I wonder, when the Kyd’s teacher gives the class something and tells them to take it home to “mom and dad,” does she think about correcting him? G isn’t her “dad” but maybe she just doesn’t want to bring attention to that fact. I’m sure there are other kids in the same boat, probably close to 50%. But I really don’t ever worry all that much about any of those kids.
Does she know who Santa and the Tooth Fairy really are, and just play along for our sake?
Why does she behave all night, and then suddenly become bi-polar at bedtime?
Last night she picked out a movie, Soccer Mom from Red Box, and it wasn’t awful. But thank Joe Pesci (see George Carlin, for why I’m thanking Joe over God) that she didn’t pick up on all the adult jokes. We have a soccer star who is also supposed to be some hunk, played by the greatness that is Dan Cortesse, and a girls soccer team that expects him to be their coach. Only it ends up being the Soccer Mom in disguise. Anyway, there’s reference to hotel room hook-ups, French maids uniforms, and naughty mother’s who need punishment. The writer was one more Red Bull away from writing a Cinemax flick.
In my life time I’ve seen the following technological advances as part of my every day life:
Color TV > Cable TV > Dish > Digital cable > HD
Cassette > CD > Digital music
Boom box > Walkman > iPod
Beta > VCR > Laser Disc > DVD > DVR/TiVo > BluRay
Rotary phone > Push button phone > Cordless phone > Cell phone in a bag > Smart phone
Big screen TVs > Bigger and flatter TVs
Atari > Nintendo > Genesis > PlayStation > xBox360 > Wii
Home computer > Laptop > Pocket PCs
Dial up > Broadband > Wireless
So what will the world look like in 25 years, when the Kyd is the same age as I am now?
December 19, 2008
December 17, 2008
Giving Tree
It’s funny how your point of view can change over time. When I was a youngin’, my favorite book in the world was Shel Silverstiens’ “The Giving Tree.” I just thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I wanted to be that boy, and I wanted that tree. He had a best friend, and one that would play whatever games he wanted. Then I became an uncle at 15, so when I was 16 I got my baby niece a copy of “The Giving Tree.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but obviously I wasn’t seeing the world through the eyes of a toddler any more. Most teenagers are angry and confused, but I was probably a little angrier than most at that age. So re-reading it to my niece, I began to see it as a story about being taken advantage of. That tree loved the boy unconditionally, and the boy just took advantage of the love and loyalty. He literally left the tree with nothing left to give, and nothing in return.
Now I’m a parent, and last year I got a copy for the Kyd. I hadn’t read it with her till last night, and once again, my interpretation has been turned upside down. Now I see the tree as a parent. And the boy is its child, and no one’s being taken advantage of. The tree, like any good parent, is just doing the best it can do to provide for its child. The boy wants to play, the tree gives him a safe place to play. The boy wants to rest, and he can rest with the tree. He needs money, and the tree provides him with work. Sounds just like my dad. But it isn’t just work, it’s a chance, a chance to provide for himself, a chance to make his own way. And when the boy gets older and is ready to move on, the tree makes that possible. Then the boy is a man, and every man still needs his parents. We need them for rest, for peace, for a safe place to go and to always remember where we come from.
Now I’m a parent, and last year I got a copy for the Kyd. I hadn’t read it with her till last night, and once again, my interpretation has been turned upside down. Now I see the tree as a parent. And the boy is its child, and no one’s being taken advantage of. The tree, like any good parent, is just doing the best it can do to provide for its child. The boy wants to play, the tree gives him a safe place to play. The boy wants to rest, and he can rest with the tree. He needs money, and the tree provides him with work. Sounds just like my dad. But it isn’t just work, it’s a chance, a chance to provide for himself, a chance to make his own way. And when the boy gets older and is ready to move on, the tree makes that possible. Then the boy is a man, and every man still needs his parents. We need them for rest, for peace, for a safe place to go and to always remember where we come from.
December 15, 2008
Know Justice
A few months back my wife told me about a scandal that knocked her small town on its collective ass back in the mid-80’s. A friend of hers’ father was killed, and then his wife was convicted of the crime. Since initially hearing the Cliffs Notes version of what happened, we have on occasion talked in greater detail about the “evidence” and interesting twists and turns that lead to the mother of 5 doing 50 years without the possibility of parole.
My wife’s old friend has been vigelente in her pursuit to see her mother freed, and waged an online war of sorts. She has her own blog, http://commutepatty.blogspot.com/ , and through her blog there’s a link to some of the requests for clemency and other appeals. http://www.patriciaprewitt.com/clemency/packet.pdf
Now, the fact that I’m so far removed from the case kind of makes reading about it feel like I’m reading another version of The Shawshank Redemption. But then I remember that my wife knew this alleged killer, as well as the victims. And anything resembling “entertainment” vanishes to only be replaced by some real shock and awe.
I won’t get too much into the case, as you can (and will want to) read for yourself. But I am going to hit some facts that seem to have jumped from the pages and bitch slapped me like Ike Turner. Being the analytical/anal SOB that I am, here it is in top 10 style: (of course, it’ll all make so much more sense after you read the second link I listed)
10. How do the police lose a nitrate test, one that just happen to prove she didn’t fire a gun? And what about blood spatter? I’m sure I’ve seen too many episodes of “Law & Order” and “CSI: Miami” but, wouldn’t a gun shot from such close range cover her in blood in a much different pattern than laying next to one who is shot?
9. The “magical” red boot
8. A poisoned guard dog soon after the murder, and after numerous reported prowlers which were investigated less than I proof read this post.
7. The sudden appearance of a second bullet wound a year later.
6. The jury was strongly influenced by the judge to render a verdict.
5. The overwhelming lack of anything that resembles evidence. Seriously, even if you think she did it, there’s more than enough room for “reasonable doubt.”
4. No motive. His life insurance policy had lapsed, there was no history of violence,
3. The obvious cover up.
We have allegations of drug dealing that seems to include local law enforcement. My wife has told me that the town had a drug problem at the time. I can only imagine that she’s been railroaded so hard because those higher up, know exactly how where the trail leads to. The fact that she’s still in is even more evidence of a cover up, one that would ruin (I assume) more than a few political careers.
There was testiomony from neighbors that the police just happen to forget about, testimony of a strange car sitting near by that night. This isn’t a city, it isn’t even a town the size of Stilwell, and strange cars get noticed.
2. No weapon ever recovered, when did she have time to get rid of the gun? I can’t get over the fact that we’re supposed to believe this hardworker, loving mother of 5, took the time to shoot her husband, slipped out of the house and hid the gun so well that some how, there were no tracks leading to it in the snow. Did she fly? Eat the weapon?
1. She didn’t do it, which is of major effin’ importance.
My wife’s old friend has been vigelente in her pursuit to see her mother freed, and waged an online war of sorts. She has her own blog, http://commutepatty.blogspot.com/ , and through her blog there’s a link to some of the requests for clemency and other appeals. http://www.patriciaprewitt.com/clemency/packet.pdf
Now, the fact that I’m so far removed from the case kind of makes reading about it feel like I’m reading another version of The Shawshank Redemption. But then I remember that my wife knew this alleged killer, as well as the victims. And anything resembling “entertainment” vanishes to only be replaced by some real shock and awe.
I won’t get too much into the case, as you can (and will want to) read for yourself. But I am going to hit some facts that seem to have jumped from the pages and bitch slapped me like Ike Turner. Being the analytical/anal SOB that I am, here it is in top 10 style: (of course, it’ll all make so much more sense after you read the second link I listed)
10. How do the police lose a nitrate test, one that just happen to prove she didn’t fire a gun? And what about blood spatter? I’m sure I’ve seen too many episodes of “Law & Order” and “CSI: Miami” but, wouldn’t a gun shot from such close range cover her in blood in a much different pattern than laying next to one who is shot?
9. The “magical” red boot
8. A poisoned guard dog soon after the murder, and after numerous reported prowlers which were investigated less than I proof read this post.
7. The sudden appearance of a second bullet wound a year later.
6. The jury was strongly influenced by the judge to render a verdict.
5. The overwhelming lack of anything that resembles evidence. Seriously, even if you think she did it, there’s more than enough room for “reasonable doubt.”
4. No motive. His life insurance policy had lapsed, there was no history of violence,
3. The obvious cover up.
We have allegations of drug dealing that seems to include local law enforcement. My wife has told me that the town had a drug problem at the time. I can only imagine that she’s been railroaded so hard because those higher up, know exactly how where the trail leads to. The fact that she’s still in is even more evidence of a cover up, one that would ruin (I assume) more than a few political careers.
There was testiomony from neighbors that the police just happen to forget about, testimony of a strange car sitting near by that night. This isn’t a city, it isn’t even a town the size of Stilwell, and strange cars get noticed.
2. No weapon ever recovered, when did she have time to get rid of the gun? I can’t get over the fact that we’re supposed to believe this hardworker, loving mother of 5, took the time to shoot her husband, slipped out of the house and hid the gun so well that some how, there were no tracks leading to it in the snow. Did she fly? Eat the weapon?
1. She didn’t do it, which is of major effin’ importance.
December 09, 2008
Scared Hirpless Tournament
In the car I was thinking of possible subjects to blog about today, and the one I felt most strongly about turned out to be my fears. So as I was thinking of how I could write about my fears I came up with two conclusions: One, nothing too morbid or personal. The thought of something happening to my wife or kyd is just too upsetting to even write about, let alone joke about. And secondly, I decided that breaking it down to a March Madness like tournament would be the best format.
So for starters, here are my top 8 fears, and their seeds:
1. The Kyd Dating: The top seed for numerous reasons, but mainly this one is like the North Carolina of my fears. The starting five are All-American level fears, and come together to form one horrifying fear. The guards are Fear of her having sex and fear of the intentions of boys. At small forward is the fear of her driving, as we all know how scary that is. The power forward is the fear of my self doing something stupid. And our starting center, the scariest fear in the nation, the fear of pregnancy.
I don’t even want to think of Dick Vitale using “diaper dandy” to describe any of these “players” the very thought makes me throw up in my mouth a little. Easily the favorite to win.
2. Fear of Food. By far our most illogical fear, yet it is consistently in the top 5 fear. I hate throwing up, and I hate embarrassment, and both are highly likely when it comes to me trying new foods.
3. Getting Promoted. Has the most upside to it, the money and all. But right now I have a pretty good thing going at work, aside from the money. I’m a “Program/Project Manager I” which means my level of responsibility is relatively low, as are expectations. This leads to lower levels of stress along with lower paychecks. I’m pretty fond of the idea of “under promise, over deliver.”
I’m pretty sure it helped me find the perfect girl for me. This isn’t a knock on her, but when she first met the bald guy that is shorter than she is, she had to have lower expectations than if I was Hirp Clooney. She gave me a shot (and I hope) I’ve always exceeded her expectations. The marriage being the exception that proves the rule, as it was the first time in my life I wanted to raise someone’s expectations and continue to exceed them.
But back to work, the very thought of getting bumped up fills me with all sorts of anxiety. The extra cash, would I mishandle it as I’ve done in the past? Would I fold like a Gap employee? What if they figured out I really don’t know jack or shit?
4. The Dentist. The sounds, the textures, the smells, the fact that they won’t stop asking me questions when they know I can’t respond. I both fear and hate the dentist.
5. Police in the Rear View. Any time a cop is driving behind me. My heart beats faster, my palms sweat and I want to vomit. I was less nervous at my wedding than anytime there’s a po-po behind me. I fear the ticket, but I also fear getting arrested. And I know I haven’t done anything, not that they know about or could prove anyway.
6. Layoffs. This one is working its way up the charts. Layoffs play in the same conference as the #3 seed.
7. Being Wrong. It’s mostly being wrong about the existence of a higher power. Not that I’ve lived some sin-filled life because I don’t believe in God, but I just can’t imagine how I can eat so much crow.
8. Snakes, Spiders and the Split second before my grill starts up.
Round 1
#1 Kyd Dating versus #8 Snakes, Spiders and the threat of the propane going boom. Kyd Dating completely dominates in every facet of the game. It’s 20-0 1 second in to the game, and that isn’t even physically possible.
#2 Food versus #7 Being Wrong. A near upset, but food holds on. Being Wrong is just so un-coachable, probably could have won if they listened better.
#3 Getting promoted versus #6 Layoffs. Of course it went in to Overtime, and Layoffs gives us the first upset of the tourney. Because, well face it, I’d rather get promoted and fail than get laid off. At least the paycheck would last a little longer.
#4 Dentist versus #5 The police. It’s never really an upset when the 5 seed beats the 4, they’re practically even to start with. The fear of having a cop behind me wins, as it happens more often and without warning. The dentist can always be planned for, and at least they let me watch TV or listen to my iPod.
Final 4
#1 Kyd dating versus #5 Police in the rear view. Another easy win for the Kyd Dating. I’m telling you, there’s never been a more dominant presence as Fear of Pregnancy, or a dynamic due like “FOP” and the guard, Hav’n Sex. I hate them more than Palestinians hate Israelis.
#2 Food versus #6 Layoffs. The fact is, at times I fear getting laid off so much that I can’t eat food I already like, so Layoff’s have officially become our Cinderalla Story, by making it all the way to the Finals.
Championship
#1 The Kyd Dating
Vs.
#6 Layoffs
Vegas is giving Kyd Dating a 30 point edge, but Layoffs have a tenacity that just grinds away at your nerves. Always looming, plotting and getting bigger every time I hear the news. But Layoffs are just no match for the powerhouse Kyd Dating. Even the bench is strong, with Fear of Being a Grandfather, Ulcers and the underrated, Fear of Her Growing Up.
So we have our Champion Fear. And I feel dizzy all the sudden. I need to go Google “shock collar for teenagers” and Missouri’s gun control laws.
So for starters, here are my top 8 fears, and their seeds:
1. The Kyd Dating: The top seed for numerous reasons, but mainly this one is like the North Carolina of my fears. The starting five are All-American level fears, and come together to form one horrifying fear. The guards are Fear of her having sex and fear of the intentions of boys. At small forward is the fear of her driving, as we all know how scary that is. The power forward is the fear of my self doing something stupid. And our starting center, the scariest fear in the nation, the fear of pregnancy.
I don’t even want to think of Dick Vitale using “diaper dandy” to describe any of these “players” the very thought makes me throw up in my mouth a little. Easily the favorite to win.
2. Fear of Food. By far our most illogical fear, yet it is consistently in the top 5 fear. I hate throwing up, and I hate embarrassment, and both are highly likely when it comes to me trying new foods.
3. Getting Promoted. Has the most upside to it, the money and all. But right now I have a pretty good thing going at work, aside from the money. I’m a “Program/Project Manager I” which means my level of responsibility is relatively low, as are expectations. This leads to lower levels of stress along with lower paychecks. I’m pretty fond of the idea of “under promise, over deliver.”
I’m pretty sure it helped me find the perfect girl for me. This isn’t a knock on her, but when she first met the bald guy that is shorter than she is, she had to have lower expectations than if I was Hirp Clooney. She gave me a shot (and I hope) I’ve always exceeded her expectations. The marriage being the exception that proves the rule, as it was the first time in my life I wanted to raise someone’s expectations and continue to exceed them.
But back to work, the very thought of getting bumped up fills me with all sorts of anxiety. The extra cash, would I mishandle it as I’ve done in the past? Would I fold like a Gap employee? What if they figured out I really don’t know jack or shit?
4. The Dentist. The sounds, the textures, the smells, the fact that they won’t stop asking me questions when they know I can’t respond. I both fear and hate the dentist.
5. Police in the Rear View. Any time a cop is driving behind me. My heart beats faster, my palms sweat and I want to vomit. I was less nervous at my wedding than anytime there’s a po-po behind me. I fear the ticket, but I also fear getting arrested. And I know I haven’t done anything, not that they know about or could prove anyway.
6. Layoffs. This one is working its way up the charts. Layoffs play in the same conference as the #3 seed.
7. Being Wrong. It’s mostly being wrong about the existence of a higher power. Not that I’ve lived some sin-filled life because I don’t believe in God, but I just can’t imagine how I can eat so much crow.
8. Snakes, Spiders and the Split second before my grill starts up.
Round 1
#1 Kyd Dating versus #8 Snakes, Spiders and the threat of the propane going boom. Kyd Dating completely dominates in every facet of the game. It’s 20-0 1 second in to the game, and that isn’t even physically possible.
#2 Food versus #7 Being Wrong. A near upset, but food holds on. Being Wrong is just so un-coachable, probably could have won if they listened better.
#3 Getting promoted versus #6 Layoffs. Of course it went in to Overtime, and Layoffs gives us the first upset of the tourney. Because, well face it, I’d rather get promoted and fail than get laid off. At least the paycheck would last a little longer.
#4 Dentist versus #5 The police. It’s never really an upset when the 5 seed beats the 4, they’re practically even to start with. The fear of having a cop behind me wins, as it happens more often and without warning. The dentist can always be planned for, and at least they let me watch TV or listen to my iPod.
Final 4
#1 Kyd dating versus #5 Police in the rear view. Another easy win for the Kyd Dating. I’m telling you, there’s never been a more dominant presence as Fear of Pregnancy, or a dynamic due like “FOP” and the guard, Hav’n Sex. I hate them more than Palestinians hate Israelis.
#2 Food versus #6 Layoffs. The fact is, at times I fear getting laid off so much that I can’t eat food I already like, so Layoff’s have officially become our Cinderalla Story, by making it all the way to the Finals.
Championship
#1 The Kyd Dating
Vs.
#6 Layoffs
Vegas is giving Kyd Dating a 30 point edge, but Layoffs have a tenacity that just grinds away at your nerves. Always looming, plotting and getting bigger every time I hear the news. But Layoffs are just no match for the powerhouse Kyd Dating. Even the bench is strong, with Fear of Being a Grandfather, Ulcers and the underrated, Fear of Her Growing Up.
So we have our Champion Fear. And I feel dizzy all the sudden. I need to go Google “shock collar for teenagers” and Missouri’s gun control laws.
December 08, 2008
Hirp the System
So the Juice isn’t loose. OJ has finally been squeezed. Paybacks a bitch, right? Well, shockingly enough, I think that whole thing is complete and utter BS. Did OJ break the law? Sure, and he should go to jail for what he did. But the law should be above vengeance. The system shouldn’t carry a grudge and OJ shouldn’t be looking at spending as much as 30 years in prison.
Of course I don’t know all the facts, hell, I probably know like four or five at the most. I know this much, he took some stuff from a moron who stole from him. I know he brought some friends with him to a hotel room, and one of the guys brought a gun, while another genius brought a tape recorder. Wait a second, time out right there, who goes to Vegas and brings a tape recorder? Better question is, who the hell still has a tape recorder? That guy must have purchased that recorder back in ’94 and always carried it on him, just incase he happened to be invited to commit a felony. Now I know there are some really stupid criminals out there, but one who audio tapes his crime, well he’s at the top (or maybe it’s the bottom) of that list. Really, you know he had that recorder on him, because once he knew he’d be around OJ, he saw dollar signs. And now he had a chance to record an angry Juice, how much would that be worth to the paparazzi? At least a few grand.
So this “over the hill” gang finds out that someone who stole from OJ is staying at the lovely Palace Station. They’re in Vegas for a wedding, having a few drinks I assume, and came up with the master plan of knocking on their door and demanding his items back. This sounds more like a story of how alcohol can make us do stupid things than criminal conspiracy, one of his five charges. Hell, OJ was even seen in the courtroom halls chatting with the “victim.”
Of course all three co-defendants make deals, and Clark County throws, not just the book at OJ, but the entire library. They, of course, convict OJ and sentence him to a total of 33 years in prison, with the possibility of parole in about 9 years. Just the possibility though, we all know he’ll serve more than 9. Why? Because he deserves to, duh. I mean, he did kill Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown, everyone knows that.
Only I thought the law was supposed to give us justice, not even the score. Look, the guys that carjacked me (and I think 3 or 4 others that weekend) saw their “ring leader” do 8 years. They actually shot someone that night, stole 3 or 4 cars at gunpoint and ran from the po-po’s. 8 years versus a guy with no priors, who wasn’t holding the gun and is still friendly with his “victim” and he’s looking at possibly spending 33 years in prison.
They didn’t convict OJ of stealing memorabilia, they evened the score. And that isn’t justice. Of course OJ should have done time for killing two people in Brentwood, but the system failed then. But the system just failed again. Revenge is fine, I totally understand and appreciate revenge. That’s just human nature, and if Fred Goldman wanted to hire someone to cut of OJ Simpsons’ head, that’d closer to “justice” than the state of Nevada cleaning up California’s mess 13 years later.
OJ going to jail is the ending every wanted to see, and no one (other than the Judge in Nevada) is trying to deny it, but we’re supposed to at least act like we want more from our legal system. We’re supposed to turn to our legal system RATHER than seek revenge, not for it. Yet this is widely acceptable in our society now. Maybe it’s because our President was willing to send troops to die so he could avenge his father’s nemesis, or maybe because it makes for the most entertaining story.
The only people, I think, that have the right to be pleased with this outcome are the families of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown. Not because they finally got the bastard, but because maybe now they can be left alone. If the public really wants justice for the victims, then Judge Ito, Marcia Clarke, Mark Furhman and OJ Simpson should all be doing time. Together, they killed two people and let the killer get away with it while making millions of dollars off the crime and absence of punishment.
Of course I don’t know all the facts, hell, I probably know like four or five at the most. I know this much, he took some stuff from a moron who stole from him. I know he brought some friends with him to a hotel room, and one of the guys brought a gun, while another genius brought a tape recorder. Wait a second, time out right there, who goes to Vegas and brings a tape recorder? Better question is, who the hell still has a tape recorder? That guy must have purchased that recorder back in ’94 and always carried it on him, just incase he happened to be invited to commit a felony. Now I know there are some really stupid criminals out there, but one who audio tapes his crime, well he’s at the top (or maybe it’s the bottom) of that list. Really, you know he had that recorder on him, because once he knew he’d be around OJ, he saw dollar signs. And now he had a chance to record an angry Juice, how much would that be worth to the paparazzi? At least a few grand.
So this “over the hill” gang finds out that someone who stole from OJ is staying at the lovely Palace Station. They’re in Vegas for a wedding, having a few drinks I assume, and came up with the master plan of knocking on their door and demanding his items back. This sounds more like a story of how alcohol can make us do stupid things than criminal conspiracy, one of his five charges. Hell, OJ was even seen in the courtroom halls chatting with the “victim.”
Of course all three co-defendants make deals, and Clark County throws, not just the book at OJ, but the entire library. They, of course, convict OJ and sentence him to a total of 33 years in prison, with the possibility of parole in about 9 years. Just the possibility though, we all know he’ll serve more than 9. Why? Because he deserves to, duh. I mean, he did kill Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown, everyone knows that.
Only I thought the law was supposed to give us justice, not even the score. Look, the guys that carjacked me (and I think 3 or 4 others that weekend) saw their “ring leader” do 8 years. They actually shot someone that night, stole 3 or 4 cars at gunpoint and ran from the po-po’s. 8 years versus a guy with no priors, who wasn’t holding the gun and is still friendly with his “victim” and he’s looking at possibly spending 33 years in prison.
They didn’t convict OJ of stealing memorabilia, they evened the score. And that isn’t justice. Of course OJ should have done time for killing two people in Brentwood, but the system failed then. But the system just failed again. Revenge is fine, I totally understand and appreciate revenge. That’s just human nature, and if Fred Goldman wanted to hire someone to cut of OJ Simpsons’ head, that’d closer to “justice” than the state of Nevada cleaning up California’s mess 13 years later.
OJ going to jail is the ending every wanted to see, and no one (other than the Judge in Nevada) is trying to deny it, but we’re supposed to at least act like we want more from our legal system. We’re supposed to turn to our legal system RATHER than seek revenge, not for it. Yet this is widely acceptable in our society now. Maybe it’s because our President was willing to send troops to die so he could avenge his father’s nemesis, or maybe because it makes for the most entertaining story.
The only people, I think, that have the right to be pleased with this outcome are the families of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown. Not because they finally got the bastard, but because maybe now they can be left alone. If the public really wants justice for the victims, then Judge Ito, Marcia Clarke, Mark Furhman and OJ Simpson should all be doing time. Together, they killed two people and let the killer get away with it while making millions of dollars off the crime and absence of punishment.
December 02, 2008
Hirplash
Last night I re-watched Crash, and my wife watched it for the first time. She’s a smart cookie, and was catching on to some events before they happened, and would ask me if this or that was going to happen. Before I met her, most the moms I knew had difficulty or flat out didn’t want to see, any movie in which a child was a victim. My wife isn’t any different, and we’ve had to turn off a movie or two in the past.
Of course the character she liked most was the hard working and doting father, Daniel (played by Michael Pena), and she instantly connected with him on a parent level in the scene where he gives his daughter her “impenetrable cloak.” She put the pieces together fairly quickly, and began asking me if the store owner was going to hurt or kill him. I didn’t want to give it away, but I knew she’d be pissed at me if he was killed and I let her watch. So I told her the truth, that he isn’t hurt. Soon the store owner was robbed and found Daniels name on a receipt, and my wife stirred in her seat. As the lunatic owner sat outside Daniels home, she asked if something happened to his daughter. I said that she wouldn’t be killed. It was true, and I knew she’d be upset by the scene in which we are lead to believe she’s shot, but I didn’t want to dilute the scene.
Then it happened, that powerful moment where Lara leaps into her father’s arms to protect him just as the gun goes off. She gasped, and I quickly told her that the girl was okay. But it was too late. It didn’t matter that for two seconds she thought the girl had been shot, those two seconds was all it took. I may get in trouble here, but my wife cried. Probably a mixture of emotions; horrified, sad, pissed at me, confused and top of the list, imaging she and the Kyd in that situation.
I’m fairly certain that not telling her what was the come was the “right” thing to do, but it didn’t make it the easy thing to do. Crash, in my opinion, is an important movie, and I didn’t want to lessen the impact because those two seconds stay with you. The silent scream we see from Daniel is completely audible in our heads.
Earlier in the evening, I was watching another Don Cheadle movie, Talk to Me. I saw it last summer, and it’s a solid B, maybe B+ movie. But I was distracted by the voices in my head. I had an idea for a cast that in part I really would like to see assembled, and part of me wondered why it hadn’t happened yet. I want to see a movie with Denzel, Cheadle, Terrance Howard, Jeffrey Wright, Thadie Newton, and Halle Berry. Just give us a great script with great characters for a talented cast. Race doesn’t need to be a theme, and lets just skip the bio-pic, which seems to be the only time the masses will accept a largely black cast. Give us The Departed or a Saving Private Ryan. Throw a ton of money behind it, and put a world class director in the chair. Don’t market it with a soundtrack of the most popular rappers of the day. Score it as you’d score any great movie. No token white guy roles, unless it’s the right actor for the part.
It could be a monumental movie, and not a monumental “black” movie, only when that adjective is removed from the description. And there’s absolutely no reason this cast shouldn’t be assembled.
Of course the character she liked most was the hard working and doting father, Daniel (played by Michael Pena), and she instantly connected with him on a parent level in the scene where he gives his daughter her “impenetrable cloak.” She put the pieces together fairly quickly, and began asking me if the store owner was going to hurt or kill him. I didn’t want to give it away, but I knew she’d be pissed at me if he was killed and I let her watch. So I told her the truth, that he isn’t hurt. Soon the store owner was robbed and found Daniels name on a receipt, and my wife stirred in her seat. As the lunatic owner sat outside Daniels home, she asked if something happened to his daughter. I said that she wouldn’t be killed. It was true, and I knew she’d be upset by the scene in which we are lead to believe she’s shot, but I didn’t want to dilute the scene.
Then it happened, that powerful moment where Lara leaps into her father’s arms to protect him just as the gun goes off. She gasped, and I quickly told her that the girl was okay. But it was too late. It didn’t matter that for two seconds she thought the girl had been shot, those two seconds was all it took. I may get in trouble here, but my wife cried. Probably a mixture of emotions; horrified, sad, pissed at me, confused and top of the list, imaging she and the Kyd in that situation.
I’m fairly certain that not telling her what was the come was the “right” thing to do, but it didn’t make it the easy thing to do. Crash, in my opinion, is an important movie, and I didn’t want to lessen the impact because those two seconds stay with you. The silent scream we see from Daniel is completely audible in our heads.
Earlier in the evening, I was watching another Don Cheadle movie, Talk to Me. I saw it last summer, and it’s a solid B, maybe B+ movie. But I was distracted by the voices in my head. I had an idea for a cast that in part I really would like to see assembled, and part of me wondered why it hadn’t happened yet. I want to see a movie with Denzel, Cheadle, Terrance Howard, Jeffrey Wright, Thadie Newton, and Halle Berry. Just give us a great script with great characters for a talented cast. Race doesn’t need to be a theme, and lets just skip the bio-pic, which seems to be the only time the masses will accept a largely black cast. Give us The Departed or a Saving Private Ryan. Throw a ton of money behind it, and put a world class director in the chair. Don’t market it with a soundtrack of the most popular rappers of the day. Score it as you’d score any great movie. No token white guy roles, unless it’s the right actor for the part.
It could be a monumental movie, and not a monumental “black” movie, only when that adjective is removed from the description. And there’s absolutely no reason this cast shouldn’t be assembled.
December 01, 2008
CaliHirponiacation
Sophomore slumps may sound as they only belong to college kids, but any music or sports fan knows this isn’t the case. A rookie hits the scene and has a great first season, and in their second season their production is far below the now high expectations they have set for themselves. Music works the same way, a great debut is followed up with something sub-par, the fact that par is set after just one release is both unfair and honest. Just ask Hootie, Fionna Apple and any Royals fan (you remember the Hammer and Berrora).
Television works the same way. “Californiacation” was one of the few shows to have a near perfect first season; it was as likely to suffer a drop off this year. I didn’t want to even consider the possibility, but then season two began. I’m not a prude, or easily offended, but in the first few episodes they said “fuck” as often, and as meaningless, as any rapper with a gold album. There was so much meaningless sex and drugs it could have been written by just about any high school senior who spent his nights snorting Ritalin and watching Cinemax. Worst of all, it had stopped sounding personal. They went through the motions, and followed some foolishly designed formula.
Based on how last season ended, I knew it would be hard to strike the same chords. Hank took Karen away from marriage that made about as much sense as Lyle and Julia; they sped away to a happy ending. But there was nothing “happy” about Hank, the only happy endings he could have would have capped off a massage. It was a dud season ending, and it set up season two to flop. Expectedly, it did just that. Until the happy union between the couple that seemed destine to be together, fell apart. There were some bumps, and a little too much time spent with Ashby and Mia (a nasty little something the writers need to banish with a shot of Penicillin) but they brought the show back to its roots.
We’ve seen it time and time before, the television shows where everyone is pulling for the guy to get the girl. Only once he gets the girl, the quality of the show almost always slumps. “Friends” is, of course, the perfect example. The highly underrated, “How I Met Your Mother” is designed to avoid this pitfall, as we know that when Ted finally meets Mrs. Right, that it will be time to call it a wrap.
But we may have a television first, a breakup actually fixing a mistake. Hopefully Showtime can perform the same magic on “Weeds”; as that would be the tri-fecta. We’ve seen “Entourage” and “Californiacation” return to form, so there’s a chance.
Television works the same way. “Californiacation” was one of the few shows to have a near perfect first season; it was as likely to suffer a drop off this year. I didn’t want to even consider the possibility, but then season two began. I’m not a prude, or easily offended, but in the first few episodes they said “fuck” as often, and as meaningless, as any rapper with a gold album. There was so much meaningless sex and drugs it could have been written by just about any high school senior who spent his nights snorting Ritalin and watching Cinemax. Worst of all, it had stopped sounding personal. They went through the motions, and followed some foolishly designed formula.
Based on how last season ended, I knew it would be hard to strike the same chords. Hank took Karen away from marriage that made about as much sense as Lyle and Julia; they sped away to a happy ending. But there was nothing “happy” about Hank, the only happy endings he could have would have capped off a massage. It was a dud season ending, and it set up season two to flop. Expectedly, it did just that. Until the happy union between the couple that seemed destine to be together, fell apart. There were some bumps, and a little too much time spent with Ashby and Mia (a nasty little something the writers need to banish with a shot of Penicillin) but they brought the show back to its roots.
We’ve seen it time and time before, the television shows where everyone is pulling for the guy to get the girl. Only once he gets the girl, the quality of the show almost always slumps. “Friends” is, of course, the perfect example. The highly underrated, “How I Met Your Mother” is designed to avoid this pitfall, as we know that when Ted finally meets Mrs. Right, that it will be time to call it a wrap.
But we may have a television first, a breakup actually fixing a mistake. Hopefully Showtime can perform the same magic on “Weeds”; as that would be the tri-fecta. We’ve seen “Entourage” and “Californiacation” return to form, so there’s a chance.
November 20, 2008
Hirpology
It’s damn near 2009, I know it doesn’t matter that I feel like the 90’s just ended, we should be further along than we are. No just socially, and obviously economically, but I mean technology. I’m not talking about space vacations or everyone having a robot at home to let the dog out, nothing that would change the very shape of our world today. Simple every day tasks could be, and should be, easier with the help of technology.
Sadly, this just isn’t the case. In my perfect world we’d have the following:
Every vending machine would have the ability to read your dollar bill. Seriously, how long have they been taking dollars now? They still spit out 54.9% of each dollar, and those rejected dollars are rejected more than three times 80.3% of the time. I probably didn’t make up any of those percentages. I said probably. Really though, it should no longer matter if the bill is as wrinkled as Bea Authors vazhïn or has one or four folded corners. Take the friggin’ dollar, give me my Starburst and let’s end this transaction. American’s waste 4 hours a year dealing with vending machine issues, probably something like that.
I want all ATM’s and those terminals at the store you swipe your credit card through should all have the same lay out. All computer keyboards have the main keys in the same spot; they can do the same for us. Imagine if the “U” was different by keyboard manufacturer. At an ATM, the yes/no, English/Spanish, and complete another transaction, should come in the same order and the appropriate keys should be placed the same. You can jazz up your ATM with a nice display or a beep so I know I really hit the key, that’s fine. But let’s keep it simple stupid. Same goes for the terminals at Targets, pharmacies and grocery stores. They should all work the same. This isn’t Mac versus PC, but it’s to the point that I’ve already considered walking out of a store without milk because their keypad is laid out differently. Can you imagine if I was one of those OCD freaks or just really anal?
Sadly, this just isn’t the case. In my perfect world we’d have the following:
Every vending machine would have the ability to read your dollar bill. Seriously, how long have they been taking dollars now? They still spit out 54.9% of each dollar, and those rejected dollars are rejected more than three times 80.3% of the time. I probably didn’t make up any of those percentages. I said probably. Really though, it should no longer matter if the bill is as wrinkled as Bea Authors vazhïn or has one or four folded corners. Take the friggin’ dollar, give me my Starburst and let’s end this transaction. American’s waste 4 hours a year dealing with vending machine issues, probably something like that.
I want all ATM’s and those terminals at the store you swipe your credit card through should all have the same lay out. All computer keyboards have the main keys in the same spot; they can do the same for us. Imagine if the “U” was different by keyboard manufacturer. At an ATM, the yes/no, English/Spanish, and complete another transaction, should come in the same order and the appropriate keys should be placed the same. You can jazz up your ATM with a nice display or a beep so I know I really hit the key, that’s fine. But let’s keep it simple stupid. Same goes for the terminals at Targets, pharmacies and grocery stores. They should all work the same. This isn’t Mac versus PC, but it’s to the point that I’ve already considered walking out of a store without milk because their keypad is laid out differently. Can you imagine if I was one of those OCD freaks or just really anal?
November 18, 2008
Hirpoooo
I really enjoy watching “How I Met Your Mother” and I consider it to be one of the best comedies on TV. Last night however, I realized that I could write for the series. They had a whole bit about girls “wooing.” Not wooing, as in courting or trying to win over someone, but that annoying sound we often hear from a group of women in their late teens and if they are especially retarded, into their early twenties. I blogged about it many moons ago, along with a few other pet peeves of mine.
Back in July of 2005, I posted my Top 10 List of things that annoy the shit out of me. Woohoo made that list, along with high fives; they came in at #7. “Woooo” is a version of the aforementioned “woohoo,” it’s really more of a regional thing I believe. Aside from the fact that the writers went to that well a few too many times and took it from the smart social commentary it was and made it as annoying as the actual phrase, I realized I could write for this show. Maybe even a few other shows, some shows I’d have to get paid more than others to write for, but we’re only talking an extra $10 or $20. Seriously, I think most of my rants (see: bitching) on this very site could be turned into episodes of a successful sitcom.
My last name even fits the requirements for being shown in the credits; it ends with “berg.”
***
I have a bit of a conundrum at work. My boss has organized a team building activity, which ironically enough is being called “volunteer work,” even though the email specifically states that participation is not optional. The kicker is, we’re supposed to go to church, and not just any church, her church, to help staff backpacks full of food for kids who are in the unfortunate situation of not always getting a meal outside of school. The cause is a good one, and I have no qualms with doing something like that.
I do, however, have a beef with having to go to her church, or any church for that matter, for a work related function. So I’ve wrestled with saying something about how I feel it isn’t appropriate, which it isn’t, or biting my tongue and going along, or option three which results in me unexpected and unavoidable absence from work that day.
It’s been pointed out to me that a lot of good goes on at the church, which I don’t deny. And I highly doubt that there will be much preaching going on towards us, but any preaching while I’m at work is too much preaching. I highly doubt any of my co-workers would like to sit down and listen to my views, and better yet, I wouldn’t subject them to such an event. As I realize there’s a time and a place, and this isn’t either of those.
So as much as I find this awkward and potentially harmful to my career, I also find this pretty upsetting. That’s right, it upsets me. This angers me in fact. But as I think out my reactions to this, I see even more drama. If I say anything, I know the company would protect me, but I also think I’d be a bit ostracized. If I just go, I’ll be disappointed in myself for caving, and there’s still the possibility of a brain fart leading to some verbal diarrhea. I don’t think bringing up the fact that I didn’t ask anyone to die for my sins, or that I think I should own my sins, is going to win anyone over. Either one of those reactions causes me to be at the center of both an HR issue and piss off some coworkers who are way to comfortable talking about their beliefs.
My third option, where I some how being unable to come in that day has its own double edged sword, as we’re also supposed to go to lunch for my bosses boss’ birthday. Not that he’s really going to give a damn if I’m not there, but I don’t think it’s really smart to ever be the lone absent employee at a lunch like that.
Back in July of 2005, I posted my Top 10 List of things that annoy the shit out of me. Woohoo made that list, along with high fives; they came in at #7. “Woooo” is a version of the aforementioned “woohoo,” it’s really more of a regional thing I believe. Aside from the fact that the writers went to that well a few too many times and took it from the smart social commentary it was and made it as annoying as the actual phrase, I realized I could write for this show. Maybe even a few other shows, some shows I’d have to get paid more than others to write for, but we’re only talking an extra $10 or $20. Seriously, I think most of my rants (see: bitching) on this very site could be turned into episodes of a successful sitcom.
My last name even fits the requirements for being shown in the credits; it ends with “berg.”
***
I have a bit of a conundrum at work. My boss has organized a team building activity, which ironically enough is being called “volunteer work,” even though the email specifically states that participation is not optional. The kicker is, we’re supposed to go to church, and not just any church, her church, to help staff backpacks full of food for kids who are in the unfortunate situation of not always getting a meal outside of school. The cause is a good one, and I have no qualms with doing something like that.
I do, however, have a beef with having to go to her church, or any church for that matter, for a work related function. So I’ve wrestled with saying something about how I feel it isn’t appropriate, which it isn’t, or biting my tongue and going along, or option three which results in me unexpected and unavoidable absence from work that day.
It’s been pointed out to me that a lot of good goes on at the church, which I don’t deny. And I highly doubt that there will be much preaching going on towards us, but any preaching while I’m at work is too much preaching. I highly doubt any of my co-workers would like to sit down and listen to my views, and better yet, I wouldn’t subject them to such an event. As I realize there’s a time and a place, and this isn’t either of those.
So as much as I find this awkward and potentially harmful to my career, I also find this pretty upsetting. That’s right, it upsets me. This angers me in fact. But as I think out my reactions to this, I see even more drama. If I say anything, I know the company would protect me, but I also think I’d be a bit ostracized. If I just go, I’ll be disappointed in myself for caving, and there’s still the possibility of a brain fart leading to some verbal diarrhea. I don’t think bringing up the fact that I didn’t ask anyone to die for my sins, or that I think I should own my sins, is going to win anyone over. Either one of those reactions causes me to be at the center of both an HR issue and piss off some coworkers who are way to comfortable talking about their beliefs.
My third option, where I some how being unable to come in that day has its own double edged sword, as we’re also supposed to go to lunch for my bosses boss’ birthday. Not that he’s really going to give a damn if I’m not there, but I don’t think it’s really smart to ever be the lone absent employee at a lunch like that.
November 17, 2008
Hirpback
I love a good comeback story. There’s nothing as rewarding as seeing a good comeback, and there’s no genre or situation that is as fun to see no matter the story line. Be it a conversation, some solid banter, the comeback is the winner. In sports, even more than the long shot, the comeback has more staying power. Be it a personal story, the comeback is the most inspirational.
Merriam-Webster defines a comeback as:
1 a: a sharp or witty reply: Retort b: a cause for complaint
2: a return to a former position or condition (as of success or prosperity)
And “Entourage’ has come all the way back. It hit the scene and knocked us on our collective asses. It was the most honest view into male relationships, and knew that men generally don’t want to use the “R” word to describe anything. Then a few seasons later it began to slip, still capable of producing a couple solid episodes a season, but far below it’s previous greatness.
This year changed all that. I love that we’re seeing more Turtle, and finding out what a decent guy he is. The signs were always there, he was honest (even about living off of Vin) loyal (even to the point he missed out on some lovin’ because he had to defend his dog) and he was always reliable. Of course he isn’t the brightest guy in the group, but he doesn’t need to be.
This show is always ten times better when we’re dealing with actual drama, and not the idiot brother. When Chase’s career is the catalyst, things really click. And it’s nice to have the boys back. Too bad there’s just one episode left, then I go into “Weeds” withdrawl. I just hope those writers take a page from HBO’s playbook, and get back to basics, so their show can have an Entourage-esque encore.
Merriam-Webster defines a comeback as:
1 a: a sharp or witty reply: Retort b: a cause for complaint
2: a return to a former position or condition (as of success or prosperity)
And “Entourage’ has come all the way back. It hit the scene and knocked us on our collective asses. It was the most honest view into male relationships, and knew that men generally don’t want to use the “R” word to describe anything. Then a few seasons later it began to slip, still capable of producing a couple solid episodes a season, but far below it’s previous greatness.
This year changed all that. I love that we’re seeing more Turtle, and finding out what a decent guy he is. The signs were always there, he was honest (even about living off of Vin) loyal (even to the point he missed out on some lovin’ because he had to defend his dog) and he was always reliable. Of course he isn’t the brightest guy in the group, but he doesn’t need to be.
This show is always ten times better when we’re dealing with actual drama, and not the idiot brother. When Chase’s career is the catalyst, things really click. And it’s nice to have the boys back. Too bad there’s just one episode left, then I go into “Weeds” withdrawl. I just hope those writers take a page from HBO’s playbook, and get back to basics, so their show can have an Entourage-esque encore.
November 13, 2008
Hirp Review
Normally I only review movies I’ve seen in their entirety, and usually I won’t give a movie a good review if I dosed off during it. But hey, I’m all about breaking rules. It’s gettin’ crazy up in this mofo, ya’all. That’s what happens when Hirp watches a movie based on one of the American Girl Store dolls. And that’s what we started last night, Kitt Kittredge: An American Girl, one of the many gifts the Kyd has received for her 7th birthday. So she’s just 6 years away from being a teenager, and I won’t even be able to blame her teenage years for my hair loss.
The Kyd has had the American Girl Doll, Kitt, for a while now, and last year she and her mom read the book that tells the story of her doll. Seriously, each doll gets a book, and now those books are being turned into movies. In my world, that would be like every rapper getting a book and a movie about their life story. Oh wait, never mind. Back to Kitt Kitty Kitt.
The first thing I noticed, okay second, was the impressive cast they assembled. Julia Ormand, Chris O’Donnell, Joan Cusack, Stanley Tucci and Abigal Breslin. Abigal is the first thing I noticed, because my wife has always said how she looks so much like a younger version of ‘Chop’s wife, and it’s down right eerie how much she resembles her. Back to the cast, I realize this isn’t the cast of The Departed, but those are some pretty impressive names for a movie about a doll.
So we have a story about a girl in depression-era Ohio, and we catch a glimpse of the best of times and the worst of times, through the eyes of a sweet 10ish year old girl. We see her friends impacted by a tough economy. The rich friends hear from their dads how the hobo’s are all criminals and that we can’t allow the government to take our money and give it to the poor. Then her dad loses his job, and she grows close to being one of those “worthless” poor people herself. A real pick me up kinda movie when you work for a company that lays off people every other Thursday.
But that’s what I like about this movie; it has an element of reality that most movies for young girls lack. Rather then a storyline that centers around on either idiot parents or kids who hang out and we never even see or hear about their parents, we see parents who love and worry about their kids. And kids who love their parents, and are stressed by the drama of the adult world. It sparked a conversation with the Kyd about how there are families losing their houses today, just the way they did in the movie. I can’t imagine how scary that is for her to hear about, but seeing a character she can relate to, going through the same things, and coming out okay on the other end may give her some sort of comfort (man, I hope so) that her mom and I can’t with our reassurances. And it sure beats her hearing a story on the news about foreclosures and trying to explain it.
But yes, I dosed off for a few minutes early in the movie. It really wasn’t the movies fault, it was that damn couch. It made me do it. We paused the movie and will finish it off tonight, right after we watch the news about a certain local telecom company cutting jobs as their stock falls.
The Kyd has had the American Girl Doll, Kitt, for a while now, and last year she and her mom read the book that tells the story of her doll. Seriously, each doll gets a book, and now those books are being turned into movies. In my world, that would be like every rapper getting a book and a movie about their life story. Oh wait, never mind. Back to Kitt Kitty Kitt.
The first thing I noticed, okay second, was the impressive cast they assembled. Julia Ormand, Chris O’Donnell, Joan Cusack, Stanley Tucci and Abigal Breslin. Abigal is the first thing I noticed, because my wife has always said how she looks so much like a younger version of ‘Chop’s wife, and it’s down right eerie how much she resembles her. Back to the cast, I realize this isn’t the cast of The Departed, but those are some pretty impressive names for a movie about a doll.
So we have a story about a girl in depression-era Ohio, and we catch a glimpse of the best of times and the worst of times, through the eyes of a sweet 10ish year old girl. We see her friends impacted by a tough economy. The rich friends hear from their dads how the hobo’s are all criminals and that we can’t allow the government to take our money and give it to the poor. Then her dad loses his job, and she grows close to being one of those “worthless” poor people herself. A real pick me up kinda movie when you work for a company that lays off people every other Thursday.
But that’s what I like about this movie; it has an element of reality that most movies for young girls lack. Rather then a storyline that centers around on either idiot parents or kids who hang out and we never even see or hear about their parents, we see parents who love and worry about their kids. And kids who love their parents, and are stressed by the drama of the adult world. It sparked a conversation with the Kyd about how there are families losing their houses today, just the way they did in the movie. I can’t imagine how scary that is for her to hear about, but seeing a character she can relate to, going through the same things, and coming out okay on the other end may give her some sort of comfort (man, I hope so) that her mom and I can’t with our reassurances. And it sure beats her hearing a story on the news about foreclosures and trying to explain it.
But yes, I dosed off for a few minutes early in the movie. It really wasn’t the movies fault, it was that damn couch. It made me do it. We paused the movie and will finish it off tonight, right after we watch the news about a certain local telecom company cutting jobs as their stock falls.
November 10, 2008
Hirp Thoughts
If I had to, or if I could, weight what percentage of the following question comes from actual external sources, my guess is it would come out to be about 22%. But that 22% has influenced me about 100%, with a +/- of .02%. Sorry, I’ve seen about 108% of my poll threshold, and I think it’s starting to take it’s toll. The thing is, I could probably only count a hand full, maybe two, times in my life where an apparently harmless question, left a ripple effect that lead to me questioning most aspects of my life.
I don’t know if those questions came first, or my own drive to be true to myself came first. It’s the proverbial chicken and the egg. But it’s come in one of the following six ways (in no particular order): true fan, real New Yorker, real Jew, brother, Uncle, and now parent. Those are the subject of the same question, and the answers have been what I often used to define myself. The question being, “am I a real ____” and fill in the blank with the six previous subjects.
It’s been in good fun and the harassing nature of some of my longest, and best, friendships. We love to give each other shit, and we’re good at it. When I first met them, I was the die hard sports fan. ESPN was the only channel that mattered 22 hours of the day, and I didn’t have Cinemax enough to make up for one of the remaining two hours, so ESPN and NBC were all I needed access to.
It could be that I grew up, or that my tastes and priorites changed. And there’s probably some truth to that. Also, there’s some truth to the fact that I became more disenchanted with sports, after running into a few athletes as a near adult, and seeing what dicks they are. I believe I’ve posted about this a little in the past. But because I was at one time, the diehard fan my wife is glad I’m no longer, I still identify, at least somewhat, as part of who I am. And to be honest, even though I don’t know everyone in Triple-A, let alone everyone on the KU roster, I still know more than the average fan. But I’m not where, or who, I once was. So when I get that, “you’re not a true fan,” I both agree with it, deny it, regret it, and feel proud of it.
The most common question posed to me by others, relates to me being a “real New Yorker.” And in some way, this offends me and screws me up the most. I was born in New York to parents who were born and raised in Cleveland, with a brother and sister who were born in Detroit. I left New York, by the choice of others, when I was eight. And when I was a kid, I was terrorifed of the city. But of the places I lived as a kid, my best memories are from New York. It’s influenced my taste in music, movies, food and sports. Probably even how I speak. But no, I didn’t grow up running around Manhattan, and I don’t have family residing out there now. But everything about what I do now was influenced and is still influenced by New York.
There’s no way I’m just another tourist who loves the city, because they didn’t hit Jones Beach as a kid. They didn’t take a trip to the Catskills, and they didn’t ride their bike to Artie’s to get baseball cards. They didn’t grow up watching the Mets, and there’s no way they have fond memories of going to their first ball game at Shea. A tourist didn’t camp out by the sound, even if they know all of Billy Joel’s songs by heart. They may know how to get around the city better, and they may get out there more often than I do, and I may have lived most of my life between the Rockies and the Mississippi, but I never forget where I came from.
I understand why it’s questioned, I really do. I’ve lived away from New York for 75% of my life, and that number will do nothing except grow. And I’ve kind of turned my nose up at Kansas and Missouri as if I think I’m too good for the area or something. For the record, I am not. My home is here, and I don’t want to live, or be, anywhere else, other than with my family in Lee’s Summit. But as a kid who moved around a little, and I know there are tons of kids who moved around a lot more than I did, it was the only way to keep myself grounded. Some move around, and they’re chameleons, and blend in with their new surroundings nice and easy. I didn’t have the social skills for that, and I didn’t have the drive to do that. So I held on to where I was happiest as tight as I could, and I don’t regret it for a second. That’s the loyalty in me that I happen to believe is my best quality. Even if it’s just being loyal to a zip code to most, to me, it’s being loyal to the 7 year old Hirp.
Maybe all Jews are such neurotic messes. But then again, I’m the Jew that doesn’t believe in God, hasn’t been to Temple for anything other than a wedding in the past 17 years, and knows less about our traditions than Rush Limbaugh. But I am a Jew. My parents, raised me Jewish, my bloodline is made up of nothing but Jews. But I never heard stories about aunts and uncles who survived Auschwitz, I’ve never even watched a Woody Allen movie and I read Italian about as well as I read Hebrew. Oh, and I’m pretty much in opposition of any and all organized religions. Never mind that I don’t believe in God. So am I a real Jew? Oy, I just don’t know. I’ve been to West Palm Beach, Boca, the upper west side and I’ve worn a Yamaka.
This one hasn’t come up often, and it’s probably just me when I get into my over-analyzing mode coupled with my defensive mode. See, my brother and sister were both adopted by my parents, but make no mistake; they are my brother and sister. Maybe two times in my life, I have heard, “well they aren’t your real brother and sister,” in response to the fact they were born with different DNA. Bullshit, and double bullshit because it opens up the thought that my nieces and nephews aren’t my “real” nieces and nephews. They couldn’t be more “real” and I couldn’t be more of an uncle to them. Maybe it’s just a pitty defense others come up with when they hear some of the stories, and think, that maybe it’d be easiser for me to separate myself from some drama. Only that couldn’t be more untrue. And sadly, I think someone has planted that seed with my sister and her kids. That we aren’t their “real family.” That’s some dangerous thinking there. Real family, there’s no such thing. There’s just family. Blood or genetics are questions for science to concern itself with, you can get that at a sperm bank or after a few too many drinks at a bar one random night.
It’s those infrequent situations that caused my semi-frequent visits to inside my head. See, if anyone would ask that, then I know they’d use the same reasoning when it comes to their judgement of me as a parent. Not that they should matter, or really do, but importance aside, that’s the shit that screws us all up on some level. But it matters not, that the Kyd share my DNA, not having been there when she woke in the night or that I wasn’t there for her first words or steps, and the fact that I am not “daddy” is of little significance. I lose sleep thinking about her, worried for her health, happiness, education and future. I dread when she begins dating, driving, and the first time someone offers her a beer or a hit. I hope she finds the right guy, or girl, and that her mom, father and I don’t screw her up too much. Will I walk her down the aisle, no. But I’ll be sitting up front with a giant grin, maybe a tear, and perhaps a loaded weapon just incase he gets any bad ideas.
It probably sounds bad, but it’s honest, this seed was planted by the Kyd’s friends. There have been a few times where I picked her up from school, and a classmate asked if I was her “real dad.” She says I am her “G” but I can see she’s uncomfortable with the question, and I understand. It makes me uncomfortable when I pick her up and someone at the daycare asks if I’m her dad, or if we’re out at Blockbuster and the person checking us out speaks to her and calls me her dad. Part of me wants to explain, well, I’m her step-dad. Why the hell do I do that? Because I don’t want to mislead anyone, especially her, I’m afraid whenever I don’t correct someone, that subconsciously, or consciously, she’ll think I’m trying to be her dad.
For all the things I am you can call me Sybil if you want. I’m a Jewish New Yorker, a real fan, a brother, uncle and a parent.
I don’t know if those questions came first, or my own drive to be true to myself came first. It’s the proverbial chicken and the egg. But it’s come in one of the following six ways (in no particular order): true fan, real New Yorker, real Jew, brother, Uncle, and now parent. Those are the subject of the same question, and the answers have been what I often used to define myself. The question being, “am I a real ____” and fill in the blank with the six previous subjects.
It’s been in good fun and the harassing nature of some of my longest, and best, friendships. We love to give each other shit, and we’re good at it. When I first met them, I was the die hard sports fan. ESPN was the only channel that mattered 22 hours of the day, and I didn’t have Cinemax enough to make up for one of the remaining two hours, so ESPN and NBC were all I needed access to.
It could be that I grew up, or that my tastes and priorites changed. And there’s probably some truth to that. Also, there’s some truth to the fact that I became more disenchanted with sports, after running into a few athletes as a near adult, and seeing what dicks they are. I believe I’ve posted about this a little in the past. But because I was at one time, the diehard fan my wife is glad I’m no longer, I still identify, at least somewhat, as part of who I am. And to be honest, even though I don’t know everyone in Triple-A, let alone everyone on the KU roster, I still know more than the average fan. But I’m not where, or who, I once was. So when I get that, “you’re not a true fan,” I both agree with it, deny it, regret it, and feel proud of it.
The most common question posed to me by others, relates to me being a “real New Yorker.” And in some way, this offends me and screws me up the most. I was born in New York to parents who were born and raised in Cleveland, with a brother and sister who were born in Detroit. I left New York, by the choice of others, when I was eight. And when I was a kid, I was terrorifed of the city. But of the places I lived as a kid, my best memories are from New York. It’s influenced my taste in music, movies, food and sports. Probably even how I speak. But no, I didn’t grow up running around Manhattan, and I don’t have family residing out there now. But everything about what I do now was influenced and is still influenced by New York.
There’s no way I’m just another tourist who loves the city, because they didn’t hit Jones Beach as a kid. They didn’t take a trip to the Catskills, and they didn’t ride their bike to Artie’s to get baseball cards. They didn’t grow up watching the Mets, and there’s no way they have fond memories of going to their first ball game at Shea. A tourist didn’t camp out by the sound, even if they know all of Billy Joel’s songs by heart. They may know how to get around the city better, and they may get out there more often than I do, and I may have lived most of my life between the Rockies and the Mississippi, but I never forget where I came from.
I understand why it’s questioned, I really do. I’ve lived away from New York for 75% of my life, and that number will do nothing except grow. And I’ve kind of turned my nose up at Kansas and Missouri as if I think I’m too good for the area or something. For the record, I am not. My home is here, and I don’t want to live, or be, anywhere else, other than with my family in Lee’s Summit. But as a kid who moved around a little, and I know there are tons of kids who moved around a lot more than I did, it was the only way to keep myself grounded. Some move around, and they’re chameleons, and blend in with their new surroundings nice and easy. I didn’t have the social skills for that, and I didn’t have the drive to do that. So I held on to where I was happiest as tight as I could, and I don’t regret it for a second. That’s the loyalty in me that I happen to believe is my best quality. Even if it’s just being loyal to a zip code to most, to me, it’s being loyal to the 7 year old Hirp.
Maybe all Jews are such neurotic messes. But then again, I’m the Jew that doesn’t believe in God, hasn’t been to Temple for anything other than a wedding in the past 17 years, and knows less about our traditions than Rush Limbaugh. But I am a Jew. My parents, raised me Jewish, my bloodline is made up of nothing but Jews. But I never heard stories about aunts and uncles who survived Auschwitz, I’ve never even watched a Woody Allen movie and I read Italian about as well as I read Hebrew. Oh, and I’m pretty much in opposition of any and all organized religions. Never mind that I don’t believe in God. So am I a real Jew? Oy, I just don’t know. I’ve been to West Palm Beach, Boca, the upper west side and I’ve worn a Yamaka.
This one hasn’t come up often, and it’s probably just me when I get into my over-analyzing mode coupled with my defensive mode. See, my brother and sister were both adopted by my parents, but make no mistake; they are my brother and sister. Maybe two times in my life, I have heard, “well they aren’t your real brother and sister,” in response to the fact they were born with different DNA. Bullshit, and double bullshit because it opens up the thought that my nieces and nephews aren’t my “real” nieces and nephews. They couldn’t be more “real” and I couldn’t be more of an uncle to them. Maybe it’s just a pitty defense others come up with when they hear some of the stories, and think, that maybe it’d be easiser for me to separate myself from some drama. Only that couldn’t be more untrue. And sadly, I think someone has planted that seed with my sister and her kids. That we aren’t their “real family.” That’s some dangerous thinking there. Real family, there’s no such thing. There’s just family. Blood or genetics are questions for science to concern itself with, you can get that at a sperm bank or after a few too many drinks at a bar one random night.
It’s those infrequent situations that caused my semi-frequent visits to inside my head. See, if anyone would ask that, then I know they’d use the same reasoning when it comes to their judgement of me as a parent. Not that they should matter, or really do, but importance aside, that’s the shit that screws us all up on some level. But it matters not, that the Kyd share my DNA, not having been there when she woke in the night or that I wasn’t there for her first words or steps, and the fact that I am not “daddy” is of little significance. I lose sleep thinking about her, worried for her health, happiness, education and future. I dread when she begins dating, driving, and the first time someone offers her a beer or a hit. I hope she finds the right guy, or girl, and that her mom, father and I don’t screw her up too much. Will I walk her down the aisle, no. But I’ll be sitting up front with a giant grin, maybe a tear, and perhaps a loaded weapon just incase he gets any bad ideas.
It probably sounds bad, but it’s honest, this seed was planted by the Kyd’s friends. There have been a few times where I picked her up from school, and a classmate asked if I was her “real dad.” She says I am her “G” but I can see she’s uncomfortable with the question, and I understand. It makes me uncomfortable when I pick her up and someone at the daycare asks if I’m her dad, or if we’re out at Blockbuster and the person checking us out speaks to her and calls me her dad. Part of me wants to explain, well, I’m her step-dad. Why the hell do I do that? Because I don’t want to mislead anyone, especially her, I’m afraid whenever I don’t correct someone, that subconsciously, or consciously, she’ll think I’m trying to be her dad.
For all the things I am you can call me Sybil if you want. I’m a Jewish New Yorker, a real fan, a brother, uncle and a parent.
November 06, 2008
Yes Hirp Can
I thought it would be best to wait a day, before I posted anything about the election. I wanted to let everything really set in, and anyway, I commented either via Twitter or Facebook every 18 minutes on Election Night. The thing that has had the greatest impact on me, actually wasn’t President-elect Obama’s acceptance speech. But lets just start rewriting the book on great speakers now, the Obama needs to be in one of the first three or four chapters. What really moved me was the clips of the spontaneous celebrations both in our country and abroad. It’s not that I thought, “we’ll never see the world celebrate one of our elections,” it’s that I never would have considered that even a possibility.
And I’ve heard friends comment on post-election celebrations we’ve seen on the news in the past. We couldn’t understand how an election could inspire them to party in the streets. A sports franchise winning the final game of their season, which results in little more than the players getting new rings and the arenas or stadiums getting new flags, well celebrating that makes sense. Hell, in America, we’ll even tear down a city in celebration of such an accomplishment. But celebrate an election? Never.
Well that’s just one of many things that changed on November 4, 2008. There are three national events of my lifetime, that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my days. The first was the tragedy of the Challenger disaster. I remember where I was sitting and exactly how I heard about it. If I say third grade, it might make a few readers feel, well, a little more chronologically advanced. The second was 9/11/01. I now have #3 in the memory bank, thankfully and finally, it’s something positive. The day America grew up.
I don’t, for one second, believe this mean’s everything is right with America now. Race is still, and will always be an issue. Just as sex, class and religion. These things aren’t going away, but perhaps we’re back on the right path of facing these permanent obstacles. I’m no historian, but my gut tells me that after the combination of the Kennedy’s, Dr. King, John Lennon and Malcolm X being assassinated, and the Vietnam War finally ended, I think American’s became too exhausted to care enough. What was the point of caring, if it was just going to result in yet another crushing disappointment? We got to the 80’s, and we began to care just about our own worlds even more. Greed was good, and the sentiment trickled down.
The 90’s came, and soon the internet began making it easy to stay in touch, but not to really communicate. We had a new community, but it was and is still largely, a faceless one. We retreated even deeper in to our closets. The world saw genocide, terrorist attacks, diseases, poverty and famine. And we only bonded long enough for a telethon, benefit concert and to raise funds for our military. Oh, and we would print some clever t-shirts and bumper stickers. Then it was back to soccer games, e-mails, SUV’s and iPods. The only thing that came close to inspiring us was a few good movies, and even those were increasingly infrequent.
Then there was a candidate, and people began to stir. He had something we’d seen before, but not in a long time. I think it took the economy sinking as it did to finally scare people out of their little worlds, and realize it was time. Could we change, and make it back? Yes we can.
It still bothers me that we call Barack Obama an African-American, I think doing so is racist. Why is a man that has one Caucasian parent and one African-American parent, automatically labeled an African-American? When we get past that, when we no longer make an issue out of how blacks are voting for this candidate, or women vote for this candidate just because the candidates are either of the same shade or have the pee out of the same thing, that’s when we’ll have made serious progress. Obama doesn’t tell me that we did it, only that Yes We Can. It’s been a long time since we thought we could, it feels good.
And I’ve heard friends comment on post-election celebrations we’ve seen on the news in the past. We couldn’t understand how an election could inspire them to party in the streets. A sports franchise winning the final game of their season, which results in little more than the players getting new rings and the arenas or stadiums getting new flags, well celebrating that makes sense. Hell, in America, we’ll even tear down a city in celebration of such an accomplishment. But celebrate an election? Never.
Well that’s just one of many things that changed on November 4, 2008. There are three national events of my lifetime, that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my days. The first was the tragedy of the Challenger disaster. I remember where I was sitting and exactly how I heard about it. If I say third grade, it might make a few readers feel, well, a little more chronologically advanced. The second was 9/11/01. I now have #3 in the memory bank, thankfully and finally, it’s something positive. The day America grew up.
I don’t, for one second, believe this mean’s everything is right with America now. Race is still, and will always be an issue. Just as sex, class and religion. These things aren’t going away, but perhaps we’re back on the right path of facing these permanent obstacles. I’m no historian, but my gut tells me that after the combination of the Kennedy’s, Dr. King, John Lennon and Malcolm X being assassinated, and the Vietnam War finally ended, I think American’s became too exhausted to care enough. What was the point of caring, if it was just going to result in yet another crushing disappointment? We got to the 80’s, and we began to care just about our own worlds even more. Greed was good, and the sentiment trickled down.
The 90’s came, and soon the internet began making it easy to stay in touch, but not to really communicate. We had a new community, but it was and is still largely, a faceless one. We retreated even deeper in to our closets. The world saw genocide, terrorist attacks, diseases, poverty and famine. And we only bonded long enough for a telethon, benefit concert and to raise funds for our military. Oh, and we would print some clever t-shirts and bumper stickers. Then it was back to soccer games, e-mails, SUV’s and iPods. The only thing that came close to inspiring us was a few good movies, and even those were increasingly infrequent.
Then there was a candidate, and people began to stir. He had something we’d seen before, but not in a long time. I think it took the economy sinking as it did to finally scare people out of their little worlds, and realize it was time. Could we change, and make it back? Yes we can.
It still bothers me that we call Barack Obama an African-American, I think doing so is racist. Why is a man that has one Caucasian parent and one African-American parent, automatically labeled an African-American? When we get past that, when we no longer make an issue out of how blacks are voting for this candidate, or women vote for this candidate just because the candidates are either of the same shade or have the pee out of the same thing, that’s when we’ll have made serious progress. Obama doesn’t tell me that we did it, only that Yes We Can. It’s been a long time since we thought we could, it feels good.
November 04, 2008
JstVote
I’m reviewing the candidates for some local elections, and I can’t help but cringe a little when I see candidates that are MU graduates. Is that bad? I’m looking at the web site for Secretary of State Candidate, Mitch Hubbard, and on the values page, he lead off with his faith and belief in Jesus Christ. Now, that’s his business. And as much as I am for freedom of speech, I really wish people would keep their business where it belongs: on blogs or to themselves.
Really, his beliefs don’t matter when it comes to doing his job. Employers aren’t allowed to ask potential (or current) employees about their religious beliefs. Is it really asking too much to treat these candidates the same way? I get it, I do, and I just don’t like it. When reading the profiles of these candidates, I admit that I am more likely to vote for someone who I feel I can relate to. And we know how much society uses religious beliefs as a measure for connecting, but that doesn’t make it right.
I don’t want to know if Barrack Obama is Christian, Jewish, Muslim or Scientologist. Okay, that’s not true. If he were Scientologist, I’d want to know that. And that’s wrong on my part; they can’t all be like Tom Cruise, John Travolta and Kristie Alley. Anyway, I don’t want to get off another rant about religion.
I’m pretty sure every Republican has to throw a variation of the phrase “better Government, not bigger” on their web sites. I think they can all do us a favor, and take pay cuts, that’ll help reduce the size at least a little bit.
And by the way, I’m not voting down party lines. For Treasuer, I’m going with a Republican. It just makes sense to me, like hiring a Jewish accountant, female house keeper or Democrat for President.
Really, his beliefs don’t matter when it comes to doing his job. Employers aren’t allowed to ask potential (or current) employees about their religious beliefs. Is it really asking too much to treat these candidates the same way? I get it, I do, and I just don’t like it. When reading the profiles of these candidates, I admit that I am more likely to vote for someone who I feel I can relate to. And we know how much society uses religious beliefs as a measure for connecting, but that doesn’t make it right.
I don’t want to know if Barrack Obama is Christian, Jewish, Muslim or Scientologist. Okay, that’s not true. If he were Scientologist, I’d want to know that. And that’s wrong on my part; they can’t all be like Tom Cruise, John Travolta and Kristie Alley. Anyway, I don’t want to get off another rant about religion.
I’m pretty sure every Republican has to throw a variation of the phrase “better Government, not bigger” on their web sites. I think they can all do us a favor, and take pay cuts, that’ll help reduce the size at least a little bit.
And by the way, I’m not voting down party lines. For Treasuer, I’m going with a Republican. It just makes sense to me, like hiring a Jewish accountant, female house keeper or Democrat for President.
November 03, 2008
hirPolitics
I’ve decided to run for office, because I have one good idea. It might even make sense. I’m pretty much against guns, except for in my movies and music. But if people want to have guns, fine, I get it. We won’t ever see that law changed. So lets treat it like alcohol and cigarettes. Actually, I think I heard an idea like this from Chris Rock once. Anyway, tax the hell out of ammo. Not just 8% or whatever, I mean really tax it. Tax it like you mean it. 50, 60, 80%, a man’s tax.
If you can’t afford the tax, you probably don’t need a gun to protect your property, as you have nothing worth stealing. And if you’re that poor, you’d probably just use the ammo to commit some crime. So like everything else in this country, health care, legal fees, education, we’ll leave the ammo for the rich.
I think Rock once said that a bullet should cost a million dollars, that way we’d see less innocent by-standers as victims.
Now I also have a visual for my commercials. I see sub-titles.
***
I thought of some Obama phrases that are pretty horrible ideas, but still, they humor me:
McCain doesn’t care about the future; he won’t be here for it
Hey, I’m half-white
War hero? He got caught!
Because a President should be able to lift his arms
The 70’s are over, no one wants any more Bush
***
I’m sure some marketing company did some studies, and proved that those lawn signs help decide an election. But I say ban ‘em. Do we really want to decide elections by who puts out the most signs? I’m thinking those are voters shouldn’t be voting in the first place. Plus, think of how much money can be saved if candidates didn’t print up retarded lawn signs.
And really, putting your political views out there like that, you’re just asking for your house to be tp’d or egged.
If you can’t afford the tax, you probably don’t need a gun to protect your property, as you have nothing worth stealing. And if you’re that poor, you’d probably just use the ammo to commit some crime. So like everything else in this country, health care, legal fees, education, we’ll leave the ammo for the rich.
I think Rock once said that a bullet should cost a million dollars, that way we’d see less innocent by-standers as victims.
Now I also have a visual for my commercials. I see sub-titles.
***
I thought of some Obama phrases that are pretty horrible ideas, but still, they humor me:
McCain doesn’t care about the future; he won’t be here for it
Hey, I’m half-white
War hero? He got caught!
Because a President should be able to lift his arms
The 70’s are over, no one wants any more Bush
***
I’m sure some marketing company did some studies, and proved that those lawn signs help decide an election. But I say ban ‘em. Do we really want to decide elections by who puts out the most signs? I’m thinking those are voters shouldn’t be voting in the first place. Plus, think of how much money can be saved if candidates didn’t print up retarded lawn signs.
And really, putting your political views out there like that, you’re just asking for your house to be tp’d or egged.
JstSore
I am sore, so sore in fact, that “sore” is no longer a descriptive enough word. But I am thrilled, so thrilled in fact, that “thrilled” no longer works to describe how I feel. We moved in to the house over the weekend, and when I say over the weekend, I mean the entire thing plus last Thursday. Pretty much all day, every day, consisted of load boxes, unloading boxes. We’ve been unpacking boxes, moving boxes, then moving empty boxes out of the way, and ultimately taking empty boxes out of the house. I’m not quite done with the latter portion of the process. Seriously, moving is like the whole circle of life, the Cliffs Notes version that you can get through over a weekend.
We have a nice 32” inch HDTV, has the flat screen but, it isn’t thin. In our apartment, it looked great. But now that we have a bigger room, and a tall wall, it’s just a little too small. This really has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve wanted a big flat screen for a long time. Luckily, I hear that the price for such a TV is going to drop drastically after the Holidays. No one knows how much “drastically” is, but it sounds like a good number to me. So, we’ll put that at the top of Hirp’s Wish List. Please, Santa, I’ve been good. Except for being Jewish, you should be really happy with me this year.
Now I’ve had my heart set on going up to 42”, as it sounds like a good size, plus we wouldn’t have to sell off one of the Kyd’s limbs. But my pop told me about a chart, and it says that based on how far away our couch is, we should make the jump to 50”. How can I argue with a chart?
***
I’ll be glad when the Election is over. Glad that I will no longer be “reminded” to vote, or that day light savings is coming. I just hope I’m not reminded how stupid the citizens of this country can be.
“Entourage” has bounced back after a couple of off seasons. Maybe “Californiacation” can do the same, but that show has dropped from a 10 to a 7.
We have a nice 32” inch HDTV, has the flat screen but, it isn’t thin. In our apartment, it looked great. But now that we have a bigger room, and a tall wall, it’s just a little too small. This really has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve wanted a big flat screen for a long time. Luckily, I hear that the price for such a TV is going to drop drastically after the Holidays. No one knows how much “drastically” is, but it sounds like a good number to me. So, we’ll put that at the top of Hirp’s Wish List. Please, Santa, I’ve been good. Except for being Jewish, you should be really happy with me this year.
Now I’ve had my heart set on going up to 42”, as it sounds like a good size, plus we wouldn’t have to sell off one of the Kyd’s limbs. But my pop told me about a chart, and it says that based on how far away our couch is, we should make the jump to 50”. How can I argue with a chart?
***
I’ll be glad when the Election is over. Glad that I will no longer be “reminded” to vote, or that day light savings is coming. I just hope I’m not reminded how stupid the citizens of this country can be.
“Entourage” has bounced back after a couple of off seasons. Maybe “Californiacation” can do the same, but that show has dropped from a 10 to a 7.
October 29, 2008
2Hirp
I’m a wuss. I have lost sleep, my mouth is dry and I sorta wanna vomit. No, I’m not pregnant, just slightly retarded. All this because, gasp, I have to lead a conference call this morning. To many, it probably sounds like just another day to day function they do at their jobs. Like checking email, pooping and watching the clock. But I hate public speaking, I detest speaking to people I don’t know, and I have good reason to.
For those who have had the pleasure(?) of conversing with me, you’ve said “what” “huh” or “one more time” after no less than 63% of my comments. And that’s almost always in person. You’ve cracked jokes, and I’ve laughed at them, even made my own from time to time about the language known as “Greggese.”
But today I have to go over a process flow for a report I’ve worked weekly for the past two years, so I’m a little worried I might have a stroke. And then on top of the anxiety, is the fact that I feel like a complete idiot for getting so worked up over something so insiginicant. Sure, they’ll call in, and 2 of the 5 might even listen to what I’m attempting to say s l o w l y and clearly. They won’t give my mumble two seconds of thought after the call, and I’ll spend the rest of the day replaying the entire session in my head. I’ll be pissed that I stuttered here, annoyed that I said “um” too many times and wishing I was a mime.
***
Last night, as a family, we took the dog out for a walk. Now she’s a sweet dog, but she’s not without her issues. She’s nipped at kids, and isn’t very fond of smaller dogs. Walking out of our apartment (hey, did I mention we’re getting a house?) the Kyd had hold of her leash. We were talking about how she should hold it, because last week the dog got away from her.
We reached the stairs to the sidewalk and saw a smaller dog across the street, we had just enough time to get nervous, and she was off. Riley was too strong for the Kyd to hold on, and too fast for me to grab the leash. She rushed to this 50 something year old woman and her pint sized dog, that couldn’t have weighted more than 6 pounds. Then she scooped her up, and shook back and forth to the horror of all of us. I ran across the street, which was maybe 40 feet, but it felt like a mile.
When I got there, and grabbed Riley, I feared that if I pulled to hard to separate them that I’d cause even more damage. Luckily we watch “The Dog Whisper” on a regular basis, and he addressed how to handle such a situation. So I held her head up high, so she’d loser her leverage and finally set the poor dog free.
The Kyd screamed, scared to death for good reason obviously, and everyone was pretty shaken up. We gave the lady our info and apologized no less than 83 times. We spent the right of the night discussing what we should do. Give her up, or get a trainer. Try a shock collar and hope it works. Fear what she could do if a kid crosses her path in our back yard, or figure out if we know anyone who could take her.
Not a fun night. And we still don’t know what to do with her. Time to email Cesar. He rehabilitates dogs and trains people ya know. Now excuse me, I'm going to throw up before my call starts.
***
I read that Joaquin Phoenix has retired from acting. And that’s just awesome. Not because I don’t want to see any more of his movies, that’s not the case. It’s just fascinating and strangely admirable to me. I love it when a high profile entertainer just ups and quits when no one expects it.
One of my favorite football players ever, Barry Sanders, retired in the prime of his career. He was a season, maybe two from setting the record for most yards in a career. He was on a losing team, but could have forced a trade. He did none of that. When the fire in his belly was gone, he walked away.
How many athletes, actors or singers do sub-par work just to collect a fat check? And you can’t really blame them, that is crazy money they earn. That’s the kind of money that sets up future generations for a comfortable life, and they thumb their nose at it and do what’s in their heart. I just admire that so much.
***
I just saw a story online about David Caruso’s stalker. Wait, David Caruso has a stalker? Now, stalkers in general aren’t playing with a full deck. But how far have things spiraled out of control when you can’t even pick a respectable victim to stalk? Davis Caruso deserves a stalker like George W deserves another four years.
For those who have had the pleasure(?) of conversing with me, you’ve said “what” “huh” or “one more time” after no less than 63% of my comments. And that’s almost always in person. You’ve cracked jokes, and I’ve laughed at them, even made my own from time to time about the language known as “Greggese.”
But today I have to go over a process flow for a report I’ve worked weekly for the past two years, so I’m a little worried I might have a stroke. And then on top of the anxiety, is the fact that I feel like a complete idiot for getting so worked up over something so insiginicant. Sure, they’ll call in, and 2 of the 5 might even listen to what I’m attempting to say s l o w l y and clearly. They won’t give my mumble two seconds of thought after the call, and I’ll spend the rest of the day replaying the entire session in my head. I’ll be pissed that I stuttered here, annoyed that I said “um” too many times and wishing I was a mime.
***
Last night, as a family, we took the dog out for a walk. Now she’s a sweet dog, but she’s not without her issues. She’s nipped at kids, and isn’t very fond of smaller dogs. Walking out of our apartment (hey, did I mention we’re getting a house?) the Kyd had hold of her leash. We were talking about how she should hold it, because last week the dog got away from her.
We reached the stairs to the sidewalk and saw a smaller dog across the street, we had just enough time to get nervous, and she was off. Riley was too strong for the Kyd to hold on, and too fast for me to grab the leash. She rushed to this 50 something year old woman and her pint sized dog, that couldn’t have weighted more than 6 pounds. Then she scooped her up, and shook back and forth to the horror of all of us. I ran across the street, which was maybe 40 feet, but it felt like a mile.
When I got there, and grabbed Riley, I feared that if I pulled to hard to separate them that I’d cause even more damage. Luckily we watch “The Dog Whisper” on a regular basis, and he addressed how to handle such a situation. So I held her head up high, so she’d loser her leverage and finally set the poor dog free.
The Kyd screamed, scared to death for good reason obviously, and everyone was pretty shaken up. We gave the lady our info and apologized no less than 83 times. We spent the right of the night discussing what we should do. Give her up, or get a trainer. Try a shock collar and hope it works. Fear what she could do if a kid crosses her path in our back yard, or figure out if we know anyone who could take her.
Not a fun night. And we still don’t know what to do with her. Time to email Cesar. He rehabilitates dogs and trains people ya know. Now excuse me, I'm going to throw up before my call starts.
***
I read that Joaquin Phoenix has retired from acting. And that’s just awesome. Not because I don’t want to see any more of his movies, that’s not the case. It’s just fascinating and strangely admirable to me. I love it when a high profile entertainer just ups and quits when no one expects it.
One of my favorite football players ever, Barry Sanders, retired in the prime of his career. He was a season, maybe two from setting the record for most yards in a career. He was on a losing team, but could have forced a trade. He did none of that. When the fire in his belly was gone, he walked away.
How many athletes, actors or singers do sub-par work just to collect a fat check? And you can’t really blame them, that is crazy money they earn. That’s the kind of money that sets up future generations for a comfortable life, and they thumb their nose at it and do what’s in their heart. I just admire that so much.
***
I just saw a story online about David Caruso’s stalker. Wait, David Caruso has a stalker? Now, stalkers in general aren’t playing with a full deck. But how far have things spiraled out of control when you can’t even pick a respectable victim to stalk? Davis Caruso deserves a stalker like George W deserves another four years.
October 28, 2008
Good, Bad, the Hirply
I guess I got my swagger back. Let’s get to it. We’ll lead off with the good news. As I mentioned in my previous post, the Wife and I got a house. We’re talking about a real house, no one living above us or directly next to us. It has yard, garage, basement and a laundry room. All growns up, I tell ya, all growns up. We’re ecstatic, thrilled, jubilant, delighted, overjoyed and elated. I can’t believe that in a year and a half or so, I went from being the lifelong bachelor, to owning an SUV and living in the ‘burbs with my wife and kid. Not only that, it’s the absolute right life for me. I wouldn’t trade places, or one aspect of my life, for anything. Maybe that comes from a lifetime of watching (and dreaming up) blockbuster sport trades that backfired more than half the time. Or maybe it’s just good instinct on my part, and even a little bit of intelligence, that I realize I’ve already won.
We’ve been living among boxes for a few weeks, which is almost as much fun as a trip to a dentist who forgot to order Novocain. The dog is going nuts, but that’s just par for the course. We can’t wait till we get everything moved out, and start unpacking. That’ll actually be fun, and a relief. Then I can spend more of time concentrating on my “one-day” plans for how we’ll finish the basement, aka “Dad’s room.”
The bad news, or the very predictable otherwise better known as duh. The feds arrested some neo-Nazi duchebags who were plotting to kill Presi.. er, Senator Obama. This ranks right up there, I mean it’s neck and neck, with the shock of the “Steve Irwin killed by wild animal” story from a few years ago. Neo-Nazi’s plotting to kill a black man who will be President wasn’t (and isn’t) just a possibility, it’s a mortal lock. And we’ll hear about this for the next 8-10 years. I don’t mean this specific story, I mean we’ll be reading about exposed plots for at least 8-10 years. No matter what kind of job he does, although I’d put my money on “stellar,” there’ll always be assholes out there. And “assholes” with guns have a knack of making the times suck.
What scares me, although not as much as the idea of a threat being turned into a reality, is what this could do to the election. Will those undecided (how could you be undecided a week before the election?!) be scared off because they understand that having our President assassinated could be one of the most horrific events that could happen. So will they vote for the guy, who is even more likely to die while in office, but at least will go for natural causes? You know what? I kinda wouldn’t blame them. Well, until John McCain’s inauguration. Then I’d have some serious blame to pass around. Seriously though, we’re supposed to pay attention to history. Well, history is very clear about this. Put a Black Man in a position of power in this country, and his life will come to an early and violent end.
And now sports. The World Series is going on, even if no one cares (I sure don’t). The Phillies lead the series 3 games to 1, so they just have to win one more game to be the champs. Playing game 5 last night, the rain came down, and the game was delayed in the 6th inning, and will be finished today. How is that for blue balls? Imagine getting all psyched up, going to the game, and then you don’t see your team lose a heart breaker, you don’t see them win, you don’t even finish the game.
What does that compare to? If this was a wedding, it wouldn’t be a run-away bride, but a bride who would walk all the way down the aisle, and then say, “Hey, let’s do the whole vow thing tomorrow. Or maybe tomorrow I’ll bolt.”
It’s going through the entire job seeking process, nailing the interviews, and showing up the day you’ll either get the offer or the load of crap about some other candidate who is more qualified. Only when you show up at the office, they ask you to come back tomorrow.
It’s sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, and the doctor comes out, and he doesn’t have good news. He doesn’t have bad news either, he just says come back tomorrow. This isn’t even a cliff hanger, because you expect those. Hell, you love a cliff hanger that leaves you wanting more. That’s what the bottom of the 9th is.
We’ve been living among boxes for a few weeks, which is almost as much fun as a trip to a dentist who forgot to order Novocain. The dog is going nuts, but that’s just par for the course. We can’t wait till we get everything moved out, and start unpacking. That’ll actually be fun, and a relief. Then I can spend more of time concentrating on my “one-day” plans for how we’ll finish the basement, aka “Dad’s room.”
The bad news, or the very predictable otherwise better known as duh. The feds arrested some neo-Nazi duchebags who were plotting to kill Presi.. er, Senator Obama. This ranks right up there, I mean it’s neck and neck, with the shock of the “Steve Irwin killed by wild animal” story from a few years ago. Neo-Nazi’s plotting to kill a black man who will be President wasn’t (and isn’t) just a possibility, it’s a mortal lock. And we’ll hear about this for the next 8-10 years. I don’t mean this specific story, I mean we’ll be reading about exposed plots for at least 8-10 years. No matter what kind of job he does, although I’d put my money on “stellar,” there’ll always be assholes out there. And “assholes” with guns have a knack of making the times suck.
What scares me, although not as much as the idea of a threat being turned into a reality, is what this could do to the election. Will those undecided (how could you be undecided a week before the election?!) be scared off because they understand that having our President assassinated could be one of the most horrific events that could happen. So will they vote for the guy, who is even more likely to die while in office, but at least will go for natural causes? You know what? I kinda wouldn’t blame them. Well, until John McCain’s inauguration. Then I’d have some serious blame to pass around. Seriously though, we’re supposed to pay attention to history. Well, history is very clear about this. Put a Black Man in a position of power in this country, and his life will come to an early and violent end.
And now sports. The World Series is going on, even if no one cares (I sure don’t). The Phillies lead the series 3 games to 1, so they just have to win one more game to be the champs. Playing game 5 last night, the rain came down, and the game was delayed in the 6th inning, and will be finished today. How is that for blue balls? Imagine getting all psyched up, going to the game, and then you don’t see your team lose a heart breaker, you don’t see them win, you don’t even finish the game.
What does that compare to? If this was a wedding, it wouldn’t be a run-away bride, but a bride who would walk all the way down the aisle, and then say, “Hey, let’s do the whole vow thing tomorrow. Or maybe tomorrow I’ll bolt.”
It’s going through the entire job seeking process, nailing the interviews, and showing up the day you’ll either get the offer or the load of crap about some other candidate who is more qualified. Only when you show up at the office, they ask you to come back tomorrow.
It’s sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, and the doctor comes out, and he doesn’t have good news. He doesn’t have bad news either, he just says come back tomorrow. This isn’t even a cliff hanger, because you expect those. Hell, you love a cliff hanger that leaves you wanting more. That’s what the bottom of the 9th is.
Hirpversation
When I worked at Lenscrafters (man, I miss that hook-up) they taught us about “courageous conversations” and I rolled my eyes. We were supposedly taught how to have conversations with employees, the conversations you just don’t want to have. Tom smells bad, you need to address his BO. Suzy comes back from lunch smelling of Jack, her eyes are glassy and she needs to hold on to the counter to stand still. Those are “courageous conversations.”
I don’t think I learned squat from the classes, which is really my M.O for learning. I either learn by someone else’s poor experiences (drugs, drinking and driving, being a shitty husband, white guy getting Thug Life tattooed on his beer belly) or by the grace of Google. But I never really learned how to have “courageous conversations.” For me, they typically involve a lot of stuttering, repeating the eloquent phrase “um” as often as Sarah Palin says “maverick” and generally sounding like a fool. More so then a typical Hirp-versation.
So last night, the time came for me to call up my buddy V. We’ve been friends since I was 17, and we had the worlds worst Geometry teacher. What did I get from that class? Well, I traded for Manny Ramierez, then traded him away, and got him back no less than three times. Same goes for Steve Karsay and Travis Fryman. I studied the Fab Five, and learned of the Hall of Famer to be, Todd Day. Dwight Gooden was 28, and Bret Saberhagen was a Met. Anthony Young won only 1 more Major League Baseball game than I did, even though he was in 39 more. And not once did that teacher try to tell us to stop. I’ve never been so disrespectful to a teacher, well, publicly anyway. We really bonded over the legendary Jim “Chris” Everett-Jim Rome throw down.
The following year we were on the newspaper staff together. Along with another guy, we were compared to the three Muppets that sat in the booth and made fun of everyone else. I wrote an NBA Preview (I really did call for the Knicks to play the Rockets in the Finals) and a plagiarism claim was falsely thrown my way years later. I didn’t write one story I didn’t want to. I should have, but that teacher sucked. Okay, maybe that was the most disrespectful I’ve ever been of a teacher.
“Red” was there on the sandy beach of Playa Del Car when the wife and I tied the knot. And recently he became engaged himself, and began to plan a wedding in St. Thomas. He asked me to stand up with him, a great honor, and one of the few times in our friendship we didn’t give each other shit. Really, when I announced that I was getting hitched he emailed me “Alright, let me be the first to say congratulations to then. You get one vagina for the rest of your life. Real smart Frank. Way to work it through.” Perhaps the most important result of our friendship, was him introducing me to The Sports Guy. That’s friendship.
So our conversation started as they normally do. We talked sports. Then I mentioned to him the big news, which I’m now putting on here for the first time, that the wife and I were getting a house. And sadly, this probably meant that we wouldn’t be able to attend his wedding. A fact that causes us great guilt and regret, we’d love to be there with them. I knew he wouldn’t be mad, at least outwardly. And he took the news in great stride, being as supportive as any real friend would be. Which probably adds to the guilt total, but so be it.
I guess I did it, finally had a successful “courageous conversation.” But it still sucked. I’d rather tell Jim that he was seen whackin’ it in the break-room while thumbing through the Sears catalog. And if we can some how get the scratch together, we’ll head for St. Thomas, and of course, heckle the hell out of V all the way down the aisle.
I don’t think I learned squat from the classes, which is really my M.O for learning. I either learn by someone else’s poor experiences (drugs, drinking and driving, being a shitty husband, white guy getting Thug Life tattooed on his beer belly) or by the grace of Google. But I never really learned how to have “courageous conversations.” For me, they typically involve a lot of stuttering, repeating the eloquent phrase “um” as often as Sarah Palin says “maverick” and generally sounding like a fool. More so then a typical Hirp-versation.
So last night, the time came for me to call up my buddy V. We’ve been friends since I was 17, and we had the worlds worst Geometry teacher. What did I get from that class? Well, I traded for Manny Ramierez, then traded him away, and got him back no less than three times. Same goes for Steve Karsay and Travis Fryman. I studied the Fab Five, and learned of the Hall of Famer to be, Todd Day. Dwight Gooden was 28, and Bret Saberhagen was a Met. Anthony Young won only 1 more Major League Baseball game than I did, even though he was in 39 more. And not once did that teacher try to tell us to stop. I’ve never been so disrespectful to a teacher, well, publicly anyway. We really bonded over the legendary Jim “Chris” Everett-Jim Rome throw down.
The following year we were on the newspaper staff together. Along with another guy, we were compared to the three Muppets that sat in the booth and made fun of everyone else. I wrote an NBA Preview (I really did call for the Knicks to play the Rockets in the Finals) and a plagiarism claim was falsely thrown my way years later. I didn’t write one story I didn’t want to. I should have, but that teacher sucked. Okay, maybe that was the most disrespectful I’ve ever been of a teacher.
“Red” was there on the sandy beach of Playa Del Car when the wife and I tied the knot. And recently he became engaged himself, and began to plan a wedding in St. Thomas. He asked me to stand up with him, a great honor, and one of the few times in our friendship we didn’t give each other shit. Really, when I announced that I was getting hitched he emailed me “Alright, let me be the first to say congratulations to then. You get one vagina for the rest of your life. Real smart Frank. Way to work it through.” Perhaps the most important result of our friendship, was him introducing me to The Sports Guy. That’s friendship.
So our conversation started as they normally do. We talked sports. Then I mentioned to him the big news, which I’m now putting on here for the first time, that the wife and I were getting a house. And sadly, this probably meant that we wouldn’t be able to attend his wedding. A fact that causes us great guilt and regret, we’d love to be there with them. I knew he wouldn’t be mad, at least outwardly. And he took the news in great stride, being as supportive as any real friend would be. Which probably adds to the guilt total, but so be it.
I guess I did it, finally had a successful “courageous conversation.” But it still sucked. I’d rather tell Jim that he was seen whackin’ it in the break-room while thumbing through the Sears catalog. And if we can some how get the scratch together, we’ll head for St. Thomas, and of course, heckle the hell out of V all the way down the aisle.
October 22, 2008
Failhirp
I know this probably isn’t the most logical of reasoning, but this morning I feel like a failure. As we had dinner last night with my parents, they told us that my niece and her foster parents (who want to adopt her) are headed for Phoenix in the near future. This sucks because she’s moving away, and sucks even more because she won’t have anything to do with my family. Sometimes I don’t know if I can blame her, if I was in her shoes, I’d feel pretty abandoned too.
So where is this illogical reasoning? Here it is: I feel like a failure. I didn’t keep my family together, and that was the job I assigned myself as a kid. No matter what, try to keep the family together. You’d think we were trying to survive Auschwitz. And really, I have to say it again, it’s not as if we had some horrible up bringing. A lot of kids have been worse off, and a lot of kids will be worse off. I had both parents, they loved us, and we had all kinds of advantages.
But last night I said goodbye to my parents. My brother moved his family to Alabama a few years ago. My sister lives in the area, but we couldn’t be further apart. My nieces and nephews, already broken up, are getting further apart. And that all sucks even more because now I have my own family, and I’d love for the Kyd to know all her cousins. The girl that’s just two years older, who she could have lots in common with. She misses out on her 10 year old boy cousin, who could watch out for her. She doesn’t get to know her 16 year old cousin, who was adored by his younger sister, and would spoil her given the chance. And the beautiful, smart and ornery 17 year old cousin, who could give her make up tips (much to my disapproval) who the Kyd reminds me of quite often with her sass and wisdom beyond her years. The Kyd doesn’t have her aunt, my sister, who for years wanted me to have kids, and could have been that cool aunt, who I would have to beg not to give the Kyd beer when she’s 17 or get her smoking when she’s 14.
Then there are my brother’s girls. The oldest has the same name as the Kyd, and could teach the Kyd the Soulja Boy dance, just as she taught her youngest sister. Who is also just a little older than the Kyd, and the two of them hit it off so well the one time they met last Thanksgiving. My brother, sister-in-law and the Kyd had such a good time in Mexico, going into the ocean or going for ice cream.
Such is life. I have my own family to keep together now. Wow, that’s depressing shit.
* Sarah Palin is in the news for running up some nice bills, for flying her daughters all over for various bullshit events. Maybe she should have just kept the jet, rather than selling it at a loss.
So where is this illogical reasoning? Here it is: I feel like a failure. I didn’t keep my family together, and that was the job I assigned myself as a kid. No matter what, try to keep the family together. You’d think we were trying to survive Auschwitz. And really, I have to say it again, it’s not as if we had some horrible up bringing. A lot of kids have been worse off, and a lot of kids will be worse off. I had both parents, they loved us, and we had all kinds of advantages.
But last night I said goodbye to my parents. My brother moved his family to Alabama a few years ago. My sister lives in the area, but we couldn’t be further apart. My nieces and nephews, already broken up, are getting further apart. And that all sucks even more because now I have my own family, and I’d love for the Kyd to know all her cousins. The girl that’s just two years older, who she could have lots in common with. She misses out on her 10 year old boy cousin, who could watch out for her. She doesn’t get to know her 16 year old cousin, who was adored by his younger sister, and would spoil her given the chance. And the beautiful, smart and ornery 17 year old cousin, who could give her make up tips (much to my disapproval) who the Kyd reminds me of quite often with her sass and wisdom beyond her years. The Kyd doesn’t have her aunt, my sister, who for years wanted me to have kids, and could have been that cool aunt, who I would have to beg not to give the Kyd beer when she’s 17 or get her smoking when she’s 14.
Then there are my brother’s girls. The oldest has the same name as the Kyd, and could teach the Kyd the Soulja Boy dance, just as she taught her youngest sister. Who is also just a little older than the Kyd, and the two of them hit it off so well the one time they met last Thanksgiving. My brother, sister-in-law and the Kyd had such a good time in Mexico, going into the ocean or going for ice cream.
Such is life. I have my own family to keep together now. Wow, that’s depressing shit.
* Sarah Palin is in the news for running up some nice bills, for flying her daughters all over for various bullshit events. Maybe she should have just kept the jet, rather than selling it at a loss.
October 21, 2008
From The Hirp
I’m not sure how tonight will go, but my gut thinks it could get kind of emotional. Not that I see myself as some tough guy who can’t cry, it can happen. But tonight we’re going to dinner with my parents, and we’ll probably say our goodbyes. Mom will most definitely cry, and I know it won’t entertain me like it did when she cried at our wedding. Hell, I made it a point to try and ensure her tears. “Sunrise, Sunset” was like taking candy from a baby with no arms.
I’m least looking forward to seeing how my wife and the Kyd react. That’ll tear me up inside like in “Oz” when Nino Schibetta unknowingly digested broken glass. Man, I miss that show. Yeahanyway, I’m not sure how the Kyd will react. She really loves my folks, and they’re nuts about her, but she usually likes to keep her feelings out of the eyes of others. Except for at home, she has no problem letting us know exactly how she feels. I remember when I was just a year or so younger than she is now, and my neighbor and best friend moved to Pennsylvania. It sucked, and it was the first time I had to deal with someone moving away. The experience never really improves.
Then I’m worried about how the wife will take it. From the first time she met my parental units, they’ve gotten along amazingly well. No one’s wife gets along as well, or loves her in-laws more, and has all those feelings reciprocated. There may be some equals, but never more. As long as I’ve known my parents wanted to retire to Arizona, I know for a fact that her joining the family is making it easier for them to move, as well as harder. Easier because they know I’m in good hands, and harder because they’re leaving behind a new daughter.
And that makes the whole move harder on us too. We understand that this is what they want, but the timing sucks. Just a little over 6 months after we get married? No way around it, but it sucks. Although, it’ll be nice to go visit the desert while Kansas City is a popsicle. I just tried calling them, and their home phone number has already been turned off. They’ve had that number, or “they had”, since we moved here in the summer of ’89. Not that I really dial it often, thanks to the phonebook in my Centro, but in some strange way I feel sad about the phone number. I want to bury it, and mourn the loss of that randomly assigned 10 digit number. (I just typed a number, then the words “digit” and “number” consecutively, that’s three of the same thing)
I do have some regrets. I’ve been a bit of an asshole to them since they sold the house. I wish I handled it better, and was more supportive. And I also wish I had aborted the joke about the baby. Wow, I just said “aborted” and “baby” in the same sentence. But when I found out a friends’ sister-in-law, who has the same name as my wife, was preggars, well I couldn’t help myself. So I regret saying, “Chris is pregnant” even if it was kind of funny, it just wasn’t cool. The one time I actually kept a straight face too, go figure.
I’m least looking forward to seeing how my wife and the Kyd react. That’ll tear me up inside like in “Oz” when Nino Schibetta unknowingly digested broken glass. Man, I miss that show. Yeahanyway, I’m not sure how the Kyd will react. She really loves my folks, and they’re nuts about her, but she usually likes to keep her feelings out of the eyes of others. Except for at home, she has no problem letting us know exactly how she feels. I remember when I was just a year or so younger than she is now, and my neighbor and best friend moved to Pennsylvania. It sucked, and it was the first time I had to deal with someone moving away. The experience never really improves.
Then I’m worried about how the wife will take it. From the first time she met my parental units, they’ve gotten along amazingly well. No one’s wife gets along as well, or loves her in-laws more, and has all those feelings reciprocated. There may be some equals, but never more. As long as I’ve known my parents wanted to retire to Arizona, I know for a fact that her joining the family is making it easier for them to move, as well as harder. Easier because they know I’m in good hands, and harder because they’re leaving behind a new daughter.
And that makes the whole move harder on us too. We understand that this is what they want, but the timing sucks. Just a little over 6 months after we get married? No way around it, but it sucks. Although, it’ll be nice to go visit the desert while Kansas City is a popsicle. I just tried calling them, and their home phone number has already been turned off. They’ve had that number, or “they had”, since we moved here in the summer of ’89. Not that I really dial it often, thanks to the phonebook in my Centro, but in some strange way I feel sad about the phone number. I want to bury it, and mourn the loss of that randomly assigned 10 digit number. (I just typed a number, then the words “digit” and “number” consecutively, that’s three of the same thing)
I do have some regrets. I’ve been a bit of an asshole to them since they sold the house. I wish I handled it better, and was more supportive. And I also wish I had aborted the joke about the baby. Wow, I just said “aborted” and “baby” in the same sentence. But when I found out a friends’ sister-in-law, who has the same name as my wife, was preggars, well I couldn’t help myself. So I regret saying, “Chris is pregnant” even if it was kind of funny, it just wasn’t cool. The one time I actually kept a straight face too, go figure.
October 13, 2008
Hirp Terrors
A couple of months ago, after a knock down drag out fight between us and the Kyd over bedtime (you’d think that two parents against one six year old, the parents would have the edge, but Vegas must be familiar with how Rocky did against Drago, and called it even) we saw a glimpse of something, and hoped it was a one time occurrence. You know, like U2’s ZooTV record. After the wife and I finally won out, and the kyd finally drifted off to sleep, we were amazed/horrified/curious/and slightly damp from a (very small amount) of urine in our pants, when the kyd woke up screaming Bloody Mary. It seemed as if she was re-living the entire battle in her sleep, only it was very vocal and even violent.
She thrashed around her bed like Johnny Depp in the first Elm Street. Repeating her argument against the evil bedtime, as if we were still battling over that sacred time like WMD’s. We went and took her from her bed, out to the couch, in an attempt to wake her from what we could only imagine was a “night terror.” She had a gazed look in her eyes, and really wasn’t coherent. You never want to see your Kyd looking like Anna Nicole Smith. The next morning, she had no recollection of what went down the night before.
A few weeks later, again after a rough night, it all seemed to happen again. And again, no memory. All was quiet on the bedtime front, until Friday night. While Hirp was out playing cards (or having the Kyd’s birthday gift money extracted from his wallet as he likes to call it now) the Kyd went to sleep like an angel. I came home around midnight, and all was quiet. About 45 minutes later, she came walking out of her room. Only she wasn’t all there. When we spoke to her, she screamed and ran back into her room. It was happening again, and this time she had gone mobile. She screamed some, thrashed some, and suddenly she was fast asleep. Then, as the wife and I sat on the floor by her bed, she jerked once more and made some loud high pitched noises, causing the both of us to suffer small heart attacks. We’re doing fine, by the way. And then she was asleep again.
So then we’re talking about being afraid of what could happen, if she were out walking around in that state. Google wasn’t our friend, as we read a story about a father-in-law being attacked and his wife murdered, by their sleep walking son-in-law. He was acquitted (note to self). The following night was incident free. And then last night, or to be more accurate it was really early this morning, we had what appears to be incident #4.
The wife heard the Kyd cry out for her at about 5:30 (it isn’t that I don’t wake up for these things, but the wife has Superman like hearing, and springs from bed and into action in milli-seconds) She’s also an amazingly light sleeper, I can’t even fart in my sleep and get away with it. So she goes to the Kyd’s bedroom, finds the door halfway open (or halfway closed if you’re, well, me) and the TV is blaring SpongeBob. The remote is buried on her desk, so it’s not as if she just rolled over and the TV came on. And there were enough toys, including a dollhouse, directly in the path from her bed to where her TV sits, that it amazes us she was able to turn it on without tripping over anything. And she was dead to the world, fast asleep.
And I thought I’d be able to sleep a little bit, at least until she turned 12 or 13. I’ll have to find the alarm system that would alert me if she moves from her bed, a good 6 years before I wanted to. I’ll also have to start putting the knives away before going to sleep.
She thrashed around her bed like Johnny Depp in the first Elm Street. Repeating her argument against the evil bedtime, as if we were still battling over that sacred time like WMD’s. We went and took her from her bed, out to the couch, in an attempt to wake her from what we could only imagine was a “night terror.” She had a gazed look in her eyes, and really wasn’t coherent. You never want to see your Kyd looking like Anna Nicole Smith. The next morning, she had no recollection of what went down the night before.
A few weeks later, again after a rough night, it all seemed to happen again. And again, no memory. All was quiet on the bedtime front, until Friday night. While Hirp was out playing cards (or having the Kyd’s birthday gift money extracted from his wallet as he likes to call it now) the Kyd went to sleep like an angel. I came home around midnight, and all was quiet. About 45 minutes later, she came walking out of her room. Only she wasn’t all there. When we spoke to her, she screamed and ran back into her room. It was happening again, and this time she had gone mobile. She screamed some, thrashed some, and suddenly she was fast asleep. Then, as the wife and I sat on the floor by her bed, she jerked once more and made some loud high pitched noises, causing the both of us to suffer small heart attacks. We’re doing fine, by the way. And then she was asleep again.
So then we’re talking about being afraid of what could happen, if she were out walking around in that state. Google wasn’t our friend, as we read a story about a father-in-law being attacked and his wife murdered, by their sleep walking son-in-law. He was acquitted (note to self). The following night was incident free. And then last night, or to be more accurate it was really early this morning, we had what appears to be incident #4.
The wife heard the Kyd cry out for her at about 5:30 (it isn’t that I don’t wake up for these things, but the wife has Superman like hearing, and springs from bed and into action in milli-seconds) She’s also an amazingly light sleeper, I can’t even fart in my sleep and get away with it. So she goes to the Kyd’s bedroom, finds the door halfway open (or halfway closed if you’re, well, me) and the TV is blaring SpongeBob. The remote is buried on her desk, so it’s not as if she just rolled over and the TV came on. And there were enough toys, including a dollhouse, directly in the path from her bed to where her TV sits, that it amazes us she was able to turn it on without tripping over anything. And she was dead to the world, fast asleep.
And I thought I’d be able to sleep a little bit, at least until she turned 12 or 13. I’ll have to find the alarm system that would alert me if she moves from her bed, a good 6 years before I wanted to. I’ll also have to start putting the knives away before going to sleep.
October 09, 2008
JstShh
Oddly enough, I consider myself to be a private person. Even though I have, and will continue, to put some pretty personal things on this blog for all the world to see, I still consider myself to be a private person. I may write about this or that, but I don’t advertise it. I’m not telling every Tom, Dick and Harry my life story. The fact that I don’t know a Tom, Dick, or Harry has nothing to do with this. But there are some people, and perhaps one or more I work with, that have no problem sharing every detail of their life with anyone with half a good ear and a weak pulse.
Doesn’t matter what happens, they treat it as public information. And for some unknown reason, believe their co-workers actually give a damn. There are some I work with, that I enjoy shooting the shit with, but only one or two have my personal e-mail address. If we don’t intentionally swap home e-mail addresses, I have no need to know anything about you. One co-worker specifically, has no filter when it comes to personal issues.
Not only do we all know that she was off recent to deal with a family issue, as well as knowing the gritty details of what happened, this co-worker went as far as basically advertising the fact. Some of us have dry-erase boards by the entrance of our cel, er, cubes, so we can leave a quick note for those who may be looking for us and didn’t want to e-mail first. Really, we have them incase a higher up decides to cube drop us on a day we may be on vacation or out of the office.
“PTO/Family Issue” isn’t what anyone had in mind when we first got them. You’re on PTO, that’s all we need to know. If it’s because you’re just taking a day to watch the 1986 World Series (I gotta say, it’d be a good day) or if you’re taking the kid to the doctor, all you have to say is PTO. Family issues? I want to know about your family issues about as much as I want to know the cycles of all the women I work with, or which guys shave their balls.
Call my cynical; I just don’t think anything good can come from putting that info in circulation. Call me hypocritical, because I do so in this forum. But, in my defense, it’s pretty much just friends or the occasional web surfer who happened to Google “Tony Siciro” (true story, I get all kinds of visits from people that Google good ole Paulie Walnuts) And the more personal issues, well this is often the only place I’ll freely discuss them.
***
So rumor has it, Jamie Lynn Spears is preggars with baby #2. 16 years old, with a 4 month old, and she’s 2 months pregnant. This stopped being funny a while back, it just gets sadder and sadder. At this rate, she’ll be a grandmother when she’s my age.
Doesn’t matter what happens, they treat it as public information. And for some unknown reason, believe their co-workers actually give a damn. There are some I work with, that I enjoy shooting the shit with, but only one or two have my personal e-mail address. If we don’t intentionally swap home e-mail addresses, I have no need to know anything about you. One co-worker specifically, has no filter when it comes to personal issues.
Not only do we all know that she was off recent to deal with a family issue, as well as knowing the gritty details of what happened, this co-worker went as far as basically advertising the fact. Some of us have dry-erase boards by the entrance of our cel, er, cubes, so we can leave a quick note for those who may be looking for us and didn’t want to e-mail first. Really, we have them incase a higher up decides to cube drop us on a day we may be on vacation or out of the office.
“PTO/Family Issue” isn’t what anyone had in mind when we first got them. You’re on PTO, that’s all we need to know. If it’s because you’re just taking a day to watch the 1986 World Series (I gotta say, it’d be a good day) or if you’re taking the kid to the doctor, all you have to say is PTO. Family issues? I want to know about your family issues about as much as I want to know the cycles of all the women I work with, or which guys shave their balls.
Call my cynical; I just don’t think anything good can come from putting that info in circulation. Call me hypocritical, because I do so in this forum. But, in my defense, it’s pretty much just friends or the occasional web surfer who happened to Google “Tony Siciro” (true story, I get all kinds of visits from people that Google good ole Paulie Walnuts) And the more personal issues, well this is often the only place I’ll freely discuss them.
***
So rumor has it, Jamie Lynn Spears is preggars with baby #2. 16 years old, with a 4 month old, and she’s 2 months pregnant. This stopped being funny a while back, it just gets sadder and sadder. At this rate, she’ll be a grandmother when she’s my age.
October 08, 2008
Jsteat
So I just took a pretty big step. I didn’t call Charter House, close though. I made an appointment to talk to someone about this eating disorder thing I have. I’m sure this thrills everyone in the medical profession, but I kinda-sorta self-diagnosed myself with the help of Google. “Selective Eating Disorder”, so I have ADD and SED. As if I wasn’t sick enough of acronyms from work.
The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:
Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.
You may think I wouldn’t like that it’s most common in toddlers, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m more worried about the idea that this minor step, of just making a phone call and setting an appointment, could lead to me one day eating a salad or chicken or something gross like that. I’m excited to maybe, oh, grow up, but afraid I’ll throw up. And your momma comes around the corner and licks it up..wait, strike that last sentence.
Years of my parents, friends, co-workers and even a few strangers did little else, except annoy me and make me self-conscious. But hearing the Kyd’s questions the last year and a half, and realizing sarcasm had no impact as a self-defense mechanism is what really got the ball rolling here.
Hey, after this maybe I’ll learn to annunciate (get it?). Next thing you know, I’ll grow a couple of inches and wake up with a full head of hair. Maybe then the stock market will right itself. And monkey’s will fly out of my butt.
The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:
Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.
You may think I wouldn’t like that it’s most common in toddlers, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m more worried about the idea that this minor step, of just making a phone call and setting an appointment, could lead to me one day eating a salad or chicken or something gross like that. I’m excited to maybe, oh, grow up, but afraid I’ll throw up. And your momma comes around the corner and licks it up..wait, strike that last sentence.
Years of my parents, friends, co-workers and even a few strangers did little else, except annoy me and make me self-conscious. But hearing the Kyd’s questions the last year and a half, and realizing sarcasm had no impact as a self-defense mechanism is what really got the ball rolling here.
Hey, after this maybe I’ll learn to annunciate (get it?). Next thing you know, I’ll grow a couple of inches and wake up with a full head of hair. Maybe then the stock market will right itself. And monkey’s will fly out of my butt.
September 29, 2008
Jstbitchin
I am Jack’s whiney cry baby. I’m not real happy with myself, but I’m also not real thrilled with my folks. We knew it was coming, and I’m reminded of a scene from Fletch.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: You know, it's a shame about Ed.
Fletch: Oh, it was. Yeah, it was really a shame. To go so suddenly like that.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was dying for years.
Fletch: Sure, but... the end was very... very sudden.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was in intensive care for eight weeks.
Fletch: Yeah, but I mean the very end, when he actually died. That was extremely sudden.
For about eight years I’ve known my parents planned to retire to Arizona. They put their house on the market in July, and it seemed a little more plausible, and I still didn’t really accept it. With this economy and housing market, selling a villa on a street in which six are for sale could, and should, take at least a year. It didn’t. They got an offer, and it was low. They countered, and were countered back. Then they accepted. They were given three and a half weeks to pack up and move. Nearly one third will be spent looking for a new house in Arizaon. So, as Fletch said, at the end, it was extremely sudden.
I’ve gone from pretty sad, thinking about how they’re about to miss the Kyd’s 7th birthday, the wife’s birthday and my own. All of which take place in November, incase you’re wondering how many shopping days you have. They’re going to be gone for Thanksgiving, and the plan was for my brother and his family to come up, which had us all (especially the Kyd) very excited. They won’t be here to light the Menorah, and probably won’t get to see the Kyd cheerleading a flag football game. Sadness gave away to anger, for all those same points and more. Parents aren’t supposed to leave their kids, it’s supposed to be the other way around. I always felt like I missed out, because I never lived near my extended family. I didn’t have grandparent at baseball games. Aunts and uncle’s didn’t come to my birthdays. I wanted different for my kyd, and luckily she still has that with her mom and dad’s family. Which, quite honestly, makes my families absence that much more apparent.
I want to be happy for my parents, that they are in a position both financially and physically, that they can go and spend, as they call it, the final chapter of their lives away from winter. But at the same time, being the final chapter, why would anyone want to be in a hurry to start that chapter? Just when this chapter is finally such a great read?
And of course, I’m pretty annoyed with myself for not handling this the way I’d like to. I wish I was just happy for them, and excited that we’ll be taking some trips out to Arizona. But I am Jack’s selfish bastard.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: You know, it's a shame about Ed.
Fletch: Oh, it was. Yeah, it was really a shame. To go so suddenly like that.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was dying for years.
Fletch: Sure, but... the end was very... very sudden.
Dr. Joseph Dolan: He was in intensive care for eight weeks.
Fletch: Yeah, but I mean the very end, when he actually died. That was extremely sudden.
For about eight years I’ve known my parents planned to retire to Arizona. They put their house on the market in July, and it seemed a little more plausible, and I still didn’t really accept it. With this economy and housing market, selling a villa on a street in which six are for sale could, and should, take at least a year. It didn’t. They got an offer, and it was low. They countered, and were countered back. Then they accepted. They were given three and a half weeks to pack up and move. Nearly one third will be spent looking for a new house in Arizaon. So, as Fletch said, at the end, it was extremely sudden.
I’ve gone from pretty sad, thinking about how they’re about to miss the Kyd’s 7th birthday, the wife’s birthday and my own. All of which take place in November, incase you’re wondering how many shopping days you have. They’re going to be gone for Thanksgiving, and the plan was for my brother and his family to come up, which had us all (especially the Kyd) very excited. They won’t be here to light the Menorah, and probably won’t get to see the Kyd cheerleading a flag football game. Sadness gave away to anger, for all those same points and more. Parents aren’t supposed to leave their kids, it’s supposed to be the other way around. I always felt like I missed out, because I never lived near my extended family. I didn’t have grandparent at baseball games. Aunts and uncle’s didn’t come to my birthdays. I wanted different for my kyd, and luckily she still has that with her mom and dad’s family. Which, quite honestly, makes my families absence that much more apparent.
I want to be happy for my parents, that they are in a position both financially and physically, that they can go and spend, as they call it, the final chapter of their lives away from winter. But at the same time, being the final chapter, why would anyone want to be in a hurry to start that chapter? Just when this chapter is finally such a great read?
And of course, I’m pretty annoyed with myself for not handling this the way I’d like to. I wish I was just happy for them, and excited that we’ll be taking some trips out to Arizona. But I am Jack’s selfish bastard.
September 23, 2008
Jstfast
Leave it a 6 and 4 year old to reveal the fundamental flaws of organized religion. This story was told me today, by a friend, and I wish I had made it up.
A young boy and girl attend a private school, and at their meals they recite a prayer, something to the affect of “God is good, God is great.” Its harmless stuff, and there’s nothing wrong with it in a private school. Fast forward to one night at dinner, and the kids want to recite their prayer before eating. Being young kids, they seem to remember the prayer slightly different. And this leads to a fight between the two.
That’s organized religion for you. Doesn’t matter if you’re basically saying the same thing, it’s how you say and you’re either right or wrong.
A young boy and girl attend a private school, and at their meals they recite a prayer, something to the affect of “God is good, God is great.” Its harmless stuff, and there’s nothing wrong with it in a private school. Fast forward to one night at dinner, and the kids want to recite their prayer before eating. Being young kids, they seem to remember the prayer slightly different. And this leads to a fight between the two.
That’s organized religion for you. Doesn’t matter if you’re basically saying the same thing, it’s how you say and you’re either right or wrong.
JstRant
Maybe I’m a bigot of sorts. Or just too narrow minded, or maybe I’m best described as a snob. Or all three and then some. Last night I took the Kyd to her cheerleading practice, which is organized by her fathers Church. So we get there early, par for the Hirp course, and the Kyd wants to go hang out in the bookstore. Par for the Kyd course, she loves books.
So instead of just wandering with her through the aisles, and just enjoying her enthusiasm (which I still enjoyed) I was stuck in my head making cracks about the titles and just looking for things to rant about. Like the fact that every book cover had the whitest, squarest looking people. I notice how the titles and authors seem to just follow a formula, title start with “the” and is followed by an adjective that drums up the most dramatic apocalyptic images, such as “Parting” or “Found” or “Forgiven.”
This bugs me, but really, it could have just been a play out of John Grisham or Stephen King’s playbooks. But since the theme is Christ, and not a hot shot lawyer, it raises my most cynical flag. I make no bones about it, I have issues with organized religion. Not just those that pray to Jesus. Those just come up more, because frankly, they seem to be more outspoken themselves.
And I can’t get over this Church. It’s huge. It’s plush, with their nice café, impressive teenage hangout and their fully equipped stage that’s more high tech than anything in Lawrence or Westport. The money spent here, well, I can’t help but think about what good it could have done. I just looked it up, and its 150,000 square feet. I’m guessing at least $20 million.
But now I’m stuck thinking about me, what the hell is wrong with me? So what if it cost $20 million, and so what if the books and CD’s have an agenda, it’s not as if anyone is being tricked into coming here. Thousands of people come here, and they get something from coming. Good for them. But I can’t let it go that easily.
I can’t help but notice how often I hear the other parents bring up God or Jesus. A girl tried to cheer up another on Saturday, and they gave her an award for being “Christ-like.” I think it’s great that she helped her friend, and it should absolutely be brought to everyones attention and that sort of behavior should be re-inforced. But what if I, the agnostic Jew, does something nice for someone? Is it not “Christ like” because of my beliefs? Why can’t we just acknowledge and appreciate a good deed, without grand comparisons?
And these parents, wow. I know they’re parents like any other parents, but there’s something about the fact that we’re at a Church, and they are holding their kids to such high standards, that makes it even worse, in my eyes, when I see what most would agree is less than ideal parenting. While these girls are practicing their cheers, there are little babies wandering around, sometimes taking their sisters pom-poms. And no one seems to notice. When their kids act out, even throw a megaphone at their dad, it’s smiled at. Of course, I have no idea what will happen when they get in the car, but I can’t understand why that isn’t addressed right away.
And the “coach” has zero control, or any kind of influence over the team. She’s obviously learning the routine as she teaches it, and she’s going over four pages of cheers and the corresponding movements in an hours time. Each cheer and action is said three times, doesn’t matter if half the kids are more intoned with the sound their pom-poms make. She doesn’t care that no ones getting it, and anytime her daughter interrupts her, she hugs her and says thanks. Someone needs to call in Cesar, this place needs a pack leader. All of this has absolutely nothing to do with God, religion or this Church. Or does it?
The fact that his is first graders learning cheerleading sounds insignificant, but it isn’t. This is, for most of them, their first expierence with organized sports. This can have a great impact on their self-esteem, social skills and overall health for the rest of their lives. I’d argue that the most important coach any kid ever has, is their first coach. With teachers, the kindergarten or first grade teacher, can really set the wheels in motion for the rest of a kids academic future. But if they don’t connect, there’s going to be a second grade teacher, or a third grade, all the way up through high school, who may get through to the kid. Maybe it never happens, but you’re going to get more chances. But if the first coach fails, a kid may never want to try sports again.
So I can’t help but hold the Church, at least, somewhat responsible. Of course I don’t expect them to recruit 1st grade cheerleading coaches, or check resumes. And it doesn’t matter at all if the coach has any experience with what they’re coaching, but they must care. They have to engage each kid, motivate them and praise them. And they have to be willing to toss a parent out of practice for being over-bearing, or call out a kid who isn’t listening.
I keep hearing them say, that trying is all that matters. Well, that only works when the coaches try too. Going through the motions isn’t given any effort, my high school career proves that. So the cynical flag flies again, and I can’t help but question if this is all just another tool to sell the kids on the Church. As if they are saying, “you come here, and you have fun. You get pom-poms and a cute outfit. We give you treats every week, and your parents smile. This all makes God happy.”
I think it’s great that the Church wants to give the kids things to do, productive things too. But this isn’t just so pure and harmless. They can totally wreck a kid’s confidence, and you can’t pray for confidence. Some kids may never want to play sports, and that’s fine. My wife didn’t particularly enjoy playing softball as a kid, she’s turned out fantastic. I loved playing baseball and basketball, even though I was awful and embarrassed myself on a regular basis. But the great memories always make those moments and after thought.
“That’s alright, that’s okay, Jesus loves you anyway” is one of their cheers. Cute little thing. But does anyone really look at what is being said? Maybe I’m way off here, and first graders are just having fun, but it seems as if this cheer is for after a mistake (they don’t really pay attention to the game, and all the cheers are pretty random). But they aren’t considering the neurotic Jew in the crowd, that’s over analyzing every detail. So Jesus loves them anyway, even if they fumble. Good to know. What about their parents, do they still love them? If Jesus loves the winners and the losers the same, do we really need to point this out? That’s a lot of time and energy spent to bring light to what is no more than a tie in God’s eyes. Making football, and everything else, a giant game of tic-tac-toe.
See, this is why I’ve never smoked pot. I can’t imagine the stupid things I’d obsess about if I ever got high.
So, back to the idea that maybe I'm a bigot. Could be, but I'd never attach these thoughts to religion if this wasn't organized by a Church. This is why I'm glad we keep Church and State seperate. Well, for now anyway....
So instead of just wandering with her through the aisles, and just enjoying her enthusiasm (which I still enjoyed) I was stuck in my head making cracks about the titles and just looking for things to rant about. Like the fact that every book cover had the whitest, squarest looking people. I notice how the titles and authors seem to just follow a formula, title start with “the” and is followed by an adjective that drums up the most dramatic apocalyptic images, such as “Parting” or “Found” or “Forgiven.”
This bugs me, but really, it could have just been a play out of John Grisham or Stephen King’s playbooks. But since the theme is Christ, and not a hot shot lawyer, it raises my most cynical flag. I make no bones about it, I have issues with organized religion. Not just those that pray to Jesus. Those just come up more, because frankly, they seem to be more outspoken themselves.
And I can’t get over this Church. It’s huge. It’s plush, with their nice café, impressive teenage hangout and their fully equipped stage that’s more high tech than anything in Lawrence or Westport. The money spent here, well, I can’t help but think about what good it could have done. I just looked it up, and its 150,000 square feet. I’m guessing at least $20 million.
But now I’m stuck thinking about me, what the hell is wrong with me? So what if it cost $20 million, and so what if the books and CD’s have an agenda, it’s not as if anyone is being tricked into coming here. Thousands of people come here, and they get something from coming. Good for them. But I can’t let it go that easily.
I can’t help but notice how often I hear the other parents bring up God or Jesus. A girl tried to cheer up another on Saturday, and they gave her an award for being “Christ-like.” I think it’s great that she helped her friend, and it should absolutely be brought to everyones attention and that sort of behavior should be re-inforced. But what if I, the agnostic Jew, does something nice for someone? Is it not “Christ like” because of my beliefs? Why can’t we just acknowledge and appreciate a good deed, without grand comparisons?
And these parents, wow. I know they’re parents like any other parents, but there’s something about the fact that we’re at a Church, and they are holding their kids to such high standards, that makes it even worse, in my eyes, when I see what most would agree is less than ideal parenting. While these girls are practicing their cheers, there are little babies wandering around, sometimes taking their sisters pom-poms. And no one seems to notice. When their kids act out, even throw a megaphone at their dad, it’s smiled at. Of course, I have no idea what will happen when they get in the car, but I can’t understand why that isn’t addressed right away.
And the “coach” has zero control, or any kind of influence over the team. She’s obviously learning the routine as she teaches it, and she’s going over four pages of cheers and the corresponding movements in an hours time. Each cheer and action is said three times, doesn’t matter if half the kids are more intoned with the sound their pom-poms make. She doesn’t care that no ones getting it, and anytime her daughter interrupts her, she hugs her and says thanks. Someone needs to call in Cesar, this place needs a pack leader. All of this has absolutely nothing to do with God, religion or this Church. Or does it?
The fact that his is first graders learning cheerleading sounds insignificant, but it isn’t. This is, for most of them, their first expierence with organized sports. This can have a great impact on their self-esteem, social skills and overall health for the rest of their lives. I’d argue that the most important coach any kid ever has, is their first coach. With teachers, the kindergarten or first grade teacher, can really set the wheels in motion for the rest of a kids academic future. But if they don’t connect, there’s going to be a second grade teacher, or a third grade, all the way up through high school, who may get through to the kid. Maybe it never happens, but you’re going to get more chances. But if the first coach fails, a kid may never want to try sports again.
So I can’t help but hold the Church, at least, somewhat responsible. Of course I don’t expect them to recruit 1st grade cheerleading coaches, or check resumes. And it doesn’t matter at all if the coach has any experience with what they’re coaching, but they must care. They have to engage each kid, motivate them and praise them. And they have to be willing to toss a parent out of practice for being over-bearing, or call out a kid who isn’t listening.
I keep hearing them say, that trying is all that matters. Well, that only works when the coaches try too. Going through the motions isn’t given any effort, my high school career proves that. So the cynical flag flies again, and I can’t help but question if this is all just another tool to sell the kids on the Church. As if they are saying, “you come here, and you have fun. You get pom-poms and a cute outfit. We give you treats every week, and your parents smile. This all makes God happy.”
I think it’s great that the Church wants to give the kids things to do, productive things too. But this isn’t just so pure and harmless. They can totally wreck a kid’s confidence, and you can’t pray for confidence. Some kids may never want to play sports, and that’s fine. My wife didn’t particularly enjoy playing softball as a kid, she’s turned out fantastic. I loved playing baseball and basketball, even though I was awful and embarrassed myself on a regular basis. But the great memories always make those moments and after thought.
“That’s alright, that’s okay, Jesus loves you anyway” is one of their cheers. Cute little thing. But does anyone really look at what is being said? Maybe I’m way off here, and first graders are just having fun, but it seems as if this cheer is for after a mistake (they don’t really pay attention to the game, and all the cheers are pretty random). But they aren’t considering the neurotic Jew in the crowd, that’s over analyzing every detail. So Jesus loves them anyway, even if they fumble. Good to know. What about their parents, do they still love them? If Jesus loves the winners and the losers the same, do we really need to point this out? That’s a lot of time and energy spent to bring light to what is no more than a tie in God’s eyes. Making football, and everything else, a giant game of tic-tac-toe.
See, this is why I’ve never smoked pot. I can’t imagine the stupid things I’d obsess about if I ever got high.
So, back to the idea that maybe I'm a bigot. Could be, but I'd never attach these thoughts to religion if this wasn't organized by a Church. This is why I'm glad we keep Church and State seperate. Well, for now anyway....
September 18, 2008
JstPee
To pee or not to pee, that is the question. Where you stand, that’s the issue. The wife and I debated the pro’s, the cons, the joys and the disgust of peeing in the shower. For the record, my stream ended when I first heard her feelings about the issue a while back when Porqchop and his better half were having the same debate. As I figured, to go against those wishes, would be more foolish than peeing into the wind.
But that didn’t answer the question, if it’s right or wrong, to make your shower a little golden from time to time. I still believe, there’s nothing inherently wrong with taking a leak under the showerhead. Here are my arguments for men:
First of all, it’s a disinfectant, so this could be the time where men actually assist in cleaning the shower.
Second, we’re not talking about peeing and standing in urine, you aim for the drain, and the running water helps wash it down.
Third, our aim is much better given the size of this target.
Fourth, it’s eco friendly. It saves water, and it’s never wrong to multi-task. Well, unless of course, you’re texting while at the controls of a train. That’s a pretty big no-no.
Fifth, it’s economical. Back to that flushed toilet, and running water. It all costs money. Would it be better to piss money down the drain, or urine? One of them belongs in the drain, the other, well that could be used to purchase more useful items. Like purses.
***
Spoiler alert! Do not read if you haven’t seen Weeds’ Season Finale!
There, you’ve been warned. Consider this my “Remain 100 Yards Behind” sign that you see on a garbage truck or my “Not Responsible for Lost or Stolen Items” you see at the gym. By the way, I think I want to steal one of those signs. They can’t prosecute me right?
So the wife and I finally got around to watching the finale to a very strange season of Weeds. If the first season was a 10, the second season was a 9, this year was a 6.5. Which is pretty much par for the cable television series, they all seem to start so strong, then lose direction like a drunk peeing in the shower.
This year we saw Nancy move the family to just north of the border, make Guillermo irrelevant by connecting with his boss, another DEA agent get whacked, Silas eat out while in the sandwich shop, Shane pull of a three some that would make R. Kelly proud, and Celia’s life spiral out of control faster than Britney circa 2007. I miss it when Nancy just sold pot in the burbs. No gangsters, no murder, no teenage three-ways. Yet, I still have to watch every episode.
I think the writers even acknowledged the fact that the show has gotten away from them. In the finale, Nancy is talking to her brother in-law, while naked in the tub, about how she used to be able to justify everything. That’s what made her great. Selling pot to keep her kids in the best schools and dressed in American Eagle, that made sense. Seeing her first drive by, made the poor-middle class white lady upset. And some where along the ride, she ended up being Nancy Escobar. No justification, she just did whatever seemed to be the worst thing she could do. There was no rhyme, no reason, no damn sense to it.
And now, when faced with the fact that she ratted on her boyfriend/mayor/drug lord, she looked entirely screwed. And she was, so screwed that she was actually preggars. Well, that’s just great. Earlier in the episode, we saw a glimpe of the Nancy Botwin we used to know, as she dealt with all her guilt and the fear that she’s failed her sons. What better way to redeem yourself, than to raise the child of a really likeable crime lord.
But that didn’t answer the question, if it’s right or wrong, to make your shower a little golden from time to time. I still believe, there’s nothing inherently wrong with taking a leak under the showerhead. Here are my arguments for men:
First of all, it’s a disinfectant, so this could be the time where men actually assist in cleaning the shower.
Second, we’re not talking about peeing and standing in urine, you aim for the drain, and the running water helps wash it down.
Third, our aim is much better given the size of this target.
Fourth, it’s eco friendly. It saves water, and it’s never wrong to multi-task. Well, unless of course, you’re texting while at the controls of a train. That’s a pretty big no-no.
Fifth, it’s economical. Back to that flushed toilet, and running water. It all costs money. Would it be better to piss money down the drain, or urine? One of them belongs in the drain, the other, well that could be used to purchase more useful items. Like purses.
***
Spoiler alert! Do not read if you haven’t seen Weeds’ Season Finale!
There, you’ve been warned. Consider this my “Remain 100 Yards Behind” sign that you see on a garbage truck or my “Not Responsible for Lost or Stolen Items” you see at the gym. By the way, I think I want to steal one of those signs. They can’t prosecute me right?
So the wife and I finally got around to watching the finale to a very strange season of Weeds. If the first season was a 10, the second season was a 9, this year was a 6.5. Which is pretty much par for the cable television series, they all seem to start so strong, then lose direction like a drunk peeing in the shower.
This year we saw Nancy move the family to just north of the border, make Guillermo irrelevant by connecting with his boss, another DEA agent get whacked, Silas eat out while in the sandwich shop, Shane pull of a three some that would make R. Kelly proud, and Celia’s life spiral out of control faster than Britney circa 2007. I miss it when Nancy just sold pot in the burbs. No gangsters, no murder, no teenage three-ways. Yet, I still have to watch every episode.
I think the writers even acknowledged the fact that the show has gotten away from them. In the finale, Nancy is talking to her brother in-law, while naked in the tub, about how she used to be able to justify everything. That’s what made her great. Selling pot to keep her kids in the best schools and dressed in American Eagle, that made sense. Seeing her first drive by, made the poor-middle class white lady upset. And some where along the ride, she ended up being Nancy Escobar. No justification, she just did whatever seemed to be the worst thing she could do. There was no rhyme, no reason, no damn sense to it.
And now, when faced with the fact that she ratted on her boyfriend/mayor/drug lord, she looked entirely screwed. And she was, so screwed that she was actually preggars. Well, that’s just great. Earlier in the episode, we saw a glimpe of the Nancy Botwin we used to know, as she dealt with all her guilt and the fear that she’s failed her sons. What better way to redeem yourself, than to raise the child of a really likeable crime lord.
September 15, 2008
Righteous Ill
They’re two of the greatest ever. Jordan and Magic, Bach and Beethoven, Harvard and Yale. But they joined forces on the backside of their careers, so we’ll never think of the duo as we did Newman and Redford, or Lennon and McCartney. And at some point, Robert Deniro and Al Pacino are going to answer to the movie gods for mailing in the last 10 years of their careers.
This weekend I saw Righteous Kill, which marked the first time the two Don’s shared the screen. Sure, they were both in Heat and Godfather II, but we never saw them share the screen. Maybe we never should have. It’s not that Righteous Kill is a horrible movie, it’s just not up to their standards. It felt like watching Kate Hudson and the lead singer of the Black Crowes, maybe it worked for them, but no one else needed to see it.
It isn’t often that you see a movie, and would have rather spent the $7 (it was the matinee) just to see the two stars interviewed together to promote the film. But that’s the case with Kill. Some movies, we shorten the title when they have longer titles, but I couldn’t refer to this as just “Righteous.”
I had a bad feeling when I first heard of this movie a year or so ago. I love both actors, and it isn’t as if they just lost their talents, but they had just stopped reading screenplays. Deniro was more concerned with his budding real estate empire, and mocking himself, and Pacino was stuck in his Scent of a Woman character, and yelled his way through some 10 films, including Heat. But maybe, just maybe, uniting would bring out the best in each other again. It didn’t happen. I guess they felt they had to do it, while they were physically able. But Newman and Redford have passed on multiple oppurtunites to work together because the script wasn’t right, if only Bob and Al had used such high standards. Then again, they had a couple of classics with each other, for us to enjoy.
This was Deniro, doing a combination of the NYC cops he played in City by the Sea, 15 Minutes and Showtime. The best laugh comes from seeing Pacino lift weights in the gym, and a small action scene where we see the two of them jump over a railing with agility they’ve never had. Come on, I doubt Pacino has lifted anything heavy since the machine gun he picked up Scarface.
Heat was it, and the greatness of Heat should be enjoyed more now, than ever before. Deniro put out a few quality films right after Heat, with Sleepers, Cop Land, Wag the Dog and Jackie Brown. He made us laugh with Analyze This and Meet the Parents. But he swung and missed more than he made solid contact. The Fan, Great Expectations, 15 Minutes, The Score, the comedy sequels, and nearly bored us to death with the Good Shepherd. Pacino gave us Donnie Brasco and the Insider, but can we please forget he did S1m0ne, Gigle, Two for the Money and Any Given Sunday? I doubt it, but I hope so.
The best thing I see in their future right now, is the fact they are both attached to a video game to compliment Heat. Keep doing whatever Michael Mann wants you guys to do. In fact I have to pass a rule for these two giants, no more working with anyone else other than the top guys: Tarantino, Martin Scorecese, Mann, Soderbergh and the Scott brothers. Deniro is attached to a new Michael Mann flick, Frankie Machine, about an ex mob hit man living a civilian life but goes back to the life from the urging of the son of a Mafia Don. Hopefully, this is Deniro’s return to greatness. Michael Mann has the highest batting average of any major director in Hollywood. Added bonus, Machine was penned by Levien and Koppleman, the duo responsible for Rounders.
If you’re itching to see some Bob and Al, I recommend popping in Heat, or looking for the Insider, which has been on cable of late. But if you must, keep an eye out for the following previews: Defiance, about a Holocaust story I’ve never heard, where three Jewish brothers give us what may have been the inspiration for Red Dawn. Pride and Glory, with Edward Norton and Collin Farrell doing sort of a Departed type thing. Maybe Farrell can actually put out a quality flick.
This weekend I saw Righteous Kill, which marked the first time the two Don’s shared the screen. Sure, they were both in Heat and Godfather II, but we never saw them share the screen. Maybe we never should have. It’s not that Righteous Kill is a horrible movie, it’s just not up to their standards. It felt like watching Kate Hudson and the lead singer of the Black Crowes, maybe it worked for them, but no one else needed to see it.
It isn’t often that you see a movie, and would have rather spent the $7 (it was the matinee) just to see the two stars interviewed together to promote the film. But that’s the case with Kill. Some movies, we shorten the title when they have longer titles, but I couldn’t refer to this as just “Righteous.”
I had a bad feeling when I first heard of this movie a year or so ago. I love both actors, and it isn’t as if they just lost their talents, but they had just stopped reading screenplays. Deniro was more concerned with his budding real estate empire, and mocking himself, and Pacino was stuck in his Scent of a Woman character, and yelled his way through some 10 films, including Heat. But maybe, just maybe, uniting would bring out the best in each other again. It didn’t happen. I guess they felt they had to do it, while they were physically able. But Newman and Redford have passed on multiple oppurtunites to work together because the script wasn’t right, if only Bob and Al had used such high standards. Then again, they had a couple of classics with each other, for us to enjoy.
This was Deniro, doing a combination of the NYC cops he played in City by the Sea, 15 Minutes and Showtime. The best laugh comes from seeing Pacino lift weights in the gym, and a small action scene where we see the two of them jump over a railing with agility they’ve never had. Come on, I doubt Pacino has lifted anything heavy since the machine gun he picked up Scarface.
Heat was it, and the greatness of Heat should be enjoyed more now, than ever before. Deniro put out a few quality films right after Heat, with Sleepers, Cop Land, Wag the Dog and Jackie Brown. He made us laugh with Analyze This and Meet the Parents. But he swung and missed more than he made solid contact. The Fan, Great Expectations, 15 Minutes, The Score, the comedy sequels, and nearly bored us to death with the Good Shepherd. Pacino gave us Donnie Brasco and the Insider, but can we please forget he did S1m0ne, Gigle, Two for the Money and Any Given Sunday? I doubt it, but I hope so.
The best thing I see in their future right now, is the fact they are both attached to a video game to compliment Heat. Keep doing whatever Michael Mann wants you guys to do. In fact I have to pass a rule for these two giants, no more working with anyone else other than the top guys: Tarantino, Martin Scorecese, Mann, Soderbergh and the Scott brothers. Deniro is attached to a new Michael Mann flick, Frankie Machine, about an ex mob hit man living a civilian life but goes back to the life from the urging of the son of a Mafia Don. Hopefully, this is Deniro’s return to greatness. Michael Mann has the highest batting average of any major director in Hollywood. Added bonus, Machine was penned by Levien and Koppleman, the duo responsible for Rounders.
If you’re itching to see some Bob and Al, I recommend popping in Heat, or looking for the Insider, which has been on cable of late. But if you must, keep an eye out for the following previews: Defiance, about a Holocaust story I’ve never heard, where three Jewish brothers give us what may have been the inspiration for Red Dawn. Pride and Glory, with Edward Norton and Collin Farrell doing sort of a Departed type thing. Maybe Farrell can actually put out a quality flick.
September 04, 2008
hirPolitics
If ever I decide that it’s okay to become a hypocrite, I’ll just change my party affiliation. Listening to the radio on my way to work, they had a delegate from Shawnee Kansas on the air, and I quote “anyone listening to Sarah Palin last night should have no question that she’s ready to step up and lead.”
Wait, you mean it isn’t her record as a Mayor or Governor that we should feel comfortable about, but instead we should have no doubts because of a speech? I see, but that same logic just doesn’t fit when the candidate is Barack Obama. And I’ll give the lady the credit she deserves; she gave a pretty good speech. Plenty about it I disagreed with, but for the most part, at least she wasn’t up there trying to take pot shots at Obama.
Can’t say the same for Rudy Giuliani, a guy I once thought could make a decent President. Instead of giving a speech that made me believe in McCain and the Republican party, he took cheap shot after cheap shot at Barack Obama. When will they ever grow up? While we all heard Obama give McCain credit for all he’s done, Rudy mocked what Barack has done. Oh, how funny, Barack was a community organizer. Mwhaha, and he wants to be President now?
Did I hear Rudy right? Just to be sure, I pulled the transcript. “One final point. And how — how dare they question whether Sarah Palin has enough time to spend with her children and be vice president. How dare they do that.”
Seriously, did the adultery really go there? We’re getting lessons in family values a guy who strayed twice, that we know of. How dare us? How dare him! You don’t get a pass for getting your first marriage annulled because she was your second cousin, and not your third. How did that not come up? When sending out the invites, didn’t they realize they were asking people to sit on both sides?
I have a few comments in response to Rudy questioning Barack’s resume. First point, where exactly is the job posting for President? I want to see it, because if in fact it lists certain requirements, that Barack hasn’t met, then maybe we shouldn’t elect him President. Second, how do you mention the fact that Obama went to an Ivy League school as if it’s a negative accomplishment? Raised in a single parent household, the man made his own way to one of the most prestigious Universities in the world. Unlike George W, who went to a Ivy League school on daddy’s lap.
Then, instead of taking that education and trading it in as soon as possible for a cushy job, he went to work as a Community Organizer. And I guess if we listen to Rudy, organization isn’t something they need in Washington. Oh, and the group that he worked for was a church-based community. But I guess he still isn’t Christian enough, because he may think that some people hold too religion a little too much.
Is McCain a hero for going through the hardships he had to endure, and not just surviving but succeeding? Absolutely. But Obama is every bit the hero McCain is. The fact that McCain spilled his blood, and made great sacrifices for his country, doesn’t entitle him to the Presidency. If that’s the case, he’ll make sure we have plenty of well qualified applicants in the future. They’ll be ready just as soon as they get back from Iraq.
I’m glad my parents never taught me, what must be Republican law, that a man can’t change his mind when he receives new and different information. But Rudy, if changing your mind is so bad that you must mock Barack for doing so, why then, is it okay that you changed parties back in 1975, when you went from being a Democrat (gasp) to an Independent. And then once Reagan won, you were suddenly a Republican. You change your mind almost as often as you change brides.
Another gem from Rudy, “I learned as a trial lawyer a long time ago, if you don’t have the facts, you’ve got to change them.” That says it all, doesn’t it? He went on to say that’s what their opponents are doing, in trying to re-frame the debate, but this is what you learned Rudy. Maybe some didn’t learn that lesson. Maybe, just maybe, some people go on just the facts and let them speak for themselves. And now, maybe we should have every conviction Rudy padded his resume with, looked at under a microscope.
As Rudy Giulani said as he campaigned for Mayor of New York City in 1989 (he lost this one), “if we keep going merrily along, this city’s going down.” And you can keep slinging the word “liberal” around as if it was a four letter word, but I know you ran as part on the Liberal Party line when you were elected Mayor in 1993.
Rudy also said he was impressed at how Sarah Palin took out corruption, even in the Republican Party, while Governor of Alaska. Finally, something you should be impressed by. Or did you think everyone forgot about your right hand man in New York, Bernard Kerik. That’s right; you also had him as a partner at Giuliani Partners. You named him New York City Police Commissioner, and how quickly you cut your ties. After it came out his nanny was an illegal immigrant, and he was later charged for ethics violations. I think he’s still under Federal investigation after a grand jury issued a multi-count indictment for, oh this is good, conspiracy, mail fraud, wire fraud AND lying to the IRS.
So Rudy, if we go back to your analogy, of looking at the resumes for both candidates, maybe McCain would be better served to leave your name off of the references page.
Wait, you mean it isn’t her record as a Mayor or Governor that we should feel comfortable about, but instead we should have no doubts because of a speech? I see, but that same logic just doesn’t fit when the candidate is Barack Obama. And I’ll give the lady the credit she deserves; she gave a pretty good speech. Plenty about it I disagreed with, but for the most part, at least she wasn’t up there trying to take pot shots at Obama.
Can’t say the same for Rudy Giuliani, a guy I once thought could make a decent President. Instead of giving a speech that made me believe in McCain and the Republican party, he took cheap shot after cheap shot at Barack Obama. When will they ever grow up? While we all heard Obama give McCain credit for all he’s done, Rudy mocked what Barack has done. Oh, how funny, Barack was a community organizer. Mwhaha, and he wants to be President now?
Did I hear Rudy right? Just to be sure, I pulled the transcript. “One final point. And how — how dare they question whether Sarah Palin has enough time to spend with her children and be vice president. How dare they do that.”
Seriously, did the adultery really go there? We’re getting lessons in family values a guy who strayed twice, that we know of. How dare us? How dare him! You don’t get a pass for getting your first marriage annulled because she was your second cousin, and not your third. How did that not come up? When sending out the invites, didn’t they realize they were asking people to sit on both sides?
I have a few comments in response to Rudy questioning Barack’s resume. First point, where exactly is the job posting for President? I want to see it, because if in fact it lists certain requirements, that Barack hasn’t met, then maybe we shouldn’t elect him President. Second, how do you mention the fact that Obama went to an Ivy League school as if it’s a negative accomplishment? Raised in a single parent household, the man made his own way to one of the most prestigious Universities in the world. Unlike George W, who went to a Ivy League school on daddy’s lap.
Then, instead of taking that education and trading it in as soon as possible for a cushy job, he went to work as a Community Organizer. And I guess if we listen to Rudy, organization isn’t something they need in Washington. Oh, and the group that he worked for was a church-based community. But I guess he still isn’t Christian enough, because he may think that some people hold too religion a little too much.
Is McCain a hero for going through the hardships he had to endure, and not just surviving but succeeding? Absolutely. But Obama is every bit the hero McCain is. The fact that McCain spilled his blood, and made great sacrifices for his country, doesn’t entitle him to the Presidency. If that’s the case, he’ll make sure we have plenty of well qualified applicants in the future. They’ll be ready just as soon as they get back from Iraq.
I’m glad my parents never taught me, what must be Republican law, that a man can’t change his mind when he receives new and different information. But Rudy, if changing your mind is so bad that you must mock Barack for doing so, why then, is it okay that you changed parties back in 1975, when you went from being a Democrat (gasp) to an Independent. And then once Reagan won, you were suddenly a Republican. You change your mind almost as often as you change brides.
Another gem from Rudy, “I learned as a trial lawyer a long time ago, if you don’t have the facts, you’ve got to change them.” That says it all, doesn’t it? He went on to say that’s what their opponents are doing, in trying to re-frame the debate, but this is what you learned Rudy. Maybe some didn’t learn that lesson. Maybe, just maybe, some people go on just the facts and let them speak for themselves. And now, maybe we should have every conviction Rudy padded his resume with, looked at under a microscope.
As Rudy Giulani said as he campaigned for Mayor of New York City in 1989 (he lost this one), “if we keep going merrily along, this city’s going down.” And you can keep slinging the word “liberal” around as if it was a four letter word, but I know you ran as part on the Liberal Party line when you were elected Mayor in 1993.
Rudy also said he was impressed at how Sarah Palin took out corruption, even in the Republican Party, while Governor of Alaska. Finally, something you should be impressed by. Or did you think everyone forgot about your right hand man in New York, Bernard Kerik. That’s right; you also had him as a partner at Giuliani Partners. You named him New York City Police Commissioner, and how quickly you cut your ties. After it came out his nanny was an illegal immigrant, and he was later charged for ethics violations. I think he’s still under Federal investigation after a grand jury issued a multi-count indictment for, oh this is good, conspiracy, mail fraud, wire fraud AND lying to the IRS.
So Rudy, if we go back to your analogy, of looking at the resumes for both candidates, maybe McCain would be better served to leave your name off of the references page.
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