#1 Song On Your Birthdate
Here's a cool link that gives you the #1 song on the pop charts on the day you were born. You can also then look up you "life's theme song," which, according to this site, is the song that was #1 on your 18th birthday.
Me?
The #1 song on my birthday was "You Keep Me Hangin' On" by the Supremes.
My life's theme song is "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by Wham!.
See, I'll even admit THAT to you, and I can't think of too many deep, dark secrets that are worse than having a Wham! song as your life's theme song. [shudder]
Hat tip: J-Walk.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
A new appreciation...
...for honesty.
Years ago, my favorite television show was The X-Files. Two phrases from that show kept popping up: THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE and TRUST NO-ONE.
There is an inestimable value in truth. Complete openness, honesty, forthrightness... it's known by many names, but one of the things I appreciate most about a person is his or her transparency... meaning, what you see is what you get. Nothing hidden.
I am not without sin, not by any stretch. Apart from the grace of God, I'm capable of a lot of yuck. And I'll be straight-up with you about it.
Beware of the person who won't admit it.
Beware of the person who seems incapable of disgusting behavior.
Because no-one's incapable of it.
Years ago, my favorite television show was The X-Files. Two phrases from that show kept popping up: THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE and TRUST NO-ONE.
There is an inestimable value in truth. Complete openness, honesty, forthrightness... it's known by many names, but one of the things I appreciate most about a person is his or her transparency... meaning, what you see is what you get. Nothing hidden.
I am not without sin, not by any stretch. Apart from the grace of God, I'm capable of a lot of yuck. And I'll be straight-up with you about it.
Beware of the person who won't admit it.
Beware of the person who seems incapable of disgusting behavior.
Because no-one's incapable of it.
Monday, May 30, 2005
My buddy-boy
Went to the park today with the Purple Fish Family. I haven't felt well for several days, as you may have read, but I knew I needed to get out and get some fresh air. Blue Fish even brought his discs and took me for a couple of holes of disc golf... but that was all I had the energy for. It was nice, though. We were sitting at a picnic table when Isaac ran up to me and said, "Mom, can I get a picture with you?" So Red Fish snapped this little gem (remember, I've been sick, so I'm looking a little pasty):
Omelet with chives
Saw this in my backyard this morning... it's a tiny little bluish speckled bird egg, and the greenery really is chives. There were some birds nesting under the eaves of our house back there, and apparently a bigger bird got in there and decided to give them the bum's rush.
Memorial Day, 2005
Beyond the Wire
Beyond the wire
An awkward shadow dims the sand,
A twisted body,
Fallen with outstretched hand.
The last patrol
Returned, churning the night's quiet dust,
Leaving in the wire
A stain of blood to rust.
Six men went out
In search of new enemy mines;
Only five returned;
The sixth had found new lines.
As he crouched,
dark in the pale light of the moon,
A sentry saw him,
Ready, alas, too soon.
The silent night
Leapt with the shock of rifle fire -
Now his body lies
Alone, beyond the wire.
John Cromer Braun
My meager thanks could never be enough. May God bless the families of the men and women who've given their all for the sake of our freedom. And may God bless our troops who, even right this very moment, are putting their lives on the line.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Official band photos
Well, got the results from the photo shoot from last week. Thought I'd share a couple of them with you. That's me over there on the right:
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday
Today we did one combined worship service at 10:30 instead of the usual 8:30 and 10:30... and no church tonight, so we could get some rest and take care of Memorial Day obligations.
Immediately following the 10:30 service, the wedding took place. It was very, very sweet; this couple has been together for a long time but had never taken the step to actually get married. I was pleased to be able to play for them. I played a processional-style arrangement of "Joyful, Joyful" then played "Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us" while Amy sang. The bride had given me an arrangement of the second song, but the key was too high for Amy to sing comfortably, so I just played it in another key.
Last Friday I had gotten a phone call from one of the sound tech guys; they were having a rehearsal for another wedding that was going to take place on Saturday, and the keyboard player for that wedding needed to know where the "Transpose" function was on the keyboard. I had to confess that I had absolutely NO idea how to transpose the keyboard, because I just do it in my head. I was able to tell him where the user's manual for the keyboard was (it's a Yamaha S08), and that he should be able to look it up in there.
In the past I did use the transpose function a few times, before I was really able to do it in my head. The main problem with the transpose function is this: because I have perfect pitch, I can tell that the pitches of the notes that are coming out of the speakers are NOT the ones I'm playing on the keyboard. If I have to, I can use the "Ignore" function in my brain -- that little guy comes in handy sometimes -- but I'd rather not have to do that. Besides, if I'm diddling with too many buttons, I miss what's going on in worship and I lose the flow of the service.
Anyway, back to the wedding. During practice, Amy and I had tried it in a couple of different keys and decided on A flat as the best. Then I just played the song from memory; "Savior Like a Shepherd" is one of those hymns I could play in my sleep. It's beautiful but very simple. In fact, it was originally written for inclusion in a children's hymnal a hundred years ago or so.
Another problem with me is that I never play anything exactly the same way twice. I can get close sometimes, but my chaotic brain just doesn't record and replay what I just did. We were at least able to work out a few cues that I would give her, but I know that's got to be frustrating for a vocalist to have different accompaniment every time. One of the things I try to give to all vocalists that I accompany is this: the notion that THEY are the star, not me, and that I will follow them. If they come in at the "wrong" time, it's not wrong... because they're leading and it's my job to keep up with them. She laughed when I tried to tell her this. "I'm not used to having that much power," she said.
I think that the music went well; the couple smiled at us while we were playing. It's such an honor to be asked to do that. I'll never take it lightly.
=====================
We rolled out another of Jeff's compositions for worship this morning. He told me Thursday he's got another one in the works, too, and played me a few passages from it. He says he tends to start with music that he likes, then puts words to it as they come to him. All I can do is stand back in awe; it's not something I've ever really been able to do. I think part of it is that, as I stated earlier in this post, I can never play the same thing exactly the same way twice, so interesting chord progressions come and go in my brain without being recorded. I do write lots and lots of lyrics in my little green notebook that I keep in my purse, but I have no idea where to begin with putting them to music. Most of them are based on observations from Scripture, but occasionally I pen something that wells up from inside.
Some of it is almost too personal... not in any kind of confession or revelation, but just in that I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be as meaningful to anyone else as it is to me.
I'm also probably not going to be good at standard "forms" -- metered, rhymed verses, zippy chorus, etc. I just don't think like that. When I try to, it sounds trite and pedantic.
I did write the music for school plays at Compass Academy a couple of years ago, and it was fun, but somehow it's easier to write music for a school play than for worship. I take the worship music a thousand-times more seriously, for one thing. Writing for school plays makes me feel a lot like Prairie Dawn on Sesame Street... although I do NOT write songs quite like she does. heh
Immediately following the 10:30 service, the wedding took place. It was very, very sweet; this couple has been together for a long time but had never taken the step to actually get married. I was pleased to be able to play for them. I played a processional-style arrangement of "Joyful, Joyful" then played "Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us" while Amy sang. The bride had given me an arrangement of the second song, but the key was too high for Amy to sing comfortably, so I just played it in another key.
Last Friday I had gotten a phone call from one of the sound tech guys; they were having a rehearsal for another wedding that was going to take place on Saturday, and the keyboard player for that wedding needed to know where the "Transpose" function was on the keyboard. I had to confess that I had absolutely NO idea how to transpose the keyboard, because I just do it in my head. I was able to tell him where the user's manual for the keyboard was (it's a Yamaha S08), and that he should be able to look it up in there.
In the past I did use the transpose function a few times, before I was really able to do it in my head. The main problem with the transpose function is this: because I have perfect pitch, I can tell that the pitches of the notes that are coming out of the speakers are NOT the ones I'm playing on the keyboard. If I have to, I can use the "Ignore" function in my brain -- that little guy comes in handy sometimes -- but I'd rather not have to do that. Besides, if I'm diddling with too many buttons, I miss what's going on in worship and I lose the flow of the service.
Anyway, back to the wedding. During practice, Amy and I had tried it in a couple of different keys and decided on A flat as the best. Then I just played the song from memory; "Savior Like a Shepherd" is one of those hymns I could play in my sleep. It's beautiful but very simple. In fact, it was originally written for inclusion in a children's hymnal a hundred years ago or so.
Another problem with me is that I never play anything exactly the same way twice. I can get close sometimes, but my chaotic brain just doesn't record and replay what I just did. We were at least able to work out a few cues that I would give her, but I know that's got to be frustrating for a vocalist to have different accompaniment every time. One of the things I try to give to all vocalists that I accompany is this: the notion that THEY are the star, not me, and that I will follow them. If they come in at the "wrong" time, it's not wrong... because they're leading and it's my job to keep up with them. She laughed when I tried to tell her this. "I'm not used to having that much power," she said.
I think that the music went well; the couple smiled at us while we were playing. It's such an honor to be asked to do that. I'll never take it lightly.
=====================
We rolled out another of Jeff's compositions for worship this morning. He told me Thursday he's got another one in the works, too, and played me a few passages from it. He says he tends to start with music that he likes, then puts words to it as they come to him. All I can do is stand back in awe; it's not something I've ever really been able to do. I think part of it is that, as I stated earlier in this post, I can never play the same thing exactly the same way twice, so interesting chord progressions come and go in my brain without being recorded. I do write lots and lots of lyrics in my little green notebook that I keep in my purse, but I have no idea where to begin with putting them to music. Most of them are based on observations from Scripture, but occasionally I pen something that wells up from inside.
Some of it is almost too personal... not in any kind of confession or revelation, but just in that I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be as meaningful to anyone else as it is to me.
I'm also probably not going to be good at standard "forms" -- metered, rhymed verses, zippy chorus, etc. I just don't think like that. When I try to, it sounds trite and pedantic.
I did write the music for school plays at Compass Academy a couple of years ago, and it was fun, but somehow it's easier to write music for a school play than for worship. I take the worship music a thousand-times more seriously, for one thing. Writing for school plays makes me feel a lot like Prairie Dawn on Sesame Street... although I do NOT write songs quite like she does. heh
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Notes to MamaSue
Notes to MamaSue, thanking her for the gift cards and relating to her what they chose with them:
===============================
Der Mamus I rele
mes yuw I
hop I hop
I welseuw
buy Alce
sandlus
nopuk
(translated:
Dear MamaSue I really
miss you I
hope I hope
I will see you
by Alice
Sandals
Notebook)
==================
Dear MamaSue thank
you for the geft card
and i bot Kirby and a truck
thingy. "Isaac"
==================
Dear, Mamasue.
Thank you for the gift card
I got a blue skirt, a blue poncho,
a white shirt with a surf man on it,
a black shirt with two puppys on it,
a pink shirt with water on it, some camo
shorts, another white shirt with nothing
on it. and some jean shorts, and some
capris with flowers on them.
Thank you for the gift card.
From
Martha
===========================
===============================
Der Mamus I rele
mes yuw I
hop I hop
I welseuw
buy Alce
sandlus
nopuk
(translated:
Dear MamaSue I really
miss you I
hope I hope
I will see you
by Alice
Sandals
Notebook)
==================
Dear MamaSue thank
you for the geft card
and i bot Kirby and a truck
thingy. "Isaac"
==================
Dear, Mamasue.
Thank you for the gift card
I got a blue skirt, a blue poncho,
a white shirt with a surf man on it,
a black shirt with two puppys on it,
a pink shirt with water on it, some camo
shorts, another white shirt with nothing
on it. and some jean shorts, and some
capris with flowers on them.
Thank you for the gift card.
From
Martha
===========================
Just bronchitis...
I was the first to arrive at the clinic this morning, so I got right in.
Afterwards I went to get a haircut. I didn't really feel like it, but it was the only time I could do it when Rick would be home with the kids, so I went anyway. It was still early, so I was able to walk right in and get that done, too. Had 'em wax my eyebrows, too -- might as well look good, even if I don't feel good.
Still didn't feel like doing anything except crawling back into bed, but I have the kids all day today and it's beautiful out, and they all had gift cards burning holes in their pockets. So off to Old Navy and Target we went.
You can't be sick when you're a Mom.
Afterwards I went to get a haircut. I didn't really feel like it, but it was the only time I could do it when Rick would be home with the kids, so I went anyway. It was still early, so I was able to walk right in and get that done, too. Had 'em wax my eyebrows, too -- might as well look good, even if I don't feel good.
Still didn't feel like doing anything except crawling back into bed, but I have the kids all day today and it's beautiful out, and they all had gift cards burning holes in their pockets. So off to Old Navy and Target we went.
You can't be sick when you're a Mom.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Still sick
BLECH
I don't like being sick.
I think I'm going in to the doctor tomorrow to get my throat swabbed; it's still really sore.
I'm tired of puking, too.
I want to go to bed.
I need to finish a paper.
I can't believe I've sentenced myself to TWO MORE YEARS of college. What was I thinking?
Oh, yeah, I remember. I wasn't allowed to think. I was forced into it by the school district.
Tomorrow I'll probably feel a little less gripy, but tonight, I'm indulging my inner Grouch. I'd bang on a garbage can lid except that my ears also hurt.
I don't like being sick.
I think I'm going in to the doctor tomorrow to get my throat swabbed; it's still really sore.
I'm tired of puking, too.
I want to go to bed.
I need to finish a paper.
I can't believe I've sentenced myself to TWO MORE YEARS of college. What was I thinking?
Oh, yeah, I remember. I wasn't allowed to think. I was forced into it by the school district.
Tomorrow I'll probably feel a little less gripy, but tonight, I'm indulging my inner Grouch. I'd bang on a garbage can lid except that my ears also hurt.
Practice
Just wanted to give you a glimpse into my favorite place to be...
This is the stage area at my church. It's practice for the Sunday morning group, which different folks rotate in and out of. This week, as you can see, Mark and his sidekick Lester are playing lead guitar this week. The fellow in the background standing up playing bass guitar is Frank, who's just terrific. The one seated, playing the acoustic guitar, is Jeff, the worship leader. If you look behind Mark, you can see my little "Paul Schaffer" setup with the two keyboards. We're thinking of getting one of those stacking stands, but for now we just have it set up like an "L" shape. I like being back there by the drummer because he & I can stay together much better with eye contact.
When I started playing with these guys back in November, it was like I was a five-year-old on Christmas morning -- suddenly, everyone in the band has their own monitor and the sound technicians are constantly asking me if I've got enough mix in it, and I can tell them to turn down the vocals and turn up the acoustic guitar, and they can actually do that. If there's something I need adjusted, all I have to do is look up at the sound booth and they're totally on top of it. Can you see now why I absolutely love being there?
Last night, Jeff introduced another new song of his. He had actually played it for me back in January, so I knew it was coming up, but he had a couple of other new ones in the works as well, so this one waited until now. It sounded amazing; it's still a very new thing for me to listen to him play something just on his acoustic and try to imagine what it would sound like with everyone in the band. When everyone added what they thought worked, it came together pretty well. Of course it's still a bit rough just because we just started working on it, but it will gel eventually.
Then when we get done with practice, we're handed a CD that they just burned with a recording of us doing the new song so we can take it home and listen to it and practice.
Again, is there anyone who can't understand why I love playing the keyboard there?
This is the stage area at my church. It's practice for the Sunday morning group, which different folks rotate in and out of. This week, as you can see, Mark and his sidekick Lester are playing lead guitar this week. The fellow in the background standing up playing bass guitar is Frank, who's just terrific. The one seated, playing the acoustic guitar, is Jeff, the worship leader. If you look behind Mark, you can see my little "Paul Schaffer" setup with the two keyboards. We're thinking of getting one of those stacking stands, but for now we just have it set up like an "L" shape. I like being back there by the drummer because he & I can stay together much better with eye contact.
When I started playing with these guys back in November, it was like I was a five-year-old on Christmas morning -- suddenly, everyone in the band has their own monitor and the sound technicians are constantly asking me if I've got enough mix in it, and I can tell them to turn down the vocals and turn up the acoustic guitar, and they can actually do that. If there's something I need adjusted, all I have to do is look up at the sound booth and they're totally on top of it. Can you see now why I absolutely love being there?
Last night, Jeff introduced another new song of his. He had actually played it for me back in January, so I knew it was coming up, but he had a couple of other new ones in the works as well, so this one waited until now. It sounded amazing; it's still a very new thing for me to listen to him play something just on his acoustic and try to imagine what it would sound like with everyone in the band. When everyone added what they thought worked, it came together pretty well. Of course it's still a bit rough just because we just started working on it, but it will gel eventually.
Then when we get done with practice, we're handed a CD that they just burned with a recording of us doing the new song so we can take it home and listen to it and practice.
Again, is there anyone who can't understand why I love playing the keyboard there?
On hold...
House buying is on hold pending some decisions concerning Rick's job. House selling is still going forward, however. We should know more in about two weeks. Stay tuned!
In other interesting news, the Des Moines school board has decided to close my kids' school, Edmunds, and merge it into another one. Budget problems (and wasn't that 1-cent sales tax hike supposed to cure all these ills?) is forcing the closing and merger of several schools.
I'm not terribly disappointed; everything looks like it's pointing us toward enrolling the kids at Norwalk in the fall... although we won't be able to do that if we aren't living there, because the deadline for applying for district transfers was January.
I'm also not terribly disappointed because my son's kindergarten teacher is transferring to another position in another school. At Edmunds, they combine kindergarten and first grade into blended classrooms, so there was a good possibility that Isaac would have Mrs. Couto again next year. We love Mrs. Couto very much and she has been a very, very good teacher... so if we can't have her, and if we're going to have to change to another school anyway, we might as well change to Norwalk and be done with it.
Isaac and his classmates performed some of their songs during a program this afternoon, and afterwards I talked to Mrs. Couto and asked her if Isaac was behaving himself. She laughed. Then she told me that he was well past a year ahead of his grade level in every subject, and that she had stopped benchmarking his progress after he passed the one-year-ahead mark.
At this rate, he's going to pass both of his sisters soon. He already passed Alice a long time ago (but that's okay -- Alice is doing things at her own pace) and I got Martha's end-of-year evals back today. If they actually gave out report cards, she'd fail both reading and math, although her math is much worse than her reading. We've already put in a request to have her evaluated for special ed services; I already knew that she was going to have problems across the board anyway, so no big surprise there. I'm toying with the idea of summer school, since they do offer it here, but it may make life miserable around here, and I'm not sure I want to go there. Decisions, decisions...
Isaac reads literally everything he sees... every sign, every label, everything. And does it amazingly well. He blew me away this afternoon by reading a bit of trivia off the school lunch calendar. Here's what my five year old read, perfectly:
I couldn't believe totally sounded-out "ornamental" without hesitating, then said, "What's ornamental?" He freaks me out sometimes.
In other interesting news, the Des Moines school board has decided to close my kids' school, Edmunds, and merge it into another one. Budget problems (and wasn't that 1-cent sales tax hike supposed to cure all these ills?) is forcing the closing and merger of several schools.
I'm not terribly disappointed; everything looks like it's pointing us toward enrolling the kids at Norwalk in the fall... although we won't be able to do that if we aren't living there, because the deadline for applying for district transfers was January.
I'm also not terribly disappointed because my son's kindergarten teacher is transferring to another position in another school. At Edmunds, they combine kindergarten and first grade into blended classrooms, so there was a good possibility that Isaac would have Mrs. Couto again next year. We love Mrs. Couto very much and she has been a very, very good teacher... so if we can't have her, and if we're going to have to change to another school anyway, we might as well change to Norwalk and be done with it.
Isaac and his classmates performed some of their songs during a program this afternoon, and afterwards I talked to Mrs. Couto and asked her if Isaac was behaving himself. She laughed. Then she told me that he was well past a year ahead of his grade level in every subject, and that she had stopped benchmarking his progress after he passed the one-year-ahead mark.
At this rate, he's going to pass both of his sisters soon. He already passed Alice a long time ago (but that's okay -- Alice is doing things at her own pace) and I got Martha's end-of-year evals back today. If they actually gave out report cards, she'd fail both reading and math, although her math is much worse than her reading. We've already put in a request to have her evaluated for special ed services; I already knew that she was going to have problems across the board anyway, so no big surprise there. I'm toying with the idea of summer school, since they do offer it here, but it may make life miserable around here, and I'm not sure I want to go there. Decisions, decisions...
Isaac reads literally everything he sees... every sign, every label, everything. And does it amazingly well. He blew me away this afternoon by reading a bit of trivia off the school lunch calendar. Here's what my five year old read, perfectly:
Quick Nibble:
The Spanish brought beans back to the old world where they were valued as an ornamental, not as an edible vegetable.
I couldn't believe totally sounded-out "ornamental" without hesitating, then said, "What's ornamental?" He freaks me out sometimes.
British Nannies
I was checking one of my favorite bloggers, Kevin McGehee of Yippee-Ki-Yay, and noticed he'd posted about a BBC news item. I went to read the original article and laughed out loud, so I thought you might enjoy it as well:
UK doctors call for ban on kitchen knives
Where to begin fisking this one? It's really too easy, but it's the beginning of Memorial Day weekend, so perhaps a few gimmes are in order here.
So many people are unwilling to face the fact that there are BAD PEOPLE in this old world that won't be fazed by all our UN proclamations and legislative actions and sternly-worded letters because all they know is VIOLENCE and it will take VIOLENCE to get through their thick skulls...
UK doctors call for ban on kitchen knives
Where to begin fisking this one? It's really too easy, but it's the beginning of Memorial Day weekend, so perhaps a few gimmes are in order here.
A&E (Accident & Emergency) doctors are calling for a ban on long pointed kitchen knives to reduce deaths from stabbing.Let's don't expect people to suffer the consequences of their actions... let's just remove all the sharp, pointy things from life so that nobody can do anything to anyone. Of course, "a very sharp spoon" might come into play here...
A team from West Middlesex University Hospital said violent crime is on the increase -- and kitchen knives are used in as many as half of all stabbings.
They argued many assaults are committed impulsively, prompted by alcohol and drugs, and a kitchen knife often makes an all too available weapon.
The research is published in the British Medical Journal.
The researchers said there was no reason for long pointed knives to be publicly available at all.
They consulted 10 top chefs from around the UK, and found such knives have little practical value in the kitchen.
None of the chefs felt such knives were essential, since the point of a short blade was just as useful when a sharp end was needed.
The researchers said a short pointed knife may cause a substantial superficial wound if used in an assault -- but is unlikely to penetrate to inner organs.Particularly when you've made guns illegal so people have a difficult time protecting themselves from scummy thugs you've allowed to emigrate freely into your country from places around the world where lawlessness abounds...
In contrast, a pointed long blade pierces the body like "cutting into a ripe melon".
The use of knives is particularly worrying amongst adolescents, say the researchers, reporting that 24% of 16-year-olds have been shown to carry weapons, primarily knives.
The study found links between easy access to domestic knives and violent assault are long established.
French laws in the 17th century decreed that the tips of table and street knives be ground smooth.Oh, definitely, if the French did it, it must be smart.
The free market at work... they became available, so people bought them. The 18th-century government didn't forcibly remove them.
A century later, forks and blunt-ended table knives were introduced in the UK in an effort to reduce injuries during arguments in public eating houses.
Demonstrate to whom?
The researchers say legislation to ban the sale of long pointed knives would be a key step in the fight against violent crime.
"The Home Office is looking for ways to reduce knife crime.
"We suggest that banning the sale of long pointed knives is a sensible and practical measure that would have this effect."
Home Office spokesperson said there were already extensive restrictions in place to control the sale and possession of knives.
"The law already prohibits the possession of offensive weapons in a public place, and the possession of knives in public without good reason or lawful authority, with the exception of a folding pocket knife with a blade not exceeding three inches.
"Offensive weapons are defined as any weapon designed or adapted to cause injury, or intended by the person possessing them to do so.
"An individual has to demonstrate that he had good reason to possess a knife, for example for fishing, other sporting purposes or as part of his profession (e.g. a chef) in a public place.
"The manufacture, sale and importation of 17 bladed, pointed and other offensive weapons have been banned, in addition to flick knives and gravity knives."And isn't it obvious that banning them has had a positive effect on the crime rate... not to mention that the only thing that happens when you ban it is that criminals tend not to care about the law anyway, which then means that the law-abiding people have been disarmed and made more vulnerable to wicked people with sharp pointy things who don't care whether the bad policeman with his nightstick says they aren't allowed to have those sharp pointy things.
A spokesperson for the Association of Chief Police Officers said: "ACPO supports any move to reduce the number of knife related incidents, however, it is important to consider the practicalities of enforcing such changes.Thank you... as if you could possibly remove all the sharp pointy things from life to keep the widdle darlings fwom hurting themselves.
So many people are unwilling to face the fact that there are BAD PEOPLE in this old world that won't be fazed by all our UN proclamations and legislative actions and sternly-worded letters because all they know is VIOLENCE and it will take VIOLENCE to get through their thick skulls...
Thursday, May 26, 2005
I wonder...
...if Norwalk has any bat issues.
One thing I will not miss much is the fact that I have become an expert in bat-handling. Our ancient abode is a popular hideout for the furry little flyers, and I do not believe in killing a perfectly healthy, decent bat. Do you know how many mosquitoes one bat eats in a night? Anyway, I keep an eight-foot fishing net on the stairwell for just such occasions as happened this afternoon.
"MOM! There's a bat in Isaac & Alice's room!"
This poor little guy was dangling from the textured ceiling, sleeping peacefully. So peacefully that he didn't even wake up when I gently scraped him into my net, or when I carefully toted him downstairs and out the front door. He did, however, wake up when I shook the net, and he went right up into our tree.
Did you know that a bat's wing feels just like a brand-new pair of Sheer-Energy pantyhose that you just pulled out of the egg? Yeah, I know, that dates me pretty bad. I'm not even sure when they quit using plastic eggs for those things. It has to be a pretty major occasion to convince me to wear nylons again... BLEAH! Vile things, nylons.
One thing I will not miss much is the fact that I have become an expert in bat-handling. Our ancient abode is a popular hideout for the furry little flyers, and I do not believe in killing a perfectly healthy, decent bat. Do you know how many mosquitoes one bat eats in a night? Anyway, I keep an eight-foot fishing net on the stairwell for just such occasions as happened this afternoon.
"MOM! There's a bat in Isaac & Alice's room!"
This poor little guy was dangling from the textured ceiling, sleeping peacefully. So peacefully that he didn't even wake up when I gently scraped him into my net, or when I carefully toted him downstairs and out the front door. He did, however, wake up when I shook the net, and he went right up into our tree.
Did you know that a bat's wing feels just like a brand-new pair of Sheer-Energy pantyhose that you just pulled out of the egg? Yeah, I know, that dates me pretty bad. I'm not even sure when they quit using plastic eggs for those things. It has to be a pretty major occasion to convince me to wear nylons again... BLEAH! Vile things, nylons.
Taking a flying leap
There have been occasional moments within the timeline of my life... few and far between, to be sure... when I have taken sudden leaps of understanding, when I have quite suddenly left behind certain ways of thinking and/or certain behaviors. For some people, I think these sorts of changes happen slowly and deliberately, but for me, they've almost invariably been tectonic-level shifts, as sudden and as violent as an earthquake, leaving behind smoking rubble and a forever-transformed landscape.
Ten or eleven years ago I experienced one of these jarring, instantaneous jolts. It came in the form of a smile. I very suddenly understood that if I smiled at people, they usually smiled back, and that others were NOT really walking around thinking what a loser I was... that really, people don't think about other people very much at all. People think mostly about themselves, and most people are somewhat uncomfortable with themselves to some degree -- even "skinny" people, even "popular" people.
This changed my entire life. I very quickly began to make friends with people of all ages, all around me. I smiled at people and spoke to them cheerfully.
It literally happened overnight. And I have never gone back. Sure, we all have moments of self-indulgent navel-gazing, but on the whole, I have adopted the stance of "smile at people and say something cheerful, and they'll not only be happier, they'll think nice things about me as well." It works. And it works even when I feel crappy. If I smile anyway, nobody has to know that I feel crappy, and eventually I'll even quit feeling crappy.
===========================
I have undergone a similar transformation in the past couple of years. My understanding of myself and my life's purpose, of my faith, and of my God (while far from complete) has taken a major dimensional leap. I can't really call it a "forward" leap, or a "backward" leap. It's more of an enormous "expansion" in all directions. I can't even really quantify it just yet. But it has changed literally everything for me. I think differently than I did. I feel differently. I see differently. And it happened very suddenly, very cataclysmically.
It has changed many, many things in my life. There have been many things that I have left behind... not without great pain, in some instances... but amazingly and wonderfully, God has replaced the things I've left behind with things more exhilarating than I ever thought possible. Remember that TV show called "Quantum Leap"? I feel like I've taken one of those quantum leaps, only instead of leaping from one circumstance to another, I've leapt from one dimension to another.
============================
As a baby and a young girl, I drank lots of milk. I loved it... drank it all the time, poured it on my Cheerios and then drank it when the cereal was gone. As I got older, milk still tasted good for a while, even though it was less critical for nourishment. Recently I've developed an actual intolerance for it, and drinking it actually makes me nauseated.
Similarly, things in my life that once satisfied me are no longer satisfying... and in some cases, are almost toxic.
I'm guessing that the jug of milk in the fridge doesn't really care that I don't drink it anymore. There are still plenty of folks in the house who do still enjoy it, so it doesn't miss me. It doesn't worry whether I'm getting enough calcium or vitamin D... I'm a big girl, and I can take care of those nutritional needs in other ways.
Milk was really good for me. It helped me grow in many ways. I'm thankful for it. But I can't drink it anymore.
Ten or eleven years ago I experienced one of these jarring, instantaneous jolts. It came in the form of a smile. I very suddenly understood that if I smiled at people, they usually smiled back, and that others were NOT really walking around thinking what a loser I was... that really, people don't think about other people very much at all. People think mostly about themselves, and most people are somewhat uncomfortable with themselves to some degree -- even "skinny" people, even "popular" people.
This changed my entire life. I very quickly began to make friends with people of all ages, all around me. I smiled at people and spoke to them cheerfully.
It literally happened overnight. And I have never gone back. Sure, we all have moments of self-indulgent navel-gazing, but on the whole, I have adopted the stance of "smile at people and say something cheerful, and they'll not only be happier, they'll think nice things about me as well." It works. And it works even when I feel crappy. If I smile anyway, nobody has to know that I feel crappy, and eventually I'll even quit feeling crappy.
===========================
I have undergone a similar transformation in the past couple of years. My understanding of myself and my life's purpose, of my faith, and of my God (while far from complete) has taken a major dimensional leap. I can't really call it a "forward" leap, or a "backward" leap. It's more of an enormous "expansion" in all directions. I can't even really quantify it just yet. But it has changed literally everything for me. I think differently than I did. I feel differently. I see differently. And it happened very suddenly, very cataclysmically.
It has changed many, many things in my life. There have been many things that I have left behind... not without great pain, in some instances... but amazingly and wonderfully, God has replaced the things I've left behind with things more exhilarating than I ever thought possible. Remember that TV show called "Quantum Leap"? I feel like I've taken one of those quantum leaps, only instead of leaping from one circumstance to another, I've leapt from one dimension to another.
============================
As a baby and a young girl, I drank lots of milk. I loved it... drank it all the time, poured it on my Cheerios and then drank it when the cereal was gone. As I got older, milk still tasted good for a while, even though it was less critical for nourishment. Recently I've developed an actual intolerance for it, and drinking it actually makes me nauseated.
Similarly, things in my life that once satisfied me are no longer satisfying... and in some cases, are almost toxic.
I'm guessing that the jug of milk in the fridge doesn't really care that I don't drink it anymore. There are still plenty of folks in the house who do still enjoy it, so it doesn't miss me. It doesn't worry whether I'm getting enough calcium or vitamin D... I'm a big girl, and I can take care of those nutritional needs in other ways.
Milk was really good for me. It helped me grow in many ways. I'm thankful for it. But I can't drink it anymore.
I KNEW IT!!!
I knew Lair Simon was really a Mexican narcoterrorist. It was only a matter of time 'til the ATF caught up with him and his nefarious sidekick Deskmerc.
Holy cow. What a lunch break.
Holy cow. What a lunch break.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Cheese grits
The ultimate in comfort food. Next to Campbell's Tomato Soup, that is.
I don't have any tomato soup on the shelf currently, although Cindy said she'd bring me some. In lieu of soup, I made a bowl of cheese grits. Isaac and Rick ate about half of it, but I still got enough to warm my sore throat and help me feel a little better.
I make grits using the plain quick grits, whatever brand. I happen to be using the Wal-Mart generic kind. I cook them in the microwave using half water and half milk (cooking them in some milk seems to give them a more velvety texture). Once they're cooked, I add butter and American cheese slices and stir them around until they're melted. Plebeian, I know, but work with me here. Stilton just wouldn't work in grits anyway.
Tonight was awards night at the kids' AWANA meeting. Isaac memorized 18 verses, Martha 26, and Alice 41. Tomorrow night is Alice's harp recital and Martha's piano recital.
There are interesting developments on the job front for Rick. I can't say more about it right now, but I wanted everyone to know that things were happening. In another couple or three weeks I'll hopefully be able to tell you more.
I don't have any tomato soup on the shelf currently, although Cindy said she'd bring me some. In lieu of soup, I made a bowl of cheese grits. Isaac and Rick ate about half of it, but I still got enough to warm my sore throat and help me feel a little better.
I make grits using the plain quick grits, whatever brand. I happen to be using the Wal-Mart generic kind. I cook them in the microwave using half water and half milk (cooking them in some milk seems to give them a more velvety texture). Once they're cooked, I add butter and American cheese slices and stir them around until they're melted. Plebeian, I know, but work with me here. Stilton just wouldn't work in grits anyway.
Tonight was awards night at the kids' AWANA meeting. Isaac memorized 18 verses, Martha 26, and Alice 41. Tomorrow night is Alice's harp recital and Martha's piano recital.
There are interesting developments on the job front for Rick. I can't say more about it right now, but I wanted everyone to know that things were happening. In another couple or three weeks I'll hopefully be able to tell you more.
Fortune cookie bonanza
No, I don't mean the Powerball. I don't do that crap.
Okay, once or twice I did, but it was only because a person who shall remain nameless living in a non-Powerball state begged me to do it for them.
No, I actually think fortune cookies are hilarious, and I often keep the ones that are most interesting or funny. Do I put any real stock by them? Duh, of course not. But I still think they're funny.
Yesterday I pitched a little surreptitious party for the seniors in my classes. Cindy brought two humongous boxes of P.F.Chang's spare-ribs and a bag of chips, and I provided the bread, dessert and pop. Since they were from Chang's, we got a whole bunch of fortune cookies with our order, so all of us grabbed about three each and opened them up. My three?
"YOU HAVE THE MARKINGS OF A WINNER"
"YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH TO OVERCOME OBSTACLES ON YOUR WAY TO SUCCESS"
"YOUR LEADERSHIP TALENTS BRING YOU AN INCREDIBLE OPPORTUNITY"
Anybody get the idea that P.F.Chang's has hired a motivational speaker to write its fortune cookies?
Okay, once or twice I did, but it was only because a person who shall remain nameless living in a non-Powerball state begged me to do it for them.
No, I actually think fortune cookies are hilarious, and I often keep the ones that are most interesting or funny. Do I put any real stock by them? Duh, of course not. But I still think they're funny.
Yesterday I pitched a little surreptitious party for the seniors in my classes. Cindy brought two humongous boxes of P.F.Chang's spare-ribs and a bag of chips, and I provided the bread, dessert and pop. Since they were from Chang's, we got a whole bunch of fortune cookies with our order, so all of us grabbed about three each and opened them up. My three?
"YOU HAVE THE MARKINGS OF A WINNER"
"YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH TO OVERCOME OBSTACLES ON YOUR WAY TO SUCCESS"
"YOUR LEADERSHIP TALENTS BRING YOU AN INCREDIBLE OPPORTUNITY"
Anybody get the idea that P.F.Chang's has hired a motivational speaker to write its fortune cookies?
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Wake Up and Breathe
A short story
Zoe opened her eyes and breathed in the fresh air. After her eyes adjusted to the light all around her, she looked next to her and saw her husband Gregory looking at her, smiling. "It's about time. I was hoping you'd wake up soon."
Zoe had been asleep for twenty years, she soon came to find out. Gregory had become accustomed to all the dead and sleeping people around him... at work, at church, in the store... everywhere he went, there were bodies either rotting or snoring. He spent much of his time trying to wake the sleeping people, because at least then he'd have some help trying to revive the dead ones -- and there were so many of those that it was almost unbearable. One of the sleeping people had been particularly special to him, so he brought her home to live with him. She continued to sleep, but he knew that if he was patient and trusted God, she'd eventually wake up and help him.
And today was the day! He was so glad. "Lie still for just a moment and get your bearings. You've been asleep for a long time; it wouldn't do to stand up too suddenly, or you might fall down and go back to sleep," he told her. "Let's just talk."
So they talked of many things, and soon Zoe felt strong enough to sit up. Gregory took her hands to steady her, and helped brace her until she was able to hold herself up. "I never realized I was asleep, Gregory," she said. "I must've been dreaming."
"You were. They all are, all around us. They're lying there, dreaming, thinking they're awake, when they're not," he said. "It gets discouraging, because there are all these dead people all around us, and I can't wake anyone up to help me bring them back to life. I could spend all my time doing that, but I keep thinking how much more efficient it would be if enough living people were actually awake. We'd get so much further."
"I can see that," Zoe said. She noticed a rotting form just out the window, on the front porch, and without hesitating or thinking, she stood to her feet, went out to the corpse, bent down next to it and began to breathe on it. Color began to return to the body, and soon a lovely woman stood to her feet, breathing on her own and leaping for joy. "I'm alive!" she kept shouting as she ran down the street.
Energized by this, Zoe turned to another corpse lying in the front yard and began to breathe on it as well. Nothing happened, however. Gregory came alongside her and also breathed, and what had been shriveled and dead suddenly filled out and unfolded, and a handsome young man stood to his feet with an expression of intense gratitude and gladness on his face. "Thank you for sharing your life with me," he wept happily. He immediately went to the next several dead bodies lying around him, breathing on them enthusiastically.
"Why didn't that man come to life when I breathed on him?" Zoe asked.
"Sometimes it takes more than one person breathing on them," Gregory said. "And some of them just don't ever come to life, no matter how long you breathe on them. But you can't stop doing it. Sometimes you have to move on to another body and just pray that another person who's awake sees them and stops by to breathe on them. Perhaps that will be the breath that will do the trick; we never know. It's just our job to breathe on them."
"And I've wasted the last twenty years sleeping, when I could've been doing this?!? Unbelievable," Zoe gasped. "This is amazing. We have got to help some of these sleeping people wake up and experience this like us. We could get so much more done if they'd wake up." She bent down to a snoring form, shook its shoulders gently at first, then more firmly. "Wake up! Please! You're sleeping... you're dreaming. It's not real! You've got to wake up!"
The woman grumpily opened her eyes. "Leave me alone," she said, and rolled back over onto her other side and began instantly to snore again.
Zoe shook her again. "You don't understand! You're asleep and there's so much to do!"
The woman, without opening her eyes, reached up and slapped Zoe hard, leaving a bright red mark on her cheek and even raking her with her sharp fingernails. "OW!" Zoe yelped, and fell backwards. Gregory caught her just in time. "Some of them do that," he said sadly. "I'm really sorry. Don't let it get to you."
"That's going to leave a permanent mark," she sobbed.
Gregory helped dab some of the blood and dressed her wound. "Yes, it probably will. And it probably won't be the only scar you'll end up with. But we can't quit, Zoe. It's too important."
"I know," she said, her breath catching slightly. "Give me just a minute."
"You can't. If you take a minute, you'll go back to sleep, and once you go back to sleep, it's even harder to wake you up than it was before. No, please. Stay right here with me, and let's keep talking. It won't hurt so much eventually, I promise."
They went on, shaking the sleeping people all around them, for several years. There were more and more all around them, since apparently sleepers liked to congregate where they'd be cared for. They tried shaking them, to little avail. They tried tiptoeing all around them in an attempt to find some dead ones to breathe on, but there were just too many asleep... and the sleeping ones were some of the most demanding ones.
You see, one of the main problems with the sleeping ones is that they couldn't be left alone. They required regular feeding and often soiled themselves, and it fell to Zoe and Gregory to care for them. Since sleeping people choke easily, they had to be fed through a tube into their stomachs. Zoe and Gregory were so thankful when better and more efficient diapers became available, because it was becoming more and more difficult to keep up.
Some of the sleeping people were starving to death right before their eyes because they refused to allow Zoe and Gregory to care for them at all. Either they were convinced by their dreams that they were, in fact, eating, or they were resentful that others might be receiving more food in their tubes than they did, and angrily refused to be fed. Some of them actually got up and walked around in their sleep, which was rather frightening to Zoe because at first she had been convinced that they, too, were awake... only to find soon that they were still completely asleep. In any case, Zoe and Gregory, in despair, left them alone. For a while, the two of them even tried lying down and going to sleep themselves, thinking perhaps it would be less stressful than trying too hard to wake them up. But by now they'd both been awake long enough that even though they lay there, eyes closed, trying desperately to achieve sleep, they could no longer fall asleep themselves. Once they were really
this awake, there really was no going back.
The final straw came one day, when Zoe found a couple of truly dead ones. To her horror, the sleepers rolled over on top of them, preventing her from breathing on them. She tried, and just as a little color began to return and they began to stir, more sleepers piled atop them and they could not move. She wept in despair.
One day Zoe suddenly spotted an opening through the throngs of sleepers. "Gregory! Look!" she shouted excitedly. There, through the small opening, they both saw hundreds and hundreds of people walking around, bright-faced and laughing, and breathing on dead people at an alarmingly exciting rate. "Gregory, we have to go there!" she said.
"I think you're right, Zoe," he said wearily. "We don't have any more time to breathe on dead people because all these sleepers require so much from us."
Zoe started down the path to the opening. "You go on ahead," Gregory told her. "I'll catch up shortly. I need to shake just a couple more people first... I just can't leave without trying once more."
"Okay, Gregory," she smiled. She turned and began to run toward the clearing. She emerged into the midst of all the awakened people, recognizing a few of them as people she'd been able to breathe on before she'd gotten so busy caring for sleepers. They welcomed her into their midst and introduced her to all the people around her who'd been quite dead and were now alive. She called out to Gregory.
"C'mon, Gregory! You've got to come see this!" Zoe shouted.
"I'm almost there," Gregory shouted back. "Just a couple more minutes."
Eventually he joined her among the living. "We almost didn't make it out of there," he said ruefully. "I wish we could've woken up a few of them. There are still a bunch over there who are calling for you in their sleep."
"I can't go back, Gregory," Zoe said softly. "I don't belong with the sleepers, and I can't keep feeding them. Maybe if no-one feeds them, they'll wake up hungry and begin to figure out what's happened."
"I hope so, Zoe," Gregory said. "I hope they don't completely die out from starvation just because they weren't able to wake up."
Zoe heard several of the ones she'd cared for, calling out to her desperately, but she knew that she could not go back to them. Babysitting sleepers couldn't come close to the thrill of seeing the dead come back to life.
=============
That's the end of my little story for now. There may be more chapters to it at some point in the future.
Zoe opened her eyes and breathed in the fresh air. After her eyes adjusted to the light all around her, she looked next to her and saw her husband Gregory looking at her, smiling. "It's about time. I was hoping you'd wake up soon."
Zoe had been asleep for twenty years, she soon came to find out. Gregory had become accustomed to all the dead and sleeping people around him... at work, at church, in the store... everywhere he went, there were bodies either rotting or snoring. He spent much of his time trying to wake the sleeping people, because at least then he'd have some help trying to revive the dead ones -- and there were so many of those that it was almost unbearable. One of the sleeping people had been particularly special to him, so he brought her home to live with him. She continued to sleep, but he knew that if he was patient and trusted God, she'd eventually wake up and help him.
And today was the day! He was so glad. "Lie still for just a moment and get your bearings. You've been asleep for a long time; it wouldn't do to stand up too suddenly, or you might fall down and go back to sleep," he told her. "Let's just talk."
So they talked of many things, and soon Zoe felt strong enough to sit up. Gregory took her hands to steady her, and helped brace her until she was able to hold herself up. "I never realized I was asleep, Gregory," she said. "I must've been dreaming."
"You were. They all are, all around us. They're lying there, dreaming, thinking they're awake, when they're not," he said. "It gets discouraging, because there are all these dead people all around us, and I can't wake anyone up to help me bring them back to life. I could spend all my time doing that, but I keep thinking how much more efficient it would be if enough living people were actually awake. We'd get so much further."
"I can see that," Zoe said. She noticed a rotting form just out the window, on the front porch, and without hesitating or thinking, she stood to her feet, went out to the corpse, bent down next to it and began to breathe on it. Color began to return to the body, and soon a lovely woman stood to her feet, breathing on her own and leaping for joy. "I'm alive!" she kept shouting as she ran down the street.
Energized by this, Zoe turned to another corpse lying in the front yard and began to breathe on it as well. Nothing happened, however. Gregory came alongside her and also breathed, and what had been shriveled and dead suddenly filled out and unfolded, and a handsome young man stood to his feet with an expression of intense gratitude and gladness on his face. "Thank you for sharing your life with me," he wept happily. He immediately went to the next several dead bodies lying around him, breathing on them enthusiastically.
"Why didn't that man come to life when I breathed on him?" Zoe asked.
"Sometimes it takes more than one person breathing on them," Gregory said. "And some of them just don't ever come to life, no matter how long you breathe on them. But you can't stop doing it. Sometimes you have to move on to another body and just pray that another person who's awake sees them and stops by to breathe on them. Perhaps that will be the breath that will do the trick; we never know. It's just our job to breathe on them."
"And I've wasted the last twenty years sleeping, when I could've been doing this?!? Unbelievable," Zoe gasped. "This is amazing. We have got to help some of these sleeping people wake up and experience this like us. We could get so much more done if they'd wake up." She bent down to a snoring form, shook its shoulders gently at first, then more firmly. "Wake up! Please! You're sleeping... you're dreaming. It's not real! You've got to wake up!"
The woman grumpily opened her eyes. "Leave me alone," she said, and rolled back over onto her other side and began instantly to snore again.
Zoe shook her again. "You don't understand! You're asleep and there's so much to do!"
The woman, without opening her eyes, reached up and slapped Zoe hard, leaving a bright red mark on her cheek and even raking her with her sharp fingernails. "OW!" Zoe yelped, and fell backwards. Gregory caught her just in time. "Some of them do that," he said sadly. "I'm really sorry. Don't let it get to you."
"That's going to leave a permanent mark," she sobbed.
Gregory helped dab some of the blood and dressed her wound. "Yes, it probably will. And it probably won't be the only scar you'll end up with. But we can't quit, Zoe. It's too important."
"I know," she said, her breath catching slightly. "Give me just a minute."
"You can't. If you take a minute, you'll go back to sleep, and once you go back to sleep, it's even harder to wake you up than it was before. No, please. Stay right here with me, and let's keep talking. It won't hurt so much eventually, I promise."
They went on, shaking the sleeping people all around them, for several years. There were more and more all around them, since apparently sleepers liked to congregate where they'd be cared for. They tried shaking them, to little avail. They tried tiptoeing all around them in an attempt to find some dead ones to breathe on, but there were just too many asleep... and the sleeping ones were some of the most demanding ones.
You see, one of the main problems with the sleeping ones is that they couldn't be left alone. They required regular feeding and often soiled themselves, and it fell to Zoe and Gregory to care for them. Since sleeping people choke easily, they had to be fed through a tube into their stomachs. Zoe and Gregory were so thankful when better and more efficient diapers became available, because it was becoming more and more difficult to keep up.
Some of the sleeping people were starving to death right before their eyes because they refused to allow Zoe and Gregory to care for them at all. Either they were convinced by their dreams that they were, in fact, eating, or they were resentful that others might be receiving more food in their tubes than they did, and angrily refused to be fed. Some of them actually got up and walked around in their sleep, which was rather frightening to Zoe because at first she had been convinced that they, too, were awake... only to find soon that they were still completely asleep. In any case, Zoe and Gregory, in despair, left them alone. For a while, the two of them even tried lying down and going to sleep themselves, thinking perhaps it would be less stressful than trying too hard to wake them up. But by now they'd both been awake long enough that even though they lay there, eyes closed, trying desperately to achieve sleep, they could no longer fall asleep themselves. Once they were really
this awake, there really was no going back.
The final straw came one day, when Zoe found a couple of truly dead ones. To her horror, the sleepers rolled over on top of them, preventing her from breathing on them. She tried, and just as a little color began to return and they began to stir, more sleepers piled atop them and they could not move. She wept in despair.
One day Zoe suddenly spotted an opening through the throngs of sleepers. "Gregory! Look!" she shouted excitedly. There, through the small opening, they both saw hundreds and hundreds of people walking around, bright-faced and laughing, and breathing on dead people at an alarmingly exciting rate. "Gregory, we have to go there!" she said.
"I think you're right, Zoe," he said wearily. "We don't have any more time to breathe on dead people because all these sleepers require so much from us."
Zoe started down the path to the opening. "You go on ahead," Gregory told her. "I'll catch up shortly. I need to shake just a couple more people first... I just can't leave without trying once more."
"Okay, Gregory," she smiled. She turned and began to run toward the clearing. She emerged into the midst of all the awakened people, recognizing a few of them as people she'd been able to breathe on before she'd gotten so busy caring for sleepers. They welcomed her into their midst and introduced her to all the people around her who'd been quite dead and were now alive. She called out to Gregory.
"C'mon, Gregory! You've got to come see this!" Zoe shouted.
"I'm almost there," Gregory shouted back. "Just a couple more minutes."
Eventually he joined her among the living. "We almost didn't make it out of there," he said ruefully. "I wish we could've woken up a few of them. There are still a bunch over there who are calling for you in their sleep."
"I can't go back, Gregory," Zoe said softly. "I don't belong with the sleepers, and I can't keep feeding them. Maybe if no-one feeds them, they'll wake up hungry and begin to figure out what's happened."
"I hope so, Zoe," Gregory said. "I hope they don't completely die out from starvation just because they weren't able to wake up."
Zoe heard several of the ones she'd cared for, calling out to her desperately, but she knew that she could not go back to them. Babysitting sleepers couldn't come close to the thrill of seeing the dead come back to life.
=============
That's the end of my little story for now. There may be more chapters to it at some point in the future.
By the way...
...regarding my post yesterday about my husband not noticing what I look like, Rick said that yes, he could probably pick me out of a lineup, but he might get my name wrong.
That's kind-of an inside joke between the two of us. When we first got married, he persistently called me "Kim." He swears he never knew anyone named Kim, and I know for a fact that he never dated anyone named Kim... actually, I know that because I know he never dated anyone, ever. Ever met a 37-year-old man who's never held hands with a girl? Specifically, one who hasn't ever held hands with a girl because he never met the right one, not because he spent his entire life playing Halo 2? I did, fifteen years ago this month. We met in May, and married in December, and it was kind-of a May-December thing because he was 37 and I was 23 (38 and 24 when we married). Anyway, neither of us ever figured out who "Kim" was... he figures it's because both "Kim" and "Kris" are short names that start with K. Whatever. At least he gets it right now. He just calls me "Mom."
Oy.
That's kind-of an inside joke between the two of us. When we first got married, he persistently called me "Kim." He swears he never knew anyone named Kim, and I know for a fact that he never dated anyone named Kim... actually, I know that because I know he never dated anyone, ever. Ever met a 37-year-old man who's never held hands with a girl? Specifically, one who hasn't ever held hands with a girl because he never met the right one, not because he spent his entire life playing Halo 2? I did, fifteen years ago this month. We met in May, and married in December, and it was kind-of a May-December thing because he was 37 and I was 23 (38 and 24 when we married). Anyway, neither of us ever figured out who "Kim" was... he figures it's because both "Kim" and "Kris" are short names that start with K. Whatever. At least he gets it right now. He just calls me "Mom."
Oy.
The drawback to your mom having a heart transplant
...is that she can't come take care of you when you're sick because of all the immunosuppressant drugs she has to take to keep from rejecting her new heart.
I WANT MY MOMMY!!!
I need her to come open up a can of Campbell's Tomato Soup and warm it up for me and bring it to me in my Campbell's Tomato Soup mug that I've had since I was a kid.
I hate getting a cold in the spring. Everything's so nice outside, and I feel like complete pigpoop.
But I did get my papers done last night. [fist pumping]
And hey, our usual Tuesday night practice has been moved to Thursday night because of some scheduling conflicts at church, so I could actually just go home and crash this afternoon.
I believe I will.
I WANT MY MOMMY!!!
I need her to come open up a can of Campbell's Tomato Soup and warm it up for me and bring it to me in my Campbell's Tomato Soup mug that I've had since I was a kid.
I hate getting a cold in the spring. Everything's so nice outside, and I feel like complete pigpoop.
But I did get my papers done last night. [fist pumping]
And hey, our usual Tuesday night practice has been moved to Thursday night because of some scheduling conflicts at church, so I could actually just go home and crash this afternoon.
I believe I will.
Yaaaaaaawwwwwnnnnn... [sigh]
Yes, I'm still up at 1:30 AM. Yes, I will regret this tomorrow. But hey -- I am DONE with BOTH papers that were due today. Or rather, they were due yesterday.
And I stopped puking about half an hour ago. Hallelujah to that one, for sure. I have to remember to go easy on my stomach tomorrow because I'll still be all wadded-up in there from all the puking tonight.
We were awakened (well, Rick was awakened... I was sitting in here in the kitchen at the laptop, of course) a little bit ago by a knock on the door. Rick got up and checked, and a man outside said he was being chased by someone. Rick called the police and they came to check out the situation. All clear at this point, looks like. We're putting in an official offer on the Norwalk house tomorrow. I'll be glad when we aren't living in the 'hood anymore, to be quite honest. Even if this house doesn't go through for us, I know that the right house IS going to be ready for us at just the right time, so I'm not worried. Still, I do like this house and I hope it does work out.
Now for my favorite time of day -- BEDTIME.
And I stopped puking about half an hour ago. Hallelujah to that one, for sure. I have to remember to go easy on my stomach tomorrow because I'll still be all wadded-up in there from all the puking tonight.
We were awakened (well, Rick was awakened... I was sitting in here in the kitchen at the laptop, of course) a little bit ago by a knock on the door. Rick got up and checked, and a man outside said he was being chased by someone. Rick called the police and they came to check out the situation. All clear at this point, looks like. We're putting in an official offer on the Norwalk house tomorrow. I'll be glad when we aren't living in the 'hood anymore, to be quite honest. Even if this house doesn't go through for us, I know that the right house IS going to be ready for us at just the right time, so I'm not worried. Still, I do like this house and I hope it does work out.
Now for my favorite time of day -- BEDTIME.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Memo to self
Don't eat when you know it isn't going to go down. I've been throwing up for, oh, three hours or so now.
That being said, it's been helpful in one way: I'm trying to finish up a paper, and the fact that I'm constantly having to go back to the bathroom is at least keeping me awake enough to be able to write my paper in between puke sessions.
Of course, Rick is blissfully going on about his business, snoring cheerfully. I'm glad he can sleep through the sounds of muffled retching from the bathroom. He's probably used to it by now, anyway.
Someday I may go back under the knife and have this stomach surgery revised up to a full-blown gastric bypass. I wish I'd done that before, but I just didn't know at the time that that's what I should've done. Back in December, 1997, I opted for the less dramatic form of bariatric surgery, which was a simple stomach-stapling procedure combined with a narrow silicone band around the bottom outlet to prevent anything larger than the diameter of my pinky from ever making it through. It's a pain, really, because it prevents me from eating stuff that's really fibrous like broccoli and salads and stuff -- which is more of what I need anyway. Most of the time, crap like ice cream goes down just fine. But then there are those days when I'm upset, nervous, excited, what-have-you... and it just seems to swell that little silicone ring shut. There are some days when even water won't go through. I just have to rest and wait it out until the swelling subsides. If I'm trying to be "normal" and eat when everyone else does, though, it invariably means I'll spend inordinate amounts of time later hanging my head over the sink, the toilet or the trash can.
Did the surgery work? Well, yes. But not like I'd hoped. Yes, I'm still a big supporter of bariatric surgery as a viable option for someone who's seriously obese. There's a lot to be said for being able to fit into a seat in an airplane or a movie theater. And surgery is not my idea of the "easy way out." That surgery was HELLACIOUS to recover from, and I am not lying to you. Those first few nights in the hospital were so miserable that I honestly just wanted to die. Nope, that wasn't easy. Spending the past seven years puking my guts up hasn't been easy, either (although I do have to say that I've gotten much better at it than I used to be -- it's rather mechanical now, and I don't even have to gag myself with my finger, I can just think it and make it happen).
The best thing that came from having the surgery was that the rapid post-op weight loss triggered my fertility and I was able to conceive my son Isaac. A year after he was born, I conceived again, but lost that baby at 10 weeks in a hotel room one miserable November night. Since then I've been infertile again. But I did get an adorable little boy out of the deal. For that, I'd puke for the rest of my life.
That being said, it's been helpful in one way: I'm trying to finish up a paper, and the fact that I'm constantly having to go back to the bathroom is at least keeping me awake enough to be able to write my paper in between puke sessions.
Of course, Rick is blissfully going on about his business, snoring cheerfully. I'm glad he can sleep through the sounds of muffled retching from the bathroom. He's probably used to it by now, anyway.
Someday I may go back under the knife and have this stomach surgery revised up to a full-blown gastric bypass. I wish I'd done that before, but I just didn't know at the time that that's what I should've done. Back in December, 1997, I opted for the less dramatic form of bariatric surgery, which was a simple stomach-stapling procedure combined with a narrow silicone band around the bottom outlet to prevent anything larger than the diameter of my pinky from ever making it through. It's a pain, really, because it prevents me from eating stuff that's really fibrous like broccoli and salads and stuff -- which is more of what I need anyway. Most of the time, crap like ice cream goes down just fine. But then there are those days when I'm upset, nervous, excited, what-have-you... and it just seems to swell that little silicone ring shut. There are some days when even water won't go through. I just have to rest and wait it out until the swelling subsides. If I'm trying to be "normal" and eat when everyone else does, though, it invariably means I'll spend inordinate amounts of time later hanging my head over the sink, the toilet or the trash can.
Did the surgery work? Well, yes. But not like I'd hoped. Yes, I'm still a big supporter of bariatric surgery as a viable option for someone who's seriously obese. There's a lot to be said for being able to fit into a seat in an airplane or a movie theater. And surgery is not my idea of the "easy way out." That surgery was HELLACIOUS to recover from, and I am not lying to you. Those first few nights in the hospital were so miserable that I honestly just wanted to die. Nope, that wasn't easy. Spending the past seven years puking my guts up hasn't been easy, either (although I do have to say that I've gotten much better at it than I used to be -- it's rather mechanical now, and I don't even have to gag myself with my finger, I can just think it and make it happen).
The best thing that came from having the surgery was that the rapid post-op weight loss triggered my fertility and I was able to conceive my son Isaac. A year after he was born, I conceived again, but lost that baby at 10 weeks in a hotel room one miserable November night. Since then I've been infertile again. But I did get an adorable little boy out of the deal. For that, I'd puke for the rest of my life.
Kris the chameleon
I've always been this way, at least as long as I can remember. It's not even a conscious thing. Wherever I am, whoever I'm with, I morph to reflect my surroundings. If everyone's feeling comfortable and funny, then I am, too. If someone's shut down or quiet, then I am, too. I hate being that way, but I couldn't change it even if I tried.
Tonight we were all at Tim's house, where a photographer had come to do a photo shoot of SoulFire for the CD and the web site. I almost always feel uneasy in someone else's house anyway, but for some reason whenever I'm at Tim's, I feel very outsider-ish. Wish I knew why that is, because it's not anything I can put my finger on. I feel totally fine with Tim, Amy, Mark & AJ when we're at church or in the studio. Maybe it's just because people's houses are so, well, personal. It's like that's their own private spot and I don't have any business being there.
Maybe it's just because I'm weird. Yeah, that's probably it.
Anyway, they grilled hamburgers and I tried to eat one, but I was so edgy that I knew from the first bite that it wasn't going to stay down. It wasn't the hamburger's fault; it was fine. It was just me.
Being photographed is also uncomfortable. I'm looking rather old these days, and my face is dinged-up from adult acne (I had perfect skin in high school, so I guess this is payback time) and little wrinkles and just plain old AGE. I never was much to look at, and time hasn't improved it. But I'm less fretful about it than I used to be. I figure, hey, this is how I look. Like it, or don't. Makes no difference to me. I have a gigantic head and a big wide face and no lips, because that's how God made me, and hey -- Rick likes me fine, and that's all that matters, right? Actually, I'm not sure Rick could pick me out of a lineup, but that's just because that sort of thing doesn't even enter his mind to notice.
Hey, speaking of lips... I bought some of this stuff Estee Lauder has put out now that you dab onto your lips like lip gloss and it actually plumps them up. IT WORKS. I wouldn't have believed it, but it honestly does. Okay, it doesn't make my lips look like Julia Roberts', because it's just not possible. But it definitely enhances what you've already got. You dab it on lightly (it tingles a little after a few seconds), then wait until it dries (it's a leetle on the sticky side), then put your regular lipstick on over it. My lips were plumper for the entire day after I used it the first time. I'm saving it for special occasions, though. Can't waste good lips on just any old thing, now can I?
Tonight we were all at Tim's house, where a photographer had come to do a photo shoot of SoulFire for the CD and the web site. I almost always feel uneasy in someone else's house anyway, but for some reason whenever I'm at Tim's, I feel very outsider-ish. Wish I knew why that is, because it's not anything I can put my finger on. I feel totally fine with Tim, Amy, Mark & AJ when we're at church or in the studio. Maybe it's just because people's houses are so, well, personal. It's like that's their own private spot and I don't have any business being there.
Maybe it's just because I'm weird. Yeah, that's probably it.
Anyway, they grilled hamburgers and I tried to eat one, but I was so edgy that I knew from the first bite that it wasn't going to stay down. It wasn't the hamburger's fault; it was fine. It was just me.
Being photographed is also uncomfortable. I'm looking rather old these days, and my face is dinged-up from adult acne (I had perfect skin in high school, so I guess this is payback time) and little wrinkles and just plain old AGE. I never was much to look at, and time hasn't improved it. But I'm less fretful about it than I used to be. I figure, hey, this is how I look. Like it, or don't. Makes no difference to me. I have a gigantic head and a big wide face and no lips, because that's how God made me, and hey -- Rick likes me fine, and that's all that matters, right? Actually, I'm not sure Rick could pick me out of a lineup, but that's just because that sort of thing doesn't even enter his mind to notice.
Hey, speaking of lips... I bought some of this stuff Estee Lauder has put out now that you dab onto your lips like lip gloss and it actually plumps them up. IT WORKS. I wouldn't have believed it, but it honestly does. Okay, it doesn't make my lips look like Julia Roberts', because it's just not possible. But it definitely enhances what you've already got. You dab it on lightly (it tingles a little after a few seconds), then wait until it dries (it's a leetle on the sticky side), then put your regular lipstick on over it. My lips were plumper for the entire day after I used it the first time. I'm saving it for special occasions, though. Can't waste good lips on just any old thing, now can I?
Huh, wha?
The bell just rang about ten minutes ago signaling the end of the school day. I suddenly realized that an entire day had gone by. Normally the days feel kind-of long, but this one was like blink-and-you'll-miss-it. Great, now I feel disoriented.
Sometimes being entrapped in an unventilated, windowless cinderblock closet has that effect. You know how people who are institutionalized lose track of time? That's how I feel today.
Sometimes being entrapped in an unventilated, windowless cinderblock closet has that effect. You know how people who are institutionalized lose track of time? That's how I feel today.
Ahh... sunshine...
I used to hate being in the sun. Bright sunshine hurt my eyes, and I didn't like being hot and sweaty. In my old age (38), however, particularly following my surgery in 1997 after which I lost about 100 pounds, my internal thermostat radically changed and I became a chilly-willy. The feeling of lying in the warm sun is just sooooooo pleasant now.
I don't do it often, because that would be stupid. I'm naturally very fair, freckled, with reddish-brown hair, and getting a tan is just not possible. Nor is it prudent; excessive sunning causes cancer.
Or maybe not.
Scientists Say Sunshine May Prevent Cancer
Okay, can I just say that I'm getting to the point where I don't believe ANYTHING that "scientists" say nowadays? First something's bad for you, then it's not. How about saying "I DON'T KNOW"?
I don't do it often, because that would be stupid. I'm naturally very fair, freckled, with reddish-brown hair, and getting a tan is just not possible. Nor is it prudent; excessive sunning causes cancer.
Or maybe not.
Scientists Say Sunshine May Prevent Cancer
Okay, can I just say that I'm getting to the point where I don't believe ANYTHING that "scientists" say nowadays? First something's bad for you, then it's not. How about saying "I DON'T KNOW"?
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Anyone else catch the irony here?
I found the following link to a news story and thought it was, well, ironic:
Mexican President Looks to Mend Fences
Heh.
I wish it were actually true, but the article is referring (of course) to the kerfuffle over Fox's statement that illegal Mexicans are doing the jobs in the US that blacks won't do... which got ole Reverend Jackson up in arms (or course).
No, how about let's actually BUILD some fences... all along the border... how about you keep all your people on YOUR side, Vicente El Presidente, instead of encouraging them to violate our laws by providing them with printed materials giving advice on how to cross our border successfully? Seems to me if you were doing YOUR job, muchacho, your country's people wouldn't feel the need to escape it. And maybe it's just me, but I'd personally be rather ashamed if I were the president of a country and my people were flooding OUT of it because it was such a crappy place to live.
Mexican President Looks to Mend Fences
Heh.
I wish it were actually true, but the article is referring (of course) to the kerfuffle over Fox's statement that illegal Mexicans are doing the jobs in the US that blacks won't do... which got ole Reverend Jackson up in arms (or course).
No, how about let's actually BUILD some fences... all along the border... how about you keep all your people on YOUR side, Vicente El Presidente, instead of encouraging them to violate our laws by providing them with printed materials giving advice on how to cross our border successfully? Seems to me if you were doing YOUR job, muchacho, your country's people wouldn't feel the need to escape it. And maybe it's just me, but I'd personally be rather ashamed if I were the president of a country and my people were flooding OUT of it because it was such a crappy place to live.
Minutia that I find interesting but which most people reading this blog will probably find so boring that their eyes begin glazing over
I found an article a couple of weeks ago while digging around the university library and thought it was fascinating. They've apparently done studies on people with perfect pitch... which simply means that they are able to hear a note played on the piano or the guitar (or even the "note" of a running vacuum cleaner or hair dryer) and immediately tell you the name of the note on the scale. Anyway, here's some interesting information:
--Perfect pitch tends to predominate in females and showed up at a very early age.
--There is a strong correlation between the occurrence of perfect pitch and learning disabilities.
--In a sample of 30 healthy, right-handed professional musicians, those with perfect pitch had stronger leftward planum temporale asymmetry than nonmusicians or than musicians without perfect pitch. The left planum temporale regoin of the brain includes the Wernicke area, which is the seat of language comprehension. The extreme leftward bias in musicians with perfect pitch may be related to the ability to make the verbal association in identifying a particular note or pitch.
--Perfect pitch is probably not associated with one tiny area of the brain but rather may depend on the recruitment of a specialized network involved in the retrieval and manipulation of verbal-tonal associations.
--Early music training appeared to be necessary but not sufficient by itself for the development of perfect pitch. 40% of musicians who had begun training at 4 years of age or younger reported perfect pitch, but only 3% of those who had begun training at or after age 9 did so.
--People who have perfect pitch are 4 times more likely to have someone else in their family who also has perfect pitch.
--A subset of people with perfect pitch exhibit a high degree of mathematical and memory ability. In rare instances, they may exhibit unusual perceptual talents in other sensory realms such as taste or smell. A small fraction of individuals with perfect pitch also experience strong color associations with particular pitches, a phenomenon that is termed synesthesia.
--In a survey of 2707 music students showed a large variation in the prevalence of perfect pitch among different student groups. Students in the conservatory had about 25% with PP; university-based schools of music showed about 7%; and liberal arts music programs had about 5% with PP. There was a much higher incidence of PP among Asian music students (32%) than in other ethnic groups combined (7%). The high rate of PP among Asians was noted in all types of educational institutions.
I found this article on a website titled "Online Mendelian Inheritance in Man", or OMIM. It's a great resource, although most of it's a bit academic for people who aren't totally into genetics and stuff...
--Perfect pitch tends to predominate in females and showed up at a very early age.
--There is a strong correlation between the occurrence of perfect pitch and learning disabilities.
--In a sample of 30 healthy, right-handed professional musicians, those with perfect pitch had stronger leftward planum temporale asymmetry than nonmusicians or than musicians without perfect pitch. The left planum temporale regoin of the brain includes the Wernicke area, which is the seat of language comprehension. The extreme leftward bias in musicians with perfect pitch may be related to the ability to make the verbal association in identifying a particular note or pitch.
--Perfect pitch is probably not associated with one tiny area of the brain but rather may depend on the recruitment of a specialized network involved in the retrieval and manipulation of verbal-tonal associations.
--Early music training appeared to be necessary but not sufficient by itself for the development of perfect pitch. 40% of musicians who had begun training at 4 years of age or younger reported perfect pitch, but only 3% of those who had begun training at or after age 9 did so.
--People who have perfect pitch are 4 times more likely to have someone else in their family who also has perfect pitch.
--A subset of people with perfect pitch exhibit a high degree of mathematical and memory ability. In rare instances, they may exhibit unusual perceptual talents in other sensory realms such as taste or smell. A small fraction of individuals with perfect pitch also experience strong color associations with particular pitches, a phenomenon that is termed synesthesia.
--In a survey of 2707 music students showed a large variation in the prevalence of perfect pitch among different student groups. Students in the conservatory had about 25% with PP; university-based schools of music showed about 7%; and liberal arts music programs had about 5% with PP. There was a much higher incidence of PP among Asian music students (32%) than in other ethnic groups combined (7%). The high rate of PP among Asians was noted in all types of educational institutions.
I found this article on a website titled "Online Mendelian Inheritance in Man", or OMIM. It's a great resource, although most of it's a bit academic for people who aren't totally into genetics and stuff...
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday
Last Christmas, one of my gifts from Mom was a nifty little travel alarm. I set it last night and it faithfully, dependably woke me up at the correct time. I actually arrived at church at the time I wanted to get there, which was 6:30 AM. Consequently, the morning went pretty well. We were doing one fairly unusual song with some funky minor chords (which I love, but which I had to pay close attention to the lead sheet on), but I think it went okay. I really like it, and I hope we can do it again sometime.
Today was the Sunday when they honor all the graduates, which was kind-of cool. Not only do they recognize those who are graduating from high school, they also recognized all the kids in the 5th grade who are "graduating" up to the youth group -- which includes my Martha, who's loving it in the youth group already -- as well as the little kids who are going into kindergarten next year and are "graduating" up into the Children's department instead of the church nursery. I am impressed with the quality of kids who populate the children's ministry there at FCC, and I think it's going to be a very good move for the three younguns God entrusted to Rick & me.
I spent a bit of time this morning chatting with Pastor Rob's wife Lisa and their daughter Anna. Anna's in the second grade and is a very articulate young lady. I asked her about her pets and her extracurricular activities; she seems to be very energetic and bright. I asked her whether she was taking any music lessons and she said that her grandma had been teaching her piano on and off. She was thinking about starting it back up again. "What do you want to do with the piano? Do you want to play just to have fun, or would you like to be able to lead worship someday with it?"
"Probably just to have fun. Or maybe just to go to the nursing home and play the piano for those people there. I did that with my grandma once, only she played and I sang."
A-ha... we have a singer. I'm keeping my ears open. I'm always on the lookout for someone to train to replace me! I consider it part of the responsibility of having a gift -- to replicate myself, so to speak. Hoarding all the fun and blessing of getting to lead worship would just be selfish. In my far-off dreams, I'd like to establish a fine-arts academy through the church, where people come on certain nights and take piano, guitar, percussion, song composition, art, calligraphy, etc... all of those are things that can be a particularly winsome means of honoring God, and it's incumbent upon me to spread it around if I can.
Today was the Sunday when they honor all the graduates, which was kind-of cool. Not only do they recognize those who are graduating from high school, they also recognized all the kids in the 5th grade who are "graduating" up to the youth group -- which includes my Martha, who's loving it in the youth group already -- as well as the little kids who are going into kindergarten next year and are "graduating" up into the Children's department instead of the church nursery. I am impressed with the quality of kids who populate the children's ministry there at FCC, and I think it's going to be a very good move for the three younguns God entrusted to Rick & me.
I spent a bit of time this morning chatting with Pastor Rob's wife Lisa and their daughter Anna. Anna's in the second grade and is a very articulate young lady. I asked her about her pets and her extracurricular activities; she seems to be very energetic and bright. I asked her whether she was taking any music lessons and she said that her grandma had been teaching her piano on and off. She was thinking about starting it back up again. "What do you want to do with the piano? Do you want to play just to have fun, or would you like to be able to lead worship someday with it?"
"Probably just to have fun. Or maybe just to go to the nursing home and play the piano for those people there. I did that with my grandma once, only she played and I sang."
A-ha... we have a singer. I'm keeping my ears open. I'm always on the lookout for someone to train to replace me! I consider it part of the responsibility of having a gift -- to replicate myself, so to speak. Hoarding all the fun and blessing of getting to lead worship would just be selfish. In my far-off dreams, I'd like to establish a fine-arts academy through the church, where people come on certain nights and take piano, guitar, percussion, song composition, art, calligraphy, etc... all of those are things that can be a particularly winsome means of honoring God, and it's incumbent upon me to spread it around if I can.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
My little dancers
The dance recital today was nicely done, as is everything ever produced by their teacher, Miss Anna Sikes. The theme was one of pirates and fair maidens; a pair of sisters were separated in a storm at sea, one landing on a pirate island and raised by the denizens of said realm, and the other landing on an island where everyone's sweet and kind and good. Isaac was a pirate, of course, and by far the tiniest pirate you'll ever see. He played the part as though he were six feet tall, however, waving his sword and frightening the maidens (so much so that one of them "faints" at the sight of him twirling in front of her). Alice also lived on the pirate island and was one of several "birds of paradise" flitting around beautifully. Here they are after the recital, sporting their costumes proudly:
Isaac's violin recital
Isaac took Suzuki violin lessons at his school this year. Since the kids go to the fine arts magnet school in Des Moines, they are provided with lessons free of charge. It's a sweet deal, especially for our family, since we're so into the arts anyway.
Here's Isaac and his teeny-tiny violin:
Here's Isaac and his teeny-tiny violin:
How to arrange hair into a "Jeoffrey Bun"
I've had some folks interested in the process behind the Jeoffrey bun, so I thought I'd try to give a little tutorial. The results in this particular instance aren't perfect, but they're okay, and it should at least give you some idea of how to do it.
First, you'll need some very stiff "mega-hold" hair gel, a sturdy hair band, and lots and lots of bobby pins. Slick back the hair around the face with gel, and put hair into a snug ponytail right at the middle of the back of the head (this is the requirement for our ballet recital; I'm sure if you'd rather do this bun down low near the neckline or up higher on the head, that's up to you):
Next, take a small section from the ponytail and hold it out from the rest of the hair. Because Alice's hair is so thick and straight, I usually put a bead of hair gel along the section:
Next, twist the section fairly tightly into a rope:
Keeping it twisted, wind the rope around the base of the ponytail:
Use bobby pins to secure the rope to the head:
Take another small section and begin to repeat the process:
When you get to the last one, twist it tightly and pin it to the rest of the bun as neatly as possible. As you can see, I wasn't that neat about it, but we were in a bit of a hurry tonight:
The finished product:
After this, we take a fine black hairnet and twist it over the bun two or three times to make sure no little flyaways get out (as if they could, with that much gel). Then I use some stiff hairspray over her whole head.
It's not as difficult or complicated as it looks, and it certainly lasts longer than a plain bun twist because it's secured in so many sections. E-mail me if you still have any questions about the process.
First, you'll need some very stiff "mega-hold" hair gel, a sturdy hair band, and lots and lots of bobby pins. Slick back the hair around the face with gel, and put hair into a snug ponytail right at the middle of the back of the head (this is the requirement for our ballet recital; I'm sure if you'd rather do this bun down low near the neckline or up higher on the head, that's up to you):
Next, take a small section from the ponytail and hold it out from the rest of the hair. Because Alice's hair is so thick and straight, I usually put a bead of hair gel along the section:
Next, twist the section fairly tightly into a rope:
Keeping it twisted, wind the rope around the base of the ponytail:
Use bobby pins to secure the rope to the head:
Take another small section and begin to repeat the process:
When you get to the last one, twist it tightly and pin it to the rest of the bun as neatly as possible. As you can see, I wasn't that neat about it, but we were in a bit of a hurry tonight:
The finished product:
After this, we take a fine black hairnet and twist it over the bun two or three times to make sure no little flyaways get out (as if they could, with that much gel). Then I use some stiff hairspray over her whole head.
It's not as difficult or complicated as it looks, and it certainly lasts longer than a plain bun twist because it's secured in so many sections. E-mail me if you still have any questions about the process.
SoulFire has a web site
It isn't much yet... I'm still working hard to try to figure out the whole process. But I at least wanted to get a place-holder there with a link to send us an e-mail.
SoulFire Band
I consider myself to be a reasonably bright individual, but I have had the darnedest time navigating the waters of web site construction matters. It's high time I schooled myself in this area, however, and the band needed a site, so here I go. Eventually I want to have multiple pages with photographs, a calendar, a page for each band member with bio, etc...
SoulFire Band
I consider myself to be a reasonably bright individual, but I have had the darnedest time navigating the waters of web site construction matters. It's high time I schooled myself in this area, however, and the band needed a site, so here I go. Eventually I want to have multiple pages with photographs, a calendar, a page for each band member with bio, etc...
Friday, May 20, 2005
Well, we lost
The tug-o-war was a debacle, just as I predicted... the seniors whupped us good. I did get pictures, but you'll have to wait until I can get them uploaded.
I also got some pictures of Isaac's first violin recital this afternoon. His violin is soooooo tiny! He stood next to Gloria, who's this adorable little girl in his kindergarten class, and I sat next to Gloria's mother, who spoke very little English but who was obviously very proud of her little girl as well. I chatted with her in Spanish a bit.
Dance recital rehearsal again tonight; Isaac wore his stage makeup for the first time. "I look like a girl," he observed. Except for the hair, he kind-of does. He's got very pretty eyes and long lashes. "But I'm not a girl," he said. "I'm a pirate."
I tried last night to post progressive photos of creating Alice's recital hairstyle, but even though I uploaded the photos onto my Yahoo! briefcase, I'm not able to link to them. I need to e-mail Kevin to ask him, since he's my resident expert on such things as posting photos. There are free services, yes, I'm aware of it -- I've used Picasa's Hello program on this blog a few times already. But I am paying for some bandwidth, and I'd like to start hosting my own photos and doing some more creative things with my blog.
I've got two papers to write (group papers, not all by myself) this weekend, not to mention the fact that the dance recital is tomorrow, so posting may be a bit light. I'll check in when I can.
I also got some pictures of Isaac's first violin recital this afternoon. His violin is soooooo tiny! He stood next to Gloria, who's this adorable little girl in his kindergarten class, and I sat next to Gloria's mother, who spoke very little English but who was obviously very proud of her little girl as well. I chatted with her in Spanish a bit.
Dance recital rehearsal again tonight; Isaac wore his stage makeup for the first time. "I look like a girl," he observed. Except for the hair, he kind-of does. He's got very pretty eyes and long lashes. "But I'm not a girl," he said. "I'm a pirate."
I tried last night to post progressive photos of creating Alice's recital hairstyle, but even though I uploaded the photos onto my Yahoo! briefcase, I'm not able to link to them. I need to e-mail Kevin to ask him, since he's my resident expert on such things as posting photos. There are free services, yes, I'm aware of it -- I've used Picasa's Hello program on this blog a few times already. But I am paying for some bandwidth, and I'd like to start hosting my own photos and doing some more creative things with my blog.
I've got two papers to write (group papers, not all by myself) this weekend, not to mention the fact that the dance recital is tomorrow, so posting may be a bit light. I'll check in when I can.
Upcoming Events
Brett Rogers has asked me to post a schedule of my gigs, so I'll give you the scoop as I have it so far.
June 5 -- Fellowship Community Church, Norwalk, 6 PM
June 11 -- Hype Night (youth festival, 3-on-3 tournament), Grace Church (on the east side, the one you can see from the freeway), starting mid-afternoon sometime
July 9 -- Ankeny festival (I'll let you know what time as soon as I know it)
August 28 -- FCC's ten-year anniversary service, at the Norwalk HS football stadium
September 25 -- Combined service with all the churches of Grace Fellowship, at the Convention Center downtown
More details to come.
June 5 -- Fellowship Community Church, Norwalk, 6 PM
June 11 -- Hype Night (youth festival, 3-on-3 tournament), Grace Church (on the east side, the one you can see from the freeway), starting mid-afternoon sometime
July 9 -- Ankeny festival (I'll let you know what time as soon as I know it)
August 28 -- FCC's ten-year anniversary service, at the Norwalk HS football stadium
September 25 -- Combined service with all the churches of Grace Fellowship, at the Convention Center downtown
More details to come.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Senior Games
Tomorrow is North High School's traditional Senior Games, where the seniors challenge the staff. I'm on the tug-of-war team, of course, being a rather short and stout individual. The best part is that I get to dress in sweatpants and sneakers for the day. I will give a report (and pictures, I hope) tomorrow after the debacle.
Lutefisk Riots
Iowahawk has the scoop.
Burge's characterization of Iowa is so accurate it's frightening, down to the minutest detail (such as sweater vests and Land's End catalogs). Genius. Pure genius.
NEWSWEEK LUTEFISK STORY SPARKS FURY ACROSS VOLATILE MIDWEST
Decorah, IA - The debris-strewn streets of this remote Midwestern hamlet remain under a tense 24-hour curfew tonight, following weekend demonstrations by rock- and figurine-throwing Lutheran farm wives that left over 200 people injured and leveled the Whippy Dip dairy freeze. The rioting appeared to be prompted, in part, by a report in Newsweek magazine claiming military guards at Spirit Lake's notorious Okoboji internment center had flushed lutefisk down prison toilets. Newsweek's late announcement of a retraction seems to have done little to quell the inflamed passions of Lutheran insurgents in the region, as outbreaks of violent mailbox bashings and cow tippings have been reported from Bowbells, North Dakota to Pekin, Illinois.
Whether the violence was triggered by Newsweek's report of lutefisk desecration or frustration over chronic shortages of Beanie Babies and Old Style, one thing seems certain -- occupying U.S. troops face a steep road to reestablish trust in this tinderbox of ancient hatreds and delicious dairy products. Some analysts say the latest outbreak represents the most vexing challenge to US strategy since its invasion of the region three years ago.
Burge's characterization of Iowa is so accurate it's frightening, down to the minutest detail (such as sweater vests and Land's End catalogs). Genius. Pure genius.
THUMP!!!
Oakley has some new sunglasses out... equipped with an MP3 player! Blue Fish, I'm guessing that a pair of these bad boys are on YOUR Christmas list, eh?
Hi Ho
You are Kermit the Frog!! You are loyal to your
friends and don't really know how to say No.
No matter what you were doing, you would drop
it in a second if a loved one was in trouble.
You are also a born star. Everyone loves you!
Which Muppet are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Bored?
Here are a few suggestions to relieve your boredom.
A sample:
A sample:
Pretend to be a car
(Amusement Potential: 1-3 minutes)
Make appropriate revving noises in your head as you walk along and add a racing commentary as you pass strangers in the street. Use blinking eyes as indicators for extra authenticity.
My guy is okay
The student I was so worried about was in my class today. He said his dad is off the breathing machine and can talk now. The bullet hit him in the back of the shoulder and shattered up into his neck and chin.
I am so thankful that he's here and that he's okay. Thanks to all of you who've been praying for him.
I am so thankful that he's here and that he's okay. Thanks to all of you who've been praying for him.
Celebrate the Twinkie!!
Hat tip to J-Walk for this interesting tidbit.
Hostess Twinkies are celebrating their 75th anniversary!
I heart Twinkies. I don't eat them very often anymore, but I have a very special place in my heart for them. My favorite memory of Twinkies, however, isn't of eating them.
When I was growing up, we had a little brown poodle named Oui-oui (yes, that's pronounced wee-wee... I didn't name her, but I'm sure it was a fitting tribute to something she did as a puppy). Anyway, I was an only child, so I considered Oui-oui to be a part of the family like a sibling. We even celebrated her birthday (January 11th -- I still remember it). We always gave her a Twinkie on her birthday, and she loooooooved it. Scarfed it down. Inhaled it. And licked the creme filling off her nose. Oui-oui was an awesome little dog. We never really had another one quite like her, but now it looks like Bijou is turning out to be very much like Oui-oui was... mild-mannered, tolerant, laid-back, snuggly... a terrific lap warmer and a delighted greeter whenever you come home. Bijou loves the kids and puts up with them lugging her around. She's never once bitten anyone.
I decided not to have her spayed because she's such a great little dog, and I'm hoping to find someone with a teeny little male poodle who'd be willing to make a match of it. Oui-oui had puppies twice when I was a kid, and I was so delighted by the experience. I'd like for my kids to have that memory, too. Cindy says that it was traumatic for her when her dog had puppies because she was horrified at the idea of giving them all away. It never occurred to me that we would keep the puppies, however... they were cute, but I knew we didn't have room or resources to deal with them all. At any rate, I'm hoping to arrange for some puppies at our house someday.
Hostess Twinkies are celebrating their 75th anniversary!
I heart Twinkies. I don't eat them very often anymore, but I have a very special place in my heart for them. My favorite memory of Twinkies, however, isn't of eating them.
When I was growing up, we had a little brown poodle named Oui-oui (yes, that's pronounced wee-wee... I didn't name her, but I'm sure it was a fitting tribute to something she did as a puppy). Anyway, I was an only child, so I considered Oui-oui to be a part of the family like a sibling. We even celebrated her birthday (January 11th -- I still remember it). We always gave her a Twinkie on her birthday, and she loooooooved it. Scarfed it down. Inhaled it. And licked the creme filling off her nose. Oui-oui was an awesome little dog. We never really had another one quite like her, but now it looks like Bijou is turning out to be very much like Oui-oui was... mild-mannered, tolerant, laid-back, snuggly... a terrific lap warmer and a delighted greeter whenever you come home. Bijou loves the kids and puts up with them lugging her around. She's never once bitten anyone.
I decided not to have her spayed because she's such a great little dog, and I'm hoping to find someone with a teeny little male poodle who'd be willing to make a match of it. Oui-oui had puppies twice when I was a kid, and I was so delighted by the experience. I'd like for my kids to have that memory, too. Cindy says that it was traumatic for her when her dog had puppies because she was horrified at the idea of giving them all away. It never occurred to me that we would keep the puppies, however... they were cute, but I knew we didn't have room or resources to deal with them all. At any rate, I'm hoping to arrange for some puppies at our house someday.
More student writing
Another young man gave me this bit of writing today, from the Big Bad Wolf's perspective. Remember, this is a freshman in high school, and he's in special education, so judge the mechanics accordingly.
Heh. It's always good to get both sides of the story, right? Fair and balanced...
This is the real story of me and those rotten little pigs I was on my way to the store and saw that a pig was building a house of straw. This wasn't to smart but I thought I would help anyway. I walk towards him and he pulls out pepper spray and hits me right in the eyes, and he runs away. I walk along to another strange house made of sticks and see the first pig and another one. Thinking I could ask to wash my eyes out, I go to the door and knock real loud and said "little pigs let me in to wash out my eyes." The little devils say "no way man." So I get an itch in my nose because of the pepper spray and I huff and I puff and I blew the house down. The pigs speed away to another house. This house was made by a msart person it was made of strong bricks. My eyes were still red so I knock on the door to see if I could wash my eyes out. The dumb little pigs say "never you stupid wolf." So I say "fine I just blow your house down like the first two houses." So I huff and puff and blow real hard, but nothing happens. So I think of other possible ways to get in. I try digging a tunnel, but that doesn't work. I try using dynamite, the stupid pigs were way ahead of that plan, they throw the dynamite sticks back at me. So just when I was out of ideas, I see the roof and chimney on top. So I climb on the roof and start to climb down the chimney, and I start to smell something real good. All the sudden it gets real hot. I lose my grip of the chimney, and fall into a pot full of boiling hot water. I jump out of the pot and run to bathroom and sit in the tub. Those dirty little pigs call the cops and I get charged with breaking in, and pig endangerment. All I wanted was to wash my eyes. I would've gotten away with it too if it wasn't for those no good pigs.
Heh. It's always good to get both sides of the story, right? Fair and balanced...
Poetry
This morning one of my students gave me three pieces of paper, each with an original poem. I asked her if she minded if I blogged them, and she said it would be okay.
There. Now you've had your cultural experience for the day.
Reading them, I smiled to myself and remembered some of the poetry I wrote in high school. I was "into" iambic pentameter even back then, and wrote scads and scads of blank verse. It's too bad I can't seem to figure out how to turn my love for rhythmic and poetic speech into original songs... songwriting has always eluded me. I was at practice last night and Jeff & I worked through a couple of his original compositions, and it just makes me so amazed and grateful that God has given that gift to him. Part of me is a wee bit envious that I don't seem to have that, but I can't complain because I'm at least getting to be part of the creative process in a teeny way, helping his songs take shape and grow to life.
My Best Friend
Today I found a friend,
Who knew everything I felt.
She knew my every weakness,
And the problems I've been dealt.
She understood my wonders,
And listened to my dreams.
She listened to how I felt about life and love,
And knew what it all means.
Not once did she interrupt me,
Or tell me I was wrong.
She understood what I was going through,
And promised she'd stay long
I reached out to this friend
To show her that I care
To pull her close and let her know
How much I need her there
I went to hold her hand
To pull her a bit nearer
And realized that this perfect friend I found
Was nothing but my mirror.
---------------------
Darkness
In the darkness of the night
I lie awake and think of you.
I know you're out there and you do the same
Lay down your head and think of me.
We just haven't found each other,
Found the similar feeling in each other's eyes.
The knowledge that you're out there keeps me going
Someday, somewhere I will find you.
Someday, somewhere maybe you'll find me.
Together then we will move forward.
Forward to wherever life takes us
Until then we both lie with heads upon pillows.
---------------------------
Different
You shouldn't care what they think
who are they to judge
They are only there to make you
feel bad, they offer you no love
Be daring; be bold,
Give them reason to stare,
your only weakness is if you care.
Be unique have class,
Be young while you can.
Live life to the fullest,
Take life by the hand.
If you fall, get back up
It's too easy to fail.
Life is a challenge,
and now I set sail.
There. Now you've had your cultural experience for the day.
Reading them, I smiled to myself and remembered some of the poetry I wrote in high school. I was "into" iambic pentameter even back then, and wrote scads and scads of blank verse. It's too bad I can't seem to figure out how to turn my love for rhythmic and poetic speech into original songs... songwriting has always eluded me. I was at practice last night and Jeff & I worked through a couple of his original compositions, and it just makes me so amazed and grateful that God has given that gift to him. Part of me is a wee bit envious that I don't seem to have that, but I can't complain because I'm at least getting to be part of the creative process in a teeny way, helping his songs take shape and grow to life.
Happy dancing!!!
We've put our house on the market!!!! I'm so excited I can hardly stand it. We talked to our neighbor up the street who's a realtor (and whose teenage son comes over here to babysit quite often) and we're getting the paperwork all signed and stuff.
Okay, I am not looking forward to digging through eight years of crap we've accumulated. But in some ways I actually *am* looking forward to it, because I'll be tossing a goodly portion of it.
And yesterday we looked at a house in Norwalk that we really think might be the one for us. It's even in our price range. If we actually put an offer on it and it's accepted, I'll post a picture of it.
I will, however, be posting a picture of my current house that's for sale. Y'all just pray that a buyer comes at the right time and everything works out.
On a completely unrelated note, I am also extremely happy because this summer seems to be filling up with music gigs right and left. Not just for SoulFire, but for the morning band (Romans Road), too. I don't think my life could get any cooler if I won the lottery... actually, this is better than the lottery because I'm getting to do what I was BORN to do. Not many people can say that they're able to do what they've always dreamed of doing.
Okay, I am not looking forward to digging through eight years of crap we've accumulated. But in some ways I actually *am* looking forward to it, because I'll be tossing a goodly portion of it.
And yesterday we looked at a house in Norwalk that we really think might be the one for us. It's even in our price range. If we actually put an offer on it and it's accepted, I'll post a picture of it.
I will, however, be posting a picture of my current house that's for sale. Y'all just pray that a buyer comes at the right time and everything works out.
On a completely unrelated note, I am also extremely happy because this summer seems to be filling up with music gigs right and left. Not just for SoulFire, but for the morning band (Romans Road), too. I don't think my life could get any cooler if I won the lottery... actually, this is better than the lottery because I'm getting to do what I was BORN to do. Not many people can say that they're able to do what they've always dreamed of doing.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Cry me a river, people
I'm on a tear today. Well, actually, it's just that there've been a few things in the news today that have sent me over the edge. This one, in particular:
Sex Offenders Fear Reaction To Gage Case Could Keep Them Imprisoned
Razor wire = good.
Releasing sex offenders = bad.
People that prey on little children should never EVER be allowed to rejoin society. This isn't about forgiveness, folks... this is about protecting the rest of us from someone who's dangerous. How many studies do they have to do to prove to the criminal justice system that sex offenders ARE ALWAYS A RISK?
I would think that those guys there in the Cherokee facility would be more than happy to remain there forever. At least there, they get three squares and a place to sleep, and they're safe. Don't get me started on the notion that it's somehow a wise use of taxpayer money to keep these people all comfy and happy...
Sex Offenders Fear Reaction To Gage Case Could Keep Them Imprisoned
POSTED: 9:40 am CDT May 17, 2005
UPDATED: 9:51 am CDT May 17, 2005
CHEROKEE, Iowa -- Sex offenders in state custody living in Cherokee are afraid the public will target them over the slaying of a Cedar Rapids girl.
Jetseta Gage, 10, was taken from her Cedar Rapids home on March 24. Her body was found the next day.
Convicted sex offender Roger Bentley is charged with her murder and kidnapping.
Jason Smith is administrator of the Civil Commitment Unit for Sexual Offenders. He said sexual offenders in the Cherokee unit worry that their prison time will be increased because of a public backlash calling for tougher punishments for offenders.
The Iowa civil commitment program is six years old. It keeps sex offenders who are judged likely to reoffend in custody until the determination is made they are no longer a risk.
The program is designed to prepare to release a patient to supervised care.
The unit is operated by the Department of Human Services. It's located in the 103-year-old Cherokee Mental Health Institute, which is encircled by a high-wire fence topped with razor wire.
Razor wire = good.
Releasing sex offenders = bad.
People that prey on little children should never EVER be allowed to rejoin society. This isn't about forgiveness, folks... this is about protecting the rest of us from someone who's dangerous. How many studies do they have to do to prove to the criminal justice system that sex offenders ARE ALWAYS A RISK?
I would think that those guys there in the Cherokee facility would be more than happy to remain there forever. At least there, they get three squares and a place to sleep, and they're safe. Don't get me started on the notion that it's somehow a wise use of taxpayer money to keep these people all comfy and happy...
Daycare doesn't hurt kids...
Not all of them, anyway...
So how well do you know YOUR daycare provider?
Denison Man Charged With Sexual Assault On Child
Sheriff Tom, I'm thinking anyone with children who are EVER OUTSIDE THEIR OWN DIRECT SUPERVISION should talk to their children about good touch and bad touch. That would encompass just about everyone at some point. Get a clue, folks... no, not every daycare provider is married to a sexual predator, I realize that. But you'd be surprised just WHO you might know who just might have these kinds of sick impulses. Talk to your kids now, before something happens.
So how well do you know YOUR daycare provider?
Denison Man Charged With Sexual Assault On Child
POSTED: 8:23 am CDT May 17, 2005
UPDATED: 8:29 am CDT May 17, 2005
DENISON, Iowa -- A man is under investigation for sexual assault on a child related to his wife's daycare business.
Kelly Binning, 38, of Denison, faces a charge of second-degree sexual assault. He allegedly touched a young girl inappropriately and was not at the day care when the alleged incident occurred. The abuse allegedly occurred in 2001 when the child was 7 years old.
Crawford County authorities think there may be other victims. Crawford County Sheriff Tom Hogan said anyone with children at Binning's wife's day care may want to talk to their child about good touch and bad touch.
"We're very concerned some of the victims may have been associated with day care in that home," Hogan said. "There's no question in my mind there will be other charges."
Binning is out on bond with restrictions. He could not be found for comment.
If you have information on related to this case, call (712) 263-3195.
Sheriff Tom, I'm thinking anyone with children who are EVER OUTSIDE THEIR OWN DIRECT SUPERVISION should talk to their children about good touch and bad touch. That would encompass just about everyone at some point. Get a clue, folks... no, not every daycare provider is married to a sexual predator, I realize that. But you'd be surprised just WHO you might know who just might have these kinds of sick impulses. Talk to your kids now, before something happens.
Worries...
One of my peeps here at school is missing. His dad got shot this past weekend and is in serious condition. I'm really worried about him now because he already lost his mom; she was murdered when he was very small. He's a wonderful kid; big-hearted, funny, smart, gentle, thoughtful, polite -- all the things you wouldn't think he'd be, considering his life circumstances.
I've made phone calls to area hospitals, with no success. I'm guessing that because it's a criminal investigation, they're not releasing the information, but I sure wish I could check on my guy.
I've made phone calls to area hospitals, with no success. I'm guessing that because it's a criminal investigation, they're not releasing the information, but I sure wish I could check on my guy.
Studio wrap-up
We stayed late at the studio last night and were able to wrap up everything that could be fixed (obviously there are some things about a live performance that just have to stay the way they are, warts and all). We're working on a tight budget, so we wanted to tweak as little as possible so Steve could spend time mixing it down. We're looking at being done sometime in late June, I think.
I have to say that the studio time we've spent together as a band has been nothing short of hilarious. I laughed until I couldn't breathe last night; I think the band is going to have a new rule that we can only communicate with one another using quotes from movies.
I was thrilled that we were able to re-record the intro that I botched so badly during the concert. Not only that, but in only two takes. Woohoo! I was so mad at myself that night for having choked on that dumb thing on concert night, but I think I was so caught-up in the energy of the night that I lost my mind for a moment. I swear, Tim, I won't let it happen again. [snicker] Umm... yeah... good luck with that...
I have to say that the studio time we've spent together as a band has been nothing short of hilarious. I laughed until I couldn't breathe last night; I think the band is going to have a new rule that we can only communicate with one another using quotes from movies.
I was thrilled that we were able to re-record the intro that I botched so badly during the concert. Not only that, but in only two takes. Woohoo! I was so mad at myself that night for having choked on that dumb thing on concert night, but I think I was so caught-up in the energy of the night that I lost my mind for a moment. I swear, Tim, I won't let it happen again. [snicker] Umm... yeah... good luck with that...
Monday, May 16, 2005
Sharon Stone, typical single mom?
Okay, I was reading an article from the Boston Herald that Michelle Malkin referenced with regard to George Lucas and his preachy pandering, and I read across the following:
Umm, yeah. Because you AREN'T DOING IT ALONE. You have a nanny and a cook and heaven-known-who-else working for you, darling, so you can go do all the "work you do for AIDS" in your Herve Leger dress.
Not that I begrudge you your Herve Leger dress OR your hired staff. You're a wealthy person, you get to buy what you want. I'm just saying that it's a bit of a stretch to equate yourself with all single women because you're not the typical "single mom."
Meanwhile, a stunning [Sharon] Stone, snug in a skin-tight Herve Leger black dress and long blond fall, was applauded when she spoke not about "Basic Instinct 2: Risk Addiction" but of having adopted her second son, Laird Vonne ("Vonne is my middle name and was my aunt's name"), who joins his brother, Roan.
"It's certainly challenging to work, have two kids and do the work I do for AIDS," said Stone, who flies back to chair the Cannes Cinema Against AIDS AMFAR auction later this week. "It's important for my children to know you can work and be a parent. It's important as well that I do the work I do with AIDS so they know I care about their future.
"And with Laird coming into my life I'm having the best time of my life. I've found you can do it - and a single woman can do it all! I would encourage all single women to stand up and show it can be done."
Umm, yeah. Because you AREN'T DOING IT ALONE. You have a nanny and a cook and heaven-known-who-else working for you, darling, so you can go do all the "work you do for AIDS" in your Herve Leger dress.
Not that I begrudge you your Herve Leger dress OR your hired staff. You're a wealthy person, you get to buy what you want. I'm just saying that it's a bit of a stretch to equate yourself with all single women because you're not the typical "single mom."
Dandy dandelions
David over at Third World County has a particularly eloquent post today about weeds...
Dandelions
Nicely put.
Dandelions
No matter how our society's warped values may deem the dandelion to be an obnoxious weed, children who are as yet unpolluted by the depraved value system that would deem such a radiently bold and beautiful flower a weed, bring their mothers glad bouquets of dandelions every spring.
Nicely put.
Public Service Announcement
Journalist Safety
And thank you to Confederate Yankee for this list of helpful hints on handling journalists.
"Guns Don't Kill People. Reporters Kill People."
Kids, remember to follow these simple rules if you find a journalist:
STOP AND DON'T TOUCH IT.
LEAVE THE AREA
TELL A RESPONSIBLE ADULT WHAT YOU FOUND
The adult should NOT touch the journalist either.
Even if the adult is familiar with journalism safety rules, the journalist should not be handled.
The journalist could be essential evidence that could be used in a solving a crime and the mere position of the journalist could be important. Not to mention footprints, fingerprints, clothing threads, blood, tire tracks or cartridge cases that might be in the immediate area.
If you are alone, remember exactly where the journalist is.
Carefully leave the area without disturbing anything.
If possible, post a sentry or responsible person to keep everyone away from the area.
As soon as possible, bring a police officer to the journalist. Don't pick it up and bring it to the police station.
Thank You.
And thank you to Confederate Yankee for this list of helpful hints on handling journalists.
Makes you wonder...
Rick said something very interesting to me this morning as we were getting dressed. "I wonder how many other stories throughout the years that the mainstream media has fed us have actually been complete (or at least partial) fabrications?"
Now that we actually have people who are fact-checking the MSM, seems like we find out every other day about some other lie they've told us. Wonder what it was like when there wasn't anyone fact-checking them? How much of what we got was just made up, and no-one ever found out?
Now that we actually have people who are fact-checking the MSM, seems like we find out every other day about some other lie they've told us. Wonder what it was like when there wasn't anyone fact-checking them? How much of what we got was just made up, and no-one ever found out?
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday
Okay, I've had it with my alarm clock. It works fine on weekdays, when I need to go to work. But it invariably fails on Sunday mornings... as it did today. I sat bolt upright at 6:22 AM (having gone to bed early so I could get up and be at church by 6:30), thought "$@#&!!!!!" and leaped into the shower. I was in the car and on my way by 6:44, WITH makeup... [taking a bow]... Thank you, thank you very much. It wasn't without some damage, however, since I whacked the side of my face on the pointy corner of the car door as I was sliding in at a record pace. I thought, Ugh, that one'll leave a mark. It's still sore.
Today was baptism Sunday. It's unbelievable how many people this church is baptizing from this community and the surrounding area. The church is exploding exponentially. It's sooooo cool to be a part of a church that is ALIVE.
Isaac told us today at lunch that the next time the church is baptizing, he's ready to do it too. Interestingly, he isn't aware of this, but the next time FCC baptizes will be at the August 28th 10th-anniversary service, which is scheduled to be held at the high school football stadium and they expect upwards of a thousand in attendance. We're still talking to him to be absolutely sure he's fully cognizant of his decision (well, as fully cognizant as a five-year-old can be, which Jesus said was actually a pre-requisite for salvation -- faith like a little child, y'know), but he seems pretty sure of himself. That will mean all three of my little ones have professed Christ -- which makes me very, very grateful; it's what I've always prayed for them.
This is shaping up to be a somewhat hectic week. This weekend is Isaac & Alice's dance recital, but Thursday night and Friday night are both rehearsal nights. Thursday night is also SoulFire practice, which is beyond critical because our concert is coming up and we have SO MUCH work to do before then... thankfully the Purple Fish Family is pinch-hitting for me yet again that night. Friday night I'll be fine, but Thursday is just not do-able. Then Saturday is the BIG DAY; recitals at 1 PM and 5 PM. Alice is only in one of them, but Isaac's in BOTH because the younger girls' classes all have duplicates to keep class sizes more manageable.
Tomorrow night I'm scheduled to go back into the studio to polish up an intro that I mangled a little. The others didn't think there was anything wrong with it, but it pains me to listen to it so they're letting me take up some of the precious studio time to repair it if it's possible. If it's not possible to repair it, we're just going to drop the intro from the final final because it doesn't HAVE to be there. It's ear-candy, really, and not crucial to the song.
And if I don't go to bed RIGHT NOW, I will have a terrible time trying to wake up tomorrow morning.
Today was baptism Sunday. It's unbelievable how many people this church is baptizing from this community and the surrounding area. The church is exploding exponentially. It's sooooo cool to be a part of a church that is ALIVE.
Isaac told us today at lunch that the next time the church is baptizing, he's ready to do it too. Interestingly, he isn't aware of this, but the next time FCC baptizes will be at the August 28th 10th-anniversary service, which is scheduled to be held at the high school football stadium and they expect upwards of a thousand in attendance. We're still talking to him to be absolutely sure he's fully cognizant of his decision (well, as fully cognizant as a five-year-old can be, which Jesus said was actually a pre-requisite for salvation -- faith like a little child, y'know), but he seems pretty sure of himself. That will mean all three of my little ones have professed Christ -- which makes me very, very grateful; it's what I've always prayed for them.
This is shaping up to be a somewhat hectic week. This weekend is Isaac & Alice's dance recital, but Thursday night and Friday night are both rehearsal nights. Thursday night is also SoulFire practice, which is beyond critical because our concert is coming up and we have SO MUCH work to do before then... thankfully the Purple Fish Family is pinch-hitting for me yet again that night. Friday night I'll be fine, but Thursday is just not do-able. Then Saturday is the BIG DAY; recitals at 1 PM and 5 PM. Alice is only in one of them, but Isaac's in BOTH because the younger girls' classes all have duplicates to keep class sizes more manageable.
Tomorrow night I'm scheduled to go back into the studio to polish up an intro that I mangled a little. The others didn't think there was anything wrong with it, but it pains me to listen to it so they're letting me take up some of the precious studio time to repair it if it's possible. If it's not possible to repair it, we're just going to drop the intro from the final final because it doesn't HAVE to be there. It's ear-candy, really, and not crucial to the song.
And if I don't go to bed RIGHT NOW, I will have a terrible time trying to wake up tomorrow morning.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Car's fixed, life goes on as usual
The folks who regularly fix the rustbucket for us called this morning and said that the distributor was arcing and that the plugs were full of oil. Eww. I'm grateful it wasn't something worse, though; we can't afford a new car... or even an old one, for that matter.
They did a tuneup and were done with it in time for Rick to head off to work for his third day in a row of 12-hour shifts. Thank goodness it has four days of no work at all in between.
All that will change in July. Don't know how, yet, but I suppose we'll see. Since he'll have to start out as the low man on the totem pole in the bindery (even though he's been with the company for nine years), he may get stuck with the third shift (midnight to 8 AM), which we found was simply horrible back when he had to do it a few years back. Of course, a few years back, all the kids were still at home (as was I) and we found it rather difficult to keep quiet during the day so Daddy could sleep. Now everyone's gone all day, so it might not be so bad. Or maybe he'll go back to second shift, or even first shift. It'll just depend on the other guys' preferences.
Spent a goodly portion of the day today with the Purple Fish family. The kids stayed with them this afternoon while I went to SoulFire practice, and then we all went to supper together at a local Chinese buffet where we were hassled by the wait staff who really seemed to want us to move it along... but we just wanted to chat and relax. It wasn't THAT busy in there, so I don't know what the deal was. The kids weren't being rowdy or loud, either, so I know it wasn't that.
Just finished giving Isaac a shower, and he's having a snack of Oreo cookies and milk. He insisted that it was a "healthy" snack.
I said, "Well, the milk is healthy for you, but I don't know about the Oreos."
"Oh, but when you dip Oreos in the milk, it makes a new kind of vitamin," he said.
Who knew?
Tomorrow morning, we're being presented as new members of the church. It's an interesting step; I have never been a member of any church that wasn't the denomination I grew up in, so in some ways this is really stepping outside the usual boundaries. However, the churches here in this area which are in that denomination are just not growing, vibrant, living churches. It's about time we were in one. The only real difference in this church is the way it funds missions; my former denomination pooled all the churches' missions money together into one big fund and then selected missionaries and paid them from this fund. It's actually a pretty efficient way of doing missions, because the missionaries don't have to keep coming back to the US every other year to travel around and raise $$ support. But in some ways it's a little bit like the income tax system -- it removes the giver from direct impact with the recipient of his support, and sort-of institutionalizes and de-personalizes the whole missions system. There are good and bad points to both sides.
Time to put Miss Alice in the shower now. And then I'm going to bed, even though it won't even be nine o'clock yet. I'm just TIRED and I really do want to arrive at church by 6:30 tomorrow morning in order to pray and settle down and collect my thoughts.
Ugh, I should think about what I'm going to wear, though, and lay it out before I go to bed because it will disturb Rick if I turn the light on to dig through the clothes.
G'night, peeps.
They did a tuneup and were done with it in time for Rick to head off to work for his third day in a row of 12-hour shifts. Thank goodness it has four days of no work at all in between.
All that will change in July. Don't know how, yet, but I suppose we'll see. Since he'll have to start out as the low man on the totem pole in the bindery (even though he's been with the company for nine years), he may get stuck with the third shift (midnight to 8 AM), which we found was simply horrible back when he had to do it a few years back. Of course, a few years back, all the kids were still at home (as was I) and we found it rather difficult to keep quiet during the day so Daddy could sleep. Now everyone's gone all day, so it might not be so bad. Or maybe he'll go back to second shift, or even first shift. It'll just depend on the other guys' preferences.
Spent a goodly portion of the day today with the Purple Fish family. The kids stayed with them this afternoon while I went to SoulFire practice, and then we all went to supper together at a local Chinese buffet where we were hassled by the wait staff who really seemed to want us to move it along... but we just wanted to chat and relax. It wasn't THAT busy in there, so I don't know what the deal was. The kids weren't being rowdy or loud, either, so I know it wasn't that.
Just finished giving Isaac a shower, and he's having a snack of Oreo cookies and milk. He insisted that it was a "healthy" snack.
I said, "Well, the milk is healthy for you, but I don't know about the Oreos."
"Oh, but when you dip Oreos in the milk, it makes a new kind of vitamin," he said.
Who knew?
Tomorrow morning, we're being presented as new members of the church. It's an interesting step; I have never been a member of any church that wasn't the denomination I grew up in, so in some ways this is really stepping outside the usual boundaries. However, the churches here in this area which are in that denomination are just not growing, vibrant, living churches. It's about time we were in one. The only real difference in this church is the way it funds missions; my former denomination pooled all the churches' missions money together into one big fund and then selected missionaries and paid them from this fund. It's actually a pretty efficient way of doing missions, because the missionaries don't have to keep coming back to the US every other year to travel around and raise $$ support. But in some ways it's a little bit like the income tax system -- it removes the giver from direct impact with the recipient of his support, and sort-of institutionalizes and de-personalizes the whole missions system. There are good and bad points to both sides.
Time to put Miss Alice in the shower now. And then I'm going to bed, even though it won't even be nine o'clock yet. I'm just TIRED and I really do want to arrive at church by 6:30 tomorrow morning in order to pray and settle down and collect my thoughts.
Ugh, I should think about what I'm going to wear, though, and lay it out before I go to bed because it will disturb Rick if I turn the light on to dig through the clothes.
G'night, peeps.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Helen Keller, leftist?
I had absolutely no idea that Helen Keller was such an extremist...
The Left Face of Helen Keller
Some interesting snippets from the article:
I don't know if this changes much; I've always just thought of her as a person who overcame tremendous obstacles, and that she is still. But it definitely puts a different slant on things. It's a little bit like when I found out that Henry Ford was an avowed, even virulent anti-Semite... makes it somewhat less surprising that the Dearborn, Michigan area is so heavily settled with Muslims. Or perhaps that's just coincidence. In any case, it puts things into a little clearer perspective when you find out a little of the story behind the "great" people of our history.
The Left Face of Helen Keller
Some interesting snippets from the article:
TUSCUMBIA, Ala. -- It's impossible to miss the ubiquitous brown signs for Ivy Green, birthplace of Helen Keller. She's the pride of this north Alabama town. People here celebrate her with an annual festival and performances of "The Miracle Worker" play, and her childhood home is preserved like a shrine.
Visitors learn that her father was a captain in the Confederacy. They see the water pump where the blind and deaf child made the connection that things have names, with teacher Anne Sullivan spelling w-a-t-e-r into her hand. Photos of the adult Helen with U.S. presidents hang in a museum.
Not on display are Keller's membership in the Socialist Party, her letters praising the work of Planned Parenthood founder Margaret Sanger, her anti-war essays or much about her as a founder of the American Civil Liberties Union.
I don't know if this changes much; I've always just thought of her as a person who overcame tremendous obstacles, and that she is still. But it definitely puts a different slant on things. It's a little bit like when I found out that Henry Ford was an avowed, even virulent anti-Semite... makes it somewhat less surprising that the Dearborn, Michigan area is so heavily settled with Muslims. Or perhaps that's just coincidence. In any case, it puts things into a little clearer perspective when you find out a little of the story behind the "great" people of our history.
The other woman in my son's life...
My five-year-old son Isaac with his beloved kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Couto. 
It's always something, part deux
My alarm beeped this morning and I turned it off and lay there a minute, thinking. Rick was lying beside me and said, "You want some more good news?"
Oh, for Pete's sake. "Now what?"
"The car wouldn't start last night. I had to call a taxi to bring me home."
[One of the problems with using cell phones instead of land lines is that I don't get disturbed at night after I go to bed because I don't hear the phone ringing. Last night, however, would've been a good night for me to have brought my phone to bed with me. Oy.]
We discussed our options; he decided I should call for a sub and stay home so we can go out there and try to figure out what to do about the car. I do have several days left of sick leave, so I'm clear on that front. Let's hope it actually starts when we get out there so we don't have to have the rustbucket towed.
It's probably a good thing we'll get to spend a little time together this morning, because we have a lot to talk about.
Oh, for Pete's sake. "Now what?"
"The car wouldn't start last night. I had to call a taxi to bring me home."
[One of the problems with using cell phones instead of land lines is that I don't get disturbed at night after I go to bed because I don't hear the phone ringing. Last night, however, would've been a good night for me to have brought my phone to bed with me. Oy.]
We discussed our options; he decided I should call for a sub and stay home so we can go out there and try to figure out what to do about the car. I do have several days left of sick leave, so I'm clear on that front. Let's hope it actually starts when we get out there so we don't have to have the rustbucket towed.
It's probably a good thing we'll get to spend a little time together this morning, because we have a lot to talk about.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
It's always something...
I spoke to Rick this afternoon, after he had arrived at work for the first of three days of twelve-hour shifts, and he dropped a bomb.
"I got called in to see the plant manager and the HR guy. That usually means you're getting fired."
My heart dropped into the balls of my feet. "Were you fired?!?"
"Well, yes. In a sense. They're eliminating the plating department altogether. They've given me the option of taking a small severance or taking a job out on the floor in the bindery."
All this time I'm feeling sick to my stomach. "What are you going to do?"
"Well, I took the bindery job. It won't start until July sometime, and the hours will be different again, so who knows what's going to happen?"
Ummm, okay.
Stay tuned for any further developments.
"I got called in to see the plant manager and the HR guy. That usually means you're getting fired."
My heart dropped into the balls of my feet. "Were you fired?!?"
"Well, yes. In a sense. They're eliminating the plating department altogether. They've given me the option of taking a small severance or taking a job out on the floor in the bindery."
All this time I'm feeling sick to my stomach. "What are you going to do?"
"Well, I took the bindery job. It won't start until July sometime, and the hours will be different again, so who knows what's going to happen?"
Ummm, okay.
Stay tuned for any further developments.
Happy Birthday, Martha!!!
Eleven years ago today, I was teaching in a rural Texas high school and waiting to get a very important phone call... which came soon after I arrived at school that Thursday morning. I arranged for my aide to take over the class, then I called Rick excitedly and told him to get ready. We made the five-hour drive to Austin, Texas that warm, humid May day and arrived at the hospital to find that our baby had been born an hour earlier, and it was a GIRL! We had chosen "Martha Elizabeth" as our girl name, so we peeped through the window and saw the puffiest pair of cheeks with some tightly-shut wrinkles that might've been eyes and a little button nose... tightly bundled in a blanket and wearing a little knit cap. Our baby!
We weren't officially her parents yet, however, so peeping through the glass was all we could do. The nurses couldn't even hold her up for us to see, or even confirm that she was, in fact, our baby. We visited our attorney that evening and he drew up the papers for the birthmother to sign. The next afternoon we got to hold our little girl for the first time. The first night I spent as a mother was nerve-wracking; I had never been particularly entranced by squeaky, squalling infants, and every noise she made echoed loudly in my head -- eliciting an autonomic response that was to become very, VERY familiar to me in the following few years of my life. I got up to care for her... I didn't even consider whether or not I actually wanted to. I just did. Suddenly I was no longer my own; I was thrust rather suddenly into that selfless state of nobody-hood where this tiny life held ALL the power.
Caring for Martha was, in some ways, a very academic exercise for me. I didn't have the benefit of nine months to prepare for her arrival, nor did I have the accompanying hormone surge of instantaneous love. I approached motherhood in much the same way I approached most other things in my life -- I did some research, found a "method" which seemed to make the most sense, and stuck to it. I was a mother now, and I had a role to play. Being a perfectionist, I wanted to do it right... no, not just right, but better than anyone else too. She was always immaculately dressed and coiffed, her hair gently moussed into a row of curls on top of her head and garnished with a perfectly matching bow. She was a textbook child. I smugly viewed other parents as obviously less-informed, their children doomed to disobedience and lives of sloth and despair because they were not fed on a four-hour schedule and their mom wasn't keeping meticulous records on how much formula was consumed. We rarely strayed far from home because she simply HAD to nap on schedule.
My first serious stab of protective, horror-stricken motherhood came much later, when she was two. We were vising a water park and she ventured further into the deep area of the gradual-depth pool than she could safely navigate. I saw her writhing little form under the water about ten feet from me and exploded in a rush of fear, snatching her up before the lifeguard could even get into the water. Martha was fine, but I dreamed vividly of the incident for months afterward.
Today she's eleven. I can't help but think of her birthmother today and wonder if she's okay. I would like to be able to tell her that her baby has grown up into a lovely and vibrant girl... that her choice to let us be her baby's parents was one I'll always be grateful for. Life with Martha has certainly never been dull, that's what. God has used her to shape my character into the much-mellower, much more tolerant, much more understanding person I am today.
Prozac has also been rather helpful.
I took my planning time from school to drive over to the kids' elementary school and I brought treats for everyone in Martha's class to celebrate her birthday. We really can't do anything fancy like a sleepover party because we just don't have any room, so this was a way I thought was the best one to head down. Her classroom stock has gone waaaay up now that her mom has brought goodie-bags with candy, brownies, and a Kool-Aid juice pack... can't hurt, I'm thinking. I'll post pics of the event after I get home this evening.
We weren't officially her parents yet, however, so peeping through the glass was all we could do. The nurses couldn't even hold her up for us to see, or even confirm that she was, in fact, our baby. We visited our attorney that evening and he drew up the papers for the birthmother to sign. The next afternoon we got to hold our little girl for the first time. The first night I spent as a mother was nerve-wracking; I had never been particularly entranced by squeaky, squalling infants, and every noise she made echoed loudly in my head -- eliciting an autonomic response that was to become very, VERY familiar to me in the following few years of my life. I got up to care for her... I didn't even consider whether or not I actually wanted to. I just did. Suddenly I was no longer my own; I was thrust rather suddenly into that selfless state of nobody-hood where this tiny life held ALL the power.
Caring for Martha was, in some ways, a very academic exercise for me. I didn't have the benefit of nine months to prepare for her arrival, nor did I have the accompanying hormone surge of instantaneous love. I approached motherhood in much the same way I approached most other things in my life -- I did some research, found a "method" which seemed to make the most sense, and stuck to it. I was a mother now, and I had a role to play. Being a perfectionist, I wanted to do it right... no, not just right, but better than anyone else too. She was always immaculately dressed and coiffed, her hair gently moussed into a row of curls on top of her head and garnished with a perfectly matching bow. She was a textbook child. I smugly viewed other parents as obviously less-informed, their children doomed to disobedience and lives of sloth and despair because they were not fed on a four-hour schedule and their mom wasn't keeping meticulous records on how much formula was consumed. We rarely strayed far from home because she simply HAD to nap on schedule.
My first serious stab of protective, horror-stricken motherhood came much later, when she was two. We were vising a water park and she ventured further into the deep area of the gradual-depth pool than she could safely navigate. I saw her writhing little form under the water about ten feet from me and exploded in a rush of fear, snatching her up before the lifeguard could even get into the water. Martha was fine, but I dreamed vividly of the incident for months afterward.
Today she's eleven. I can't help but think of her birthmother today and wonder if she's okay. I would like to be able to tell her that her baby has grown up into a lovely and vibrant girl... that her choice to let us be her baby's parents was one I'll always be grateful for. Life with Martha has certainly never been dull, that's what. God has used her to shape my character into the much-mellower, much more tolerant, much more understanding person I am today.
Prozac has also been rather helpful.
I took my planning time from school to drive over to the kids' elementary school and I brought treats for everyone in Martha's class to celebrate her birthday. We really can't do anything fancy like a sleepover party because we just don't have any room, so this was a way I thought was the best one to head down. Her classroom stock has gone waaaay up now that her mom has brought goodie-bags with candy, brownies, and a Kool-Aid juice pack... can't hurt, I'm thinking. I'll post pics of the event after I get home this evening.
EWWWW!!
Okay, this sort of thing is just tailor-made for my young cousins in Oklahoma to read about... boys always seem to gravitate toward the gross, disgusting and repulsive stuff anyway.
Maggots chew toward woman's brain
Hat tip to Kris Denniger of Random Mentality for this putrid, repulsive story.
Maggots chew toward woman's brain
Hat tip to Kris Denniger of Random Mentality for this putrid, repulsive story.
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