grade I named my backpack Mr Picasso and made him talk to the other kids. I even had a voice for it and everything. I tape-recorded T.V. shows on cassette for later consumption since we were not rich enough to have a VCR. I never learned the board-foot formula and clearly failed 7th and 8th grade English and Math while still advancing to high school without a single repeat.
All of these stupid memories were brought to mind while I went through a box of school records my mother had kept. This all makes me realize that I don't have to worry about my son. He is goofy and a day dreamer. He has funny voices and silly dances. He likes Lego and stuffed monkeys.
I don't have to sweat his phonics or attention span too much. If I can make it through 12 years of bottom of the barrel teachers, never doing homework, and day dreaming the day away then my much smarter son will do just fine.
I mention this because I was a spacey kid. As the third of four kids at home, I was content to sit undisturbed for hours. I would day dream about dashing into the coat closet to find the hidden door that led to a room with a vent that led straight out the top of the building. The process involved putting on some sort of suit with a cape and flying out of the closet and around the play ground. I kid you not. This is real and vivid still in my memory.
In the first grade we had a substitute teacher for most of the year. A temper filled red headed woman that happened to go to my church. I had a Kool-Aid backpack with a Velcro flap that would never stay closed. I thought that if I jumped on it that it would eventually close tight enough so as not to spill out. Mrs. Jones thought I was insane for jumping on my backpack and suggested to my parents that I needed some help.
In the third grade my teacher believed I was retarded from the start. Why else would a kid wear camo t-shirts and have an official G.I. Joe fan club belt buckle. She tried to have me put in "special classes" so as not to deal with me. My parents would have nothing of this.
The freak, I mean teacher, decided to take matters into her own hands. She brought a refrigerator box from home and cut out the back and top. She put my desk in the box and there I stayed next to the actually retarded kid in the washing machine box in the back of the class. I pretended the box was the inside of a tank and accomplished even less work than ever.
The third grade had an economy of sorts. You could earn stickers and display them on a plastic box. I had one sticker for every 15 that my peers had on their boxes. When I would earn one it would not be a "scratch and sniff" one because those were for the good kids. I don't think I learned anything that whole year and my cursive handwriting and multiplication skills prove it.
In sixth grade I named my backpack Mr Picasso and made him talk to the other kids. I even had a voice for it and everything. I tape-recorded T.V. shows on cassette for later consumption since we were not rich enough to have a VCR. I never learned the board-foot formula and clearly failed 7th and 8th grade English and Math while still advancing to high school without a single repeat.
All of these stupid memories were brought to mind while I went through a box of school records my mother had kept. This all makes me realize that I don't have to worry about my son. He is goofy and a day dreamer. He has funny voices and silly dances. He likes Lego and stuffed monkeys.
I don't have to sweat his phonics or attention span too much. If I can make it through 12 years of bottom of the barrel teachers, never doing homework, and day dreaming the day away then my much smarter son will do just fine.
Friday, February 2, 2007
The holy union
I wish Little Debbie and Mr. Coffee would just go ahead and get married. They have been together so long we all assume that they were married but doing some Internet Research on the Internet I discovered they are not married. Can you imagine a mocha flavored oatmeal cream pie? That would be awesome!
I am running on near intravenous Community Coffee Caf'e Sepcial and a steady stream of low quality carbohydrates. I worked through lunch today and that is hard for a fat man to take. I have also given up Coca Cola which both explains my mood and complete addiction to coffee. It has been 2 weeks since I had the sweet burning sensation of an ice cold Coca Cola. I don't crave them or anything but I just don't have a replacement beverage for it yet.
If you are wondering why I am not drinking coca sodas anymore I will splain. I had this idea that I was drinking too much High Fructrose Corn Syrup. There is no way I can put as much sugar in my coffee as comes in a can of coke. In a round about way I have just reduced my caloric intake. It maybe misguided but it is at least a better defined principle than the grapefruit diet.
Just for the taste of it!
I am running on near intravenous Community Coffee Caf'e Sepcial and a steady stream of low quality carbohydrates. I worked through lunch today and that is hard for a fat man to take. I have also given up Coca Cola which both explains my mood and complete addiction to coffee. It has been 2 weeks since I had the sweet burning sensation of an ice cold Coca Cola. I don't crave them or anything but I just don't have a replacement beverage for it yet.
If you are wondering why I am not drinking coca sodas anymore I will splain. I had this idea that I was drinking too much High Fructrose Corn Syrup. There is no way I can put as much sugar in my coffee as comes in a can of coke. In a round about way I have just reduced my caloric intake. It maybe misguided but it is at least a better defined principle than the grapefruit diet.
Just for the taste of it!
My next action
I have been a bad blogger. I never make the time to blog for this reason or that. I run the risk of losing my blogger street cred or something.
I have good reasons for my lack of bloggy blogg blog. Just before the holidays I moved my "stuff" back into my office from my exile office. It only took a year and 3 months but I have returned my office to better then pre-Rita condition. Fake hardwood floor, a randomly chosen WASPy flavor of beige wall color and a mini-van full of Swedish office furniture and there you go. I have put the Evil Genius Control Room on a GTD inspired diet where only the most useful remain.
I still need to get a love-seat, put some electrical outlets in the closet, and put install track lighting, but I think it is coming together nicely.
With my new office comes new responsibility. I have taken to learn the Getting Things Done method of stress-free productivity. The idea that we spend so much time thinking about what we need to do instead of actually doing it really spoke to me. I am impressed so far. It is a little like learning Karate from a comic book for me considering my modalities of learning but I am working through it. My RAM is freeing up. I don't have all of my 43 folders yet but with Darron's help I'm gonna get those other 31 folders!
IT so you don't have to.
I have good reasons for my lack of bloggy blogg blog. Just before the holidays I moved my "stuff" back into my office from my exile office. It only took a year and 3 months but I have returned my office to better then pre-Rita condition. Fake hardwood floor, a randomly chosen WASPy flavor of beige wall color and a mini-van full of Swedish office furniture and there you go. I have put the Evil Genius Control Room on a GTD inspired diet where only the most useful remain.
I still need to get a love-seat, put some electrical outlets in the closet, and put install track lighting, but I think it is coming together nicely.
With my new office comes new responsibility. I have taken to learn the Getting Things Done method of stress-free productivity. The idea that we spend so much time thinking about what we need to do instead of actually doing it really spoke to me. I am impressed so far. It is a little like learning Karate from a comic book for me considering my modalities of learning but I am working through it. My RAM is freeing up. I don't have all of my 43 folders yet but with Darron's help I'm gonna get those other 31 folders!
IT so you don't have to.
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