So a kid in New Jersey figured out how to crack the iPhone.
Even better...he details it here
Go and learn how to free your iPhone from the shackles of Cingular/AT&T.
Oh, and here's it's eBay auction if you want it. Do you have 1 billion dollars?
Friday, August 24, 2007
Sick Now?
Sick now? Droop now? This sickness doth infect the very lifeblood of our enterprise.
-- King Henry the Fourth, Part I (Hotspur at IV, i).
Oh you wacky insurance companies. You desperately want our money and tell us that we need you in order to stay well...and then you screw us. 
The quote by Shakespeare makes sense if you plug in insurance company for enterprise.
There's something so backward about the fact that we are punished if we get sick, and we are punished if we don't get sick. It's insane.
Let me make this clear: I have not seen Sicko, so this rant has nothing to do with what Michael Moore went through in this film. (Side note: Canada has been running articles about how, though they are flattered, the system isn't as good as he says it is.)
No, this is a personal rant.
Though I am a teacher, I am required to take the health insurance my union bargained for and won. I cannot deny it.
My plan sucks. It's not the worst, but there are many issues to it.
My wife, who works for a corporation that makes medical devices, has fantastic insurance. Basically, if she wanted to, she could get a body scan every month and be covered. That's amazing. With my insurance sucking and my wife's so great, we put my son on her insurance. Every time we go to the pediatrician, it costs us $20 a visit. That's not bad. His recent surgery was completely covered by her insurance. Again, to me, that's amazing.
So, why am I angry? Because my insurance left me out to dry. At the beginning of the summer, I got sick. I decided to go to Urgent Care for help (it was in the same building as my son's pediatrician, and I had almost fainted during his appointment). The doctor there had no clue what was wrong with me, so he and the nurse ran a bunch of tests. It could have been Mono, or it could have been Strep. They weren't sure, so they ran the tests. It turned out it was some sort of virus which could be cured by Amoxocillan.
Flash forward one month: I get a bill from my insurance company, and they covered nothing. NOTHING! I had to pay for the visit out of pocket. Why? They felt the tests were unnecessary. I appealed. If not for the tests, how would I know what drug to take? The company disagreed. The doctors, without giving me tests, could have just given me Amoxocillan and made me better. The tests were padding for which the company would not pay.
I have never been turned away from a hospital with my insurance, so I am lucky in that sense, but before this, I have never had to pay anything but a co-pay.
Even my dental plan is a joke. I went for my check-up recently and had to get new x-rays. The dentist discovered that I have what he calls, "a dying tooth." There is nothing on the outside that looks bad, but the tooth seems to be dying on the inside. He has no idea why. He also isn't sure that it can be saved. Basically, I'll either get a root canal to "stem the tide of its death," or I'll need a fake tooth.
On the bright side I'm going to be part of the doctor's final (he's retiring, which keeps my streak of removing dentists alice) writing. He's going to write about me and the tooth as it is, "unique and fascinating." Woo-hoo.
We have gotten to a point where we cannot get sick anymore as we cannot afford it. That's the truth. Lawyers and insurance companies will be the downfall of American society. Mark these words.
Then again what do I know? I have a dying tooth and a cold, so my insurance company says I am a liability. I could be wrong.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Child's Play
My son had surgery on Monday. After getting his seventh ear infection since he was born, there was no choice left: Little Leab would be getting tubes.
This made me nervous to no end.
If you are unfamiliar with the procedure, it goes like this: doctors make a small incision inside the ear and then push small tubes in so ear can drain easier.
Now, I understand the need for him to have it as it will make him feel better, but I was nervous. This was the parent in me.
What if the doctor, who told us over and over again that this was nothing more than a "routine" surgery, screwed up. How can a surgery be routine? What does that say about our bodies and our mindsets that having a foreign object placed into our body is considered routine?
How would my son react to the anesthetic? What if he was allergic?
Worst of all, however, was the nagging feeling of possible death. Of course, it was just a quick cut in the ear, but what if the allergic reaction was severe?
The dark in my bedroom allowed these demons to enter into my brain and rob me of my sleep.
If you've never taken someone for surgery, it works something like this:
You are required to get that person (be it child or adult) to the place the surgery will take place (usually a hospital) an hour before the actual procedure. Once the person is checked in, they will go to a room where they will change into surgical clothes (be in hospital pajamas or gown). Once changed, the waiting begins.
My son was no different. Instead of an hour, his surgery (scheduled for 12:45) took place at 1:35, we waited longer. He played and walked around and tried to befriend the other kids who were waiting for their surgeries. Here again you could see that the kids were just happy to be able to play, but the parents were all nervous, or tired, or just plain scared. Once woman brought her ten year old daughter for her ninth surgery since she was born. The mother said she cried every time her daughter fell asleep.
After talking with doctors about what will happen, the surgery will occur. In the case of very small children, like my son, the parents will actually hold the child (if possible) to get them to sleep. It is here that I saw an image that is burned into my soul.
My wife held my son on her lap, and the anesthesiologist placed the mask on my son's mouth. If you've never had anesthesia, it works by numbing the body first and then slowing you down until you sleep (thus why you have a heart and oxygen monitor). My son did not cry as he was used to his nebulizer, but you could see his eyes trying to figure out what the hell was going on as the gas rushed into his lungs. First, his whole body went limp, then his eyes slowly shut. He lay there unable to move and totally unconscious.
I truly know now what it would like if my son died. His body totally lifeless (in this case he chested barely moved).
My wife placed his limp body on a gurney, and we were told to say goodbye.
Much like when my father had his bypass surgery, I could not get these morbid thoughts out of my head. I did not hum the song about the worms this time. Instead I kept hearing my father in my head saying, "It is truly a horrible feeling to have a bury a child. Your grandmother had to bury two of them, and it destroyed her."
I had images of the funeral, of the flower arrangements even. It was horrible.
I know I overreacted. He was in surgery for only ten minutes, while his mother and I waited in room that looked like Hugh Hefner's living room. Still, I had been grappling with this idea of surgery since it was decided upon. I wanted to keep my son from this, but I failed. It was out of control, but I still felt guilt from having to put him through this.
As we waited in this room, there was a monitor above the TV that showed you where the patient was (going in, during surgery, coming out, etc.) It was like watching a sporting event in some ways. Very odd. As soon as the surgery was over, the doctor came in and said, "It was child's play. I've done so many of these, I could have operated in my sleep."
So, we've arrived, checked in, waited, had anesthesia, and waited again. Now comes the hardest part of the whole thing: coming out of it.
My son has a temper. It's not surprising as his father and his grandfather both have tempers. I have been fortunate to find ways to calm my temper, but there are times when it builds and I explode. I've never hit someone in anger (or at least not first...and my siblings don't count....). As my wife and I made our way to the room Little Leab was in, we could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs. He was mad.
This is where his mother and I disagree. She thinks his screaming had to do with coming out of the anesthesia and not having control of his body. I think he was pissed that he woke up somewhere without his parents around and had some woman he didn't know trying to get him to drink and telling him to be quiet.
After ten minutes of yelling at us about the situation, the nurse came to us and said, "You know, sometimes people, children especially, recover better in familiar surroundings. Perhaps your son would do better at home. Of course, I'm not trying to rush you out, but he seems like he doesn't like it here." Don't be fooled. This is code. What she was really saying was, "Your kid won't stop screaming, and he's freaking out the other patients that are trying to rest. Get him out of here or we'll kill him."
We left, and the second we hit the air outside the hospital, my son started to calm down. My wife attributed it to him finally getting the anesthesia out of his system. I think it's because he was out of the hospital. This is, after all, the grandson of the man who tried to be the first triple bypass outpatient.
Three days on, my son seems to be happy. He hates the drops that have to be put in his ears (4 drops, twice a day, for 10 days), but he seems to be happier than before the surgery. His balance is much better as well.
Maybe I'm just a worry wart. I don't know. I just know that the image of my son totally limp in my wife's arms will probably haunt my nightmares for a while.
Of course, what do I know? I'm an insomniac who doesn't really dream anymore. I could be wrong.
This made me nervous to no end.
If you are unfamiliar with the procedure, it goes like this: doctors make a small incision inside the ear and then push small tubes in so ear can drain easier.
Now, I understand the need for him to have it as it will make him feel better, but I was nervous. This was the parent in me.
What if the doctor, who told us over and over again that this was nothing more than a "routine" surgery, screwed up. How can a surgery be routine? What does that say about our bodies and our mindsets that having a foreign object placed into our body is considered routine?
How would my son react to the anesthetic? What if he was allergic?
Worst of all, however, was the nagging feeling of possible death. Of course, it was just a quick cut in the ear, but what if the allergic reaction was severe?
The dark in my bedroom allowed these demons to enter into my brain and rob me of my sleep.
If you've never taken someone for surgery, it works something like this:
You are required to get that person (be it child or adult) to the place the surgery will take place (usually a hospital) an hour before the actual procedure. Once the person is checked in, they will go to a room where they will change into surgical clothes (be in hospital pajamas or gown). Once changed, the waiting begins.
My son was no different. Instead of an hour, his surgery (scheduled for 12:45) took place at 1:35, we waited longer. He played and walked around and tried to befriend the other kids who were waiting for their surgeries. Here again you could see that the kids were just happy to be able to play, but the parents were all nervous, or tired, or just plain scared. Once woman brought her ten year old daughter for her ninth surgery since she was born. The mother said she cried every time her daughter fell asleep.
After talking with doctors about what will happen, the surgery will occur. In the case of very small children, like my son, the parents will actually hold the child (if possible) to get them to sleep. It is here that I saw an image that is burned into my soul.
My wife held my son on her lap, and the anesthesiologist placed the mask on my son's mouth. If you've never had anesthesia, it works by numbing the body first and then slowing you down until you sleep (thus why you have a heart and oxygen monitor). My son did not cry as he was used to his nebulizer, but you could see his eyes trying to figure out what the hell was going on as the gas rushed into his lungs. First, his whole body went limp, then his eyes slowly shut. He lay there unable to move and totally unconscious.
I truly know now what it would like if my son died. His body totally lifeless (in this case he chested barely moved).
My wife placed his limp body on a gurney, and we were told to say goodbye.
Much like when my father had his bypass surgery, I could not get these morbid thoughts out of my head. I did not hum the song about the worms this time. Instead I kept hearing my father in my head saying, "It is truly a horrible feeling to have a bury a child. Your grandmother had to bury two of them, and it destroyed her."
I had images of the funeral, of the flower arrangements even. It was horrible.
I know I overreacted. He was in surgery for only ten minutes, while his mother and I waited in room that looked like Hugh Hefner's living room. Still, I had been grappling with this idea of surgery since it was decided upon. I wanted to keep my son from this, but I failed. It was out of control, but I still felt guilt from having to put him through this.
As we waited in this room, there was a monitor above the TV that showed you where the patient was (going in, during surgery, coming out, etc.) It was like watching a sporting event in some ways. Very odd. As soon as the surgery was over, the doctor came in and said, "It was child's play. I've done so many of these, I could have operated in my sleep."
So, we've arrived, checked in, waited, had anesthesia, and waited again. Now comes the hardest part of the whole thing: coming out of it.
My son has a temper. It's not surprising as his father and his grandfather both have tempers. I have been fortunate to find ways to calm my temper, but there are times when it builds and I explode. I've never hit someone in anger (or at least not first...and my siblings don't count....). As my wife and I made our way to the room Little Leab was in, we could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs. He was mad.
This is where his mother and I disagree. She thinks his screaming had to do with coming out of the anesthesia and not having control of his body. I think he was pissed that he woke up somewhere without his parents around and had some woman he didn't know trying to get him to drink and telling him to be quiet.
After ten minutes of yelling at us about the situation, the nurse came to us and said, "You know, sometimes people, children especially, recover better in familiar surroundings. Perhaps your son would do better at home. Of course, I'm not trying to rush you out, but he seems like he doesn't like it here." Don't be fooled. This is code. What she was really saying was, "Your kid won't stop screaming, and he's freaking out the other patients that are trying to rest. Get him out of here or we'll kill him."
We left, and the second we hit the air outside the hospital, my son started to calm down. My wife attributed it to him finally getting the anesthesia out of his system. I think it's because he was out of the hospital. This is, after all, the grandson of the man who tried to be the first triple bypass outpatient.
Three days on, my son seems to be happy. He hates the drops that have to be put in his ears (4 drops, twice a day, for 10 days), but he seems to be happier than before the surgery. His balance is much better as well.
Maybe I'm just a worry wart. I don't know. I just know that the image of my son totally limp in my wife's arms will probably haunt my nightmares for a while.
Of course, what do I know? I'm an insomniac who doesn't really dream anymore. I could be wrong.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Definition of Ironic (Sad Edition) 8/17/2007
Icky Woods (the great Cincinnatti Bengals Running Back) runs a camp for at risk kids. They were playing football recently at this camp in what was being called "The Peace Bowl."
Unfortunately, the game had to be stopped as a 19 year old kid was killed near the field. The point of this camp was to help these kids get away from the violence through a violent sport (football).
Once again, real world violence encroaches on our ways to avoid and destroy it.
Unfortunately, the game had to be stopped as a 19 year old kid was killed near the field. The point of this camp was to help these kids get away from the violence through a violent sport (football).
Once again, real world violence encroaches on our ways to avoid and destroy it.
Ramblings for the Evening: Sports Edition (8/17/2007)
A Ramblings that's themed? You should be so lucky.
Michael Vick. Everyone knows the story by now. He was indicted on charges from dog fighting. Let's make some things clear here:
Pundits everywhere are calling this, "the darkest year of sports...ever. Let's see if they are right.
So, without further Adu (Soccer joke): BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!
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O.J. and "The Assassins":
Now, I'm not going to sit here and defend O.J. Simpson, but let me see if I remember this correctly: Wasn't O.J. found innocent?
I just don't get it. How can a person who is found innocent of murder be liable for those deaths?
O.J is currently paying a little over thirty-three million dollars to the families of the victims. Fine, I have no problem with that. However, what I do have a problem with is the new attack on him. Again, I am not a big fan, but O.J. is part of a new video game called All Pro Football 2K8. In this game, he can be a running back on a team called, "The New York Assassins", and the teams mascot is...wielding a knife. How shocking!
Come on, folks. It's not like O.J. went to the makers and said, "Wow, I love it." He's part of the retired NFLPA, so he was just part of the license that was bought. The fact that the family wants MORE money from this tells me that it has less to do with the loss of their loved ones and more to do with wanting more money.
Look, Todd Bertuzzi broke Steve Moore's neck on the ice and is still in hockey video games. Michael Vick (more on him later) is still in Madden football games, and the Falcons (his team) is a popular pick among players. Their money wasn't taken from them.
I can't believe people want the game pulled from store shelves because of this. All because you can put him on a team (though he doesn't start there) with this mascot.
What's next? People in New Orleans sue The University of Miami or the hockey team in Carolina for using the name "Hurricanes"? Can Native Americans sue the Dallas Cowboys for emotional damage?
Yes, I have heard that O.J. is not a nice guy and will do almost anything for a buck (see his upcoming book), but this is ridiculous. There are sports stories that mean more.
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Mr. Vick Goes to Prison...Maybe:
Michael Vick. Everyone knows the story by now. He was indicted on charges from dog fighting. Let's make some things clear here:For the public, the dog aspect is the most important. The men who decided to give information on him ("Snitch Bitches" as I heard them called today) said that he did in fact kill a few dogs either by hanging or drowning. That's what everyone has latched on to and why they are so angry.
Now I feel that hurting dogs is a terrible thing, but the fact that this is more important than dying humans is ridiculous to me. Not the point, however, let's move on....
The government is pushing for the gambling charges more than the charges related to cruelty to animals. Why? Because gambling is considered worse (sorry PETA, but the government is angrier when money is taken away).
What I find depressing, however, is how the case has been turned into a racial war. African-Americans have a point: we are supposed to be innocent until proven guilty, but most of us believe the other way. Yes, the two men (one with the ironic name of "Peace") copped pleas and said he's guilty, so that will hurt Vick, but as I mentioned before these men are now being looked down upon for the sole reason that they squawked to the government.
There was an article in ESPN the Magazine that I passed on to Willy Smythe (see link on right) about the whole Vick case. William is a little more zealous than I am when it comes to the case. He read the article and was quite pissed. I read the article and was saddened. At one point the author asks why clubs are unfair and make African-Americans pay more at the clubs. I can easily answer this: Insurance. It's been that way in New York for years. It's extremely rare that a bunch of white or Hispanic or Asian folks shoot up a club. In Minneapolis, it was African-American. The club shooting in Baltimore...was African-American. I'm sorry if I sound like I'm racist, because that's not the point. Yes, it's horrible that a club would charge black folk more money, but it's about protecting an investment. If violence breaks out and a club is shut down, that means no money flows in and the club will close permanently.
Yes, Atlanta has a horrible past with racism, civil rights, and more, but a football player under investigation is not the same thing as Martin Luther King getting shot. I may be a white guy, but I am offended by the comparison. Michael Vick is an athlete. King was a visionary. Vick, according to his friends or co-defendants, committed a crime. King worked to create equality. They are nowhere near the same
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Barry Breaks Big Record...:
And yet I don't care.
I stayed up late to watch Barry Bonds break the home run record. As he swung the bat and the ball flew to center field, I watched the crowd explode in joy as they knew he had broken the record.
I, however, felt nothing. I felt no joy, and I felt no anger. That saddens me.
The home run record is considered the greatest record in all of sports. It was supposed to be the one that almost no one could touch. When Henry "Hank" Aaron was getting close to breaking Babe Ruth's record, he was sent death threats. Bonds didn't have that kind of pain to deal with this time. He only had media scrutiny as to whether or not he cheated. That's not as bad. 
I should have been excited about the crack of the bat for that home run, but I wasn't. I am tired of Bonds. I'm sick of reading or hearing about his possible cheating. I'm sick of hearing about a possible asterisk in the record books.
This is my honest feeling about it: If Bonds took steroids before they were illegal, then he did nothing wrong. Sure, he got ahead of the game, but it was legal. Pro Wrestling says that Steroids are bad. The NFL Says this as well. MLB did not say this until recently. That means Bonds was fine to do so.
The only downside is that I just don't care that he broke the record. I feel nothing.
And finally:
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Family First?:
I love my parents. They did a great deal for me growing up. They taught me important lessons, they showed me how different aspects of life work, and they exposed me to life's ups and downs. When I graduated from college, my parents told me they were proud of me...then we all went to work. At no point in my life (so far) have my parents expected me to repay the favor and start taking care of them. They have not asked me to pay their bills, they have not asked me to buy them a house, and they have not told me that I owe them. My wife's parents have not said this either.
So why is it that so many college athletes are expected to go pro and immediately take care of their parents? Let me give you an example:
Greg Oden of the Portland Trailblazers. The scouts didn't talk to him, they talked to his mother. When he was drafted, they asked him the typical question, "What will you do after you sign your 1st contract?"
His answer? "I'm going to buy my mother a house, and I'm going to take care of her."
This sounds sweet, and it would be...if his mother hadn't said the same thing when interviewed earlier.
Another player, a college football star, gave away the answer about whether or not he was going pro. Actually, his mother did. She felt that he had to go pro for the good of the family.
What is wrong with these parents? Sure, you sacrificed for your kid. Good for you. That doesn't mean that you force your kid out of college before he or she is ready because you want to stop working. These kids need something else just in case professional sports is not really in their future. By forcing them out, you do them a disservice.
Let them make the decision. Don't run their lives.
If my son becomes a world class athlete, I will not force him out of college so I can stop working. That's not fair to him. That just adds pressure that's unneeded. Until I die, I plan on helping my son out, and I never expect him to turn around and help me out.
So parents...leave them kids alone.
Of course what do I know? I'm sick of hearing the Red Sox Nation bitch about the Yankees...when they spend almost as much money. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Grab my Pampers and Catch my Ride
I decided that I should try to throw in a positive (or at least funny) piece now and again.
So....
Running away from home ain't what it used to be.
My sister and my niece recently moved to the beautiful city of Toronto, known for its clean streets, rabid hockey fans (though the Leafs suck), William Shatner (Yeah, I know that Shatner isn't from Toronto...but look at cool he is...KHAN!!!!), and the University of Toronto. (Go True Blue!!) to live with husband/father (his name is Michael, he reads this blog [and is turning red right about...now], and he looks like Mark Messier. If you don't know who Messier is...go find out...I'll wait).
Toronto, on a side note, is a beautiful city that is very much on the rise again. Canada's money is slowly, but surely becoming even in value with the American dollar. As such Canadians are coming to Buffalo to shop. I'll take the money. Back to the point....
My niece is not used to being away from her "Grammy" (what my mother is called) or her "Apu" (my father's nickname because MJ (my name for her) can't say Opi, which is the German familiar form for Grandfather. As such my father is now Apu. It's a thing in my family...moving on). Not happy at all, she decided that, though she loves her mom and dad, she wanted to go back home to the USA and her "white house" (the house she used to live only a few months ago). Now you have to understand: My parents do a great deal of traveling now, and to cut back on expenses, they hire a guy named "Harvey" to drive them to and from the airport.
This is Harvey's business now. He's a retired sailor (from the Navy, not competition) and takes the denizens of the small towns of CT to and from locations of their choosing. All at a small price. Until recently, Harvey made his dough by driving the one and only Arthur Miller (the famous playwright...sigh...here) as well as Miller's daughter and her husband (actor Daniel Day Lewis...yes...Google is your friend). All in all having Harvey drive you is cheaper than parking at the airport. MJ and her Mommala used to have Harvey take them as well, be it to the airport or to New York (beats having to do the driving yourself).
So, with MJ unhappy with her new lifestyle up in the C.A. (because there is no cool way to say Ontario...just ask Don Cherry (Here's a link for you, lazy bum) about it), she marched into her room, packed up an overnight bag, returned to the living room, and announced to her parents that she was leaving and would, "be outside waiting for Harvey to pick her up." That's right, she'd wait for her ride.
Times have changed. When I was a kid, running away meant actually packing a bag and a snack, grabbing some wheels (bike or skates) and actually going out for a few hours...only to get hungry and want to come home.
So....
Running away from home ain't what it used to be.
My sister and my niece recently moved to the beautiful city of Toronto, known for its clean streets, rabid hockey fans (though the Leafs suck), William Shatner (Yeah, I know that Shatner isn't from Toronto...but look at cool he is...KHAN!!!!), and the University of Toronto. (Go True Blue!!) to live with husband/father (his name is Michael, he reads this blog [and is turning red right about...now], and he looks like Mark Messier. If you don't know who Messier is...go find out...I'll wait).
Toronto, on a side note, is a beautiful city that is very much on the rise again. Canada's money is slowly, but surely becoming even in value with the American dollar. As such Canadians are coming to Buffalo to shop. I'll take the money. Back to the point....
My niece is not used to being away from her "Grammy" (what my mother is called) or her "Apu" (my father's nickname because MJ (my name for her) can't say Opi, which is the German familiar form for Grandfather. As such my father is now Apu. It's a thing in my family...moving on). Not happy at all, she decided that, though she loves her mom and dad, she wanted to go back home to the USA and her "white house" (the house she used to live only a few months ago). Now you have to understand: My parents do a great deal of traveling now, and to cut back on expenses, they hire a guy named "Harvey" to drive them to and from the airport.
This is Harvey's business now. He's a retired sailor (from the Navy, not competition) and takes the denizens of the small towns of CT to and from locations of their choosing. All at a small price. Until recently, Harvey made his dough by driving the one and only Arthur Miller (the famous playwright...sigh...here) as well as Miller's daughter and her husband (actor Daniel Day Lewis...yes...Google is your friend). All in all having Harvey drive you is cheaper than parking at the airport. MJ and her Mommala used to have Harvey take them as well, be it to the airport or to New York (beats having to do the driving yourself).
So, with MJ unhappy with her new lifestyle up in the C.A. (because there is no cool way to say Ontario...just ask Don Cherry (Here's a link for you, lazy bum) about it), she marched into her room, packed up an overnight bag, returned to the living room, and announced to her parents that she was leaving and would, "be outside waiting for Harvey to pick her up." That's right, she'd wait for her ride.
Times have changed. When I was a kid, running away meant actually packing a bag and a snack, grabbing some wheels (bike or skates) and actually going out for a few hours...only to get hungry and want to come home.My oldest sister...well, she hid in a closet and freaked the bejesus out of my parents.
My mother was allowed and sort of encouraged to leave home by her parents, but she wasn't allowed to cross the street, so she had to bike around the block over and over and over again. Eventually she got tired and bored and went home, because she figured a roof was better than circling for another hour.
Isn't it a rite of passage in some ways? Hasn't every kid at some point been fed up with the rules and said, "Screw it...I'm leaving," then left the house? Of course the modern generation really has nothing to rebel against because most parents are desperate to be friends with their kids. If you're getting every little thing you want, why leave?
And why was it that so many people wanted to run away to the circus? I wanted to run and live at Madison Square Garden. I figured the food would be good, and I could watch free sporting events. Yet it was always portrayed as the kid running away to join the circus...and then the parents would die from grief. Is that really the goal of running away? To make the parents die? Then who do you prove your point to in the end? Look Grandma...I made Mom die from grief. I win!
It's changed. My niece may have been waiting for her ride, but a nine year old in Alabama decided that he would just take mom and dad's wheels. He hopped in the truck, turned it on (after liberating dad's keys, of course), and started driving to a better life. He didn't expect to be pulled over by the cops, but they said he was polite...so mom and dad should take it easy on him.
Or there's the girl who bought a plane ticket on Orbitz using daddy's credit card because she wanted to see grandma, and mom and dad said she couldn't for a few months. She almost made it too...until the gate agents wondered why she was flying alone and asked. The kicker? Daddy's credit card was not reimbursed. Ouch. Little Suzie (or whatever he name is) will be working that one off for a while.
Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I understand that some kids run away from really tough situations. What I mean here is not the kid who is being beaten by dad who has just put a bar of soap in a sock and wants to beat the kid like a drum. There's about a million of those kids out there, and they shouldn't be, and if that dad comes around me, I'd wail on him...but that's just me. No, I'm talking about the kid who wants chocolate, but he or she doesn't get it, so it's time to bolt.
It's a different culture now. Kids feel they should have more privileges, and if they don't get them, they'll go where they can get them. MJ is only 3, and she already has tried to run away. I think I was 7. My sister was also 7 or maybe 8. I can only hope that my sister and my brother-in-law are ready for this. MJ is super smart, good at manipulating, and cute...and she's only 3. When she's 13, the male population is going to be destroyed...but that's another post entirely.
And then there's my son. My lovely wife and I do our best with Little Leab (the clear favorite term for him as so many people tell me), but eventually he'll try it once. I can only hope he isn't as stubborn as I was and wait out in the rain in the middle of a swamp because you're sister (the middle one) told you that your siblings were getting candy and you weren't because your were adopted and no one liked you. Then, when you went to talk to your mom about it, she said she couldn't talk to you because she was busy. So you believed your sister, packed a bag, and left...only to lose a shoe in the nasty swamp water. You get the idea.
I guess I'll cross that bridge when it gets here. Ah parenthood.
Don't worry MJ. Harvey will be there in like...fifteen years to take you to university.
But then again, what do I know? I never made it as far as the circus. I could be wrong.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
The Ever Changing Security
The Robbinsdale School District has decided that all kids and staff must wear badges or ids when they are on school grounds.This is in response to gang activities at schools in the area. The hope is that if kids wear the badges, then the teachers, administrations, and resource officers (cops who are at the school) will be able to immediately know and deal with people (particularly gang members) who wander in to the school. It's also a way to keep homeless kids from wandering into the school in the hopes of finding a place to sleep or eat.
There's something scary about this. I currently work at a school where the teachers and administrators must (let me stress: MUST) wear badges that show they work in the school.
At the front of the building is a desk where a guy sits to make sure no one comes into the school without a badge or without signing in on a clipboard.
I don't remember anything like this when I was in school. My wife doesn't either, though she swears that a cop patrolled the parking lot to make sure that rival schools didn't attack cars or people before important sporting events (football, baseball, etc.).
This shows you how much the world has changed. Sure, there are real dangers out there. As one of the news stations pointed out tonight, several sex offenders have "disappeared" only to be suddenly found around schools. Yes, that's scary, but it's so rare. What happened to kids being dropped off at the corner? What happened to making kids feel secure by NOT telling them every little detail about what could hurt them?
The answer is simple: Litigation. Suing is the new American pasttime. Americans will complain about doing too much when it comes to security (Won't someone please think of the children?). Hell, we run drills for fire, shootings, bomb threats, twisters, and more, but if we didn't, and if the security wasn't crazy, then people would sue. They would try to take as much money as possible from the school district. For example, a school in New York installed a metal detector, but didn't pat down the kids. Some kid figured out a way around it and threatened a teacher with a gun. The parents of one of the students in the class sued the school for a few million dollars saying that their child was traumatized and would now never succeed in future endeavors. So, they wanted the money that the kid would have made if the school had patted down the student who brought a gun. Got it? It the school's fault.
I have no problems with everyone wearing the badges because it will make things safer, but I lament the even further loss of innocence.
What will be the next change? Will schools end up with the see-through x-ray machine like they're talking about putting in airports? Will they give the kids badges that can be traced? At what point do parents and teachers say, "Enough," and walk away?
I guess only time will tell. Still, what do I know? I keep a big stick in my room for safety. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Another sign of the Apocalypse
I don't know where to begin with this.First of all, this poster is absolutely atrocious. Jason Lee is a funny man, but not necessarily...uh...attractive. His face takes up a large chunk of the poster which, I suppose, is meant to draw in people via My Name is Earl and the Kevin Smtith movies. Still, the face in this poster is quite hideous.
Then there's Alvin, Simon, and Theodore.
Ok, the original show was somewhat funny as the three brothers got into various trouble (which Dave would have to fix), and the audience got a good laugh at the songs being sung at a high frequency.
So now Alvin and his brothers are back, and they are apparently "Ghetto". You'll notice I put the word in quotes because this is obviously an older, white person's idea of how to reach the younger kids.
So here's the problem: Why make Alvin and company look like a rodent version of Run D.M.C? I admit that I watched the show as a kid, and I even went to the movie, but I'm not sure this should be brought back. Transformers worked because it was mindless, but it had action. The second you start trying to actually think about the plot of the film, it falls apart. I don't think Alvin and the Chipmunks will work with the modern audience. Not even if you "Ghetto"-up the chipmunks. Most of the people who watched the show as kids probably don't want to hear chipmunk-sounding rap. If they don't sound like The Chipmunks when they sing, then the idea is totally lost.
I won't be going to see this movie. Partially because I fear how they've updated it, partially because Jason Lee, who I like, is starting to become overexposed.
Then again what do I know. I think this guy isn't bad...even though he wants to bury Michael Vick without a trial....And he hates dogs....Wednesday, August 01, 2007
35W is Falling Down...Falling Down.
I was having a miserable day, and then 35W collapsed.
I learned my son has to get tubes, he's sick, and I haven't been sleeping, and then 35W collapsed.
I was feeling down on myself, on the world, and then 35W collapsed.
I was there...on that very bridge. I missed the collapse by ten minutes.
My wife called me worried as she watched the news thinking something had happened to me and she would have to raise our son alone.
I had so much to say about the state of the world, and then 35W collapsed. Now all I care about is hugging my son and wife and trying to figure out what makes me so lucky and those others not.
And why do I feel so guilty?
Hug your loved ones tight.
I learned my son has to get tubes, he's sick, and I haven't been sleeping, and then 35W collapsed.
I was feeling down on myself, on the world, and then 35W collapsed.
I was there...on that very bridge. I missed the collapse by ten minutes.
My wife called me worried as she watched the news thinking something had happened to me and she would have to raise our son alone.
I had so much to say about the state of the world, and then 35W collapsed. Now all I care about is hugging my son and wife and trying to figure out what makes me so lucky and those others not.
And why do I feel so guilty?
Hug your loved ones tight.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Sometimes Life Beckons
So I take off with my wife and son this morning to go grocery shop.
As we speed down 81 toward 94 (and Maple Grove), my wife says, "Did you see that?"
"See what?" I asked.
"That sign." she replied.
"No," I said.
Then we passed another sign, and I saw why she was perplexed.
The sign was advertising a wedding this afternoon at 2:00 PM, and EVERYONE is invited.
I thought I read it wrong, so I doubled back and went to look at the first sign. It truly is an open wedding that anyone and everyone can attend if they wish.
This sent my mind spinning. What kind of a wedding could this be? Who are these people who want everyone in the world to come to the wedding?
It seems crazy to me.
Now I don't know the people holding this wedding. I do know the house. Or at least I know that house that was dressed up for the wedding. In the winter, it's the only other house besides mine that I've seen with blue lights. The difference? They actually have a giant Star of David on their roof. It's there year-round. It's a little gaudy (not to mention God-y). The dressing for the wedding was sparse. A few streamers, some tables, and maybe six balloons. Not a big wedding I would assume.
Sooooo. Who wants to go with me this afternoon? Any takers? No?
Friday, July 27, 2007
Canadians Come to Minnesota...
...to get arrested. (Side note: kind of scary how much he looks like Taylor....)Maybe you saw this story, maybe you didn't. It seems that NHL superstar Eric Staal, his brother Jordan, and 12 other men were all arrested for drunken and disorderly conduct while attending Eric Staal's bachelor party.
Now the party was held in Northeastern Minnesota at Lutsen Resort, which, according to some sources, is a hot spot for Canadians as it is great place to fish, golf, and even dog sled.
What I'm fascinated by, however, is not that these guys traveled two hours to a different country to party, but that a few them were underage drinkers who decided to drink here instead of Canada, where the legal limit is lower, and they don't really card....
Beyond that, the cops warned them to stop before citing them. Here is the official report:
On 07/21/07 at approximately 12:30 a.m. the Cook County Sheriff's Office received several complaints in the area of Lutsen Resort and Sea Villas. All complaints were similar in nature, and reporting the same incident; a group of approximately 20 people screaming, yelling, and playing loud music.
At approximately 12:50 a.m. Cook County Sheriff's Office deputies arrived at the Lutsen Resort and Sea Villas. The suspects were warned multiple times to be quiet or they may be removed from the property, issued citations, arrested, and/or deported from the country.
At approximately 3:00 a.m. staff at Lutsen Resort and Sea Villas ordered the group to leave the property, as they were not obeying the warnings they had been given. Cook County Sheriff Deputies, a Minnesota State Patrol Trooper, and a United States Border Patrol agent assisted with the removal of the suspects. After leaving the property, the group gathered on Highway 61 and began harassing passing motorists.
At approximately 4:00 a.m. the suspects were placed under arrest for disorderly conduct and obstructing the legal process. Some of the suspects fled in to the nearby woods.
It gets better. So they were warned, but didn't pay attention. Ok, but how do you explain that after leaving the property, with the help of a state trooper and a Border Patrol agent, they got in more trouble? What kind of agent says, "Oh, you're Canadian? Well...let's just move on back home, eh? You guys shouldn't give any trouble...."
I just want to know what "harassing passing motorists" means. Is it like the film Porky's, which is considered a Canadian classic, and these guys were streaking down the highway? Was it more like the film The Program and these guys lay on the center line of the highway? Or were they just like little kids and throwing beer cans and rocks at passing cars?
It almost makes you wish these guys had just gone to Windsor.
So, let's look at the score sheet for sports for the last two weeks:
NBA: Dealing with a referee who was in with the mob and bet on games
MLB: Steriods, plus the death of a coach at a game
NFL: Michael Vick...'nuff said
NHL: A superstar in the making and his pretty well known little brother are arrested for partying a little hard
Doesn't look too good for sports.
So remember: If you're Canadian and you're looking for a place to party, come on down to Minnesota, but when they give you a warning...pay attention to it.
Namaste.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Harry Potter and the Nation that Stopped Working
People are skipping out of work to read the new Harry Potter book? Really.
Look, we all know how it ends.
Here, let me spoil it for you.
Enjoy, and namaste.
Look, we all know how it ends.
Here, let me spoil it for you.
Enjoy, and namaste.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Ramblings for the Morning (7/11/2007)
Haven't done this in a while, so I figured I should bring it back.So, without further ado: OMICRON!
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Fred Rogers Ruined Your Life:
Ok, before we get started, go and watch this video. Done? Ok. Now I'm not going to get all angry and shout from the mountain tops, but there are two major issues I see here:
1. Morning News Shows: It's not just Fox and Friends. Most of the morning shows out there are way too long and have very little content. Yes, there should be a news show in the morning that gives information, because information is power. However, on average these shows are three hours long and have maybe 30 minutes of actual news. The result is a a weird amalgam that's hard to watch.
"...and so the final toll is 30 dead and 64 injured."
"Oh, that's so terrible...coming up next we'll look at common household items you can use to make a Halloween costume for your cat or dog." This is then followed by some horrible fake laugh.
It's nothing new. All morning shows are completely devoid of true intellectual content. They are designed for you to be able to listen to while doing other things. Truly deep thought would require concentration, and that's not what they want. Why? Because you might then question what they are saying.
The problem I have, however, is not really with these shows. The problem is....
2. Where the Blame Lies: It is not the fault of Fred Rogers, Big Bird, and Dr. Spock that kids and younger adults today have narcissism issues. That kind of thinking lets parents and society off the hook. Can you imagine how people will use this?"Well, sir, Mr. Rogers said I was special no matter what, so it shouldn't matter that I bombed the presentation."
"You can't be mad at me, mom, Big Bird made learning entertaining, but Mr. Smith is boring, so that's why my grades are bad."
"Your honor, my client did rob the liquor store, but his parents listened to Dr. Spock, so Mr. Smith here was not disciplined like most children. Therefore, he cannot be considered guilty of this crime."
It is, for lack of a better term, rubbish.
If you watch the clip from Fox and Friends, you can see that they make fun of the survey at first, but after the break, they suddenly take it seriously. They even ask, later on in the broadcast, a doctor about her opinions. Instead of calling it rubbish, she says, "Well, it didn't hurt anyone really," and she pauses for a second and then rushes in, "But it didn't help either."
Sigh
Look, here are the biggest two factors to the problem:
1. Parents. Too many parents want to be friends with their kids instead of being their authority figures.
Look, people. Hang up your cell phones, stop dressing like your kids (for God's sake, you're in your forties and your kids are teenagers. Take off those clothes and dress like an adult), and start telling them, "No." I am so sick and tired of parents trying to rationalize a discussion about certain topics.
"Well, I didn't want her to stay out until 1, but we talked about it and she told me I was being unfair, so I let her stay out."
Just say, "No."
I mean the absolute worst I have ever heard was a parent wanting his child to think he was cool, so he got his own kid a fake ID so the kid could go buy alcohol. Of course the dad also said he enjoyed helping, because he had someone else to drink with at the bar.
If you don't show these kids that there are boundaries, then they will never stop.
Too many parents are afraid to take a stand because then Little Jimmy or Janet will say, "I hate you."
Again...get over it. Teach these kids what Copernicus knew: the world revolves around the sun...not you.
Be a parent. Yes, you must give up time from your life, but that's what happens when you're a parent. Deal with it.
However, you are not alone in your blame. The blame also falls on...
2. Society. I am guilty of this as well, but our modern technology is primarily self-centered. MySpace, blogs, Facebook, Twitter. They are all about the person writing. Look at what I am thinking today, look at what I am watching, etc. MySpace asks you to put all this information about yourself out there for people to see. It's all about, "ME."
Beyond that, however, look at our TV shows. If you're a sports fan, the number one show worldwide is ESPN's Sportscenter. What highlights do you usually get on this show? Is it a baseball player laying down a perfect bunt to move a player to third base? No. It's the guys hitting home runs, striking out batters, and making shoestring catches. The guys who do the fundamentals are forgotten.
How about pro football? Celebrate the Offensive Linemen? No, we get the touchdowns, the interceptions, and the big hits.
The worst, however, is basketball. It's all about dunks. That's why people who watch and want to play don't care about the jump shot anymore. They care about the dunk. It's totally a me-first attitude.
The final problem is that of the adults themselves. We are all guilty of not truly being adults. Too many people who are in their thirties and forties try to rationalize ways to act like teenagers. There is a very strange fear among people my age and slightly older about being called old. When we're young, we all want to get older faster, but once we do, we freak and want to be young again. Personally, I don't need to go get drunk every weekend. Do I own a video game system? Yes, do I play it everyday? No.
So, these kids and younger adults look to us, and we act like children, so why shouldn't they?
It will get worse. People will become more and more self-centered, but it is not the fault of a man like Fred Rogers, who only wanted to help us learn, nor is it the fault of Big Bird or Dr. Spock. I learned how to count to 12 through the song that was on Sesame Street. The one with the pinball. I didn't even know I was learning.
We are guilty of hubris, but anyone who thinks that because we're told to think we're special is the reason we're so egotistical is trying to hide from the real reasons.
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Short Lived Death:
The NAACP held a funeral the other day for the "N" word. While I think that this is a wonderful thing, as the word is derogatory, I believe it will not work and will be short lived. Why? Because the word has been assimilated into culture. Kanye West, Diddy, Denzel Washington, Little Kim, or Cedric the Entertainer could all come out and say, "Don't use the word," but it won't matter if even one popular artist uses it.
I was in downtown Minneapolis on Monday, and I was walking down Hennepin behind two African-American men who were discussing the funeral and its implications. After guy #1 talks about how wonderful it is, guy #2 turns to him and says (and I am direct quoting here, so not talk of me being racist now):
"Nigger please. It is about time."
I discussed this with a colleague of mine (who happens to be black), and he said that while a great symbolic gesture, he thinks it won't work either.
"The NAACP is assuming that kids and adults will actually pay attention to the news about this and take it seriously. Most won't."
Now I like getting rid of the word, but I have to ask: what happens to Huck Finn? Is he just "Jim" from now on?
I hope this sticks, but only time will tell.
And finally:
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Vermont is About to Make Some D'oh:
So Springfield, Vermont is going to be the home of The Simpsons. Good for them. It's a little strange (and I was sure that Massachusetts would win). Still, the contest video (which included a giant, pink donut rolling away) was funny.
The question is will this make money for the town? Will people come there solely to see the "home of Homer Simpson" and such?
Will Arlen, Texas embrace Hank Hill from King of the Hill? That could be interesting.
Anyway, congratulations Vermont. Use the money wisely.
Then again what do I know? I live in a state where no one really wants to shoot a movie. I could be wrong.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
The Blog Gets Rated
Really?
All because of: Hell, hurt, murder, gun, and death?
Well, at least I have proof that I'm adult-only now.
Via.
Namaste.
Southern Comfort with a Side of In-Law
There is a small town, just after drivers cross the Iowa border into Missouri, called Eagleville. Right off of 35, you'll find a truck stop diner and a gas station. It's almost stereotypical Middle America. You walk into the place right into a bunch of hunting gear. The restaurant, which is to the right, has a bar which has the same three guys wearing vests and trucker hats.
It was here that my adventure to see my in-laws really got started.
My wife and I were in separate cars. My wife's grandfather bought my old SUV, so she was in the van with my son, and I was in the truck (as she really hates the SUV). About midway through Iowa, the heat shield for the muffler decided that eight years was enough and started to peel away from the car (rather, one side rusted off) and occasionally bounced off the street leaving some sweet sparks.
Thus we stopped in Eagleville to see if we could help the situation. From the second I walked into the place, I felt like I had a giant "NL" (Northern Liberal) on my chest. Everywhere I went, people stared at me. They ignored my wife, who is from Missouri, but they kept after me. When I bought my stuff, they checked my id. Even better, however, was the guy chewing his Skoal out front and watching my work on my car.
"What're you think you're doing?" he asked, then spit in his cup.
"I'm just fixing my heat shield so I can finish my drive and cut it off when I get to my in-laws' house.
"Why don't you just cut it off now, boy? What you're doing is just...stupid."
And this prepared me for my lovely time in Missouri.
There were two and a half important events while I was in Missouri:
1. My wife's friend's wedding (the reason we said we were going),
2. My son's first birthday party (the REAL reason we went), and
2.5. My wife's cousin leaving her baby daddy (more on that later).
Let me sum up as best as possible.
The Wedding: My wife's friend Aimee married a guy named Gary. From the moment I met Gary, I didn't like him. He's smarmy, a lush, and divorced with a rather...chummy ex-wife (that is to say that if the rumors are true, though they are divorced, they have a weekly tryst). Even worse...we look alike. During the rehearsal dinner (which was just a bonfire with some wings and watermelon), people kept confusing us. "You look like my dad from behind," Gary's daughter said to me. Then she handed me the dog which would be the ring bearer.
See, here are the other issues I have with Gary:
1. He's from West Virginia, which isn't a problem, but he fits the stereotype when he starts talking about shooting rabbits on his driveway to pass time. I'm not kidding.
2. Everyone in his family...and I do mean EVERYONE...is divorced at least once, but the average is twice.
3. His niece (from his older sister) is only 15 and pregnant, and they have narrowed the father to one of four guys. Gary's response to this? "At least it's not a black guy." Sigh.
You get the idea.
So why is this a problem? Because I love Aimee dearly. Of all of my wife's friends, she is the easiest one to get along with and usually makes wise decisions. My fear is that she will know divorce rather soon.
Anyway, the wedding itself was nice...sort of. While my wife was asked to man the guest book, I was handed the dog. My job (which I wasn't so much asked to do as had thrust upon me) was to hold the dog, the leash, which matched the bridesmaids' outfits, and the rings. Remember: the dog was the ring bearer. The dog didn't mind me, but the people running the show in the house where the ceremony was being held really hated the dog.
Now, the ceremony itself was outdoors in Missouri in June. That is to say it was sunny, hot, and humid. I was wearing a suit and in direct sunlight. I probably lost ten pounds (and my wife and mother think this may have led to my sickness). After a fast ceremony where the preacher told the groom, "if you ever mess up, I'll take you hunting...and not come back with a deer (insert uneasy laughter here)," the group moved inside into two rooms. Room 1 was the crowd who could have alcohol, while room 2 were the Mormons. I'm not kidding.
The positive here is that I had a fantastic and awe-inspiring conversation with Omar, the husband of one of my wife's old roommates. Omar is Muslim and wanted to talk to me about Christianity and Judaism (he heard from his wife that I had a mixed family). In turn, I wanted to learn more about the Muslim faith. So, in front of Mormons and others alike, Omar and I had a rather loud and animated discussion about religions. This disturbed everyone around us as we discussed why Islam and the Muslim faith don't really mix.
The rest of the wedding was uneventful except for the groom's mother attempting to grab my ass as I reminded her of her, "ex-husband, who was great in bed...and had a great ass."
The post wedding party was boring as hell for me. My wife and I joined others at an Irish pub where we were separated at the table and told to "be funny." She on one end, I on the other. That was it. We were entertainment. The difference, however, was that most of these people knew my wife really well. They knew nothing of me. After five hours of entertaining, I had to beg my wife to leave. "I don't want to tell anymore jokes, honey. Can we go?" I pleaded. We had also left my son with my in-laws all day, and I was convinced that he would be holding a gun and a deer when I got home.
The Birthday Party: There were balloons, cupcakes, and presents. A typical birthday party as it were. However, there would be over fifteen people attending my son's first birthday party, and all of them were my wife's family members. Cousins, aunts, uncles, great aunts, etc. I was barely able to hold my son during this party. Everytime I got him, a member of my wife's family would swoop in and take him.
"Well you get to have him all the time. I only see him once or twice a year....Fork him over."
Sigh.
This is where the "half" of the trip comes in. My wife's cousin, her baby daddy, and their child came to the party. Brayden (not misspelled) is three months younger than Poozer. He has a flat head, an expression of Autism (I can't think of another way to describe it) on his face, and he also showed up to the party with a big burn mark on his cheek. As my son was playing with everyone and pointing at my brother-in-law's stuffed leopard and shouting , "ITTY," my wife and I learned that Brayden's burn was the result of (and I put this in quotes as this is what they told us), "curiosity. He picked up my (the cousin's) cigarette and shoved it into his face. It was weird."
I think my jaw hit the floor, because my wife elbowed me really hard in the ribs. I literally bit my tongue.
In my opinion, the cousin has Munchausen Syndrome, where a parent will hurt his or her kid in order to get attention. The detective in me says that the cousin or the baby daddy got angry and shoved the cigarette into the kid's face. It was too big to just be him touching his face. Plus...anyone with kids knows that anything a kid grabs goes to the mouth first. Yet, his mouth had no burns.
It was also during this party, as my son was dancing to music on the TV (the entire family was watching a Nascar race while my wife, my son, and I were opening gifts. We were shushed at one point as Jeff Gordon made a pass. Several members needed to hear the commentary on the pass.
Sigh.
Anyway, as my son was dancing, the cousin announced to most of us (with the baby daddy out of the room) that she would be moving home with the baby...sans father. It seems that for two months, she was cheating on the baby daddy with some guy she met at a concert. The baby daddy didn't know about this guy and had actually been working two jobs to support his new family. Now, he doesn't know how often he'll get to see the child as the cousin doesn't want him around the kid at all. I sense a horrible life for young Brayden.
As the party went on, my son was able to open the last of his gifts, but the family wanted my wife to hold him and Brayden together. This did not go well. They were ok for a few seconds, then Brayden started pushing my son. So my son pushed back. So Brayden attempted to shove my son off my wife's lap, so my son went to bite him. Of course, Brayden's mother freaked out and tried to yell at my son. I was not having it. I calmly told her to take her kid, sit down, and be quiet. Everyone looked at me as though I had screamed the N-word in a room full of African-Americans. You see, ever since she had her kid, no one gets in the cousin's way.
My wife and son had a great time. They saw family, were centers of attention, and more. I spent my son's party defending my discussion with Omar about the Muslim faith with people who feel that most Muslims are terrorists.
Sigh.
My wife wants to move closer to her family. I think a four hour drive is close enough (that would be St. Louis).
This is the stereotypical issue of our marriage. We get along with our in-laws very well, but neither one of us wants to be close to them. The problem is that my wife holds a trump card. I moved us to Minnesota, so if we move again, she can make the decision. The only rules are that we can't live in the same town as a family member, and we can't live where my son will have a problem (like Texas).
I hate feeling this way. I don't believe that I'm better than anyone, but as I left Eagleville, MO, I had the distinct feeling that I was smarter and in a better place than most of the people in that diner. Maybe I'm just crazy that way.
Then again what do I know? I feel that Nascar is just 200-500 left turns. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
It was here that my adventure to see my in-laws really got started.
My wife and I were in separate cars. My wife's grandfather bought my old SUV, so she was in the van with my son, and I was in the truck (as she really hates the SUV). About midway through Iowa, the heat shield for the muffler decided that eight years was enough and started to peel away from the car (rather, one side rusted off) and occasionally bounced off the street leaving some sweet sparks.
Thus we stopped in Eagleville to see if we could help the situation. From the second I walked into the place, I felt like I had a giant "NL" (Northern Liberal) on my chest. Everywhere I went, people stared at me. They ignored my wife, who is from Missouri, but they kept after me. When I bought my stuff, they checked my id. Even better, however, was the guy chewing his Skoal out front and watching my work on my car.
"What're you think you're doing?" he asked, then spit in his cup.
"I'm just fixing my heat shield so I can finish my drive and cut it off when I get to my in-laws' house.
"Why don't you just cut it off now, boy? What you're doing is just...stupid."
And this prepared me for my lovely time in Missouri.
There were two and a half important events while I was in Missouri:
1. My wife's friend's wedding (the reason we said we were going),
2. My son's first birthday party (the REAL reason we went), and
2.5. My wife's cousin leaving her baby daddy (more on that later).
Let me sum up as best as possible.
The Wedding: My wife's friend Aimee married a guy named Gary. From the moment I met Gary, I didn't like him. He's smarmy, a lush, and divorced with a rather...chummy ex-wife (that is to say that if the rumors are true, though they are divorced, they have a weekly tryst). Even worse...we look alike. During the rehearsal dinner (which was just a bonfire with some wings and watermelon), people kept confusing us. "You look like my dad from behind," Gary's daughter said to me. Then she handed me the dog which would be the ring bearer.
See, here are the other issues I have with Gary:
1. He's from West Virginia, which isn't a problem, but he fits the stereotype when he starts talking about shooting rabbits on his driveway to pass time. I'm not kidding.
2. Everyone in his family...and I do mean EVERYONE...is divorced at least once, but the average is twice.
3. His niece (from his older sister) is only 15 and pregnant, and they have narrowed the father to one of four guys. Gary's response to this? "At least it's not a black guy." Sigh.
You get the idea.
So why is this a problem? Because I love Aimee dearly. Of all of my wife's friends, she is the easiest one to get along with and usually makes wise decisions. My fear is that she will know divorce rather soon.
Anyway, the wedding itself was nice...sort of. While my wife was asked to man the guest book, I was handed the dog. My job (which I wasn't so much asked to do as had thrust upon me) was to hold the dog, the leash, which matched the bridesmaids' outfits, and the rings. Remember: the dog was the ring bearer. The dog didn't mind me, but the people running the show in the house where the ceremony was being held really hated the dog.
Now, the ceremony itself was outdoors in Missouri in June. That is to say it was sunny, hot, and humid. I was wearing a suit and in direct sunlight. I probably lost ten pounds (and my wife and mother think this may have led to my sickness). After a fast ceremony where the preacher told the groom, "if you ever mess up, I'll take you hunting...and not come back with a deer (insert uneasy laughter here)," the group moved inside into two rooms. Room 1 was the crowd who could have alcohol, while room 2 were the Mormons. I'm not kidding.
The positive here is that I had a fantastic and awe-inspiring conversation with Omar, the husband of one of my wife's old roommates. Omar is Muslim and wanted to talk to me about Christianity and Judaism (he heard from his wife that I had a mixed family). In turn, I wanted to learn more about the Muslim faith. So, in front of Mormons and others alike, Omar and I had a rather loud and animated discussion about religions. This disturbed everyone around us as we discussed why Islam and the Muslim faith don't really mix.
The rest of the wedding was uneventful except for the groom's mother attempting to grab my ass as I reminded her of her, "ex-husband, who was great in bed...and had a great ass."
The post wedding party was boring as hell for me. My wife and I joined others at an Irish pub where we were separated at the table and told to "be funny." She on one end, I on the other. That was it. We were entertainment. The difference, however, was that most of these people knew my wife really well. They knew nothing of me. After five hours of entertaining, I had to beg my wife to leave. "I don't want to tell anymore jokes, honey. Can we go?" I pleaded. We had also left my son with my in-laws all day, and I was convinced that he would be holding a gun and a deer when I got home.
The Birthday Party: There were balloons, cupcakes, and presents. A typical birthday party as it were. However, there would be over fifteen people attending my son's first birthday party, and all of them were my wife's family members. Cousins, aunts, uncles, great aunts, etc. I was barely able to hold my son during this party. Everytime I got him, a member of my wife's family would swoop in and take him.
"Well you get to have him all the time. I only see him once or twice a year....Fork him over."
Sigh.
This is where the "half" of the trip comes in. My wife's cousin, her baby daddy, and their child came to the party. Brayden (not misspelled) is three months younger than Poozer. He has a flat head, an expression of Autism (I can't think of another way to describe it) on his face, and he also showed up to the party with a big burn mark on his cheek. As my son was playing with everyone and pointing at my brother-in-law's stuffed leopard and shouting , "ITTY," my wife and I learned that Brayden's burn was the result of (and I put this in quotes as this is what they told us), "curiosity. He picked up my (the cousin's) cigarette and shoved it into his face. It was weird."
I think my jaw hit the floor, because my wife elbowed me really hard in the ribs. I literally bit my tongue.
In my opinion, the cousin has Munchausen Syndrome, where a parent will hurt his or her kid in order to get attention. The detective in me says that the cousin or the baby daddy got angry and shoved the cigarette into the kid's face. It was too big to just be him touching his face. Plus...anyone with kids knows that anything a kid grabs goes to the mouth first. Yet, his mouth had no burns.
It was also during this party, as my son was dancing to music on the TV (the entire family was watching a Nascar race while my wife, my son, and I were opening gifts. We were shushed at one point as Jeff Gordon made a pass. Several members needed to hear the commentary on the pass.
Sigh.
Anyway, as my son was dancing, the cousin announced to most of us (with the baby daddy out of the room) that she would be moving home with the baby...sans father. It seems that for two months, she was cheating on the baby daddy with some guy she met at a concert. The baby daddy didn't know about this guy and had actually been working two jobs to support his new family. Now, he doesn't know how often he'll get to see the child as the cousin doesn't want him around the kid at all. I sense a horrible life for young Brayden.
As the party went on, my son was able to open the last of his gifts, but the family wanted my wife to hold him and Brayden together. This did not go well. They were ok for a few seconds, then Brayden started pushing my son. So my son pushed back. So Brayden attempted to shove my son off my wife's lap, so my son went to bite him. Of course, Brayden's mother freaked out and tried to yell at my son. I was not having it. I calmly told her to take her kid, sit down, and be quiet. Everyone looked at me as though I had screamed the N-word in a room full of African-Americans. You see, ever since she had her kid, no one gets in the cousin's way.
My wife and son had a great time. They saw family, were centers of attention, and more. I spent my son's party defending my discussion with Omar about the Muslim faith with people who feel that most Muslims are terrorists.
Sigh.
My wife wants to move closer to her family. I think a four hour drive is close enough (that would be St. Louis).
This is the stereotypical issue of our marriage. We get along with our in-laws very well, but neither one of us wants to be close to them. The problem is that my wife holds a trump card. I moved us to Minnesota, so if we move again, she can make the decision. The only rules are that we can't live in the same town as a family member, and we can't live where my son will have a problem (like Texas).
I hate feeling this way. I don't believe that I'm better than anyone, but as I left Eagleville, MO, I had the distinct feeling that I was smarter and in a better place than most of the people in that diner. Maybe I'm just crazy that way.
Then again what do I know? I feel that Nascar is just 200-500 left turns. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Fourth Down
I am alive. I actually just had to deal with a rumor at my high school that I was dead. Finally, I've overcome whatever I had (though it left me with a hematoma in my right eye, so it looks like I was stabbed in that eye), and I feel better.
Today was the Fourth of July, or Independence Day for those of your who need titles. So why didn't I feel like celebrating? Why didn't I care? It's true I'm not the most patriotic person, but I really couldn't have cared less.
Both my wife and I were off work, and my son's daycare was closed, so the three of us spent the day together, which was nice...except for dealing with drunk boaters at the lake near our house.
You see, there's a small beach and playground near where I live, and as it was a nice day, we figured we'd take Little Leab out and let him frolic a little. Maybe he could cool off with a nice swim.
The little lake (a part of Twin Lake) was packed. Families, boats, and people galore were almost on top of each other. Now, I didn't have a swimsuit on, but my wife did, so she took Poozer into the water.
He hated it. Flat out screaming hated it. He was clutching on to his mother for dear life. When she sat with him in the water, he was fine, but when he stood on his own...forget it.
Of course it didn't help that there was a group of college and high school kids creating huge waves using a boat. They would point and laugh as kids or adults fell. Then they came in close and started yelling at people to get out of their way and their sight. My wife and I were not targets, though one wave did almost knock her over. Still, it angered me to watch these kids act as though they had some sort of privilege they really didn't.
The Fourth didn't get much better from there.
In the end, the only really enjoyable part was watching the Boston Pops fireworks special with my wife. Why? Well, outside of the fact that we didn't have to go anywhere (raising a kid is tiring...and he couldn't go out, he needed to sleep after his big day), there was a moment when the cameras cut from the fireworks to the crowd, and the old couple who were dancing moved away and instead the home audience got to watch to kids making out and getting ready to round second and head to third. You could hear the director thinking, "Wow...this is awesome...and there are kids watching. Shit! There goes my job...change the camera."
Still, while I am proud of the 231 years of this country, I am mortified with where we are now. I think that's why I'm not super celebratory on this day.
Just look at the news right now. Here are some fascinating items:
1. An American is celebrated at Coney Island because he can stuff more hot dogs down his gullet than a Japanese man. Yes, Kobayashi was able to win the title six years in a row, and I'm not going to go into a rant about how eating is not a sport, but this is ridiculous. ESPN carried the whole event and even interviewed the people participating.
ESPN Schmuck: "So...when was the last time you ate?"
Random Participant: "I had a hot dog and some water for breakfast. Got to have the stomach limber."
Seriously? We celebrate this? We cheer for the fact that an American (a blue collar construction worker no less) won the event. We marvel at the footage of the former champion having to eat his own vomit to stay in the competition. Let me say that again: He had to EAT his own VOMIT to stay in the running for the title, and the news & sports stations showed it over and over again...even in slow-mo. So, we have all of this literature and media out there telling us that obesity is a major problem in this country...and yet we celebrate this "competitive eating." Never mind that another problem occurs after the contest is over. Many of the contestants have admitted to not keeping the food down. Essentially they binge and purge. Great, they're sorority girls.
Still congratulations, America, you have an eating champion.
The other story of the day that just sucked out the love was the woman in Kansas who was stabbed and received no help. Beyond that, she was passed over by five people, including one person with a cell phone who just took her picture and moved on to finish shopping. What?! Seriously? Have we become so self-absorbed in our lives that we now don't care or notice when a person is seriously hurt? What I'm more amazed at is the woman getting her picture taken on a cell phone while she was down. What is the rationale? What was the person thinking who took the photo?
Look, I could rail on and on about how we are losing ourselves as people. My wife, for example, noticed that people are excited about Sony's new online server called "Home" in which you can design an apartment (a home as it were) and invite people over to hang out. This is all online. "Why not do this in real life?" she asked naively. "Can't people come over to play?"
"You assume," I replied, "people have the ability to interact outside the game world."
Back to the point: we no longer care about anything outside our own little world. When was the last time you did a good deed where you weren't pushed into doing it? I don't mean calling a loved one before they call you. I mean donating cash to a battered women's shelter for the heck of it. I mean seeing your fellow man short of change and giving them the change they need.
I don't see this happening anytime soon, which depresses me. More people care about Paris Hilton and her jail time than all the problems we have as human beings. This is why I don't feel patriotic right now.
And no, this doesn't mean that I don't support the troops and all that b.s. This means that I'm frustrated with humanity (or the lack of it) I am seeing from people around me.
Then again what the hell do I know? I made some guy feel bad about himself for almost stepping on my son. I could be wrong.
Namaste...and happy Fourth of July.
Today was the Fourth of July, or Independence Day for those of your who need titles. So why didn't I feel like celebrating? Why didn't I care? It's true I'm not the most patriotic person, but I really couldn't have cared less.
Both my wife and I were off work, and my son's daycare was closed, so the three of us spent the day together, which was nice...except for dealing with drunk boaters at the lake near our house.
You see, there's a small beach and playground near where I live, and as it was a nice day, we figured we'd take Little Leab out and let him frolic a little. Maybe he could cool off with a nice swim.
The little lake (a part of Twin Lake) was packed. Families, boats, and people galore were almost on top of each other. Now, I didn't have a swimsuit on, but my wife did, so she took Poozer into the water.
He hated it. Flat out screaming hated it. He was clutching on to his mother for dear life. When she sat with him in the water, he was fine, but when he stood on his own...forget it.
Of course it didn't help that there was a group of college and high school kids creating huge waves using a boat. They would point and laugh as kids or adults fell. Then they came in close and started yelling at people to get out of their way and their sight. My wife and I were not targets, though one wave did almost knock her over. Still, it angered me to watch these kids act as though they had some sort of privilege they really didn't.
The Fourth didn't get much better from there.
In the end, the only really enjoyable part was watching the Boston Pops fireworks special with my wife. Why? Well, outside of the fact that we didn't have to go anywhere (raising a kid is tiring...and he couldn't go out, he needed to sleep after his big day), there was a moment when the cameras cut from the fireworks to the crowd, and the old couple who were dancing moved away and instead the home audience got to watch to kids making out and getting ready to round second and head to third. You could hear the director thinking, "Wow...this is awesome...and there are kids watching. Shit! There goes my job...change the camera."
Still, while I am proud of the 231 years of this country, I am mortified with where we are now. I think that's why I'm not super celebratory on this day.
Just look at the news right now. Here are some fascinating items:
1. An American is celebrated at Coney Island because he can stuff more hot dogs down his gullet than a Japanese man. Yes, Kobayashi was able to win the title six years in a row, and I'm not going to go into a rant about how eating is not a sport, but this is ridiculous. ESPN carried the whole event and even interviewed the people participating.
ESPN Schmuck: "So...when was the last time you ate?"
Random Participant: "I had a hot dog and some water for breakfast. Got to have the stomach limber."
Seriously? We celebrate this? We cheer for the fact that an American (a blue collar construction worker no less) won the event. We marvel at the footage of the former champion having to eat his own vomit to stay in the competition. Let me say that again: He had to EAT his own VOMIT to stay in the running for the title, and the news & sports stations showed it over and over again...even in slow-mo. So, we have all of this literature and media out there telling us that obesity is a major problem in this country...and yet we celebrate this "competitive eating." Never mind that another problem occurs after the contest is over. Many of the contestants have admitted to not keeping the food down. Essentially they binge and purge. Great, they're sorority girls.
Still congratulations, America, you have an eating champion.
The other story of the day that just sucked out the love was the woman in Kansas who was stabbed and received no help. Beyond that, she was passed over by five people, including one person with a cell phone who just took her picture and moved on to finish shopping. What?! Seriously? Have we become so self-absorbed in our lives that we now don't care or notice when a person is seriously hurt? What I'm more amazed at is the woman getting her picture taken on a cell phone while she was down. What is the rationale? What was the person thinking who took the photo?
Look, I could rail on and on about how we are losing ourselves as people. My wife, for example, noticed that people are excited about Sony's new online server called "Home" in which you can design an apartment (a home as it were) and invite people over to hang out. This is all online. "Why not do this in real life?" she asked naively. "Can't people come over to play?"
"You assume," I replied, "people have the ability to interact outside the game world."
Back to the point: we no longer care about anything outside our own little world. When was the last time you did a good deed where you weren't pushed into doing it? I don't mean calling a loved one before they call you. I mean donating cash to a battered women's shelter for the heck of it. I mean seeing your fellow man short of change and giving them the change they need.
I don't see this happening anytime soon, which depresses me. More people care about Paris Hilton and her jail time than all the problems we have as human beings. This is why I don't feel patriotic right now.
And no, this doesn't mean that I don't support the troops and all that b.s. This means that I'm frustrated with humanity (or the lack of it) I am seeing from people around me.
Then again what the hell do I know? I made some guy feel bad about himself for almost stepping on my son. I could be wrong.
Namaste...and happy Fourth of July.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Anger Trumps Coma
I was in a coma Sunday. This is what I'm calling it for lack of a better term.
You'll recall (unless you're a new reader), that I cannot stand the medical side of life. I'm convinced that the medical world is out to get me in some way. Be it embarrass me or extend my sickness. Let's sum this up quickly:
*Five days of fever. Never higher than 103, but never lower than 101.
*Aches all over the place, but the worst were in my neck. Imagine feeling like your neck is severely out of place, but you can't pop it back in because the muscles around it are swollen.
*Throat pain, where you're always dry, but when you drink, it feels like sand.
*Fatigue and dizzy spells.
So I went to Urgent Care as it was in the same building as my son's doctor's appointment (he turned one recently, which means more shots). After a short hour long wait, I was weighed ("Eh...you're around 200...good enough. Let's go!"), and the nurse and I then moved into a room, where blood was taken. Then I was left alone for a period of time. I can't be certain how long, because my watch stopped. Tired of being looked at so much, and unable to file a sexual assault complaint for being looked at so much, the watch committed suicide. Thus, I sat there for an unknown time.
In the end, the doctor came in, looked at the chart, looked at me, and said, "Well...it's not Strep, it's not Mono, so...well...here's some Amoxicillin and if that doesn't cure it, then come back."
I wish I was kidding.
Because of this, I was in a coma until last night. I couldn't work. I went from freezing cold to unbearably hot in moments. It sucked.
Now my wife wanted to give me comfort (and some white noise) so she turned on the TV in our bedroom. I listened to The Simpsons for a few minutes, and then passed out. When I next woke up, my coma abruptly ended as I heard that one of my students died over the weekend. I sat up when I saw her picture. Samantha was in my English her Freshman year. She was bright, but sometimes withdrawn (it was a morning class, and she sometimes had a strained personal life). Still, she came to me even after the class was over, and, even this past year, we talked once or twice a month. Samantha would often come to my advisory (like most of the kids who want to talk to me), and we would chat about school, or her life, or whatever. She was happier now, or so she told me.
This was why I was upset. A student who was too young and still so full of potential was killed in a meaningless event all because someone couldn't contain his or her anger. That woke me up.
Still, I was sick, so it was time to go back to sleep. However, the clothes I was wearing were soaked through (sweat does that). So I got up to change (much to wife's chagrin, which was announced to me through a loud, "What the Hell are you doing?!" from downstairs). No problem, it seemed. The world was ready to let me go back to the sleep...then the announcer said, "Paris Hilton and Larry King. The first interview!" It was presented in such a manner as to say, "She's free, and now you can learn about her ordeal." I could see the carnival barker screaming, "Come one, come all. See how the blonde socialite who cried for her mommy has suddenly changed. Find the heart, see the lack of Coke on her nose, and learn to love your inner-Paris! Come one, come all!" This led to more waves of anger. Sickness, on top of a student I really cared for dying, on top of Paris Hilton being treated as though this was a HUGE ordeal. This is not world news. If she had been stabbed and died...then it's news. It's the same with this whole Chris Benoit deal. If steroids caused him to murder his family, then that's news. No 'roids...no need to keep showing him and his son together.
You'll recall (unless you're a new reader), that I cannot stand the medical side of life. I'm convinced that the medical world is out to get me in some way. Be it embarrass me or extend my sickness. Let's sum this up quickly:
*Five days of fever. Never higher than 103, but never lower than 101.
*Aches all over the place, but the worst were in my neck. Imagine feeling like your neck is severely out of place, but you can't pop it back in because the muscles around it are swollen.
*Throat pain, where you're always dry, but when you drink, it feels like sand.
*Fatigue and dizzy spells.
So I went to Urgent Care as it was in the same building as my son's doctor's appointment (he turned one recently, which means more shots). After a short hour long wait, I was weighed ("Eh...you're around 200...good enough. Let's go!"), and the nurse and I then moved into a room, where blood was taken. Then I was left alone for a period of time. I can't be certain how long, because my watch stopped. Tired of being looked at so much, and unable to file a sexual assault complaint for being looked at so much, the watch committed suicide. Thus, I sat there for an unknown time.
In the end, the doctor came in, looked at the chart, looked at me, and said, "Well...it's not Strep, it's not Mono, so...well...here's some Amoxicillin and if that doesn't cure it, then come back."
I wish I was kidding.
Because of this, I was in a coma until last night. I couldn't work. I went from freezing cold to unbearably hot in moments. It sucked.
Now my wife wanted to give me comfort (and some white noise) so she turned on the TV in our bedroom. I listened to The Simpsons for a few minutes, and then passed out. When I next woke up, my coma abruptly ended as I heard that one of my students died over the weekend. I sat up when I saw her picture. Samantha was in my English her Freshman year. She was bright, but sometimes withdrawn (it was a morning class, and she sometimes had a strained personal life). Still, she came to me even after the class was over, and, even this past year, we talked once or twice a month. Samantha would often come to my advisory (like most of the kids who want to talk to me), and we would chat about school, or her life, or whatever. She was happier now, or so she told me.
This was why I was upset. A student who was too young and still so full of potential was killed in a meaningless event all because someone couldn't contain his or her anger. That woke me up.
Still, I was sick, so it was time to go back to sleep. However, the clothes I was wearing were soaked through (sweat does that). So I got up to change (much to wife's chagrin, which was announced to me through a loud, "What the Hell are you doing?!" from downstairs). No problem, it seemed. The world was ready to let me go back to the sleep...then the announcer said, "Paris Hilton and Larry King. The first interview!" It was presented in such a manner as to say, "She's free, and now you can learn about her ordeal." I could see the carnival barker screaming, "Come one, come all. See how the blonde socialite who cried for her mommy has suddenly changed. Find the heart, see the lack of Coke on her nose, and learn to love your inner-Paris! Come one, come all!" This led to more waves of anger. Sickness, on top of a student I really cared for dying, on top of Paris Hilton being treated as though this was a HUGE ordeal. This is not world news. If she had been stabbed and died...then it's news. It's the same with this whole Chris Benoit deal. If steroids caused him to murder his family, then that's news. No 'roids...no need to keep showing him and his son together.
So I was angry and that brought me out of my coma. It hurt like hell, but so what? The world will do that to you.
Here's another picture of my adorable son. One of the current reasons why I don't just explode. He was also the reason I was able to go back to sleep that night.
Namaste.
Monday, June 25, 2007
No Longer A "Baby."
My son turned one on the 2oth. He's officially a Toddler now, as his doctor told us. Time to move away from bottles. It's all about milk now (whole milk at that) instead of formula. Table foods (well, he's been doing that for a while) are on the menu.
It's so strange looking at him now versus the day he was born. See for yourself:
The picture on the left was his second day alive, the one on the right was taken by a gal at daycare on his birthday. Yes, the hat is cheesy. We bought is for him, because the women at daycare refer to him as, "Prince William." This is because he is:
A. one of the only boys in the room,
B. the only really cute AND nice boy,
C. "William" and there was a "Harry" in the room once upon a time. (Get it? English Princes?)
And yet, it's still odd to me that I am a parent. Don't get me wrong, I love my son. I still feel that I am not worthy to be a parent. That somehow I'll screw up and cause irreversible damage to him. But I also know that my sister and my parents and their parents all felt the same way. At night, when the darkness creeps in and the brain burns off the excess images stored in it, we have horrible dreams about children falling or getting hurt. Even worse, is when something happens. On Saturday, my wife went out to garden and took Little Leab with her. He was playing on the patio, and then fell off into the wild roses. He was lucky. No thorns got stuck, nothing in his eyes, but he did get scratches on his face and hands. In fact, as my dorky self would point out last night during bath time, "It looks like the Harry Potter lightning scar." And it does...but that's not what you're supposed to think about. Of course it also looks like the cats went to town on him.
Parenthood is tough, but it's fun. Strange but true. It's fun.
Of course what do I know? I'm still waiting for my nineteen-year-old self to show up at my door and beat me senseless. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
And Happy Birthday, Little Leab. I'm glad you were born.
It's so strange looking at him now versus the day he was born. See for yourself:
The picture on the left was his second day alive, the one on the right was taken by a gal at daycare on his birthday. Yes, the hat is cheesy. We bought is for him, because the women at daycare refer to him as, "Prince William." This is because he is:
A. one of the only boys in the room,
B. the only really cute AND nice boy,
C. "William" and there was a "Harry" in the room once upon a time. (Get it? English Princes?)
And yet, it's still odd to me that I am a parent. Don't get me wrong, I love my son. I still feel that I am not worthy to be a parent. That somehow I'll screw up and cause irreversible damage to him. But I also know that my sister and my parents and their parents all felt the same way. At night, when the darkness creeps in and the brain burns off the excess images stored in it, we have horrible dreams about children falling or getting hurt. Even worse, is when something happens. On Saturday, my wife went out to garden and took Little Leab with her. He was playing on the patio, and then fell off into the wild roses. He was lucky. No thorns got stuck, nothing in his eyes, but he did get scratches on his face and hands. In fact, as my dorky self would point out last night during bath time, "It looks like the Harry Potter lightning scar." And it does...but that's not what you're supposed to think about. Of course it also looks like the cats went to town on him.
Parenthood is tough, but it's fun. Strange but true. It's fun.
Of course what do I know? I'm still waiting for my nineteen-year-old self to show up at my door and beat me senseless. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
And Happy Birthday, Little Leab. I'm glad you were born.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Summertime...
and the living is not so easy.
So school's been out since the 13th, but I haven't posted. "Why?" you all ask. Ok, the one reader left asks....whatever.
As soon as school ended, my wife and I took off for Kansas City. Yup, went to see my in-laws. That, in itself, was a whole different story (which will be the next post).
Other reasons for not posting? Well, in the course of the last week, I got my first case of Pink-Eye (never had it before...to my knowledge), had a fever of 102, and started a class to finish my second license (Theatre). Here's the fun part. While having Pink-Eye and that temperature, I still tried to go to class. My wife feels I'm...what's the word...an idiot. On Monday, I couldn't keep my eyes open while trying to explain technical theatre lessons. Then yesterday, I could barely stand up and could feel my brain burning as I tried to explain more lessons. You see, I'm the only technical theatre person in the class. I'm also the only person not doing professional theatre right now, so I'm at a disadvantage. Even worse is the segregation. Yes, the dreaded "S" word. As I am a techie, I sit by myself on the other side of the table. No one wants to sit with me. Yes, it could be the sickness being easily seen, but predominantly it's the techie label.
As a side note, I hate being sick. Who doesn't? Still the fact that I have Pink-Eye is funny to me, because it makes me think of South Park. If you're a fan of the show, you'll recall there was an episode where zombies attacked the town, but everyone thought it was Pink-Eye. I found myself wandering around St. Thomas wanting to say, "Piiiinnnnk-Eyyyyyye."
The end of the school year? It went well, I guess. It was anti-climatic, and I'm not thrilled with how my students did overall. I also enjoyed the things they wrote on my final evaluations. They were quite funny, and some were even original.
That's all I got right now. I'm going to go pass out now.
Namaste.
So school's been out since the 13th, but I haven't posted. "Why?" you all ask. Ok, the one reader left asks....whatever.
As soon as school ended, my wife and I took off for Kansas City. Yup, went to see my in-laws. That, in itself, was a whole different story (which will be the next post).
Other reasons for not posting? Well, in the course of the last week, I got my first case of Pink-Eye (never had it before...to my knowledge), had a fever of 102, and started a class to finish my second license (Theatre). Here's the fun part. While having Pink-Eye and that temperature, I still tried to go to class. My wife feels I'm...what's the word...an idiot. On Monday, I couldn't keep my eyes open while trying to explain technical theatre lessons. Then yesterday, I could barely stand up and could feel my brain burning as I tried to explain more lessons. You see, I'm the only technical theatre person in the class. I'm also the only person not doing professional theatre right now, so I'm at a disadvantage. Even worse is the segregation. Yes, the dreaded "S" word. As I am a techie, I sit by myself on the other side of the table. No one wants to sit with me. Yes, it could be the sickness being easily seen, but predominantly it's the techie label.
As a side note, I hate being sick. Who doesn't? Still the fact that I have Pink-Eye is funny to me, because it makes me think of South Park. If you're a fan of the show, you'll recall there was an episode where zombies attacked the town, but everyone thought it was Pink-Eye. I found myself wandering around St. Thomas wanting to say, "Piiiinnnnk-Eyyyyyye."
The end of the school year? It went well, I guess. It was anti-climatic, and I'm not thrilled with how my students did overall. I also enjoyed the things they wrote on my final evaluations. They were quite funny, and some were even original.
That's all I got right now. I'm going to go pass out now.
Namaste.
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