I tried to post yesterday, but I think blogger was having issues....
This weekend is WNEP Theater's annual SKALD (storytelling) event. We hold a kid's competition, an improvised event (that is utter madness) and our crowning jewel, the SKALD- where 10 storytellers have 7 minutes to make you laugh, break your heart or just open your perspective some.
Last night was the KidSkald. We had five children from ages 8 to 14. And while our audience was teeny (in comparison to last year) - the 5 kids that performed were delightful! I was tapped to represent WNEP as one of the three judges. Dude. It was hard to pick a winner. They each brought something unique to the table.
My only regret is not having the chance to sit down with them and tell them how great they did. I heard the words coming out of my mouth "You all did such a great job!" And it may have sounded like I was just "saying it", but honestly, they were all so different and brought such different skills and talents - they really were fantastic and should be very proud of their efforts.
Our youngest, Abi, started with the Shel Silverstein poem "Sick" and finished with some classic Suess. She memorized both poems and was very animated in her delivery. She was completely committed to her performance and I have to mention, had the most adorable lisp. Afterwords, I refered to her as the evening's "Little Miss Sunshine" because she brought that same kind of charm and enthusiam to the stage as that Broslin kid. A-dorable...and she held her own against the older kids.
Eleanore, one of our 14 yr olds, read the story of the Gingerbread Man and then later, read a personal story she had written a few years earlier. She mentioned that the story was inspired (or assigned?) after her 8th grade class read To Kill A Mockingbird. It was the saga of a princess trying to find true love, while overcoming her own vanity.
Emily, our other teen, delivered a hilarious David Sedaris peice on Santa Claus. I was mightily impressed by Miss Emily. She was the first to start off the competition (which is nerve wracking at any age!) and at one point, lost her place in the peice. She stood there for a good ten seconds before she found her place and then, kept on truckin'. That, my friend, takes fortitude. She didn't give in to the anxiousness of the moment. She just took a moment, stood her ground and plunged back into it. Later, she told a peice from a children's book that I'm unfamiliar with (but my fellow judge - who has kids - seemed to know it) about a classroom who had to write poems about colors. It was pretty funny and really well delivered. Again, impressed is the word I would use about Emily.
Christian, our only boy in the competition, was 11 and everything that's awesome about being 11. He was the only one to tell his own personal stories. The first, a tale of trial and tribulation at Six Flags in the company of his best friend and his brother, where they rode "Raging Bull" and played Whack-A-Mole. He confirmed for us (with not one teeny ounce of irony) that he remains, to this day, the unbeaten and Supreme King of Whacking. Four years running. Lord love him.
Later he told about a birthday where he received his own set of golf clubs. The way he delivered each tale - with sound effects, imitated voices of his family and his physicality - it clinched him the winning spot of the night! He walked away with $50 cash money!
But, a special place in my heart was dug for our other 11 year old, Miss Josephine. If Jen and I could ever spawn, we agreed that Josephine would be that progeny. She began with a telling of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky which was immediately followed by an impromptu display of jujitsu kicks and moves, which were performed in time with her Mother singing the Macarena song from the audience. The entire audience joined in with a rousing "Ehhh, Macarena!" with her final kick.
If that doesn't fill your soul with goodness, I can't help you, brother.
She ended the night with a song. She stated that while she would sing a song, that the song tells a story. I have to admit that her pointing that out, really made me listen to the lyrics for likely the first time in my life.
Josephine then performed an acapella rendition of One Tin Solider (The Legend of Billy Jack.)
I'm sure I've heard that song dozens and dozens of times on the radio as a kid and over the years, but it was the first time I really listened to it. When she wad done, she admitted that she changed some of the lyrics and a bit of the tune.
It was the hawesome.
They all were. Wish you coulda been there.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
ongoing
While I'm very happy that Obama had finally secured the nomination and while I'm thrilled this historic moment is getting it's due on the morning news, something still struck me like a stone in my gut today.
This morning, when I was getting ready for work, I didn't hear one news report about Iraq. I heard about Iran. And I heard about Israel...but nothing about a country where our soliders continue to be stationed and where people - who's lives and homes and livings have been destroyed and continue to deteriorate.
It astounded me. So I went looking.
I just read this article about a young Iraqi man who is now living in Philadelphia. I encourage you to take a few minutes to read it. It's both a window and a mirror that more Americans need to study and react to.
I think the only way we are going to extract any measure of progress out of this fucked up situation is to listen to the Iraqi people. And to our people working with them on the ground. To put ourselves in their shoes and engage our leaders to make the right choices in the coming weeks, months and years.
After reading this article, it occured to me that my tongue-in-cheek reference of this season of the Cubs as a "war" might offend someone who has a direct link to the ongoing war in Iraq or has lost a loved one or friend. That was never was my intention. War is horrific and painful and as a country (where bombs aren't going off on a daily basis) we are often cavalier in our respects towards the casualties on all sides of this action.
I call it 100 years war, because the Cubs connect me to my grandmother, Wanda, whom we lost 2 years ago last February. Her life in some ways seemed like a struggle to me. And while she never had to deal with suicide bombers, she did have more than her share of tragedy, heartbreak and loss. Still, she was a huge fan and every time I think of the Cubs - watch a game or even see someone just wearing a Cubs logo - I think of her. And for the last couple of years, it's made the loss of her something that becomes tangible in that moment.
My brain just zips right to her yelling at the TV or the radio. Calling them bums one minute and then telling me how fantastic they are and how they're good boys. In a way, being a Cubs fan has always equated with struggle...and at the same time, a hopefulness. So, in a way, loving the Cubs is connected to my love for her...and (I'm sure I'm not the only one who foists these feelings upon their home team) the struggle for them to make it to the world series seems like an ongoing battle with a strong emotional and personal impact.
If comparing a sporting event to an unjust and unending action in the Middle East is offensive to anyone reading this, I again extend my apologies. I do discern a vast difference in them and want to make that clear.
While I'm very happy that Obama had finally secured the nomination and while I'm thrilled this historic moment is getting it's due on the morning news, something still struck me like a stone in my gut today.
This morning, when I was getting ready for work, I didn't hear one news report about Iraq. I heard about Iran. And I heard about Israel...but nothing about a country where our soliders continue to be stationed and where people - who's lives and homes and livings have been destroyed and continue to deteriorate.
It astounded me. So I went looking.
I just read this article about a young Iraqi man who is now living in Philadelphia. I encourage you to take a few minutes to read it. It's both a window and a mirror that more Americans need to study and react to.
I think the only way we are going to extract any measure of progress out of this fucked up situation is to listen to the Iraqi people. And to our people working with them on the ground. To put ourselves in their shoes and engage our leaders to make the right choices in the coming weeks, months and years.
After reading this article, it occured to me that my tongue-in-cheek reference of this season of the Cubs as a "war" might offend someone who has a direct link to the ongoing war in Iraq or has lost a loved one or friend. That was never was my intention. War is horrific and painful and as a country (where bombs aren't going off on a daily basis) we are often cavalier in our respects towards the casualties on all sides of this action.
I call it 100 years war, because the Cubs connect me to my grandmother, Wanda, whom we lost 2 years ago last February. Her life in some ways seemed like a struggle to me. And while she never had to deal with suicide bombers, she did have more than her share of tragedy, heartbreak and loss. Still, she was a huge fan and every time I think of the Cubs - watch a game or even see someone just wearing a Cubs logo - I think of her. And for the last couple of years, it's made the loss of her something that becomes tangible in that moment.
My brain just zips right to her yelling at the TV or the radio. Calling them bums one minute and then telling me how fantastic they are and how they're good boys. In a way, being a Cubs fan has always equated with struggle...and at the same time, a hopefulness. So, in a way, loving the Cubs is connected to my love for her...and (I'm sure I'm not the only one who foists these feelings upon their home team) the struggle for them to make it to the world series seems like an ongoing battle with a strong emotional and personal impact.
If comparing a sporting event to an unjust and unending action in the Middle East is offensive to anyone reading this, I again extend my apologies. I do discern a vast difference in them and want to make that clear.
Monday, June 2, 2008
High Hard Ones
- Ironman ROCKS.
- Harvey Korman, Bo Diddley...are waiting for their third celeb death to join them. And it better be someone who can come with some high ranking cred, because these gents were legends of their respective crafts. Both shall be missed.
- Have finally started watching Torchwood (yeah, yeah, I'm forever late the the party ever since I got rid of cable.) Not quite as awesome as Firefly, but hella mindless fun in terms of Brits fighting aliens.
-RAW is over...and it was a fantastic experience all-around. Friday night a bunch of folks meet up at the Peek Inn for a bit of carousing and karaoke.
- Mayfest is the Best Fest. Spent much of Saturday afternoon hanging with some friends at our favorite local street fest. Listened to plenty of polka music, drank a couple of German biers, got a little sun, ran into folks I haven't seen in a dog's age and got to wiggle some piglets. Nothing better.
We have now entered the rollicking month of June. I'm traveling so much this month, with so many plates spinning, it's making me dizzy. I kinda laid low the past couple weeks blogging wise as I was readying myself for this upcoming onslaught.
100 years war
Cubs are back at the top of the National Division Heap. 36-21. Back to back sweeps with a 7 game streak. Of course, I expect after playing yesterday, flying to SanDiego for a night game this evening...they'll probably be due for a hit. Their on the road averages aren't as sunny, but I'm hanging onto my happy.
I can't remember who was telling me at the bar the weekend that the Cubs doing well was some kind of conspiracy to deflate attention towards the ongoing steriods scandal. I'm pretty sure it was a Sox fan. Can't we all just get along? (With the noted exception of the Crosstown series?)
Go Cubs.
- Ironman ROCKS.
- Harvey Korman, Bo Diddley...are waiting for their third celeb death to join them. And it better be someone who can come with some high ranking cred, because these gents were legends of their respective crafts. Both shall be missed.
- Have finally started watching Torchwood (yeah, yeah, I'm forever late the the party ever since I got rid of cable.) Not quite as awesome as Firefly, but hella mindless fun in terms of Brits fighting aliens.
-RAW is over...and it was a fantastic experience all-around. Friday night a bunch of folks meet up at the Peek Inn for a bit of carousing and karaoke.
- Mayfest is the Best Fest. Spent much of Saturday afternoon hanging with some friends at our favorite local street fest. Listened to plenty of polka music, drank a couple of German biers, got a little sun, ran into folks I haven't seen in a dog's age and got to wiggle some piglets. Nothing better.
We have now entered the rollicking month of June. I'm traveling so much this month, with so many plates spinning, it's making me dizzy. I kinda laid low the past couple weeks blogging wise as I was readying myself for this upcoming onslaught.
100 years war
Cubs are back at the top of the National Division Heap. 36-21. Back to back sweeps with a 7 game streak. Of course, I expect after playing yesterday, flying to SanDiego for a night game this evening...they'll probably be due for a hit. Their on the road averages aren't as sunny, but I'm hanging onto my happy.
I can't remember who was telling me at the bar the weekend that the Cubs doing well was some kind of conspiracy to deflate attention towards the ongoing steriods scandal. I'm pretty sure it was a Sox fan. Can't we all just get along? (With the noted exception of the Crosstown series?)
Go Cubs.
Monday, May 12, 2008
she's a stacy
Last week some folks I know were talking about Hilliary and her unwillingness to exit the race. The Tribune compared her to a cat that refuses to die after being run over. How she's alienating Dems right and left and may in fact be damaging the party wholesale.
Ouch. My comment was that instead of making the smart move and bowing out with some/any semblance of grace or stewardship, she seems bent on going out like that heinous stereotype of the clingy ex-girlfriend (re: Stacy from Wayne's World.) And I'm not the only one with that belief. She's become the psycho girlfriend who can't stop calling.
As much as it's a boon to women everywhere to have had a viable female candidate running for the White House, she's now (much like Bush trashed the world's support after 9-11) causing more and more damage and trashing the gains. After decades of listening to lame jokes of what a woman leader would be like [insert bit about menstruation, shopping, chocolate, etc.], she is truly injuring the perception of a woman in the presidency. Turning what could be a proud moment for American women into a throwaway joke for a stand up.
[in my best Ron Burgandy voice] Get classy, Hilliary. For the love of all that is right, class your shit up.
100 years war
Please excuse this small outburst. MUTHATRUCKA!! WE SWEPT THE DIAMONDBACKS!!! WOOT!!! A sweet, sweet victory - which puts us back up at the top, tied in first with St. Louis. It's silly how a ballgame can make you feel lousy or fantastic...but I'm glad we're on the right side of that coin! And to sweep a team that's been playing as well as the D-backs...and it IS the D-backs (after they booted us so unceremoniously from the playoffs)...I'm walking on muthafuckin' sunshine!
Not to say I told you so, but I totally told you they just needed some home games to reset that on the road bullshit. Word.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
bruiser
Right in the middle of my forearm is a big purple bruise. It's nearly 1.5 inches in diameter (yeah, I measured it.) It must have happened over the weekend, but I just noticed it yesterday...when other people started pointing it out to me. It doesn't hurt, but it has an equal effect of both unsettling me and making me feel so very at home in my body.
See, I bruise like a peach. Always have. As a kid, I was a rough and tumble tomboy, with scraped knees and elbows, usually sporting at least two bandaids at any one time, happy to show you my scars and scabs with pride. To me, signs of wear and tear on my body showed off to folks that I was using it. Climbing trees, scavaging fields and empty lots, building forts and dams, trying to "burn rubber" with my banana-seat bike on a screeching stop/dismount onto a gravel driveway. It was the age of Evil Knievel, and I didn't want to be left on the sidelines when it was time to play kickball, if you follow me.
I can honestly say that I was pretty lucky for a kid. I never broke any limbs, never got any stitches, never had any operations or fell out of any trees. Which, looking back...how didn't I? (Worst I ever had was a badly sprained ankle my senior year caused by attempting to "surf" the ice on my driveway to a friend's car.) I played soccer for years where I was the only girl on the team and would strive to make the boys on the opposing team drop like a sack of flour when I tackled them (for some reason, none of the refs ever penalized me....they always thought the boy - even though he'd be sprawled on the grass and sucking wind - was playing too rough for me. It took me a while to catch onto the sexist favoritism, but somehow, my ten-year old brain figured, hell, the world's gonna pay me half as much as that yahoo writhing around on the ground someday, so I might as well take the break when it's handed to me. )
My all-time favorite bruise showed up at the doctor's office about 12 years ago. I'm pretty sure I was just in for a physical or maybe for an ear infection (I used to get those a lot in my 20's for some reason), but I was sitting in the paper gown, with my back to the door when the doctor walked in. She let out an audible gasp and immediately asked me if anything was wrong at home. If maybe, I was having problems with my boyfriend. If he ever...hit me. After I assured her that if a man ever laid a hand on me in an untoward fashion, he would promptly lose that hand..."Why do you ask?" She skeptically tells me about the unseen bruise and then holds up a mirror to the back of my upper arm.
There was a large, perfectly shaped, deep, deep purple rectangle - with four razor sharp, highly defined corners - not your normal raggedy-edge shaped mark. I immediately realised, that a few nights before at a rehearsal, I had quickly backed up into a dark corner of the backstage and hit my arm on the business end of a 2' x 4'. I really slammed into it and remember it smarted for about an hour...before I forgot all about it.
It took me at least 10 minutes to stop laughing and convince the doc that I wasn't covering for some abusive co-dependent relationship. When she finally left the room, I was positive that she was calling the po-po to report the incident. Looking back, I only wish I had taken a picture of it. In all my years, it was the most impressive injury I've ever given myself.
Point being, I'm used to toting a bruise around. But, when I see this bruise on my arm - most likely a result from our hectic tech rehearsal on Sunday - this isn't a mark I earned. There was no tree scaled. No bike screeched to a dusty stop. I wasn't necessarily "using" my body. I just bumped some random object that didn't register as even momentarily painful. (re: peach)
What's starting to unsettle me is that upon further inspection, it reminds me eerily of my great-grandmother's arms. She had that papery fine skin and it was always bruised in my memory. It's a dual feeling of connection to her - her arms are becoming my arms....and the thought of, "Dude, I'm getting old, but I ain't that old! "
I guess what I'm getting at is mayhaps I should step up and start earning some bruises while I'm still young enough to heal from them. Save the granny bruises for another time
100 years war
While we've eased off to 19-15, it's been a bumpy coupla weeks. We've only won 4 out of the last 13 games - dropped to 2nd in the division by what 3 or 4 games? (with Houston breathing down our necks.) Watching Leiber pitch yesterday - after giving up 4 homers in an inning, I wanted to shout out, "Ack! Mein Leiben!" (a sad, lame reference to a time when I once played Castle Wolfenstein...for 6 hours straight.)
Starting tomorrow we have home field stand for the next 10 games. Hopefully, getting off the road will help hit the re-set button.
As for this the brou-ha-ha with the Sox and their blow-up dolls. Some call it a case of boys being boys...I see it more of a case of boys being enraptured by the circle jerk. If you ever fail to recall that men are eternally 14 yr old, this should snap you back to reality. Still, if an inflatable doll somehow raises their collective ire and fires them up (seriously?), whatever...any female sports reporter worth her salt can handle a stupid blow up doll. Now, if some idiot mouthbreather ballplayer makes some remark refering to a reporter in terms of that blow up doll...then I've got a completely different response.
I will say that a bat in the anus is a bit over the line of demarcation. Although, I think the Sun Times had their priorities mixed up since that was the lead story on Tuesday, trumping the ongoing battle in the Dem's primary election. Sorry IN and NC voters...the blow up doll scandal trumps your attempts to effect the outcome of this historic election. Too bad. So sad.
As Pat Tomasulo said, "What ever happened to the rally cap?"
Indeed.
Right in the middle of my forearm is a big purple bruise. It's nearly 1.5 inches in diameter (yeah, I measured it.) It must have happened over the weekend, but I just noticed it yesterday...when other people started pointing it out to me. It doesn't hurt, but it has an equal effect of both unsettling me and making me feel so very at home in my body.
See, I bruise like a peach. Always have. As a kid, I was a rough and tumble tomboy, with scraped knees and elbows, usually sporting at least two bandaids at any one time, happy to show you my scars and scabs with pride. To me, signs of wear and tear on my body showed off to folks that I was using it. Climbing trees, scavaging fields and empty lots, building forts and dams, trying to "burn rubber" with my banana-seat bike on a screeching stop/dismount onto a gravel driveway. It was the age of Evil Knievel, and I didn't want to be left on the sidelines when it was time to play kickball, if you follow me.
I can honestly say that I was pretty lucky for a kid. I never broke any limbs, never got any stitches, never had any operations or fell out of any trees. Which, looking back...how didn't I? (Worst I ever had was a badly sprained ankle my senior year caused by attempting to "surf" the ice on my driveway to a friend's car.) I played soccer for years where I was the only girl on the team and would strive to make the boys on the opposing team drop like a sack of flour when I tackled them (for some reason, none of the refs ever penalized me....they always thought the boy - even though he'd be sprawled on the grass and sucking wind - was playing too rough for me. It took me a while to catch onto the sexist favoritism, but somehow, my ten-year old brain figured, hell, the world's gonna pay me half as much as that yahoo writhing around on the ground someday, so I might as well take the break when it's handed to me. )
My all-time favorite bruise showed up at the doctor's office about 12 years ago. I'm pretty sure I was just in for a physical or maybe for an ear infection (I used to get those a lot in my 20's for some reason), but I was sitting in the paper gown, with my back to the door when the doctor walked in. She let out an audible gasp and immediately asked me if anything was wrong at home. If maybe, I was having problems with my boyfriend. If he ever...hit me. After I assured her that if a man ever laid a hand on me in an untoward fashion, he would promptly lose that hand..."Why do you ask?" She skeptically tells me about the unseen bruise and then holds up a mirror to the back of my upper arm.
There was a large, perfectly shaped, deep, deep purple rectangle - with four razor sharp, highly defined corners - not your normal raggedy-edge shaped mark. I immediately realised, that a few nights before at a rehearsal, I had quickly backed up into a dark corner of the backstage and hit my arm on the business end of a 2' x 4'. I really slammed into it and remember it smarted for about an hour...before I forgot all about it.
It took me at least 10 minutes to stop laughing and convince the doc that I wasn't covering for some abusive co-dependent relationship. When she finally left the room, I was positive that she was calling the po-po to report the incident. Looking back, I only wish I had taken a picture of it. In all my years, it was the most impressive injury I've ever given myself.
Point being, I'm used to toting a bruise around. But, when I see this bruise on my arm - most likely a result from our hectic tech rehearsal on Sunday - this isn't a mark I earned. There was no tree scaled. No bike screeched to a dusty stop. I wasn't necessarily "using" my body. I just bumped some random object that didn't register as even momentarily painful. (re: peach)
What's starting to unsettle me is that upon further inspection, it reminds me eerily of my great-grandmother's arms. She had that papery fine skin and it was always bruised in my memory. It's a dual feeling of connection to her - her arms are becoming my arms....and the thought of, "Dude, I'm getting old, but I ain't that old! "
I guess what I'm getting at is mayhaps I should step up and start earning some bruises while I'm still young enough to heal from them. Save the granny bruises for another time
100 years war
While we've eased off to 19-15, it's been a bumpy coupla weeks. We've only won 4 out of the last 13 games - dropped to 2nd in the division by what 3 or 4 games? (with Houston breathing down our necks.) Watching Leiber pitch yesterday - after giving up 4 homers in an inning, I wanted to shout out, "Ack! Mein Leiben!" (a sad, lame reference to a time when I once played Castle Wolfenstein...for 6 hours straight.)
Starting tomorrow we have home field stand for the next 10 games. Hopefully, getting off the road will help hit the re-set button.
As for this the brou-ha-ha with the Sox and their blow-up dolls. Some call it a case of boys being boys...I see it more of a case of boys being enraptured by the circle jerk. If you ever fail to recall that men are eternally 14 yr old, this should snap you back to reality. Still, if an inflatable doll somehow raises their collective ire and fires them up (seriously?), whatever...any female sports reporter worth her salt can handle a stupid blow up doll. Now, if some idiot mouthbreather ballplayer makes some remark refering to a reporter in terms of that blow up doll...then I've got a completely different response.
I will say that a bat in the anus is a bit over the line of demarcation. Although, I think the Sun Times had their priorities mixed up since that was the lead story on Tuesday, trumping the ongoing battle in the Dem's primary election. Sorry IN and NC voters...the blow up doll scandal trumps your attempts to effect the outcome of this historic election. Too bad. So sad.
As Pat Tomasulo said, "What ever happened to the rally cap?"
Indeed.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
file under: wtf
I love kids. I do, man. I love them. But, I see stuff like this, and even talking to my 12 yr old nephew - I wonder...what kind of generation of unfeeling automatrons we are raising? Yeah...we. Because no matter if you sired them/have a hand in rearing the rugrats of today or no, they're a'comin. And we're all responsible in part for them.
All the things that make me raise my eyebrow, shake my head in disbelief and then curl up into a ball include:
1) The fact that this kid wants to do bad things, I get. Breaking rules is always a temptation, even as an adult...but the idea that's it's fun to be a "hood rat"? Isn't the hip thing these days being a nerd? Nerds fucking rule. I thought we all agreed on that for 2008...?
2) That his friend (possibly the 7 yr old that joined in on the joyride), but at the very least an underaged kid, smokes cigarrettes - Man. I tried smoking in junior high. DUDE. 14 yrs old. THAT's when you take up the tabackie! Unfortunately for me, between the burnouts at the train tracks yelling at me that I wasn't inhaling, my lockermate putting up "Smoking Makes You Beautiful" posters in our locker to show her disapproval and with the constant fear that my father would find out and come at me with a Sam Jackson style whooping, my time as a smoker lasted all of about a week.
3) His logical conclusion to the thought, "Mom's pissing me off!" is, "I should...drive the car!" Whatever happened to slamming doors, going to your room, throwing yourself on your bed and then thinking of horrible ways that you might be killed and/or murdered, thusly putting your mother through the worst agony for yelling at/punishing you? Screaming silently in your mind, "They'll be sorry when I'm dead!" Then you roll over, wipe the tears from your cheeks, turn on the AM clock radio and lip sych to Supertramp's "Goodbye Stranger." Isn't THAT the way to truly payback your mom?
4) He hit a total of 4 cars and two mailboxes - if that kid isn't playing some version of GTA, I'm a fucking goat.
5) That the ADULTS shooting this "news story" thought it would be a sound journalistic choice to "recreate" the joyride in quicktime. I'm sorry...I guess the war's over, the economy's great, the election has been resolved, and there's a lot of time to fill in the newscast now.
6) I can't tolerate child abuse, but I'm in the camp that there is a very wide chasm between abuse and swatting your kid on the ass when he's acting a fool. I'm all for grandma whipping his behind - stealing/smashing up the family car, putting himself and other folks in danger, causing thousands of dollars in damages...AND HAVING ZERO REMORSE ABOUT IT. Yeah, this kid needs some fucking disipline. He needs to get scared straight, hit the morgue, and put that little kid to work to help pay for all the damage he did. For the next 18 years. Whatever it takes to snap the "hood rat" fixation out of his 7 yr old body. The fact that he feels the appropriate punishment for all of thise is a weekend with no Playstation...I want to put this kid over my knee and explain why this is gonna hurt me more than it will hurt him.
Although, I have to say, the best part of this kid's complete unwillingness to absorb any gravity of the situation, is when the cop tries to make the kid understand that he just screwed over his grandma for thousands of dollars, the kid's response is, "Can my mom help out?"
I can't help but laugh...while I rock back and forth in my fetal position.
I love kids. I do, man. I love them. But, I see stuff like this, and even talking to my 12 yr old nephew - I wonder...what kind of generation of unfeeling automatrons we are raising? Yeah...we. Because no matter if you sired them/have a hand in rearing the rugrats of today or no, they're a'comin. And we're all responsible in part for them.
All the things that make me raise my eyebrow, shake my head in disbelief and then curl up into a ball include:
1) The fact that this kid wants to do bad things, I get. Breaking rules is always a temptation, even as an adult...but the idea that's it's fun to be a "hood rat"? Isn't the hip thing these days being a nerd? Nerds fucking rule. I thought we all agreed on that for 2008...?
2) That his friend (possibly the 7 yr old that joined in on the joyride), but at the very least an underaged kid, smokes cigarrettes - Man. I tried smoking in junior high. DUDE. 14 yrs old. THAT's when you take up the tabackie! Unfortunately for me, between the burnouts at the train tracks yelling at me that I wasn't inhaling, my lockermate putting up "Smoking Makes You Beautiful" posters in our locker to show her disapproval and with the constant fear that my father would find out and come at me with a Sam Jackson style whooping, my time as a smoker lasted all of about a week.
3) His logical conclusion to the thought, "Mom's pissing me off!" is, "I should...drive the car!" Whatever happened to slamming doors, going to your room, throwing yourself on your bed and then thinking of horrible ways that you might be killed and/or murdered, thusly putting your mother through the worst agony for yelling at/punishing you? Screaming silently in your mind, "They'll be sorry when I'm dead!" Then you roll over, wipe the tears from your cheeks, turn on the AM clock radio and lip sych to Supertramp's "Goodbye Stranger." Isn't THAT the way to truly payback your mom?
4) He hit a total of 4 cars and two mailboxes - if that kid isn't playing some version of GTA, I'm a fucking goat.
5) That the ADULTS shooting this "news story" thought it would be a sound journalistic choice to "recreate" the joyride in quicktime. I'm sorry...I guess the war's over, the economy's great, the election has been resolved, and there's a lot of time to fill in the newscast now.
6) I can't tolerate child abuse, but I'm in the camp that there is a very wide chasm between abuse and swatting your kid on the ass when he's acting a fool. I'm all for grandma whipping his behind - stealing/smashing up the family car, putting himself and other folks in danger, causing thousands of dollars in damages...AND HAVING ZERO REMORSE ABOUT IT. Yeah, this kid needs some fucking disipline. He needs to get scared straight, hit the morgue, and put that little kid to work to help pay for all the damage he did. For the next 18 years. Whatever it takes to snap the "hood rat" fixation out of his 7 yr old body. The fact that he feels the appropriate punishment for all of thise is a weekend with no Playstation...I want to put this kid over my knee and explain why this is gonna hurt me more than it will hurt him.
Although, I have to say, the best part of this kid's complete unwillingness to absorb any gravity of the situation, is when the cop tries to make the kid understand that he just screwed over his grandma for thousands of dollars, the kid's response is, "Can my mom help out?"
I can't help but laugh...while I rock back and forth in my fetal position.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
be a man, be a klug-man!
I've been feeling a bit under the weather - not really sick, but bordering on it. Just groggy enough not to realise that I missed celebrating my most favorite of holidays on Sunday. Jack Klugman's Birthday! A long time ago, I figured if folks were celebrating things like Licorice Day, Baby Massage Day, Wear Your Pajamas To Work Day, National Hairball Awareness Day - all actual holidays, by the by...that I would be entirely in the right to celebrate Mr. Jack Klugman!
a few reasons why I continue to honor Klugman:
1) Quincy, M.E. freaking ROCKS- way ahead of it's time (20yrs ahead of all the CSI-style shows)
2) Was married to Brett Somers (the comic foil to Charles Nelson Reilly on Match Game) for 54 yrs (although they split up after 20-some yrs...neither ever filed for divorce and they worked together and remained close friend until her death.) As a little girl, my two biggest influnces on what kind of "girl" I wanted to be when I grew up was Laverne DeFazio and Brett Somers. I wanted to be a wiseass that could kick ass...whose father owned a pizzeria and bowling alley. Dream Big People.
3) I once learned he had a "bitter feud" with Norman Fell. I find that fascinating to this day.
If you need more reasons, rent any top-rated TV show from the 50's. He probably had a guest star spot in at least one episode. Or better yet, rent Quincy. I recommend Season 2....that's when he really starts getting his righteous indignation on with all the bells and whistles.
100 years war
Cubs are back home tonight playing the Brewers. Right now, we're at 16-9 (again, just celebrating a day at a time.) We're statistically tied with St. Louis for the division (pending the results of tonights game, of course), and are 2nd in the NL overall - Arizona is at 19-7.
Not too bad for the end of April, Chicago. Not too bad at all.
you don't know jack!
A group of friends have been, well, obsessed with playing QUIZZO (the pub trivia game) - for the past few weeks. Right now (according to our glorious leader), we are 2nd in our Division (Midwest States) and 4th in the National standings (statistically, we may be sharing 4th with multiple teams at this time.)
We've always finished in the top 3 - once in 3rd, most in 2nd, with 3 WINS! We've also set the pub record for high score on our second win, which has yet to be breeched.
Anyway, the National Finals are in Atlantic City the first weekend in June. Right now, there's no way I can go - I just can't afford it right now. But everyone's excited about the prospect of going, so folks are talking about holding a fundraiser to offset the cost of going. Hell, we've even started talking about renting an RV! Which in my mind, is a bad 80's disaster comedy waiting to happen.
We'll see if we can pull it off. It sounds crazy to haul all the way to AC for a silly trivia contest...but then again, why else would you drive half way across the nation? I mean, besides the Las Vegas style gambling? Personally, I suspect I may be too old to embrace the road trip...with 6-10 bodies. As the years pass, I'm really good about sharing everything I have...except my personal space. I'm a cranky old goat when it comes to that. Time shall tell...
I've been feeling a bit under the weather - not really sick, but bordering on it. Just groggy enough not to realise that I missed celebrating my most favorite of holidays on Sunday. Jack Klugman's Birthday! A long time ago, I figured if folks were celebrating things like Licorice Day, Baby Massage Day, Wear Your Pajamas To Work Day, National Hairball Awareness Day - all actual holidays, by the by...that I would be entirely in the right to celebrate Mr. Jack Klugman!
a few reasons why I continue to honor Klugman:
1) Quincy, M.E. freaking ROCKS- way ahead of it's time (20yrs ahead of all the CSI-style shows)
2) Was married to Brett Somers (the comic foil to Charles Nelson Reilly on Match Game) for 54 yrs (although they split up after 20-some yrs...neither ever filed for divorce and they worked together and remained close friend until her death.) As a little girl, my two biggest influnces on what kind of "girl" I wanted to be when I grew up was Laverne DeFazio and Brett Somers. I wanted to be a wiseass that could kick ass...whose father owned a pizzeria and bowling alley. Dream Big People.
3) I once learned he had a "bitter feud" with Norman Fell. I find that fascinating to this day.
If you need more reasons, rent any top-rated TV show from the 50's. He probably had a guest star spot in at least one episode. Or better yet, rent Quincy. I recommend Season 2....that's when he really starts getting his righteous indignation on with all the bells and whistles.
100 years war
Cubs are back home tonight playing the Brewers. Right now, we're at 16-9 (again, just celebrating a day at a time.) We're statistically tied with St. Louis for the division (pending the results of tonights game, of course), and are 2nd in the NL overall - Arizona is at 19-7.
Not too bad for the end of April, Chicago. Not too bad at all.
you don't know jack!
A group of friends have been, well, obsessed with playing QUIZZO (the pub trivia game) - for the past few weeks. Right now (according to our glorious leader), we are 2nd in our Division (Midwest States) and 4th in the National standings (statistically, we may be sharing 4th with multiple teams at this time.)
We've always finished in the top 3 - once in 3rd, most in 2nd, with 3 WINS! We've also set the pub record for high score on our second win, which has yet to be breeched.
Anyway, the National Finals are in Atlantic City the first weekend in June. Right now, there's no way I can go - I just can't afford it right now. But everyone's excited about the prospect of going, so folks are talking about holding a fundraiser to offset the cost of going. Hell, we've even started talking about renting an RV! Which in my mind, is a bad 80's disaster comedy waiting to happen.
We'll see if we can pull it off. It sounds crazy to haul all the way to AC for a silly trivia contest...but then again, why else would you drive half way across the nation? I mean, besides the Las Vegas style gambling? Personally, I suspect I may be too old to embrace the road trip...with 6-10 bodies. As the years pass, I'm really good about sharing everything I have...except my personal space. I'm a cranky old goat when it comes to that. Time shall tell...
Monday, April 21, 2008
100 years war
After a sweep of the Pirates (boo-rah!), the Cubs take on the Mets for two games starting tonight, then head for two in Colorado. We're at 12-6. A win tonight would put us in first place in the NL standings (for at least a day.) I'm trying my best to take this season one game at a time, so I'd like to just enjoy that idea for the rest of the afternoon.
Here's some random thoughts popping up in my head about the Cubbies:
I'm a lifelong Cubs fan. Meaning, I can't ever remember not being a Cubs fan. And like most fans, it links me to many memories - of childhood, of celebration (and plenty of defeat) and thoughts of my grandmother, Wanda. She passed away a little over three years ago - just before the White Sox won the World Series. I always say it was a blessing...because, as cliche as it sounds, it really would have killed her to watch the Sox bring home the title before her beloved Cubs. She bled blue, people...she bled blue.
Wrigley Field is a lot like the city of Chicago - her infrastructure remains largely ignored beyond her facade and continues to internally decay, but she has a timeless beauty that - like Algren's woman with a broken nose, despite her outward appearance, you're drawn to her. I admit, that Sox park (and that's what I call it, since I refuse to advertise some corporate entity) is an amazing venue. Great food, clean toilets, really nice layout. But, I'll cry like a baby if they ever tear Wrigley down...or change her name.
I wasn't a big fan of Pinella when they announced his imminent arrival in 2006. I've never been a big fan of bombastic managers (and nobody could ever top Lee Elia anyway) who think screaming and ejections are somehow linked to greatness. Still, slowly over the last two seasons, Lou has gotten (for the most part) on my good side.
Right now, I'm rooting for Fukudome. (And Felix Pie.) There's something about a 30 year old player, walking onto the grass at his first major league game...not to mention that he can't speak the language and is still hitting .317? It's a bit inspiring.
And while I'm all about being creative about your fandom support, I think this t-shirt is fucking bullshit. And so does he.
I hope that the folks making money off this, whatever they buy with their ill gotten gains...I hope it blows up or melts down or causing them some minor, but lifelong injury. Like they lose an eye or walk with a limp for the next 50 years.
I'm not advocating violence, but can we all agree to harass the idiots that are stupid enough to wear these in public? This doesn't represent the Cubs, it doesn't represent the fans, it's not funny and it's just in bad taste. At least the mouth-breathers are willing to show themselves for who they are. This is one of those times when silence implies consent. So SPEAK UP, CUBS FANS. And Sox fans, and Cardinal fans and all fans of Baseball.
On the other hand, I think this pix below is a great and creative way for these kids to show their Fukudome-love. It's about symbolizing his country's history as warriors...a positive and heroic ideal. Rock on, little Cub fans...wherever you are.
After a sweep of the Pirates (boo-rah!), the Cubs take on the Mets for two games starting tonight, then head for two in Colorado. We're at 12-6. A win tonight would put us in first place in the NL standings (for at least a day.) I'm trying my best to take this season one game at a time, so I'd like to just enjoy that idea for the rest of the afternoon.
Here's some random thoughts popping up in my head about the Cubbies:
I'm a lifelong Cubs fan. Meaning, I can't ever remember not being a Cubs fan. And like most fans, it links me to many memories - of childhood, of celebration (and plenty of defeat) and thoughts of my grandmother, Wanda. She passed away a little over three years ago - just before the White Sox won the World Series. I always say it was a blessing...because, as cliche as it sounds, it really would have killed her to watch the Sox bring home the title before her beloved Cubs. She bled blue, people...she bled blue.
Wrigley Field is a lot like the city of Chicago - her infrastructure remains largely ignored beyond her facade and continues to internally decay, but she has a timeless beauty that - like Algren's woman with a broken nose, despite her outward appearance, you're drawn to her. I admit, that Sox park (and that's what I call it, since I refuse to advertise some corporate entity) is an amazing venue. Great food, clean toilets, really nice layout. But, I'll cry like a baby if they ever tear Wrigley down...or change her name.
I wasn't a big fan of Pinella when they announced his imminent arrival in 2006. I've never been a big fan of bombastic managers (and nobody could ever top Lee Elia anyway) who think screaming and ejections are somehow linked to greatness. Still, slowly over the last two seasons, Lou has gotten (for the most part) on my good side.
Right now, I'm rooting for Fukudome. (And Felix Pie.) There's something about a 30 year old player, walking onto the grass at his first major league game...not to mention that he can't speak the language and is still hitting .317? It's a bit inspiring.
And while I'm all about being creative about your fandom support, I think this t-shirt is fucking bullshit. And so does he.
I hope that the folks making money off this, whatever they buy with their ill gotten gains...I hope it blows up or melts down or causing them some minor, but lifelong injury. Like they lose an eye or walk with a limp for the next 50 years.
I'm not advocating violence, but can we all agree to harass the idiots that are stupid enough to wear these in public? This doesn't represent the Cubs, it doesn't represent the fans, it's not funny and it's just in bad taste. At least the mouth-breathers are willing to show themselves for who they are. This is one of those times when silence implies consent. So SPEAK UP, CUBS FANS. And Sox fans, and Cardinal fans and all fans of Baseball.
On the other hand, I think this pix below is a great and creative way for these kids to show their Fukudome-love. It's about symbolizing his country's history as warriors...a positive and heroic ideal. Rock on, little Cub fans...wherever you are.
For the record, spellcheck thinks "cocksnots" should be two words. I politely disagree.
Friday, April 18, 2008
shaken, not stirred
So we had an earthquake. I woke up for a minute, a bit disoriented, wondering why my bed felt a little like one of those motel beds where you thrown in a quarter to "vibrate" (it was a very mild vibration.) I think, in my barely alert state, I had the fleeting thought that, it couldn't be my bed shaking, so maybe I had too much caffeine and was having some sort of "restless leg syndrome" episode.
The moment passed and in my complete lack of terror, I rolled over and fell back asleep.
Honestly, if armageddon was upon us, I figure Olive would be well beyond Orange Alert and her batshit response would at least get me out of bed long enough to berate her for waking my ass up. Thus, saving me from the tragedy of the 3rd floor crashing down upon my bedroom. (In this scenario, the entire floor doesn't crash, just that one small 10' x 10' space. Work with me.) Is it wrong that in these scenarios, my dog is always the reluctant hero? Instead of say...me.
The epicenter was about 240 miles away...Louisville, So. Illinois and St. Louis got the brunt of the 4.5 hit. I know that we live not far from the New Madrid fault line. But I recall reading something where, for the most part, the region has about a hundred or so little quakes each year, but only one is usually big enough for folks to feel it (with minima, if any, damage) and that a really big quake (6 or 7 on the reichter scale) should only occur every 300 or 400 years. And there was one in the early or mid 1800's...so we should be cool for another century or so before we get anything on the scale of The Day After Tomorrow.
And if I'm wrong and TDAT does come crashing down on my head, I think I'd rather sleep through it anyway. Unlike most folks, I'm not really interested in rebuilding the vestiages of humanity. I mean, unless the bathrooms are still working...then, I'd consider it.
.....................................................
100 Years War...
The battle rages on. Record thus far...9-6. The Cubs won on Tuesday and Wednesday against the Reds and got creamed last night. And while it's a team effort, I'm looking at you, Lilly. Lilly is 3 out of 4 starts. He needs to step it up. So, get to steppin!
.....................................................
Well said
I'm not the greatest orator. Oft times I lose the word I want, as it gets stuck in the recesses of my cobweb-filled brain. At those times, I seek others whose gift for oration and clarity makes my eyes sparkle. I can just nod and point and later regergitate them, using "finger quotes" and mucking up their prose, but hopefully not their intent.
My father doesn't understand why I'm supporting Obama. He can't even wrap his mind on how he raised such a "liberal." Although, I don't see myself in those terms. I'm a humanist. I want what's best for the country and the world. And while I'm an American, I think think the American Dream or the values of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are relagated just to those born on a certain shore. I see the foundation of our country cracking and our leaders need to stop lining pockets and start shoring it up.
But, like I mentioned, he said it a lot better.
I think the United States is in deep trouble. In massive debt, bogged down in a $3 trillion war in Iraq with no end in sight, its moral reputation globally in tatters, its Constitution undermined from within, America desperately needs a substantive, honest debate about the future, a root-and-branch review of foreign policy, of tax policy, of environmental policy, of torture and terror policies and of entitlements. And we do not have the luxury of using elections in this climate as a way to fight over cultural conflicts originating in this instance from the boomer civil war stemming from the 1960s.
....
If you want to keep playing that game while this country nose-dives, go ahead. Vote Clinton. If you understand how important this is, the candidacy of Barack Obama has never been so worth supporting. We need to turn this debacle into a renewed determination to get rid of the forces strangling this country's capacity to right itself.
So we had an earthquake. I woke up for a minute, a bit disoriented, wondering why my bed felt a little like one of those motel beds where you thrown in a quarter to "vibrate" (it was a very mild vibration.) I think, in my barely alert state, I had the fleeting thought that, it couldn't be my bed shaking, so maybe I had too much caffeine and was having some sort of "restless leg syndrome" episode. The moment passed and in my complete lack of terror, I rolled over and fell back asleep.
Honestly, if armageddon was upon us, I figure Olive would be well beyond Orange Alert and her batshit response would at least get me out of bed long enough to berate her for waking my ass up. Thus, saving me from the tragedy of the 3rd floor crashing down upon my bedroom. (In this scenario, the entire floor doesn't crash, just that one small 10' x 10' space. Work with me.) Is it wrong that in these scenarios, my dog is always the reluctant hero? Instead of say...me.
The epicenter was about 240 miles away...Louisville, So. Illinois and St. Louis got the brunt of the 4.5 hit. I know that we live not far from the New Madrid fault line. But I recall reading something where, for the most part, the region has about a hundred or so little quakes each year, but only one is usually big enough for folks to feel it (with minima, if any, damage) and that a really big quake (6 or 7 on the reichter scale) should only occur every 300 or 400 years. And there was one in the early or mid 1800's...so we should be cool for another century or so before we get anything on the scale of The Day After Tomorrow.
And if I'm wrong and TDAT does come crashing down on my head, I think I'd rather sleep through it anyway. Unlike most folks, I'm not really interested in rebuilding the vestiages of humanity. I mean, unless the bathrooms are still working...then, I'd consider it.
.....................................................
100 Years War...
The battle rages on. Record thus far...9-6. The Cubs won on Tuesday and Wednesday against the Reds and got creamed last night. And while it's a team effort, I'm looking at you, Lilly. Lilly is 3 out of 4 starts. He needs to step it up. So, get to steppin!
.....................................................
Well said
I'm not the greatest orator. Oft times I lose the word I want, as it gets stuck in the recesses of my cobweb-filled brain. At those times, I seek others whose gift for oration and clarity makes my eyes sparkle. I can just nod and point and later regergitate them, using "finger quotes" and mucking up their prose, but hopefully not their intent.
My father doesn't understand why I'm supporting Obama. He can't even wrap his mind on how he raised such a "liberal." Although, I don't see myself in those terms. I'm a humanist. I want what's best for the country and the world. And while I'm an American, I think think the American Dream or the values of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are relagated just to those born on a certain shore. I see the foundation of our country cracking and our leaders need to stop lining pockets and start shoring it up.
But, like I mentioned, he said it a lot better.
I think the United States is in deep trouble. In massive debt, bogged down in a $3 trillion war in Iraq with no end in sight, its moral reputation globally in tatters, its Constitution undermined from within, America desperately needs a substantive, honest debate about the future, a root-and-branch review of foreign policy, of tax policy, of environmental policy, of torture and terror policies and of entitlements. And we do not have the luxury of using elections in this climate as a way to fight over cultural conflicts originating in this instance from the boomer civil war stemming from the 1960s.
....
If you want to keep playing that game while this country nose-dives, go ahead. Vote Clinton. If you understand how important this is, the candidacy of Barack Obama has never been so worth supporting. We need to turn this debacle into a renewed determination to get rid of the forces strangling this country's capacity to right itself.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
the chicago way
Capone sends a cougar, you send cops who let loose with 15-18 shots in a residential neighborhood to take it down.
That's the Chicago Way.
Actually, while I'm a big fan of preserving wildlife and spaying/neutering your domesticated pets, I think the cops (as Wild West as the shooting got) did the right thing.
This was a wild, dangerous animal running around an extremely populated area in late afternoon with children running in their yards and adults walking home from work - folks out and about enjoying the milder temps. There wasn't anytime to bring in someone to tranquilize this poor 150 lbs of beastie.
This happened in Roscoe Village To give folks outside of Chicago a reference point, this neighborhood is no more than 1.5 miles from Wrigley Field. (go cubs!) So, it's not out in some boondocky burb with lots of open fields or reserves. Nobody has a clue on where this cougar came from or how it ended up around Roscoe and Hoyne - it's the first cougar to be killed in Chicago since the city was founded back in the 19th century.
Still, looking at this pix, I can't help but look at it and compare it to a crime scene like when they shot down Dillinger. Maybe it's because they left the body uncovered. I know it's not a person, but it still seems oddly...disrespectful.
Dillinger Cat
Cougar CSI (note the bullet round markers)
Erp.
Capone sends a cougar, you send cops who let loose with 15-18 shots in a residential neighborhood to take it down.
That's the Chicago Way.
Actually, while I'm a big fan of preserving wildlife and spaying/neutering your domesticated pets, I think the cops (as Wild West as the shooting got) did the right thing.
This was a wild, dangerous animal running around an extremely populated area in late afternoon with children running in their yards and adults walking home from work - folks out and about enjoying the milder temps. There wasn't anytime to bring in someone to tranquilize this poor 150 lbs of beastie.
This happened in Roscoe Village To give folks outside of Chicago a reference point, this neighborhood is no more than 1.5 miles from Wrigley Field. (go cubs!) So, it's not out in some boondocky burb with lots of open fields or reserves. Nobody has a clue on where this cougar came from or how it ended up around Roscoe and Hoyne - it's the first cougar to be killed in Chicago since the city was founded back in the 19th century.
Still, looking at this pix, I can't help but look at it and compare it to a crime scene like when they shot down Dillinger. Maybe it's because they left the body uncovered. I know it's not a person, but it still seems oddly...disrespectful.
Dillinger Cat
Cougar CSI (note the bullet round markers)
Erp. ........
K just forwarde me the link to a different kind of cougar.
It's pretty funny...until Cameron Diaz shows up.
Monday, April 14, 2008
stand off
While I filed my Federal Income tax way back in early February (re: broke ass needed her return toot sweet!), I normally owe the great state of Illinois a buck or two, so I figured I could put that off for a couple months. Unfortunately, my brain hasn't been able to process that not only have we moved past March, that we're on the precipe of mid-April. Last night I scrambled my paperwork together and today I took a bit out of my lunch break to e-file.
My question is, had I scoffed at getting my return done on time, how long would it take before the manhunt (to track me and my measly $2 tax owed) kicked off? I mean, I'm sure I'd get a few strongly worded, "We will garnish your wages and fine you up the ass" letters - those would be on my doorstep within weeks...but how long before they come, Ruby Ridge style - banging down my door, gun scopes alit, screaming like that paperboy in Better Off Dead, "I want my two dollars!"
I guess we'll never know...
---------------------------------------------
unpack
Not to jinx myself, but I just passed another milestone at work - a second trade show event (in a row) that I didn't have to attend. Woot! I thought I'd miss being on the road a bit more, but with all the bullshit going on at O'Hare (cancelled flights, rainy weather), I'm really quite relived that I'm "stuck" in the office. I've been flexible enough to make rehearsals and work on ideas for the RAW peice I'm directing next month...and yesterday, I got to relax a bit and read a book while Olive took a nap by my feet.
Hanging out more at home this last month, had me realising that I need to start some serious Spring Cleaning. I did start on it this weekend, but only scratched the surface of the behemoth, as I am both a housekeeping procrastinator of great acclaim and have the double whammy of being reared by a pair of pack rats. While I don't have cable, I've seen enough of Peter Walsh to know that I have some fucked up issues about crap I acquire.
I realise that I'll be home quite a bit this year, so I should really attempt to commit to that nesting thing and unpack my stuff. Yeah. It's been nearly four years since I moved into my place and beyond having boxes yet to unpack (I must not need that crap for reals), I've yet to hang anything on the walls or make my space my own.
My goal for April is to hang the wood blinds I bought back in November/December. I'd like to say I'll also hang some art this month...but I don't want to scare myself off the project entirely.
Baby steps, rebar. Baby steps.
While I filed my Federal Income tax way back in early February (re: broke ass needed her return toot sweet!), I normally owe the great state of Illinois a buck or two, so I figured I could put that off for a couple months. Unfortunately, my brain hasn't been able to process that not only have we moved past March, that we're on the precipe of mid-April. Last night I scrambled my paperwork together and today I took a bit out of my lunch break to e-file.
My question is, had I scoffed at getting my return done on time, how long would it take before the manhunt (to track me and my measly $2 tax owed) kicked off? I mean, I'm sure I'd get a few strongly worded, "We will garnish your wages and fine you up the ass" letters - those would be on my doorstep within weeks...but how long before they come, Ruby Ridge style - banging down my door, gun scopes alit, screaming like that paperboy in Better Off Dead, "I want my two dollars!"
I guess we'll never know...
---------------------------------------------
unpack
Not to jinx myself, but I just passed another milestone at work - a second trade show event (in a row) that I didn't have to attend. Woot! I thought I'd miss being on the road a bit more, but with all the bullshit going on at O'Hare (cancelled flights, rainy weather), I'm really quite relived that I'm "stuck" in the office. I've been flexible enough to make rehearsals and work on ideas for the RAW peice I'm directing next month...and yesterday, I got to relax a bit and read a book while Olive took a nap by my feet.
Hanging out more at home this last month, had me realising that I need to start some serious Spring Cleaning. I did start on it this weekend, but only scratched the surface of the behemoth, as I am both a housekeeping procrastinator of great acclaim and have the double whammy of being reared by a pair of pack rats. While I don't have cable, I've seen enough of Peter Walsh to know that I have some fucked up issues about crap I acquire.
I realise that I'll be home quite a bit this year, so I should really attempt to commit to that nesting thing and unpack my stuff. Yeah. It's been nearly four years since I moved into my place and beyond having boxes yet to unpack (I must not need that crap for reals), I've yet to hang anything on the walls or make my space my own.
My goal for April is to hang the wood blinds I bought back in November/December. I'd like to say I'll also hang some art this month...but I don't want to scare myself off the project entirely.
Baby steps, rebar. Baby steps.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
pie (pee-yay) in the sky (skee-yay)
While we finished second (again) last night at our Quizzo pub night, the good news is that we got to watch the CUBS WIN during the heated match. The bad news is that it took 15 innings to do it. Following a 12 inning game/win - after blowing a 12 run lead - on Monday, last night's game was a nail biter fo sho. Sure, they held onto the lead to close and are up in wins (5-3), but it's too early in the season to be watching them claw their way through games like this. Oof.
The unfortunately named newcomer, Felix Pie, was the hero of the night! With a 2-run single in the 15th, he put us ahead for thankfully the final time, with Sean Marshall (in his first career save) closed out the inning. We went through seven pitchers last night. Seven. That's just brutal. Still, a brutal win is a win. Chalk it up!
While we finished second (again) last night at our Quizzo pub night, the good news is that we got to watch the CUBS WIN during the heated match. The bad news is that it took 15 innings to do it. Following a 12 inning game/win - after blowing a 12 run lead - on Monday, last night's game was a nail biter fo sho. Sure, they held onto the lead to close and are up in wins (5-3), but it's too early in the season to be watching them claw their way through games like this. Oof.
The unfortunately named newcomer, Felix Pie, was the hero of the night! With a 2-run single in the 15th, he put us ahead for thankfully the final time, with Sean Marshall (in his first career save) closed out the inning. We went through seven pitchers last night. Seven. That's just brutal. Still, a brutal win is a win. Chalk it up!The 100 years war continues....
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
alms
The letter came yesterday. Our third major condo assessement in less than 4 years. The running total is somewhere between 18K-20K. I will now be paying in excess of $500 a month just in assessment costs starting in May. Not counting my mortgage. Or taxes. Etc., etc., etc. (Yo. Cuz, I didn't have 20 large sitting in the bank to pay these special assmts up front, yo!)
What does this mean? Well, unless I become fabulously weathly by other means to be determined (i.e. the lottery, an unknown inheritance, well-planned heist or the acquisition of a sugar daddy), I will not be able to do much of anything for quite a while.
I will not be able take even a (super) cheap vacation this year.
I will not be able to trade in my 11 year old heap for a somewhat less crappy heap.
I will not be able to pay down much on my current debt or donate to charitable orgs as I had been planning.
I will have to really get onboard with an extremely tight budget and stick to it.
It means that I really might have to get a second gig just to cover that cost and/or really consider getting a roomie/boarder. Neither option really puts a grin on my face. Mainly this is all causing my mind to wander and occassionally freak out about money about 125x a day. Okay. more like 15 times a day, but, you know, more time than I should be spending on it.
If I look back on my life, I know that I tend to really freak out about money about once every 4-5 years, so I'm pretty much on track. I'm trying to calm my brain with the notion that:
1) It's just money. It's just stuff. It's not worth all the anxiety.
2) No person has ever pounded on my door demanding payment for anything.
3) I've never had to go without anything I truly needed.
4) I've always had a roof over my head (and never had to move back in with my parents....knock wood. Which at my age is a more frightening thought than it was at 18 or 28.)
5) This freakout, too, shall pass.
6) In the end, everything has worked out.
7) There are better things to spend my energy on and occupy my brain.
Fucking money. Fucking economy. Fucking developer who cut so many corners, it's a shock that our building isn't round. (sigh)
Ok. Just had to get that out of my system.
I feel at least 12% better now.
The letter came yesterday. Our third major condo assessement in less than 4 years. The running total is somewhere between 18K-20K. I will now be paying in excess of $500 a month just in assessment costs starting in May. Not counting my mortgage. Or taxes. Etc., etc., etc. (Yo. Cuz, I didn't have 20 large sitting in the bank to pay these special assmts up front, yo!)
What does this mean? Well, unless I become fabulously weathly by other means to be determined (i.e. the lottery, an unknown inheritance, well-planned heist or the acquisition of a sugar daddy), I will not be able to do much of anything for quite a while.
I will not be able take even a (super) cheap vacation this year.
I will not be able to trade in my 11 year old heap for a somewhat less crappy heap.
I will not be able to pay down much on my current debt or donate to charitable orgs as I had been planning.
I will have to really get onboard with an extremely tight budget and stick to it.
It means that I really might have to get a second gig just to cover that cost and/or really consider getting a roomie/boarder. Neither option really puts a grin on my face. Mainly this is all causing my mind to wander and occassionally freak out about money about 125x a day. Okay. more like 15 times a day, but, you know, more time than I should be spending on it.
If I look back on my life, I know that I tend to really freak out about money about once every 4-5 years, so I'm pretty much on track. I'm trying to calm my brain with the notion that:
1) It's just money. It's just stuff. It's not worth all the anxiety.
2) No person has ever pounded on my door demanding payment for anything.
3) I've never had to go without anything I truly needed.
4) I've always had a roof over my head (and never had to move back in with my parents....knock wood. Which at my age is a more frightening thought than it was at 18 or 28.)
5) This freakout, too, shall pass.
6) In the end, everything has worked out.
7) There are better things to spend my energy on and occupy my brain.
Fucking money. Fucking economy. Fucking developer who cut so many corners, it's a shock that our building isn't round. (sigh)
Ok. Just had to get that out of my system.
I feel at least 12% better now.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
elbow
I was born into a legacy of Beta over VHS. Of Coleco over Atari. Of 8-track over cassettes. I was born with a mistrust of technology and of all things popular by nature. All my punk friends on blogger have been telling me to make the switch from vox to blogger.
I'm not sure if this is a permanent flip, but I'll give it a go and see where the day takes me.
I was born into a legacy of Beta over VHS. Of Coleco over Atari. Of 8-track over cassettes. I was born with a mistrust of technology and of all things popular by nature. All my punk friends on blogger have been telling me to make the switch from vox to blogger.
I'm not sure if this is a permanent flip, but I'll give it a go and see where the day takes me.
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