As someone who enjoys writing from time to time, you’d really think I would enjoy reading more, but I don’t. Occasionally, I go through spells where I read two or three books in a short time period. And then I go months, even years without picking up reading material that isn’t 80% ads. When it comes to books, my reading pallet isn’t much different from my eating pallet. I have a few authors I enjoy to read, and I’ll happily read anything they put out. But I don’t experiment often, and that’s probably a mistake, just as it is with my eating. And I may never admit that again.
Then a few months ago, I was taking a leadership class at work, and I just happen to be reading The Sports Guy’s first book, “Now I Can Die in Peace.” The instructor found the title both amusing and a little unsettling, so he’d ask questions about it daily, as it sat a top my desk for something to do on breaks and before class began. We got to talking a little about it, and I learned that these sports journalists I like so much, happen to be family friends of his. Turns out his dad used to organize a little NCAA shin dig we call “March Madness.” That’s off the charts.
The conversation turned a little more somber when he mentioned his father had penned a book about a family tragedy. See, my instructor had a brother, and this brother was aboard a plane full of Oklahoma State basketball family members, and this plane never made it to its destination. So his father rode his bike from California to Georgia, in an attempt to well, do something that at least involved moving in a forward motion, after losing his son.
So my wife picked up the book for me last week, and I dove right in. I read just about the entire book the first day. This is only an accomplishment in my eyes now, after expierence just what a challenge it is to read when your child is in the house. Sorry, mom. And with work, the wife, the kid, and most of all, the fact that I didn’t want this read to end, I didn’t finish the book during the week.
This is the type of book, that as you read it, you promise yourself some life altering changes. You’ll live in the moment more, tell your friends and family how much they mean to you, stop and smell the roses, or just keep an eye out for an armadillo that’s alive. Your eyes water up, and you shutter the very thought of going through something as awful as losing your child. You want to vomit. You want to walk up to the writer and give this complete stranger a hug. And in the back of your mind, you know you won’t really do any of this, and you feel like you’ve failed the writer. You also think, in the back of your mind, that someone read this and made all those changes. You both admire and resent that soul.
I’ve learned more about the Hancock family than I should know. I met the writer, John Hancock’s son for one short week, and I could never say I knew him. But now I know much about him, and his family. I know the names of his wife, his sister-in-law and his niece. I know stories from his childhood.
I’ve read books before, about real people even, and I learned their stories. But there’s something different about reading a book about someone you’ve met. It’s like reading having a view of their life that maybe you shouldn’t have. And you can’t stop looking. But this is the view of one amazing family. The class I took was about leadership, and the instructor comes from a family of amazing leaders. This is one remarkable family, the Hancocks. The stories told are those of dreams. A close knit, smart, fun, funny, loving family that seems to already appreciate every gift they have. They didn’t need, not that anyone does, a wake up call or reminder.
But maybe we needed them to. So John Hancock would write “Riding with the Blue Moth” so we could have the pleasure of reading it, and even for a few minutes, dream of being better versions of ourselves. The “Moth” ranks up there with “Tuesdays with Morrie” and “The Five People You Meet in Heaven.” It’s a must read, and a must own. The “lessons’ Hancock writes for his young grand-daughter are lessons we should all write down, and read often to ourselves and our kids.
August 08, 2008
August 04, 2008
Oops, I did.....
Call me Gump, ‘cause I’m not a smart man, and I know what dumb is. I hit Careerbuilder.com recently, to look around at what jobs are out there. Ideally, I’d like to do something where I get to write and collect a paycheck for doing so. And there it was, a writing position. So I applied, and since my “jobs” haven’t been really related to writing all that much, I included my blog address on my resume and in my cover letter. And that’s where I made my booboo.
Did you read my previous post? I talked about all the things a hiring manager DOES NOT want from an employee: slacking, negative comments about my boss, a joke about drug use (and I’ve never used) and being stressed at work. I might as well used the old George Costanza joke, and claimed to have slept with their wife. But then I’d be in trouble at home, and still not have that job.
Way to think it thru, Hirp.
I guess my only hope now is, they enjoyed the blog so much, that whoever read it will get home and pull it up again soon and get a chance to read this disclaimer. Really, I’ve never done any drugs. And the slacker thing is just my shtick. My work, well, I’m looking for a new job right?
Did you read my previous post? I talked about all the things a hiring manager DOES NOT want from an employee: slacking, negative comments about my boss, a joke about drug use (and I’ve never used) and being stressed at work. I might as well used the old George Costanza joke, and claimed to have slept with their wife. But then I’d be in trouble at home, and still not have that job.
Way to think it thru, Hirp.
I guess my only hope now is, they enjoyed the blog so much, that whoever read it will get home and pull it up again soon and get a chance to read this disclaimer. Really, I’ve never done any drugs. And the slacker thing is just my shtick. My work, well, I’m looking for a new job right?
ADD Day
I took my Focalin this morning, but I’m totally ADD today. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, I dunno. So far I’ve gone to talk to a friend in the next cube three times, about random stuff, I’ve worked on two different projects, called the wife, started two blog entries and lost my train of thought four times. Best of all, I have three meetings to attend today. Two are utterly pointless and completely frustrating, and I have nothing to add or take away from the last. That’s a productive day if I’ve ever heard of one. Meanwhile my Outlook reminder keeps going off, and I’m hitting snooze with the frequency of a 16 year old, only I’m not scratching my nuts afterwards.
The culprit, that has kicked my ADD into overdrive, is my good ol’ friend, Anxiety. I hate that guy. My buddy on my team is most likely moving to another team, which sucks on numerous levels. He’s the only other person on this team with half a brain, the only one I can trust to carry his load, enjoy going to lunch with, and doesn’t annoy me with every word he utters. Some of the others may have one or even two of those traits, but not all. Plus, there’s a rumor that someone higher up isn’t very happy with the work our team has produced. This means added pressure and a heavier load on my shoulders, and the weight has increased nicely over the past few months. Blogging is no longer the most time consuming task of my day, and sometimes I go days without a chance to even blog once. That’s some hard work right there.
The culprit, that has kicked my ADD into overdrive, is my good ol’ friend, Anxiety. I hate that guy. My buddy on my team is most likely moving to another team, which sucks on numerous levels. He’s the only other person on this team with half a brain, the only one I can trust to carry his load, enjoy going to lunch with, and doesn’t annoy me with every word he utters. Some of the others may have one or even two of those traits, but not all. Plus, there’s a rumor that someone higher up isn’t very happy with the work our team has produced. This means added pressure and a heavier load on my shoulders, and the weight has increased nicely over the past few months. Blogging is no longer the most time consuming task of my day, and sometimes I go days without a chance to even blog once. That’s some hard work right there.
July 28, 2008
Chapter 1
I debated and debated, finally I said, "fuck it." I started writing a "book" a couple of months back, and it hasn't gotten very far. But I've decided to post my first "chapter" on here. Good chance I'll regret this at some point.
Without further adu....
Chapter 1
I woke up early the morning of my wedding was to take place, and found my way to the pool deck to watch the sunrise. We got to Mexico a few days before the big event, and for those three days, images of my life would flash every time I blinked. It was totally random, as if someone spilled a box of photos and each photo represented a vivid and lasting image. But this morning I found myself staring out over the Caribbean and the memories of how I ended up here came rushing back, as little episodes rather than flashing images. Watching out as the waves washed ashore, and the palm tree’s swayed above me, I channel surfed through the events that shaped who I was this day, and how the woman I was to marry was perfect for me in every way.
I was in second grade the first time I grew up. Some of the details are sketchy; some are as vivid that I feel I’m watching HDTV. There were frantic phone calls to my sister’s friends, my mother’s best friend Dianne came over, and I remember my mother cutting her chin on the kitchen counter as she was bent over sobbing. My older sister Jill, had runaway. This is one instance in my life where a Bon Jovi song hit close to home. She’s a little runaway.
My mother frantically called everyone she could think of, as her best friend reassured her. And the little second grader stood, I couldn’t have been more than 3 feet tall, on the linoleum covered kitchen floor in the Long Island ranch, watching everything, trying to not be something else to worry about. I retreated to the family room to get lost in a world of cardboard pictures with the funny numbers and abbreviations on the backside.
It was late spring, the end of the school year was approaching and a new baseball season was underway. Every kid loves summer, but never as much as a second grader. Learning to ride a bike, staying up late, the ice-cream man, going to the pool, cook outs ending with ketchup stained shirts and scratched knees and elbows. Chasing fire flies and getting tucked in by mom and dad every night. That’s all I should have been thinking about with summer weeks away.
“Everything’s okay,” I thought to myself, “Jill will be home soon, and we’ll all be happy.” We’re talking about a second grader, the vocabulary wasn’t all that extensive, and having everyone home, logically, meant everyone would be happy.
Dressed in Levi’s, a rugby styled shirt and thick plastic frame glasses with stringy straight hair, as I asked my teacher, Mrs. Kirk, if I could skip recess to talk to her. From first glance, Mrs. Kirk wasn’t the teacher you’d picture a kid opening up to. With coffee stained teeth, the breath to match, a crow’s nest of long black hair and a scowl that could intimidate the toughest of New Yorkers. What second grader wants to skip recess to talk to a teacher, one that resembles a real life witch? But I had to try and make sense of this, and I couldn’t allow myself to look too affected at home, where I kept my eye’s and ears open, and my mouth shut.
My parents knew I was talking to Mrs. Kirk, and I think they were proud of me for doing so. But I didn’t say much. I gave her the facts, told her I was scared, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’ve had that conversation at least six times in my life now. Jill’s gone, not sure why, and wondered if I’d ever see her again. Maybe she never came home the first time.
So when I got home that day from school, she had turned up. And there was yelling, doors were slammed, tears were shed, and more stats were read. In some ways, it was completely anti-climatic, yet it forever instilled and un-easiness in me. She just showed up again after being gone two days. And I always wondered when she would leave again, or if anyone else would.
Maybe she didn’t show up that day, it looked like her and wore her clothes. She may have even used the same can of Aquanet, just so she appeared to be Jill. But I learned later, when I was 17 or so, that she left a piece of herself somewhere in Long Island, in some run down house, owned by the lowest form of life. Maybe she’s still there, wondering why she went there and looking for a way out. She was there by choice, or at least she wasn’t dragged against her will.
It fits all the clichés we know, she was running with the wrong crowd and making bad choices. All of which she’s fully responsible for, even if she can’t accept it. But I’m pretty sure she never asked to be raped, and that’s what happened. Or so I’m told, and nothing hurts more than doubting your sister when she tells you something so horrendous. But the anger towards your brother, who was 16 at the time, and your father, for not ending this guy’s life, well that’s an anger that stays with you.
There was nothing better than growing up on Long Island. We lived on a cul-de-sac, which has some how shrunk by 80% since I was a kid. Right next door was my best friend, and we knew everyone on the block. I don’t know if it was the timing, but I can’t imagine any kids grow up like I did. Huntington had it’s own Central Park in Hecture Park, and we’d spend summer nights there at concerts, and the days watching ducks swim while avoiding the shit they left along the pathways.
The highlight was the 4th. Our 4th of July weekend consisted of a few families getting together for a softball game and cookout at Maplewood Elementary. One game nearly ended my life, when my father missed a hit ball that must have been aided by a laser guidance system for my stomach. My bellybutton was right at the center of a perfect black and blue replication of a softball. He insists we were in the outfield, but I remember being in the infield as he was pitching.
We went camping on the sound, took trips up to Vermont and stayed at The Tyler Place. It pains me to admit this, but it looked like the resort from Dirty Dancing. The kids were broken off into groups, and the adults had their afternoons together. There was a lake for swimming, sailing and fishing. And we stayed in little white cottages.
New York City was just a car ride away, and as a kid, it terrified me. So many people, so much going on, and this was before Rudy cleaned up the city. Being 6, and seeing homeless men asking for money after lifting their heads off of dirty newspapers-turned pillows, has a way of making the big city scary. But scary is also exciting. I only lived in New York for the first 8 years of my life, but I’ve taken it with me every where I’ve gone.
Maybe it was such a great childhood because it was so short. When something is cut short, we have a tendency to elevate our perception of how great it was. Every musician who dies while still putting out relevant music is automatically a legend, just as an artist worth increases upon an early death. I just know that most kids don’t grow up in the second grade. My sister did a lot to raise me, most of it came after the day she didn’t come home.
Up till the day Jill didn’t come home, we had a pretty tight relationship. She spent a lot of her time after school watching me, and I had fun terrifying her and her friends when they came over. Snapping bra’s, and trying to watch whatever movie they were watching. Good times for me, and I think for her. She wasn’t babysitting for fun though. My parents were having to spend time dealing some issues my older brother, Jay, was having.
Without further adu....
Chapter 1
I woke up early the morning of my wedding was to take place, and found my way to the pool deck to watch the sunrise. We got to Mexico a few days before the big event, and for those three days, images of my life would flash every time I blinked. It was totally random, as if someone spilled a box of photos and each photo represented a vivid and lasting image. But this morning I found myself staring out over the Caribbean and the memories of how I ended up here came rushing back, as little episodes rather than flashing images. Watching out as the waves washed ashore, and the palm tree’s swayed above me, I channel surfed through the events that shaped who I was this day, and how the woman I was to marry was perfect for me in every way.
I was in second grade the first time I grew up. Some of the details are sketchy; some are as vivid that I feel I’m watching HDTV. There were frantic phone calls to my sister’s friends, my mother’s best friend Dianne came over, and I remember my mother cutting her chin on the kitchen counter as she was bent over sobbing. My older sister Jill, had runaway. This is one instance in my life where a Bon Jovi song hit close to home. She’s a little runaway.
My mother frantically called everyone she could think of, as her best friend reassured her. And the little second grader stood, I couldn’t have been more than 3 feet tall, on the linoleum covered kitchen floor in the Long Island ranch, watching everything, trying to not be something else to worry about. I retreated to the family room to get lost in a world of cardboard pictures with the funny numbers and abbreviations on the backside.
It was late spring, the end of the school year was approaching and a new baseball season was underway. Every kid loves summer, but never as much as a second grader. Learning to ride a bike, staying up late, the ice-cream man, going to the pool, cook outs ending with ketchup stained shirts and scratched knees and elbows. Chasing fire flies and getting tucked in by mom and dad every night. That’s all I should have been thinking about with summer weeks away.
“Everything’s okay,” I thought to myself, “Jill will be home soon, and we’ll all be happy.” We’re talking about a second grader, the vocabulary wasn’t all that extensive, and having everyone home, logically, meant everyone would be happy.
Dressed in Levi’s, a rugby styled shirt and thick plastic frame glasses with stringy straight hair, as I asked my teacher, Mrs. Kirk, if I could skip recess to talk to her. From first glance, Mrs. Kirk wasn’t the teacher you’d picture a kid opening up to. With coffee stained teeth, the breath to match, a crow’s nest of long black hair and a scowl that could intimidate the toughest of New Yorkers. What second grader wants to skip recess to talk to a teacher, one that resembles a real life witch? But I had to try and make sense of this, and I couldn’t allow myself to look too affected at home, where I kept my eye’s and ears open, and my mouth shut.
My parents knew I was talking to Mrs. Kirk, and I think they were proud of me for doing so. But I didn’t say much. I gave her the facts, told her I was scared, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’ve had that conversation at least six times in my life now. Jill’s gone, not sure why, and wondered if I’d ever see her again. Maybe she never came home the first time.
So when I got home that day from school, she had turned up. And there was yelling, doors were slammed, tears were shed, and more stats were read. In some ways, it was completely anti-climatic, yet it forever instilled and un-easiness in me. She just showed up again after being gone two days. And I always wondered when she would leave again, or if anyone else would.
Maybe she didn’t show up that day, it looked like her and wore her clothes. She may have even used the same can of Aquanet, just so she appeared to be Jill. But I learned later, when I was 17 or so, that she left a piece of herself somewhere in Long Island, in some run down house, owned by the lowest form of life. Maybe she’s still there, wondering why she went there and looking for a way out. She was there by choice, or at least she wasn’t dragged against her will.
It fits all the clichés we know, she was running with the wrong crowd and making bad choices. All of which she’s fully responsible for, even if she can’t accept it. But I’m pretty sure she never asked to be raped, and that’s what happened. Or so I’m told, and nothing hurts more than doubting your sister when she tells you something so horrendous. But the anger towards your brother, who was 16 at the time, and your father, for not ending this guy’s life, well that’s an anger that stays with you.
There was nothing better than growing up on Long Island. We lived on a cul-de-sac, which has some how shrunk by 80% since I was a kid. Right next door was my best friend, and we knew everyone on the block. I don’t know if it was the timing, but I can’t imagine any kids grow up like I did. Huntington had it’s own Central Park in Hecture Park, and we’d spend summer nights there at concerts, and the days watching ducks swim while avoiding the shit they left along the pathways.
The highlight was the 4th. Our 4th of July weekend consisted of a few families getting together for a softball game and cookout at Maplewood Elementary. One game nearly ended my life, when my father missed a hit ball that must have been aided by a laser guidance system for my stomach. My bellybutton was right at the center of a perfect black and blue replication of a softball. He insists we were in the outfield, but I remember being in the infield as he was pitching.
We went camping on the sound, took trips up to Vermont and stayed at The Tyler Place. It pains me to admit this, but it looked like the resort from Dirty Dancing. The kids were broken off into groups, and the adults had their afternoons together. There was a lake for swimming, sailing and fishing. And we stayed in little white cottages.
New York City was just a car ride away, and as a kid, it terrified me. So many people, so much going on, and this was before Rudy cleaned up the city. Being 6, and seeing homeless men asking for money after lifting their heads off of dirty newspapers-turned pillows, has a way of making the big city scary. But scary is also exciting. I only lived in New York for the first 8 years of my life, but I’ve taken it with me every where I’ve gone.
Maybe it was such a great childhood because it was so short. When something is cut short, we have a tendency to elevate our perception of how great it was. Every musician who dies while still putting out relevant music is automatically a legend, just as an artist worth increases upon an early death. I just know that most kids don’t grow up in the second grade. My sister did a lot to raise me, most of it came after the day she didn’t come home.
Up till the day Jill didn’t come home, we had a pretty tight relationship. She spent a lot of her time after school watching me, and I had fun terrifying her and her friends when they came over. Snapping bra’s, and trying to watch whatever movie they were watching. Good times for me, and I think for her. She wasn’t babysitting for fun though. My parents were having to spend time dealing some issues my older brother, Jay, was having.
July 24, 2008
2Hirp
I imagine it’s occurred to all of us, when you run into someone who knows someone from your past and you ask how they’re doing, at some point you’ve wondered the great “what if” question. I have, and then every single time the response was something generic.
Either they’ve gotten married, moved away, had a kid, haven’t changed much, or they’re still a jackass. And you walk away remembering what kind of jackass or good guy they used to be, and imagine their wives or jobs. Then you forget again, and go on with your life.
Well last night, at the sister restaurant to the pizza joint I used to work at as a 16 year old shit, I ran into someone and asked those questions. Only his response wasn’t generic. He wouldn’t say it was absolute truth, but the fact that he was hesitant to answer didn’t help settle my nerves. I asked about an old friend, and the son of my former boss, and last he heard was my old friend just recently passed away. He said something about complications from his diabetes.
That was after his initial nervous laugh, and my asking if it was something bad. He chuckled a little, and then realized I really wanted to know. So he told me, and I spent the rest of the night in shock.
At first glance, Paul and I couldn’t be more different. I was 5’3 and 120 pounds; he was 6’2 and at least 250. I was the Jewish kid from Overland Park, he was the black kid from Raytown. Mutt and Jeff, Amos and Otis maybe, or Jewpac and Biggie. We met through his father, who happened to be my boss at the pizza joint. The night I was carjacked, he was the first friend I dropped off after Naked Gun 33 1/3. The first ticket I ever received was with him, as we were driving through Raytown. The first time I remember seeing blatant racism was with him, at a Front Row Video, when the clerk who was vacuuming the store followed him wherever he went, even if it was over spots he vacuumed two or three times already while I walked around un-disturbed. I always meant to go back there and steal something. They went belly up a few years later, deserved it too.
We hadn’t seen each other since I was 19 and he happened to be up at KU for a weekend. And that was always a shame; he was a really good guy. Even though he hung around some people I wouldn’t hang around with, we just had fun going to movies, playing Sega and talking shit.
I’ve never, luckily, had a friend pass away. I had a brother in-law go, but the last thing I’d ever call him was a “friend.” And I guess I still haven’t, since I hadn’t really been friends with Paul for 12 or 13 years. I’m pretty sure this is the reality of getting old. Never mind aches and pains, or not understanding why some song is popular, or why kids dress the way they do. Aging really happens when you’re getting older and someone from your past isn’t. That and when you worry about your kids.
***
“Weeds” as taking a pretty interesting twist this season, and in doing so helped to make up for last seasons effort. Guillermo has become one of my favorite television characters in a long time, and I think I could even vote in favor of giving him a spin-off one day. Nancy has taken a much needed detour from her road to being “The Godmother” and returned more to a typical suburban soccer mom.
Albert Brooks was a great addition as the cheap, angry, asshole Jewish Grandfather. And no, “asshole Jewish” isn’t redundant, but thanks for asking. They’ve really taken all the characters out of their comfort zones. Celia has to actually work for a living, after going to jail and being someone’s bitch for a time. Doug (Kevin Nealon) lost his cush job, and now mooches off of the Botwins. Andy has become a more responsible and thoughtful jackass, and the kids have grown into efficient criminals themselves. But we are missing Conrad and Heylia, and I hope they pop up sometime soon.
Either they’ve gotten married, moved away, had a kid, haven’t changed much, or they’re still a jackass. And you walk away remembering what kind of jackass or good guy they used to be, and imagine their wives or jobs. Then you forget again, and go on with your life.
Well last night, at the sister restaurant to the pizza joint I used to work at as a 16 year old shit, I ran into someone and asked those questions. Only his response wasn’t generic. He wouldn’t say it was absolute truth, but the fact that he was hesitant to answer didn’t help settle my nerves. I asked about an old friend, and the son of my former boss, and last he heard was my old friend just recently passed away. He said something about complications from his diabetes.
That was after his initial nervous laugh, and my asking if it was something bad. He chuckled a little, and then realized I really wanted to know. So he told me, and I spent the rest of the night in shock.
At first glance, Paul and I couldn’t be more different. I was 5’3 and 120 pounds; he was 6’2 and at least 250. I was the Jewish kid from Overland Park, he was the black kid from Raytown. Mutt and Jeff, Amos and Otis maybe, or Jewpac and Biggie. We met through his father, who happened to be my boss at the pizza joint. The night I was carjacked, he was the first friend I dropped off after Naked Gun 33 1/3. The first ticket I ever received was with him, as we were driving through Raytown. The first time I remember seeing blatant racism was with him, at a Front Row Video, when the clerk who was vacuuming the store followed him wherever he went, even if it was over spots he vacuumed two or three times already while I walked around un-disturbed. I always meant to go back there and steal something. They went belly up a few years later, deserved it too.
We hadn’t seen each other since I was 19 and he happened to be up at KU for a weekend. And that was always a shame; he was a really good guy. Even though he hung around some people I wouldn’t hang around with, we just had fun going to movies, playing Sega and talking shit.
I’ve never, luckily, had a friend pass away. I had a brother in-law go, but the last thing I’d ever call him was a “friend.” And I guess I still haven’t, since I hadn’t really been friends with Paul for 12 or 13 years. I’m pretty sure this is the reality of getting old. Never mind aches and pains, or not understanding why some song is popular, or why kids dress the way they do. Aging really happens when you’re getting older and someone from your past isn’t. That and when you worry about your kids.
***
“Weeds” as taking a pretty interesting twist this season, and in doing so helped to make up for last seasons effort. Guillermo has become one of my favorite television characters in a long time, and I think I could even vote in favor of giving him a spin-off one day. Nancy has taken a much needed detour from her road to being “The Godmother” and returned more to a typical suburban soccer mom.
Albert Brooks was a great addition as the cheap, angry, asshole Jewish Grandfather. And no, “asshole Jewish” isn’t redundant, but thanks for asking. They’ve really taken all the characters out of their comfort zones. Celia has to actually work for a living, after going to jail and being someone’s bitch for a time. Doug (Kevin Nealon) lost his cush job, and now mooches off of the Botwins. Andy has become a more responsible and thoughtful jackass, and the kids have grown into efficient criminals themselves. But we are missing Conrad and Heylia, and I hope they pop up sometime soon.
July 21, 2008
Hirpasms
I like a funny bumper sticker, won’t put one on my car, but I enjoy driving behind someone with a sense of humor. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but seriously, anyone who thinks their bumper is a pulpit needs to only see the underside of a bumper. I was behind a car this weekend with the uplifting bumper sticker that read: “Pro-God, Pro-gun, Anti-Obama.” And had the “no smoking” slash over Obama’s profile, and I had this erri feeling that the brains behind the operation wanted it to be crosshairs but knew that would probably lead to a visit from the Secret Service and some other unwanted guests.
First, I love the idea that this moron is both pro-God and gun, yet anti another human. Nothing sounds more pro-God than announcing you’re against another human, one you don’t know personally.
Incase I wasn’t sure what kind of dumbass I was driving behind; there was another bumper sticker on the back of his gas guzzling SUV; “Bitter Christian clinging to my gun.” Really, maybe it’s time this guy takes a look at his religious beliefs. He’s bitter, he’s angry, and he’s okay with violence. Maybe Christ just isn’t helping as much as he’d like to think.
I know I’ve made my feelings about organized religion pretty clear, and incase you haven’t heard, I’m not a fan. But if that’s what helps someone get thru the day and lead a better life, I can’t complain. I can, however, complain till Jesus comes back when religion is used to forward someone’s agenda of hate.
***
So I caught some sort of stomach bug, and it hasn’t been fun but I’ll spare you the details. My conundrum comes from the fact that I came to work inspite of this bug, and I have some meetings I need to attend. But I’m already worrying about how to deal with the awkard situation that would occur when the “stummy” (that’s what the Kyd calls it” starts-a-bubbling.
Plenty of times I’ve seen someone excuse themselves from a meeting and run to a restroom, but they come back pretty quickly. So you know it’s a #1. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, but that adds more pressure to what’s already a pressure filled situation.
***
Friday night the Kyd had her very first sleep over. Big step right? Also a big headache. I had no idea that little girls could disagree so much, and over such silly things. Who gets to karaoke what song? The wife played referee, and was more partial than most NBA refs, but I’m still amazed that after all the squabbling, they can’t wait to see each other again. I’m told this is normal, which confirms an old belief of mine, there’s not much normal about how women act. I’m going to pay for that one.
But their kiddy drama wasn’t to be outdone by the drama of our guests’ parental units, and that’s using the term loosely. First, her dad brought her over sans shirt. Dress slacks and no shirt, 56 year old man, this isn’t a good look, especially at my front door. Then the next morning when she called her parents, the girl was informed her mom was in the hospital, and told to keep playing. Wonder if there’s any way to put more weight on a 7 year olds shoulders.
So she goes home a few hours later, and we get back to our day. Finally we decide to run an errand, and while getting into our car, we see her mother (not in the hospital) throwing her husbands clothes out onto the sidewalk outside their patio. I don’t think it was spring cleaning, not when their daughter is crying “no, don’t!”
We’re walking a thin line now. We want the girls to have fun, and we know their girl needs a break from that chaos, but we don’t want to become saviors or adoptive parents. It’s just too hard, when you’re literally right next door to that, to keep from getting sucked in.
Seeing all this up close also serves as a shitty reminder of how my nieces and nephews grew up; seeing their parents under the influence, fighting, and acting insane. That’s no way for a kid to grow up. So maybe I can’t have my dream job, deciding who gets to be a parent, and that’s fine. But give the gig to someone, just not someone with bumper stickers.
First, I love the idea that this moron is both pro-God and gun, yet anti another human. Nothing sounds more pro-God than announcing you’re against another human, one you don’t know personally.
Incase I wasn’t sure what kind of dumbass I was driving behind; there was another bumper sticker on the back of his gas guzzling SUV; “Bitter Christian clinging to my gun.” Really, maybe it’s time this guy takes a look at his religious beliefs. He’s bitter, he’s angry, and he’s okay with violence. Maybe Christ just isn’t helping as much as he’d like to think.
I know I’ve made my feelings about organized religion pretty clear, and incase you haven’t heard, I’m not a fan. But if that’s what helps someone get thru the day and lead a better life, I can’t complain. I can, however, complain till Jesus comes back when religion is used to forward someone’s agenda of hate.
***
So I caught some sort of stomach bug, and it hasn’t been fun but I’ll spare you the details. My conundrum comes from the fact that I came to work inspite of this bug, and I have some meetings I need to attend. But I’m already worrying about how to deal with the awkard situation that would occur when the “stummy” (that’s what the Kyd calls it” starts-a-bubbling.
Plenty of times I’ve seen someone excuse themselves from a meeting and run to a restroom, but they come back pretty quickly. So you know it’s a #1. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, but that adds more pressure to what’s already a pressure filled situation.
***
Friday night the Kyd had her very first sleep over. Big step right? Also a big headache. I had no idea that little girls could disagree so much, and over such silly things. Who gets to karaoke what song? The wife played referee, and was more partial than most NBA refs, but I’m still amazed that after all the squabbling, they can’t wait to see each other again. I’m told this is normal, which confirms an old belief of mine, there’s not much normal about how women act. I’m going to pay for that one.
But their kiddy drama wasn’t to be outdone by the drama of our guests’ parental units, and that’s using the term loosely. First, her dad brought her over sans shirt. Dress slacks and no shirt, 56 year old man, this isn’t a good look, especially at my front door. Then the next morning when she called her parents, the girl was informed her mom was in the hospital, and told to keep playing. Wonder if there’s any way to put more weight on a 7 year olds shoulders.
So she goes home a few hours later, and we get back to our day. Finally we decide to run an errand, and while getting into our car, we see her mother (not in the hospital) throwing her husbands clothes out onto the sidewalk outside their patio. I don’t think it was spring cleaning, not when their daughter is crying “no, don’t!”
We’re walking a thin line now. We want the girls to have fun, and we know their girl needs a break from that chaos, but we don’t want to become saviors or adoptive parents. It’s just too hard, when you’re literally right next door to that, to keep from getting sucked in.
Seeing all this up close also serves as a shitty reminder of how my nieces and nephews grew up; seeing their parents under the influence, fighting, and acting insane. That’s no way for a kid to grow up. So maybe I can’t have my dream job, deciding who gets to be a parent, and that’s fine. But give the gig to someone, just not someone with bumper stickers.
July 18, 2008
Hirp Joel
Listening to all of the Billy Joel on my iPod this morning, this guy will never get enough credit for the great songs he’s put out. Seriously, this will sound like the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said (and that’s saying something) but I think I treat Coco right, and I think I learned how from Billy’s lyrics. Who do we have like that now? I love hip-hop, but there’s a generation of kids growing up without any singers they can actually turn to for advice. Everyone is way to self centered, even my man, John Mayer. Bubblegum Tongue, c’mon, that isn’t for anything other than getting high school and Frat Boys laid after a few beers. For all those who aren’t sure how to treat their wives/girlfriends, they can learn how by listening to maybe 8 maybe 9 different Billy Joel songs. It’s that easy. This isn’t abstract, its paint by numbers:
“Tell Her About It” for all those too scared to actually open up and risk ridicule from the boys.
“Just The Way You Are” get past all the bullshit, accept someone for who they really are.
“She’s Always a Woman to Me” whoever he sang about, you can’t help but like and fear.
“Laura” She always said he’s the best friend she’s had, how do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad? You don’t.
“Leave a Tender Moment Alone” ‘nuff said.
“Vienna” Tough guy, if you’re so smart, why are you afraid? Mom nagging you won’t help you grow up, but Billy will. Vienna waits for you.
“All for Leyna” and you’ll have the
“Honesty” well, this song works for everyone and every situation.
So hopefully Coco would vouch for me here, and give some validation to this theory.
“Tell Her About It” for all those too scared to actually open up and risk ridicule from the boys.
“Just The Way You Are” get past all the bullshit, accept someone for who they really are.
“She’s Always a Woman to Me” whoever he sang about, you can’t help but like and fear.
“Laura” She always said he’s the best friend she’s had, how do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad? You don’t.
“Leave a Tender Moment Alone” ‘nuff said.
“Vienna” Tough guy, if you’re so smart, why are you afraid? Mom nagging you won’t help you grow up, but Billy will. Vienna waits for you.
“All for Leyna” and you’ll have the
“Honesty” well, this song works for everyone and every situation.
So hopefully Coco would vouch for me here, and give some validation to this theory.
July 16, 2008
Hirplings
So Thursday of last week, I’m feeling pretty good. A lot of work to do, but the hours are flying by before my long weekend starts. I undock my laptop and head off to a meeting, which of course we decide, within 5 minutes of sitting there, this isn’t really necessary. So I head back to my desk, dock my laptop, so I can jet off to lunch, before coming back for two more meetings and then jetting for the weekend. I dock the laptop, and power it up. Click. Click, click, click. Now my laptop sounds more like a hamster is drunk while trying to run on his little wheel. Try again, more clicks. Un-dock, remove battery and try again. More friggin’ clicks. Lunch will be delayed, as I take the laptop to the PC Clinic at work.
Really, they shouldn’t call it a clinic, but a morgue. I’m informed they don’t have any parts, and they’ll have to replace it. Then I was asked if that’s okay. Um, what are my other options exactly? Can I say never mind, and return to my desk with a drunk hamster? Won’t my boss realize I’m not working at some point? How about I just say no, am I fired on the spot? Really, I’ll never understand why they asked if it was okay if they replaced my broken computer.
And of course, they couldn’t salvage anything from my hard drive. Any and all files, e-mails and settings are all gone. Have a good weekend in Chicago, Hirp, because work is going to suck when you get back.
So we went to Chicago, and no trip is complete without a couple of flight delays. Seriously, all flights are delayed now. Can’t they internally schedule a flight for 5pm, but just tell the public it won’t leave till 6pm? Kind of how one may trick a friend that’s always running late to show up somewhere on time.
***
The NFL hired an “expert” to review video tape to determine whether or not players are using gang signs on the field. And I didn’t see this on Careerbuilder.com? Are you shitting me? I’d love that job. He could make some money on the side, by keeping his mouth shut and tipping off the Crips if a visiting team has any Bloods on the roster, or vice versa. Not that I would do that, but remember. MOB. Money over bitches..or was it Member of Bloods…whatever Pac meant.
Really, they shouldn’t call it a clinic, but a morgue. I’m informed they don’t have any parts, and they’ll have to replace it. Then I was asked if that’s okay. Um, what are my other options exactly? Can I say never mind, and return to my desk with a drunk hamster? Won’t my boss realize I’m not working at some point? How about I just say no, am I fired on the spot? Really, I’ll never understand why they asked if it was okay if they replaced my broken computer.
And of course, they couldn’t salvage anything from my hard drive. Any and all files, e-mails and settings are all gone. Have a good weekend in Chicago, Hirp, because work is going to suck when you get back.
So we went to Chicago, and no trip is complete without a couple of flight delays. Seriously, all flights are delayed now. Can’t they internally schedule a flight for 5pm, but just tell the public it won’t leave till 6pm? Kind of how one may trick a friend that’s always running late to show up somewhere on time.
***
The NFL hired an “expert” to review video tape to determine whether or not players are using gang signs on the field. And I didn’t see this on Careerbuilder.com? Are you shitting me? I’d love that job. He could make some money on the side, by keeping his mouth shut and tipping off the Crips if a visiting team has any Bloods on the roster, or vice versa. Not that I would do that, but remember. MOB. Money over bitches..or was it Member of Bloods…whatever Pac meant.
July 08, 2008
Thrips
You like to think that Nicole Kidman left Tom Cruise, because she’s actually some what normal, and wanted nothing to do with a nut job. You don’t really see her linked to scandals, and she puts out well received, yet very boring movies. She appeared to be just about normal, minus the fame, beauty and money.
Then she named her kid “Sunday Rose Kidman Urban” and officially re-entered the looney bin. What the hell gives with celebs giving their kids names, which appear to have one purpose? Getting their kid made fun of. Maybe they were all so tortured growing up, and having a kid who can use the “I’m richer than you” retort is some sort of slap in the face of all those who harassed them as kids. Although, I’m pretty sure making millions accomplished that theoretic-slap years ago.
I hope their kids don’t turn to entertaining as a career move 20 years from now. I refuse to go see a movie staring Suri, Brooklyn, Lourdes, Apple or Sunday.
***
I want to be an honest parent, I think that’s the only way to have a good relationship with anyone. But I don’t want to be so honest that we scare the shit out of the Kyd. Not that we haven’t faced tough decisions before, when/how to tell her we’re getting married and G is moving in, how to react when she relays a comment her dad made that doesn’t sit well with us, among others. But we have a much more sensitive situation now. See we have new neighbors, pretty nice people on the surface. But living in an apartment complex, you can sometimes get a perspective that’s hard to get if you life in a subdivision or “neighborhood.”
Their story has been very public around the pool, as they seem to tell everyone how their house caught fire. Sitting poolside I’ve been directly told, and overheard the story at least six times. And it’s a sad tale. But we also see the family on their patio often, and we see the drinks get downed, and have heard some comments tossed back between the parents. Basically, it isn’t “nice” and we really don’t want to expose the Kyd to that. But they also have a child who is her age, and she’s a very sweet kid.
She was over the other night, and the Kyd let her borrow some and keep some other toys, because she lost so many in the fire. Unbelievably sweet and genuine kyd we have, but we’re stuck. We don’t want her going to their house to play. We’ve seen their child at the pool, without an adult right there (he was in the clubhouse, unacceptable) and we see her awake and outside at 11pm.
Not that we’re perfect parents, or can really judge (although we all do) the parenting styles or choices of others. But we can absolutely decide what will go down in our corner of the woods. The problem is, we have no clue how or what to tell the Kyd. We don’t want to say too much, and let her say something to her friend, which could quickly end their budding friendship. We don’t want to scare her, she’ll be cynical soon enough. But we won’t let her go play there. It’s just not safe, not physically or emotionally. We’re more than happy for them to play at our house, they can have a sleep over and speak in pitches only dogs can understand. That sounds fantastic, and I look forward to all that.
***
So this is funny to me, I saw a headline on a TV I was walking by about President Bush urging leaders to do something or other with Zimbabwe. The Pres isn’t real happy about the violence used to “influence” voters. I guess he would be the expert on how to take an election without violence. Maybe he’ll get a nice consulting gig when his term is up.
Then she named her kid “Sunday Rose Kidman Urban” and officially re-entered the looney bin. What the hell gives with celebs giving their kids names, which appear to have one purpose? Getting their kid made fun of. Maybe they were all so tortured growing up, and having a kid who can use the “I’m richer than you” retort is some sort of slap in the face of all those who harassed them as kids. Although, I’m pretty sure making millions accomplished that theoretic-slap years ago.
I hope their kids don’t turn to entertaining as a career move 20 years from now. I refuse to go see a movie staring Suri, Brooklyn, Lourdes, Apple or Sunday.
***
I want to be an honest parent, I think that’s the only way to have a good relationship with anyone. But I don’t want to be so honest that we scare the shit out of the Kyd. Not that we haven’t faced tough decisions before, when/how to tell her we’re getting married and G is moving in, how to react when she relays a comment her dad made that doesn’t sit well with us, among others. But we have a much more sensitive situation now. See we have new neighbors, pretty nice people on the surface. But living in an apartment complex, you can sometimes get a perspective that’s hard to get if you life in a subdivision or “neighborhood.”
Their story has been very public around the pool, as they seem to tell everyone how their house caught fire. Sitting poolside I’ve been directly told, and overheard the story at least six times. And it’s a sad tale. But we also see the family on their patio often, and we see the drinks get downed, and have heard some comments tossed back between the parents. Basically, it isn’t “nice” and we really don’t want to expose the Kyd to that. But they also have a child who is her age, and she’s a very sweet kid.
She was over the other night, and the Kyd let her borrow some and keep some other toys, because she lost so many in the fire. Unbelievably sweet and genuine kyd we have, but we’re stuck. We don’t want her going to their house to play. We’ve seen their child at the pool, without an adult right there (he was in the clubhouse, unacceptable) and we see her awake and outside at 11pm.
Not that we’re perfect parents, or can really judge (although we all do) the parenting styles or choices of others. But we can absolutely decide what will go down in our corner of the woods. The problem is, we have no clue how or what to tell the Kyd. We don’t want to say too much, and let her say something to her friend, which could quickly end their budding friendship. We don’t want to scare her, she’ll be cynical soon enough. But we won’t let her go play there. It’s just not safe, not physically or emotionally. We’re more than happy for them to play at our house, they can have a sleep over and speak in pitches only dogs can understand. That sounds fantastic, and I look forward to all that.
***
So this is funny to me, I saw a headline on a TV I was walking by about President Bush urging leaders to do something or other with Zimbabwe. The Pres isn’t real happy about the violence used to “influence” voters. I guess he would be the expert on how to take an election without violence. Maybe he’ll get a nice consulting gig when his term is up.
July 01, 2008
Hirplings
I think I should be able to adjust the time on our cable box. I’d like it to be 15 minutes fast, but only from 4pm to 8:30pm. Just so the kyd may get to bed 15 minutes early without putting up a defense that would make R.Kelly jealous. After she falls asleep, I would like for the cable box to return to actual time. There should be a “kid time” setting on everything that tells time.
Those people, you know the ones, they never hold the door open for anyone. I’m wondering what life is like for them. For me, I get stuck in that in-between spot, where I’m not sure if the person behind me is close enough that I should hold the door, or if I do, will I be holding it too long. What would it be like if I wasn’t aware of the person 9 steps behind me? Would I sleep better at night?
Car makers need to invent something that prevents a car from changing lanes for 8 seconds after the driver puts on the turn signal. Attempting to change lanes sooner should either not be allowed, and an electric shock should be sent to their genitals.
A birthday card was just being passed around the office. I signed it “Happy Birthday, I know you won’t read this.” I’m interested to see if she catches it, or if from now on I can start writing what I really think on birthday cards at work.
Whatever happened to GatorGum? That was some good stuff. Near Fruit Stripe level.
Those people, you know the ones, they never hold the door open for anyone. I’m wondering what life is like for them. For me, I get stuck in that in-between spot, where I’m not sure if the person behind me is close enough that I should hold the door, or if I do, will I be holding it too long. What would it be like if I wasn’t aware of the person 9 steps behind me? Would I sleep better at night?
Car makers need to invent something that prevents a car from changing lanes for 8 seconds after the driver puts on the turn signal. Attempting to change lanes sooner should either not be allowed, and an electric shock should be sent to their genitals.
A birthday card was just being passed around the office. I signed it “Happy Birthday, I know you won’t read this.” I’m interested to see if she catches it, or if from now on I can start writing what I really think on birthday cards at work.
Whatever happened to GatorGum? That was some good stuff. Near Fruit Stripe level.
Multiple Hirpasms
So Gen. Wesley Clark has taken a shot (pun: entirely intentional) at Sen. John McCain’s service record. I don’t know the details, nor do I need to, of McCain’s time in the service. If you serve, be it on the front lines, as a pilot, a chef or a secretary, then you deserve all the respect in the world. This coming from the last person on earth, you could expect to see in uniform. But I still have respect for every single one of them, no matter their role. There’s a chance they’ll be in the vicinity of some bullets flying or things blowing up, and as long as it isn’t on the set of a movie, then it takes cajones that most people don’t have. The man was shot down and kept as a prisoner of war, and I hate it if my flight is delayed or if I have to stay in a hotel that only offers single-ply. Clark just cost himself a chance at being Vice President. Way to go, slick.
***
Obama was in lovely Independence, Missouri yesterday. Without a doubt, he’ll now back Kansas in the “Border War.” But this isn’t about all that. He had to defend his patriotism, and that’s as retarded as Corky. We’re back to loyalty, which is what patriotism is, and real loyalty means you see and acknowledge a friends flaws. And it takes a special kind of loyalty to see those flaws, and actually try and do something about them. So his wife said something like, “being proud of my country for the first time in my adult life.”
I hope Obama feels that way, we all should. Not that we’re a completely awful country, but if you look at what we’ve done the past 20 years, there isn’t much to be proud of. I got it, the Cold War ended, and then what? We managed to take that good will and piss of the entire world. It doesn’t mean they are un-American, or anti-American, they just expect better of us. That’s exactly what we need in a leader. Screw “stay the course” when the course if FUBAR.
***
I’m getting sick of the headline: Gas Prices Hit All-Time High. That’s “news’ like when my mom used to tell me the pollen count was high. I want to see a headline that reads something like; “Taking it in the Pooper at the Pump.”
***
Obama was in lovely Independence, Missouri yesterday. Without a doubt, he’ll now back Kansas in the “Border War.” But this isn’t about all that. He had to defend his patriotism, and that’s as retarded as Corky. We’re back to loyalty, which is what patriotism is, and real loyalty means you see and acknowledge a friends flaws. And it takes a special kind of loyalty to see those flaws, and actually try and do something about them. So his wife said something like, “being proud of my country for the first time in my adult life.”
I hope Obama feels that way, we all should. Not that we’re a completely awful country, but if you look at what we’ve done the past 20 years, there isn’t much to be proud of. I got it, the Cold War ended, and then what? We managed to take that good will and piss of the entire world. It doesn’t mean they are un-American, or anti-American, they just expect better of us. That’s exactly what we need in a leader. Screw “stay the course” when the course if FUBAR.
***
I’m getting sick of the headline: Gas Prices Hit All-Time High. That’s “news’ like when my mom used to tell me the pollen count was high. I want to see a headline that reads something like; “Taking it in the Pooper at the Pump.”
June 30, 2008
Loyal Rivals?
Loyalty. For me, it’s the most important trait someone can have, irreplaceable if it’s lacked. So that said, I respect my friends for their loyalty to KU. But there’s a line between loyalty and silly. See, I have three separate friends who all have something in common with their thinking and how they express their loyalty to KU. They all have vowed to never live in the state of Missouri.
I love a good rivalry, but this is taking it too far. Taking it from fun to embarrassing. They all brought up the fact that former MU coach, Norm Stewart, wouldn’t spend the night in Lawrence. Choosing to load the bus after a game, no matter the time, and head back to Columbia. This some how, is seen as a slight to these and other KU fans. To me, it’s simply motivation, as well as smart. So because Norm Stewart wouldn’t spend the night in Kansas, these fans can’t reside in Missouri. They’ll shop, eat and work in Missouri. They’ll go to Worlds of Fun, a Royals game, or the boats in Missouri. They’ll even cheer for a small forward who grew up in Missouri, and had a brother play for MU. But they’re so loyal, and anti-MU, they can’t own land in Missouri.
What better way to one up the Tigers, than to own a slice of their land? That’s better than any “your mama” jokes you can think of.
“Fuck you Tiger, I own part of your state. This land belongs to a KU alumn. We’re takin’ over, bitches.” That’s how you handle a beef/rivalry.
When Tupac and Biggie had their beef, what did Biggie write? “Goin’ back to Cali” after Pac wrote about sleeping with Biggie’s wife. They didn’t talk about avoiding the others land and/or property. They bragged about going there, and showed no fear. So rather than show some balls, these fans cross State Line on occasion, and return home with an item, while their money stays in Missouri. That’s loyalty? Sure, and President Clinton was loyal to Hilary when Monica had a mouth full of Prez.
I know, Missouri was a slave state, but I’m pretty sure none of these Hawks had family in Kansas back then, nor did anyone they know in the state of Missouri have slaves. So, let’s just put that one to rest okay? Remember, Kansas didn’t want to teach evolution and it’s the home of Fred Phelps. You can’t disown those facts, and only look at Missouri’s flaws (which there are plenty).
And best of all, this is only about the fans. Norm Stewart was actually friends with Roy Williams. Drew Gooden and Kareem Rush used to hang out together, in both Lawrence and Columbia. This loyal pledge is one thing, ridiculous. Hey, if you don’t want to live in Missouri because the schools in Kansas are better, or because you enjoy the Dorothy jokes, that’s fine. At least there’s some thing resembling logic behind those ideals.
I have to go, the Kyd needs another KU shirt and hat to wear to camp in Missouri.
I love a good rivalry, but this is taking it too far. Taking it from fun to embarrassing. They all brought up the fact that former MU coach, Norm Stewart, wouldn’t spend the night in Lawrence. Choosing to load the bus after a game, no matter the time, and head back to Columbia. This some how, is seen as a slight to these and other KU fans. To me, it’s simply motivation, as well as smart. So because Norm Stewart wouldn’t spend the night in Kansas, these fans can’t reside in Missouri. They’ll shop, eat and work in Missouri. They’ll go to Worlds of Fun, a Royals game, or the boats in Missouri. They’ll even cheer for a small forward who grew up in Missouri, and had a brother play for MU. But they’re so loyal, and anti-MU, they can’t own land in Missouri.
What better way to one up the Tigers, than to own a slice of their land? That’s better than any “your mama” jokes you can think of.
“Fuck you Tiger, I own part of your state. This land belongs to a KU alumn. We’re takin’ over, bitches.” That’s how you handle a beef/rivalry.
When Tupac and Biggie had their beef, what did Biggie write? “Goin’ back to Cali” after Pac wrote about sleeping with Biggie’s wife. They didn’t talk about avoiding the others land and/or property. They bragged about going there, and showed no fear. So rather than show some balls, these fans cross State Line on occasion, and return home with an item, while their money stays in Missouri. That’s loyalty? Sure, and President Clinton was loyal to Hilary when Monica had a mouth full of Prez.
I know, Missouri was a slave state, but I’m pretty sure none of these Hawks had family in Kansas back then, nor did anyone they know in the state of Missouri have slaves. So, let’s just put that one to rest okay? Remember, Kansas didn’t want to teach evolution and it’s the home of Fred Phelps. You can’t disown those facts, and only look at Missouri’s flaws (which there are plenty).
And best of all, this is only about the fans. Norm Stewart was actually friends with Roy Williams. Drew Gooden and Kareem Rush used to hang out together, in both Lawrence and Columbia. This loyal pledge is one thing, ridiculous. Hey, if you don’t want to live in Missouri because the schools in Kansas are better, or because you enjoy the Dorothy jokes, that’s fine. At least there’s some thing resembling logic behind those ideals.
I have to go, the Kyd needs another KU shirt and hat to wear to camp in Missouri.
Hirpasms
We finally got around to watching Charlie Wilson’s War this weekend. I had looked forward to seeing it ever since reading that Aaron Sorkin penned the screenplay. Very good flick, although not on par with “West Wing” “Sports Night” or A Few Good Men.
Sorkin serves up a lot of food for thought on our current situation in Iraq. This is summed up perfectly with a little story that is told in the movie:
There's a little boy and on his 14th birthday he gets a horse... and everybody in the village says, "how wonderful. the boy got a horse" And the Zen master says, "we'll see." Two years later The boy falls off the horse, breaks his leg, and everybody in the village says, "how terrible." And the Zen master says, "We'll see." Then a war breaks out and all the young men have to go off and fight... except the boy can't cause his legs messed up. and everyone in the village says, "How wonderful."
***
Mike Tyson is 42 today. How many people lost money on him living this long? I still love Mike. With all his craziness and pure insanity, his charming way of butchering the English language and his rap sheet, there’s something very authentic about him. Just like with a lot of the celebs/athletes that I’ve cheered for, he’s very flawed. There are the guys who are flawed, but try to cover it up, and then there are the guys who are either brave enough to show us their true colors, or too scared to try and hide them. I respect the latter. And while we’re talking Tyson, yes, I firmly believe he was innocent of that rape. Guilty of crimes we’ve never heard of, but innocent of that one.
He’s been in the news of late, although a bit under the radar. Seems Mike had a body guard he was very close to, and this guy was up to no good. Rumor has it, he’s the guy that helped make 50 Cent famous. Not by discovering him, or writing for him, but for shooting him. So he ended up dead, and Tyson allegedly put a $50,000 contract on the killer. And in turn, there may now be a contract out on Mike. This happened, allegedly of course, in 2000. Mike’s still here, and now he’s 42.
As Mike told the NY Post, “I already expect the worst to happen... I expect one day somebody'll blow my brains out over some bullshit No one gives a shitt about Mike Tyson. Someone accuses me of a horrible crime, others say, 'Yeah, he's capable of that. Mike probably did it.'"
I can’t wait to see the documentary: Tyson.
Sorkin serves up a lot of food for thought on our current situation in Iraq. This is summed up perfectly with a little story that is told in the movie:
There's a little boy and on his 14th birthday he gets a horse... and everybody in the village says, "how wonderful. the boy got a horse" And the Zen master says, "we'll see." Two years later The boy falls off the horse, breaks his leg, and everybody in the village says, "how terrible." And the Zen master says, "We'll see." Then a war breaks out and all the young men have to go off and fight... except the boy can't cause his legs messed up. and everyone in the village says, "How wonderful."
***
Mike Tyson is 42 today. How many people lost money on him living this long? I still love Mike. With all his craziness and pure insanity, his charming way of butchering the English language and his rap sheet, there’s something very authentic about him. Just like with a lot of the celebs/athletes that I’ve cheered for, he’s very flawed. There are the guys who are flawed, but try to cover it up, and then there are the guys who are either brave enough to show us their true colors, or too scared to try and hide them. I respect the latter. And while we’re talking Tyson, yes, I firmly believe he was innocent of that rape. Guilty of crimes we’ve never heard of, but innocent of that one.
He’s been in the news of late, although a bit under the radar. Seems Mike had a body guard he was very close to, and this guy was up to no good. Rumor has it, he’s the guy that helped make 50 Cent famous. Not by discovering him, or writing for him, but for shooting him. So he ended up dead, and Tyson allegedly put a $50,000 contract on the killer. And in turn, there may now be a contract out on Mike. This happened, allegedly of course, in 2000. Mike’s still here, and now he’s 42.
As Mike told the NY Post, “I already expect the worst to happen... I expect one day somebody'll blow my brains out over some bullshit No one gives a shitt about Mike Tyson. Someone accuses me of a horrible crime, others say, 'Yeah, he's capable of that. Mike probably did it.'"
I can’t wait to see the documentary: Tyson.
June 27, 2008
Hirplings
I’ve often joked to my friends with pets about taking their beloved fur ball to the local Chinese restaurant one day, and having some tasty ribs. Sick and twisted, sure, but they knew that when they decided to be a friend. And when we got our dog, I kidded my wife about having a spending limit to fix any ailments that may one day, um, ale our pup. Originally I said no more than a grand, that came down to $100. She didn’t much care for these jokes, so it may not have been wise to continue to crack them, even yesterday when we realized Riley needed to see a vet.
“Riley girl” as she called by the Kyd, was having a little blood in her urine, and with my wife’s extensive medical knowledge, we decided this was probably not a very good thing. She called it from the start, urinary tract infection. The trip to the vet was much like a trip to a real doctor. There were awkward glances in the waiting room, just between the dogs, and they made sure we received the full wait experience. A solid 20 minutes before getting our name called, and then another 10 minutes in the examination room before the vet came in. He promptly stuck a thermometer up Riley’s bum (and she handled this much better than I would) and asked an assistant to obtain a urine sample. Total time with Vet: 6 minutes. Dog comes back from her walk, and we’re told it’ll be another 10 minutes while they analyze her pee. That 10 minute was really 14 minutes, and the Vet came in and informed me that it was indeed, a urinary tract infection. The damage was $95. I’ve had shits take longer than that. Riley may have had the thermometer up her arse, but I had a similar feeling walking out.
And so I still wonder, what would our “price” be. How much is too much to save an animal? I have a price on what I’d spend to save a parent, and sadly for them, that little fund was spent yesterday afternoon on Riley. Sorry mom and dad. I admit it, I’m a bit sick for thinking about it. But this doggy health care has led me to the idea of becoming a canine-massage therapist. IF people are crazy enough to take their dogs to expensive “doggy hotels” hire therapists when their pets become depressed, and drive while their dog French kisses them, well then I can be a canine-massage therapist. I’m not even totally kidding here.
Sense a theme lately? Hirp wants to get rich.
***
Last night, the family enjoyed some fine dining at a well known, and respected, establishment. Everyone’s favorite House, I-Hop. Yep, that’s how we roll. And the Kyd was enjoying the place mat that doubles as entertainment for a while, and then we joined in. You forget how much fun a paper placemat and two crayons can be. This lead to a family coloring and drawing session back at the ranch, and that was just a ton of fun. Back in the day, I used to really enjoy the arts. I was 13 or so when I gave it up, but I used to think of myself as something like an aspiring artist. Mainly I just wanted to follow in my uncle’s footsteps, and design cars for a living. But it was a lot of fun then, and I realized it’s a lot of fun now. Plus, a six year old thinks the shit I do is actually good. So I have a quick ego boost. Wait till she’s a teenager, and everything I do is retarded.
“Riley girl” as she called by the Kyd, was having a little blood in her urine, and with my wife’s extensive medical knowledge, we decided this was probably not a very good thing. She called it from the start, urinary tract infection. The trip to the vet was much like a trip to a real doctor. There were awkward glances in the waiting room, just between the dogs, and they made sure we received the full wait experience. A solid 20 minutes before getting our name called, and then another 10 minutes in the examination room before the vet came in. He promptly stuck a thermometer up Riley’s bum (and she handled this much better than I would) and asked an assistant to obtain a urine sample. Total time with Vet: 6 minutes. Dog comes back from her walk, and we’re told it’ll be another 10 minutes while they analyze her pee. That 10 minute was really 14 minutes, and the Vet came in and informed me that it was indeed, a urinary tract infection. The damage was $95. I’ve had shits take longer than that. Riley may have had the thermometer up her arse, but I had a similar feeling walking out.
And so I still wonder, what would our “price” be. How much is too much to save an animal? I have a price on what I’d spend to save a parent, and sadly for them, that little fund was spent yesterday afternoon on Riley. Sorry mom and dad. I admit it, I’m a bit sick for thinking about it. But this doggy health care has led me to the idea of becoming a canine-massage therapist. IF people are crazy enough to take their dogs to expensive “doggy hotels” hire therapists when their pets become depressed, and drive while their dog French kisses them, well then I can be a canine-massage therapist. I’m not even totally kidding here.
Sense a theme lately? Hirp wants to get rich.
***
Last night, the family enjoyed some fine dining at a well known, and respected, establishment. Everyone’s favorite House, I-Hop. Yep, that’s how we roll. And the Kyd was enjoying the place mat that doubles as entertainment for a while, and then we joined in. You forget how much fun a paper placemat and two crayons can be. This lead to a family coloring and drawing session back at the ranch, and that was just a ton of fun. Back in the day, I used to really enjoy the arts. I was 13 or so when I gave it up, but I used to think of myself as something like an aspiring artist. Mainly I just wanted to follow in my uncle’s footsteps, and design cars for a living. But it was a lot of fun then, and I realized it’s a lot of fun now. Plus, a six year old thinks the shit I do is actually good. So I have a quick ego boost. Wait till she’s a teenager, and everything I do is retarded.
June 26, 2008
Hirp's Way
The Hirp has been heard. Sometimes I think that only friends are reading this blog, but today I saw firsthand what kind of impact I’m having. Someone high up at Burger King must be a fan, and they don’t work too fast, because it took almost three years till the customer saw some results. And really, it’s that customer that I care about.
As you read http://hirp-com.blogspot.com/2005/10/have-it-your-way.html, it more than bothered me that they only offered “medium” and “large” soft drinks. But thanks to my work, Burger King now rightfully offers a “small” beverage. I ask not for recognition or financial reward, just that they continue to keep the customer in mind. And with in mind, I must share my thoughts on my visit to their fine establishment today.
It’s 2008, and they still haven’t learned that they’re supposed to be “fast food.” The time has come to do away with handing the customer a receipt the length of Tommy Lee, then moving the herd a whole foot away to fill their cups (inferior lids and all). I know they don’t want to be too much like McDonalds, so be the McDonalds we all grew up with. You know, back when they had four, maybe five registers manned, and your order was ready before you finished paying. Back when fast food was fast, and also cheap. I get it, they want us to believe they’re really preparing our food fresh, but if I wanted to wait that long for an order, I’d go some place where I don’t have to pick up after myself, and the ketchup came in a bottle.
As you read http://hirp-com.blogspot.com/2005/10/have-it-your-way.html, it more than bothered me that they only offered “medium” and “large” soft drinks. But thanks to my work, Burger King now rightfully offers a “small” beverage. I ask not for recognition or financial reward, just that they continue to keep the customer in mind. And with in mind, I must share my thoughts on my visit to their fine establishment today.
It’s 2008, and they still haven’t learned that they’re supposed to be “fast food.” The time has come to do away with handing the customer a receipt the length of Tommy Lee, then moving the herd a whole foot away to fill their cups (inferior lids and all). I know they don’t want to be too much like McDonalds, so be the McDonalds we all grew up with. You know, back when they had four, maybe five registers manned, and your order was ready before you finished paying. Back when fast food was fast, and also cheap. I get it, they want us to believe they’re really preparing our food fresh, but if I wanted to wait that long for an order, I’d go some place where I don’t have to pick up after myself, and the ketchup came in a bottle.
June 24, 2008
Hirpality TV
I still feel that Reality TV is the handy work of the devil, even if the devil is a room full of Jewish producers. But lord, I don’t been tempted by the devil. Forgive me, for I have sinned. And I’d like to place all the blame on my wife, thank ya kindly. I know, it’s not her fault, but I’m trying to keep my rep here. See, the other night, we watched a couple episodes of “the Two Coreys.”
It’s not really our fault, it was impossible to not be interested in it, when the previews showed the two guys pushing, pulling and slapping like school girls. We were curious to see these macho men fight it out, or cry it out through a session or two of couples counseling.
And we weren’t disappointed, it was complete trash, and completely hysterical. To hear Corey Feldman say, “when we were on screen together, we were unstoppable.”
Um, you fall just a little short of being Newman and Redford. Like Amy Winehouse falls short on staying sober. Really dude, Lost Boys and License to Drive were cheesy by 80’s standards. And now you’ve made a sequel to Lost Boys, because that was about as necessary as running a sprinkler in Iowa right about now.
The highlight/lowlight came when the boys who success left behind 20 years ago, started comparing molestation tales. Haim put it so eloquently, “you let me get fucked around in my life. Raped, so to speak, when I was 14 and a half.”
Okay, I’m not making light of rape here, but I’ve never heard someone make a statement like that. He was fucked around in life, raped, sorta? What does “so to speak” mean? And why did he tell us he was 14½? I thought the “and a half” ended with 9½. Is this some how more tragic because he was 6 months closer to 15? And Feldman’s defense, was that he was being molested at the same time. I read today that it wasn’t Michael Jackson, but his assistant. Again, I’m not making fun of rape here, but his assistant. Really? Do I need to spell out this joke? I’m so going to hell.
Totally off the subject, did anyone else notice Feldman’s crib? Or that Haim was able to just buy a place with a killer view? These guys can’t have money left from the 80’s, and Paris Hilton has put out better movies in the last 15 years. Man, the life of a has been aint so bad.
Looking at IMDB.com, I have to know who is directing the classic in waiting; Lost Boys: The Tribe. And it’s the great P.J. Pesce, you know him. He directed great movies, like Sniper 3 and From Dusk Till Dawn 3: The Hangman’s Daughter. His mini biography notes that he entered the Graduate Fil School and studied under Martin Scorsese, from who he received honors (which I find hard to believe) and Brian DePalma, from who he received an “F” (which I find very easy to believe). So I’m pretty sure he edited his own imdb.com biography. I bet he even updated his bio on Wikipedia.com. And shockingly, he has an entry there. Wait, this guy sold a screenplay for a record setting $2 million. (the Wikipedia entry has the dollar sign before 2, and says dollars after million; how redundant is that?) He is a “screen writer of note” but according to imdb, he has written episodes for “The Adventures of Chicgo and Guapo” as well as the screenplays for The Desperate Trail (which actually had a respectable cast), Body Waves and The Afterlife of Grandpa.
So a movie he penned hasn’t hit the screen, and it was the TV screen, since 1995. Yes, he’s most definitely a “screen writer of note.” And this blog puts me in the same stratosphere as Chuck Klosterman. And because I’ve played baseball, you can also refer to me as “a baseball player of note.” Wow, I really didn’t mean to spend so much time on P.J. Pesce. I bet he finds this blog, you know he’s going to google his name. Probably does it ever other Thursday.
Last thing about Lost Boys 2, isn’t funding a show for these two, going a little far to promote a movie that is only going to be direct to video? If you want to see a Haim and Feldman classic, rent Blown Away. I’m convinced that Reese Witherspoon stole Nicole Eggerts career. And HBO hasn’t been the same since producing that classic.
Anyway I am, still adamantly, against all contest based Reality TV. I think its all garbage, but I can forgive someone who has been whored out their entire lives for deciding to whore themselves out for another shot at fame. I can’t forgive any pedestrians for whoring themselves out for their 15 minutes. Just get a blog, and get off my Tele.
While I’m in my little reality confessional booth, the one show that is actually decent and worth watching is: Gene Simmons, Family Jewels. It’s amazing how cool, relatively normal and down to earth that family is. And most importantly, they are hysterical.
I'm thinking maybe I didn’t need that last 5 milligrams of Focalin this morning.
It’s not really our fault, it was impossible to not be interested in it, when the previews showed the two guys pushing, pulling and slapping like school girls. We were curious to see these macho men fight it out, or cry it out through a session or two of couples counseling.
And we weren’t disappointed, it was complete trash, and completely hysterical. To hear Corey Feldman say, “when we were on screen together, we were unstoppable.”
Um, you fall just a little short of being Newman and Redford. Like Amy Winehouse falls short on staying sober. Really dude, Lost Boys and License to Drive were cheesy by 80’s standards. And now you’ve made a sequel to Lost Boys, because that was about as necessary as running a sprinkler in Iowa right about now.
The highlight/lowlight came when the boys who success left behind 20 years ago, started comparing molestation tales. Haim put it so eloquently, “you let me get fucked around in my life. Raped, so to speak, when I was 14 and a half.”
Okay, I’m not making light of rape here, but I’ve never heard someone make a statement like that. He was fucked around in life, raped, sorta? What does “so to speak” mean? And why did he tell us he was 14½? I thought the “and a half” ended with 9½. Is this some how more tragic because he was 6 months closer to 15? And Feldman’s defense, was that he was being molested at the same time. I read today that it wasn’t Michael Jackson, but his assistant. Again, I’m not making fun of rape here, but his assistant. Really? Do I need to spell out this joke? I’m so going to hell.
Totally off the subject, did anyone else notice Feldman’s crib? Or that Haim was able to just buy a place with a killer view? These guys can’t have money left from the 80’s, and Paris Hilton has put out better movies in the last 15 years. Man, the life of a has been aint so bad.
Looking at IMDB.com, I have to know who is directing the classic in waiting; Lost Boys: The Tribe. And it’s the great P.J. Pesce, you know him. He directed great movies, like Sniper 3 and From Dusk Till Dawn 3: The Hangman’s Daughter. His mini biography notes that he entered the Graduate Fil School and studied under Martin Scorsese, from who he received honors (which I find hard to believe) and Brian DePalma, from who he received an “F” (which I find very easy to believe). So I’m pretty sure he edited his own imdb.com biography. I bet he even updated his bio on Wikipedia.com. And shockingly, he has an entry there. Wait, this guy sold a screenplay for a record setting $2 million. (the Wikipedia entry has the dollar sign before 2, and says dollars after million; how redundant is that?) He is a “screen writer of note” but according to imdb, he has written episodes for “The Adventures of Chicgo and Guapo” as well as the screenplays for The Desperate Trail (which actually had a respectable cast), Body Waves and The Afterlife of Grandpa.
So a movie he penned hasn’t hit the screen, and it was the TV screen, since 1995. Yes, he’s most definitely a “screen writer of note.” And this blog puts me in the same stratosphere as Chuck Klosterman. And because I’ve played baseball, you can also refer to me as “a baseball player of note.” Wow, I really didn’t mean to spend so much time on P.J. Pesce. I bet he finds this blog, you know he’s going to google his name. Probably does it ever other Thursday.
Last thing about Lost Boys 2, isn’t funding a show for these two, going a little far to promote a movie that is only going to be direct to video? If you want to see a Haim and Feldman classic, rent Blown Away. I’m convinced that Reese Witherspoon stole Nicole Eggerts career. And HBO hasn’t been the same since producing that classic.
Anyway I am, still adamantly, against all contest based Reality TV. I think its all garbage, but I can forgive someone who has been whored out their entire lives for deciding to whore themselves out for another shot at fame. I can’t forgive any pedestrians for whoring themselves out for their 15 minutes. Just get a blog, and get off my Tele.
While I’m in my little reality confessional booth, the one show that is actually decent and worth watching is: Gene Simmons, Family Jewels. It’s amazing how cool, relatively normal and down to earth that family is. And most importantly, they are hysterical.
I'm thinking maybe I didn’t need that last 5 milligrams of Focalin this morning.
June 23, 2008
Penis and Napkins
Kids say the funniest things right? Here’s proof. Yesterday, we were getting ready to head to the pool. That’s how we roll. So I was getting ready to change, so Coco and the Kyd were exiting our room. The Kyd called Riley out of the room, and after the door closed dropped this gem.
“Come on Riley, you don’t need to see daddy’s little penis,” (she calls Coco and I the dogs mommy and daddy)
So Coco, shocked, responded with, “I don’t think you should call it small.”
That was the setup for, “Okay. Riley, you don’t need to see daddy’s big penis” Look, I have an ego, but having a 6 year old say that is creepy and scary.
And so mom quickly responded, “Let’s just call it ‘his privates.’”
***
So now that I would like to find a new job, all I seem to do is see things around me that are making someone else rich. Like today at lunch, I couldn’t help but wonder how the napkin company got started. And I wonder if there is someone out there now, who is itching to turn the napkin business on its collective ear. Maybe I can become the Steve Jobs of napkins. I’ll call them i-Kins. I’ll make them ultra-thin, packaged in a really sleek box and they’ll be overpriced. Just wait till the i-Kin mini hits.
Then maybe it’ll be time to move on to taking on the tray business. I just need to find a way to keep a drink for tipping, and I can revolutionize the trays we all use when we grab fast food. Imagine walking at your normal pace, while keeping an eye on the kids and not once worrying if your drink will tip. I could put the company that makes the lids for McDonalds’ cups out of business. And you know you’ve noticed how those lids are 100 times better than their Burger King counterparts.
“Come on Riley, you don’t need to see daddy’s little penis,” (she calls Coco and I the dogs mommy and daddy)
So Coco, shocked, responded with, “I don’t think you should call it small.”
That was the setup for, “Okay. Riley, you don’t need to see daddy’s big penis” Look, I have an ego, but having a 6 year old say that is creepy and scary.
And so mom quickly responded, “Let’s just call it ‘his privates.’”
***
So now that I would like to find a new job, all I seem to do is see things around me that are making someone else rich. Like today at lunch, I couldn’t help but wonder how the napkin company got started. And I wonder if there is someone out there now, who is itching to turn the napkin business on its collective ear. Maybe I can become the Steve Jobs of napkins. I’ll call them i-Kins. I’ll make them ultra-thin, packaged in a really sleek box and they’ll be overpriced. Just wait till the i-Kin mini hits.
Then maybe it’ll be time to move on to taking on the tray business. I just need to find a way to keep a drink for tipping, and I can revolutionize the trays we all use when we grab fast food. Imagine walking at your normal pace, while keeping an eye on the kids and not once worrying if your drink will tip. I could put the company that makes the lids for McDonalds’ cups out of business. And you know you’ve noticed how those lids are 100 times better than their Burger King counterparts.
2Hirp
On the way into work today, I was again listening to the radio (not Mike & Mike, that wasn’t on and I am investigating) anyway, the story they told was of a few false HIV positive tests in New York. It seems that about 200 people were wrongly informed that they tested positive for HIV. Holy fuck nuts! I can’t even imagine. First, how would I react? Other than poorly, I really have no idea. Then you have to wonder how many of those 200 started informing their former and current partners, and they may have informed some of their partners. This is like the sickest game of “telephone” ever. And then it ends with “Oh, oops, our bad. Um, sorry, but look on the bright side, you don’t have HIV.” I’d quit before having to make that call. I’m not sure which job is worse, making the call to tell someone they have a life threatening disease, or the call to apologize for getting it wrong.
***
Let the day dreaming begin. My buddy Mike just announced a date and location for his upcoming wedding, and Coco and I will be headed to St. Thomas next May. Needless to say, we’re thrilled. We could really get used to this whole jet setting thing. Now I just have to hope that we some how see gas prices plummet, so we can afford this thing.
***
Let the day dreaming begin. My buddy Mike just announced a date and location for his upcoming wedding, and Coco and I will be headed to St. Thomas next May. Needless to say, we’re thrilled. We could really get used to this whole jet setting thing. Now I just have to hope that we some how see gas prices plummet, so we can afford this thing.
June 19, 2008
Hirplings
I know this much, it isn’t going to be fun. I’ve had a root canal, but I must have blocked out the experience, because I have no recollection of the procedure itself. I do remember thinking, “that wasn’t the worst thing ever,” but I no longer believe myself. I am now convinced this is going to be more painful than when I broke my back, scarier than being carjacked, and last longer than high school. That’s my very own un-holy trinity. If I believed in Hell, those would be three of the lowest rings. I know it makes me a giant cry baby, and I really don’t care. I’m working hard at freaking myself out, and I won’t be denied. So I have that going for me, which is nice.
***
Yesterday I applied for a job online, and the job sounds pretty good, so I have no real shot at getting it. Not just because it sounds good, but because my resume isn’t good enough. My work experience should get me in the running, I’d think so anyway, but there’s one very small section which is my Achilles heel. The lack of a degree, I’ve known all my life, would hold me back. So on part of the online application, they asked for a summary of my academic experience. I wanted to simply answer “brief.” But that didn’t seem like enough of an answer. So I stated the facts, I went to KU, but I didn’t graduate, and so to summarize my experience; it was “brief.” Figure I’m screwed if they just look as see a goose egg in the degree section of their scorecard, so I might as well try and give an answer that stands out more than, or as much as, Bachelors from University of Missouri. Oh, that reminds me, after telling them it was “brief” I went on to say “could be worse, I could have a degree from Kansas State.” I need to hire an editor who will keep me from saying something so stupid. I just hope their HR person hates Kansas State with a passion. Or hates KU so much, they want to bring me in for an interview, just to humiliate me. At least that would give me something to blog about.
***
Yesterday I applied for a job online, and the job sounds pretty good, so I have no real shot at getting it. Not just because it sounds good, but because my resume isn’t good enough. My work experience should get me in the running, I’d think so anyway, but there’s one very small section which is my Achilles heel. The lack of a degree, I’ve known all my life, would hold me back. So on part of the online application, they asked for a summary of my academic experience. I wanted to simply answer “brief.” But that didn’t seem like enough of an answer. So I stated the facts, I went to KU, but I didn’t graduate, and so to summarize my experience; it was “brief.” Figure I’m screwed if they just look as see a goose egg in the degree section of their scorecard, so I might as well try and give an answer that stands out more than, or as much as, Bachelors from University of Missouri. Oh, that reminds me, after telling them it was “brief” I went on to say “could be worse, I could have a degree from Kansas State.” I need to hire an editor who will keep me from saying something so stupid. I just hope their HR person hates Kansas State with a passion. Or hates KU so much, they want to bring me in for an interview, just to humiliate me. At least that would give me something to blog about.
June 16, 2008
Happy Hirp Hard On
Flipping through the channels this weekend, I came across the Christian Slater classic, Pump Up the Volume. This movie is ripe for a re-make. The angst ridden 90’s teen had to use a pirate radio station to get his voice heard, and turn his community on their ear. Today, that could easily be an angst ridden teen that uses either a blog or Podcast, to do the same. All the greatest themes have been used up, and turned into theme parks.
***
Now that we have a dog, we’ve become avid watchers of “The Dog Whisper,” great show. So great, that I’ve decided to make my own, “The Wife Whisper.” Instead of “siss’ing” (best way I could describe the sound Cesar makes) and poking wives in the ribs (I can’t see that going well for any husband) I believe in a soft tap on the nose, to redirect her behavior. Of course, this would inevitably, lead to “The Husband Whisperer” and I fear it would be a flick to a testy, to redirect a husband who lacks discipline. In the end, we’d all be better off if these just ended up as skits on an SNL-like show. Just not SNL, please, I’m begging you. This is funny enough, that people should actually see it.
***
Tonight marks the return of “Weeds.” ‘Bout damn time too, I can’t wait. Although I wasn’t very happy with how last year went, I have high hopes that they’ll right the ship. Albert Brooks joins the show as her father-in law, who helps her break the law. After “Weeds” Showtime will debut their newest show, “Secret Diary of a Call Girl” Which has been unavoidable, and highly anticipated since “the Sopranos.” Really, when we saw how well received a sociopathic mobster was, every guy started to dream of the day we’d see the every day life of a call girl. Wonder how many episodes we have to wait till we get the Eliot Spitzer-inspired show.
***
Now that we have a dog, we’ve become avid watchers of “The Dog Whisper,” great show. So great, that I’ve decided to make my own, “The Wife Whisper.” Instead of “siss’ing” (best way I could describe the sound Cesar makes) and poking wives in the ribs (I can’t see that going well for any husband) I believe in a soft tap on the nose, to redirect her behavior. Of course, this would inevitably, lead to “The Husband Whisperer” and I fear it would be a flick to a testy, to redirect a husband who lacks discipline. In the end, we’d all be better off if these just ended up as skits on an SNL-like show. Just not SNL, please, I’m begging you. This is funny enough, that people should actually see it.
***
Tonight marks the return of “Weeds.” ‘Bout damn time too, I can’t wait. Although I wasn’t very happy with how last year went, I have high hopes that they’ll right the ship. Albert Brooks joins the show as her father-in law, who helps her break the law. After “Weeds” Showtime will debut their newest show, “Secret Diary of a Call Girl” Which has been unavoidable, and highly anticipated since “the Sopranos.” Really, when we saw how well received a sociopathic mobster was, every guy started to dream of the day we’d see the every day life of a call girl. Wonder how many episodes we have to wait till we get the Eliot Spitzer-inspired show.
June 12, 2008
Hirp'ed
I think we are officially screwed. I knew it would happen, but I figured we had a good 6 or 7 years, and she’d figure it out as a teenager. But the kid is smart, too friggin’ smart. For the past two weeks or so, bedtime has become the battle grounds. With the 6 ½ year old always getting “scared,” so scared that she can’t fall asleep. About 7 months ago, we worked with her, so she could fall asleep without her mom in the room. She did great, with few hiccups along the way.
Then we came back from a weekend in Branson, in which we shared a room with the kid. And since then she has been unable, or unwilling, to fall asleep alone. Coco or I will sit on the floor, and she’ll look over her shoulder every few minutes to make sure we’re still there. She’s a stubborn, determined little booger. Man, I love that about her. Well, 95% of the time anyway.
See, about six weeks ago we had a tornado scare, and to be “truthful G” (as I’m told I need to be) she was a bit scared that night. Hell, I was a little nervous that night. But for the following weeks she was fine at bedtime. Then it started, and it doesn’t seem to stop. She seems to forget about it all day, until we mention bedtime. And she either talks herself into be scared again, or she just flips a switch and turns on the drama. She could be looking at a future Oscar. It isn’t just rainy nights, but she gets scared on picture perfect nights. And there is no calming her and returning to the couch.
And it isn’t that we’re screwed because of the lack of sleep, although it doesn’t help. We’re screwed because she learned, way too early, that we can’t really do a damn thing. We can tell her we’re disappointed, take away toys and prized stuffed animals. But we can’t really do shit. Not just us, but all parents, unless you’re the asshole kind of parents that hit. Once a kid realizes, they can act like shits, doing what they want, and we may yell or get mad, but still love them. That’s when they win, that’s the end game.
Then we came back from a weekend in Branson, in which we shared a room with the kid. And since then she has been unable, or unwilling, to fall asleep alone. Coco or I will sit on the floor, and she’ll look over her shoulder every few minutes to make sure we’re still there. She’s a stubborn, determined little booger. Man, I love that about her. Well, 95% of the time anyway.
See, about six weeks ago we had a tornado scare, and to be “truthful G” (as I’m told I need to be) she was a bit scared that night. Hell, I was a little nervous that night. But for the following weeks she was fine at bedtime. Then it started, and it doesn’t seem to stop. She seems to forget about it all day, until we mention bedtime. And she either talks herself into be scared again, or she just flips a switch and turns on the drama. She could be looking at a future Oscar. It isn’t just rainy nights, but she gets scared on picture perfect nights. And there is no calming her and returning to the couch.
And it isn’t that we’re screwed because of the lack of sleep, although it doesn’t help. We’re screwed because she learned, way too early, that we can’t really do a damn thing. We can tell her we’re disappointed, take away toys and prized stuffed animals. But we can’t really do shit. Not just us, but all parents, unless you’re the asshole kind of parents that hit. Once a kid realizes, they can act like shits, doing what they want, and we may yell or get mad, but still love them. That’s when they win, that’s the end game.
June 11, 2008
Hirp Night at the "K"
I’ve been a baseball fan, and going to games, for 24 years and last night spoiled me. I’ve been lucky enough to sit in Shea (many would argue how lucky that makes me) right on top of the first base dugout, I’ve sat in the bleachers at Wrigley and had some pretty choice seats on the third base side there too. But last night we sat in the 4th row behind home plate, and I’ll probably never have such good seats again. This might ruin, or at best, lessen my future trips to the ballpark.
We sat in plush, movie theatre style, chairs. Our food and drinks were included in the price of the tickets (which were free to us) and we had a nice restaurant we could sit in. Much like the Arrowhead club, only it wasn’t packed like my Arrowhead experiences, which made it feel even more exclusive. And lets be honest, most people in the Arrowhead Club aren’t there to watch, they just want to be seen. And that’s the best thing about the seats we had. Maybe it’s my ADD, but sitting in any other seats, I often find myself people watching as much as I watch the game. But we were closer to home plate last night than the pitcher. Sure, when the ball is actually in play, it’s harder to see the action. But 90% of the action in a baseball game happens at home.
Some of the highlights for the evening came from the group of four middle aged women that sat next to us, and the foul comments that flew freely. They should be doing the commentary for every Royals game, just put them in the booth. But make sure someone is ready to hit the bleep button early and often. Royals’ player hits a foul ball in the 9th inning, “nice hit, fucking idiot.”
The only issue of the night was when my mother in-law called my wife, to let her know she saw her on TV, and asked her to wave. For a brief moment, we were those people. Sorry.
Next year, I’m hoping the Mets come to town, and I need to have these seats for that series. That’s right; I’ll be the guy right behind home plate with the hat of the visiting team.
June 09, 2008
Tooth Things
On my old school list of ten things I hate, I didn’t mention the Dentist. I don’t know what I was thinking; I guess it’s just a no brainer. But I hate the dentist; I am a rabid anti-dentite. They’re sick and twisted individuals (as a group of) who are just plain mean. So last week when I started getting a really bad tooth-ache, I was less than thrilled. Never mind the throbbing pain, that’s manageable, but having to deal with the dentist, that’s pretty much the last thing I want to do. I’d rather grow a skullet. See I can say that, but I know Mrs. Hirp would never allow such a thing to happen.
So this morning, I did my best Dead Man Walking as I approached my new dentist, and awaited the verdict. The gavel slams: root canal, two of them. Fuck. Not only is this going to be about as pleasant as, well, a trip to the dentist, it’s going to cost a couple of grand. Let’s see, I could have a kick ass flat screen TV, a new Xbox 360 and a Wii, take the wife purse and shoe shopping and go out for a nice steak. Or I can sit and be miserable. I will now set myself on fire, and then jump into a pool of gasoline.
Next Thursday is my very own D-Day. And just to make it interesting, my old friend, Bum, is in town that night, and we have plans to go out to eat with he and his wife. Nothing makes more sense than to have BBQ after having some dental work done. I figure there’s a better than average chance that I chew off half of my face, because the Novocain will still be working.
***
Okay, gas prices have gotten to the point that I think I have to make this request. It isn’t going to do much for us, but it’s at least something. Let’s get rid of that 9/10ths of a cent, and drop the price back from 3.99 and 9/10ths to just $3.99 per gallon. Give us that much. Give me back 13 cents per visit, you can do that much, you greedy fuckwads.
So this morning, I did my best Dead Man Walking as I approached my new dentist, and awaited the verdict. The gavel slams: root canal, two of them. Fuck. Not only is this going to be about as pleasant as, well, a trip to the dentist, it’s going to cost a couple of grand. Let’s see, I could have a kick ass flat screen TV, a new Xbox 360 and a Wii, take the wife purse and shoe shopping and go out for a nice steak. Or I can sit and be miserable. I will now set myself on fire, and then jump into a pool of gasoline.
Next Thursday is my very own D-Day. And just to make it interesting, my old friend, Bum, is in town that night, and we have plans to go out to eat with he and his wife. Nothing makes more sense than to have BBQ after having some dental work done. I figure there’s a better than average chance that I chew off half of my face, because the Novocain will still be working.
***
Okay, gas prices have gotten to the point that I think I have to make this request. It isn’t going to do much for us, but it’s at least something. Let’s get rid of that 9/10ths of a cent, and drop the price back from 3.99 and 9/10ths to just $3.99 per gallon. Give us that much. Give me back 13 cents per visit, you can do that much, you greedy fuckwads.
June 06, 2008
From the Hirp
This morning I signed on to AOL (sorry, but I helped fund that company and I won’t leave now) and there was a story about a hit and run in Hartford, Connecticut. There’s video of the bizarre and barbaric incident below, and you have to watch it. I’m not going to be like every other blogger today who heard about it, and rant about how far gone society is, to allow something like this to happen. Just watch the clip.
***
This weekend I’m helping my folks with a garage sale, a long over-due garage sale at that. We’re hoping to sell the couch from my days as a bachelor, as well as some two coffee tables and an end table. The small stuff would be great to move, but mainly I just don’t want to have to move the heavy shit again. So that’ll be my Saturday morning and afternoon. Sunday, the plan is to just hang around the pool and do a whole lot of nothing. It’s been a while since we had a weekend of nothing. You forget how great those weekends can be.
“Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wall paper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.”
***
And take a minute to say “hi” to Riley. We had talked about getting a dog for a while, just after we moved into a house. At one point we had decided to get two dogs, and name them “Frank” and “Dean.” But that idea was scratched, when it was decided that a female dog made more sense. So for fun, we kicked around names, and kept coming back to “Brooklyn.” A name we both loved, even though as my cousin pointed out, I am not from Brooklyn. Sorry cuz, I can’t name her Long Island. But I think we’re sticking with Riley, there’s just too much guilt in changing her name now.
***
This weekend I’m helping my folks with a garage sale, a long over-due garage sale at that. We’re hoping to sell the couch from my days as a bachelor, as well as some two coffee tables and an end table. The small stuff would be great to move, but mainly I just don’t want to have to move the heavy shit again. So that’ll be my Saturday morning and afternoon. Sunday, the plan is to just hang around the pool and do a whole lot of nothing. It’s been a while since we had a weekend of nothing. You forget how great those weekends can be.
“Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wall paper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.”
***
And take a minute to say “hi” to Riley. We had talked about getting a dog for a while, just after we moved into a house. At one point we had decided to get two dogs, and name them “Frank” and “Dean.” But that idea was scratched, when it was decided that a female dog made more sense. So for fun, we kicked around names, and kept coming back to “Brooklyn.” A name we both loved, even though as my cousin pointed out, I am not from Brooklyn. Sorry cuz, I can’t name her Long Island. But I think we’re sticking with Riley, there’s just too much guilt in changing her name now.
June 05, 2008
Running Diary, Game 1
7:54pm James Taylor sings the National Anthem. Puts everyone to sleep, good call, Boston.
7:56pm Lakers are being introduced, its Led Zep and P.Diddy doing one of his remixes from the late 90s. Mistake number two.
7:57pm The suspense is building, some montage of Celtic highlights is being played, and capped with a KG scream. This is better..oh wait, Paul Pierce just yelled “Let Me Hear It!!” And then we get 50 Cent and Justin Timberlake “Ayo Technology” A song about seduction by a New Yorker and a former boy band member, that’s what you’re going with? Someone needs to get fired in Boston. It’s Boston, go with Aerosmith or even New Kids for crying out loud!
8:00pm So far everyone looks scared. There isn’t one guy that looks confident, maybe they’re too worried about remembering all the steps to their handshakes.
8:01pm So it’s 6pm in LA, wonder if anyone’s working there. I firmly believe both teams should be wearing throwback uniforms. Lets see if Kobe can drop 40 with hits nuts on full display.
8:03pm That’s gotta suck, the guy from ABC has a band-aid on his forehead. Of all the days to get a zit. Oh well, no idea who he is anyway.
8:06pm Two pep talks that made me want to take a shit. If you can’t think of something better than that, just play a clip from Rudy.
8:07pm Our first weather interruption. Gonna be a shitty night.
8:09pm “Lisa’s iced coffee,” retarded ad. I hope Lisa chokes on her iced coffee.
8:10pm And we’re underway..my prediction, LA 99 Bos 94. Kobe goes for 32
7:56pm Lakers are being introduced, its Led Zep and P.Diddy doing one of his remixes from the late 90s. Mistake number two.
7:57pm The suspense is building, some montage of Celtic highlights is being played, and capped with a KG scream. This is better..oh wait, Paul Pierce just yelled “Let Me Hear It!!” And then we get 50 Cent and Justin Timberlake “Ayo Technology” A song about seduction by a New Yorker and a former boy band member, that’s what you’re going with? Someone needs to get fired in Boston. It’s Boston, go with Aerosmith or even New Kids for crying out loud!
8:00pm So far everyone looks scared. There isn’t one guy that looks confident, maybe they’re too worried about remembering all the steps to their handshakes.
8:01pm So it’s 6pm in LA, wonder if anyone’s working there. I firmly believe both teams should be wearing throwback uniforms. Lets see if Kobe can drop 40 with hits nuts on full display.
8:03pm That’s gotta suck, the guy from ABC has a band-aid on his forehead. Of all the days to get a zit. Oh well, no idea who he is anyway.
8:06pm Two pep talks that made me want to take a shit. If you can’t think of something better than that, just play a clip from Rudy.
8:07pm Our first weather interruption. Gonna be a shitty night.
8:09pm “Lisa’s iced coffee,” retarded ad. I hope Lisa chokes on her iced coffee.
8:10pm And we’re underway..my prediction, LA 99 Bos 94. Kobe goes for 32
June 02, 2008
Hirp Doggy Dog
Sharon Stone is catching some hell for some retarded comments she made about the earthquake in China, and all I want to know is: who the hell thought it would be a good idea to ask Sharon effin’ Stone about China? Seriously, whatever paper that hack works for, should be shut down. A Pulitzer they won’t win, but they’re in serious contention for “Irrelevant Question of the Year.” The problem, isn’t that celebrities have an opinion on current events, is that we ask them what their opinion is. If that earthquake was karma, what was Basic Instinct 2? In fact the only karma may explain for Ms. Stone, is her career.
***
I’m not ashamed, I’m not denying it and I won’t lie about it. I saw Sex in the City, that’s right, I said it. Mock me all you want, I know you will, and I just don’t care. It isn’t that I’m some fan of the show, or thought it was a fantastic movie (it was pretty good though) I was interested in seeing the movie, because I wanted to see how they pulled off giving a television show it’s grand finale on the big screen. And I think they pulled it off. I occasionally watched the show, so I know how it was put together, and I wanted to see if the writers could stay true to that. Or if they’d do the cash in thing we’ve seen from every 70’s show that’s been remixed into a big budget piece of shit in the past six or seven years. Seeing that they pulled this off gives me confidence and hope, that just maybe we haven’t seen the last of Tony Soprano.
***
Lastly, we have a new editition to the family. And it’s a girl! That’s right, we got a dog. Pretty friggin’ great dog too. But the real fun is tonight, when the kid meets the dog for the first time. She has no idea we have her, so her reaction is going to be legen..wait for it..dary.
***
I’m not ashamed, I’m not denying it and I won’t lie about it. I saw Sex in the City, that’s right, I said it. Mock me all you want, I know you will, and I just don’t care. It isn’t that I’m some fan of the show, or thought it was a fantastic movie (it was pretty good though) I was interested in seeing the movie, because I wanted to see how they pulled off giving a television show it’s grand finale on the big screen. And I think they pulled it off. I occasionally watched the show, so I know how it was put together, and I wanted to see if the writers could stay true to that. Or if they’d do the cash in thing we’ve seen from every 70’s show that’s been remixed into a big budget piece of shit in the past six or seven years. Seeing that they pulled this off gives me confidence and hope, that just maybe we haven’t seen the last of Tony Soprano.
***
Lastly, we have a new editition to the family. And it’s a girl! That’s right, we got a dog. Pretty friggin’ great dog too. But the real fun is tonight, when the kid meets the dog for the first time. She has no idea we have her, so her reaction is going to be legen..wait for it..dary.
May 29, 2008
From the Hirp
It’s happened for a second time, and it’s even more annoying this time. Downtown Lee’s Summit is this really great little area, there’s some fantastic houses that Coco and I love, some good food, and neat shops. We love the area, and would one day like to live down there. About a month ago one of the cooler houses had a “For Rent” sign out front. So we stopped and picked up the flyer, which really didn’t help us at all. Not because it lacked info or anything, but it actually sounded even better. Stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors, big pluses for us. And the rent was really pretty reasonable. But shit, we know getting the place is the wrong decision.
We passed on it, and it was the smart move. As much as it sucks, we’re wanting to save for a house of our own. How many more stories can there be about this being the time to buy? Well, sure it is, if you have the loot, which we don’t right now. And to be honest, I could have a little more job security. I’ll admit it, I’ve been careless with my money. Not just occasionally, pretty much from 18 to 30, I was a complete idiot. So now, as embarrassing as it is, we’re paying the price for my stupidity. And that sucks, because I’d love to get us in a house.
And that’s why renting one is so tempting. Sure it would delay us owning one, but at least we’d be in a house until then. Apartments are fine, and the single Hirp, preferred apartment or at least, condo living. But that’s not me anymore. The things I want have changed, and I want room so the kid can have friends over, and even we can have company over. But we can’t move the kid again, that just wouldn’t be fair to her. That’d be down right shitty to do to her.
So of course, as I was driving through downtown last night, one of the houses we like most had that “for rent” sign in the front lawn. That damn sign just stood there, mocking me, taunting me and making me feel like shit. I don’t need a sign for that, that’s what my friends do. Oh, but if we had a house, our friends could come mock me and taunt me in the comfort of my own home. Damn you sign, revenge will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine. It may come in the form of my car running you down, or it may not. But I will have my revenge, rven if it’s just taking the dog for a walk, and letting her piss all over the sign. Maybe I’ll do it myself.
We passed on it, and it was the smart move. As much as it sucks, we’re wanting to save for a house of our own. How many more stories can there be about this being the time to buy? Well, sure it is, if you have the loot, which we don’t right now. And to be honest, I could have a little more job security. I’ll admit it, I’ve been careless with my money. Not just occasionally, pretty much from 18 to 30, I was a complete idiot. So now, as embarrassing as it is, we’re paying the price for my stupidity. And that sucks, because I’d love to get us in a house.
And that’s why renting one is so tempting. Sure it would delay us owning one, but at least we’d be in a house until then. Apartments are fine, and the single Hirp, preferred apartment or at least, condo living. But that’s not me anymore. The things I want have changed, and I want room so the kid can have friends over, and even we can have company over. But we can’t move the kid again, that just wouldn’t be fair to her. That’d be down right shitty to do to her.
So of course, as I was driving through downtown last night, one of the houses we like most had that “for rent” sign in the front lawn. That damn sign just stood there, mocking me, taunting me and making me feel like shit. I don’t need a sign for that, that’s what my friends do. Oh, but if we had a house, our friends could come mock me and taunt me in the comfort of my own home. Damn you sign, revenge will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine. It may come in the form of my car running you down, or it may not. But I will have my revenge, rven if it’s just taking the dog for a walk, and letting her piss all over the sign. Maybe I’ll do it myself.
May 28, 2008
Tuesday Night Drama
By all appearances, it was just a typical Tuesday night, with a few subtle differences. There was no work Monday, so it kind of felt like a Monday night, and I had some work to do on a project. Nothing really out of the ordinary in any of that, except the whole me working story line. But then bed time came, which has been a big of an adventure the past few nights. The kid has been claiming to be pretty scared, and unable to go to sleep. It turns into a battle of wills, and we’ll never question how strong her will is. But there was a feeling that there was something more to her fears.
She claimed it was tornados, but it’s been about a month since we had to hide out in the shower while the sirens went off one night, and she hasn’t had trouble till now. Coco and I discussed the possibility that she’s actually scared or upset about school coming to an end, because she’s going to be going to summer school at a new school, and then next year, she’ll attend that new school. But she never mentioned it, and we were afraid to lead her down that path.
Then last night hit, and out came everything she thought. She wasn’t talking about being scared of any tornadoes, she was scared of change. She wanted to go back to when her mommy would lay with her every night until she drifted off to sleep. This happened back when Coco and I were only dating. She even went as far to say that I made her start going to bed without her mommy, and she just wants things to be like they were. And now everything has changed, and she doesn’t want anymore change. This is when I asked her if she’s worried about starting a new school, and she said yes.
For the most part, I don’t think this all came from her, and only her. I think there may have been some coaching from a third party, and to be honest, that blows. But I do believe, and understand, that the kid has seen some major changes in her life in the last 14 months or so. And it isn’t that she wants to undo those changes, she just doesn’t want to change schools. I can’t blame her; I hated changing schools, just as I still hate changing jobs. Change sucks for the most part.
But I would rather Jeff Gilluli take a whack at my knee with a crow-bar. I’d volunteer to have someone give me paper-cuts between my toes, stand in a pool of alcohol and have a donkey kick me in the nuts while watching Nascar in my very own Zubaz, than see this little girl so scared and upset. Just as I’m sure every good parent, feels the same way. And if you think, well, some parents actually enjoy Nascar and Zubaz (can you have one without the other?), remember that I specifically said “good parents” for a reason.
She'll be fine, there's more change coming this weekend. But she'll be happy about the new addition to the fam...not THAT kind. We're looking to get a dog, and hope to get her Sunday.
She claimed it was tornados, but it’s been about a month since we had to hide out in the shower while the sirens went off one night, and she hasn’t had trouble till now. Coco and I discussed the possibility that she’s actually scared or upset about school coming to an end, because she’s going to be going to summer school at a new school, and then next year, she’ll attend that new school. But she never mentioned it, and we were afraid to lead her down that path.
Then last night hit, and out came everything she thought. She wasn’t talking about being scared of any tornadoes, she was scared of change. She wanted to go back to when her mommy would lay with her every night until she drifted off to sleep. This happened back when Coco and I were only dating. She even went as far to say that I made her start going to bed without her mommy, and she just wants things to be like they were. And now everything has changed, and she doesn’t want anymore change. This is when I asked her if she’s worried about starting a new school, and she said yes.
For the most part, I don’t think this all came from her, and only her. I think there may have been some coaching from a third party, and to be honest, that blows. But I do believe, and understand, that the kid has seen some major changes in her life in the last 14 months or so. And it isn’t that she wants to undo those changes, she just doesn’t want to change schools. I can’t blame her; I hated changing schools, just as I still hate changing jobs. Change sucks for the most part.
But I would rather Jeff Gilluli take a whack at my knee with a crow-bar. I’d volunteer to have someone give me paper-cuts between my toes, stand in a pool of alcohol and have a donkey kick me in the nuts while watching Nascar in my very own Zubaz, than see this little girl so scared and upset. Just as I’m sure every good parent, feels the same way. And if you think, well, some parents actually enjoy Nascar and Zubaz (can you have one without the other?), remember that I specifically said “good parents” for a reason.
She'll be fine, there's more change coming this weekend. But she'll be happy about the new addition to the fam...not THAT kind. We're looking to get a dog, and hope to get her Sunday.
May 22, 2008
Thanks, Ma
I thank my mother for this. My wife probably doesn’t, and truth is, I’m not all that thankful for this little gift. It could be anxiety, not really paranoia, just a mind that worries too much. My mom is an early riser, doesn’t help that she gets in bed by 7:30. Okay, that’s not true, but, no later than 9, I shit you not. And then she gets up by 6am, and that’s sleeping in.
Then there are her “mornings” much like the one I’m having. They come along when there’s something going on at work that causes some stress. A deadline, some extra responsibility because someone is out of the office, or some sort of change. Then she’s up by 4am, and that’s the official “got physically out of bed” time. That doesn’t count for the two hours spent staring at the clock, justifying when she should get up.
And today, I am most definitely my mother’s son. With a pretty visible project going on at work, and lots of important eyes on me, and very little time to get this done, I woke up early. Hella early. I actually left the house a little before 5am today, and I know chances are I’ll get this done by 11, but I couldn’t chance it. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to rest enough to make it beneficial to me. So I dressed in the dark, made coffee by the light of my cell phone (its not for me, just my morning ritual, I’m the coffee guy), said my good-byes and hit the triangle.
And as much as I’ll be hating life at 2pm, hoping for a nap, I still kinda like this. There’s something really peaceful about being up so early. The Ritalin kicking in, so I’m not dosing, the anxious feeling my stomach that doubts I can pull this off, and the empty highway. I’m stuck somewhere between being someone who hates morning with a passion, and someone who likes to get an early start on the day.
But one thing I know for sure, is I love my naps. I just hope I get one in today, or I probably just screwed up my entire long weekend. My internal-clock may not get right for days.
Then there are her “mornings” much like the one I’m having. They come along when there’s something going on at work that causes some stress. A deadline, some extra responsibility because someone is out of the office, or some sort of change. Then she’s up by 4am, and that’s the official “got physically out of bed” time. That doesn’t count for the two hours spent staring at the clock, justifying when she should get up.
And today, I am most definitely my mother’s son. With a pretty visible project going on at work, and lots of important eyes on me, and very little time to get this done, I woke up early. Hella early. I actually left the house a little before 5am today, and I know chances are I’ll get this done by 11, but I couldn’t chance it. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to rest enough to make it beneficial to me. So I dressed in the dark, made coffee by the light of my cell phone (its not for me, just my morning ritual, I’m the coffee guy), said my good-byes and hit the triangle.
And as much as I’ll be hating life at 2pm, hoping for a nap, I still kinda like this. There’s something really peaceful about being up so early. The Ritalin kicking in, so I’m not dosing, the anxious feeling my stomach that doubts I can pull this off, and the empty highway. I’m stuck somewhere between being someone who hates morning with a passion, and someone who likes to get an early start on the day.
But one thing I know for sure, is I love my naps. I just hope I get one in today, or I probably just screwed up my entire long weekend. My internal-clock may not get right for days.
May 19, 2008
Jeans Day
Jeans day, how did we ever fall for this? Mutter those two words in an office where the attire is business or business casual, and you’ll see a bunch of adults turn into salivating kids that can hear the ice cream man’s bell ringing blocks away. You work for a multi-million or billion dollar company, and the one sure fire perk they can occasionally offer, is to allow you to wear a pair of jeans. This some how makes up for the fact that you don’t get to spend time with your family and friends, or instead of playing golf you’re stuck in a cube, and you’re supposed to forget that you’re dream of driving cross country never came true. All because they were so grateful, that the only thing they could do to show you how much your blood, sweat and tears means, is to allow you to wear jeans.
What the hell is so great about jeans? They aren’t that much more comfortable than any other pair of pants, and they sure as shit aren’t cheaper any more. Is it because Fonzie wore jeans, sometimes jeans with holes, that we now thing they are the ultimate sign of rebellion? Are jeans a way to rebel? C’mon, that’s what you’re the wall paper on your monitor is for.
And then we get jeans on Fridays, because, well, my company just cares about us that much. It’s like we aren’t even working, because it’s the weekend, and I’m already wearing my weekend uniform. Except not really, they want us to wear nice shirts with the jeans. So we can look, like, well, we aren’t really wearing jeans. So I can’t wear my “Poker Players Love a Good Pair’ tee, and that’s fine, I can’t wear it at home anymore either. Amazing how things change when a kid learns how to read. Cosmo ends up upside down on the coffee table, or is only allowed in the restroom, and then I’m stuck reading it when I have to drop the kids off at the pool.
So if I’m feeling extra saucy, sometimes I’ll wear a vulgar tee shirt as an under shirt, and you know what, I don’t even need to wait for jeans day for that. Right now I could be wearing my “It’s Magically Delicous” tee under my button up. That’s just my way of telling my boss to, “suck it.”
Then they have the audacity to ask for donations for March of Dimes, and if we pony up, well then we can wear jeans for two, maybe even four weeks if you donate enough. And we can spot those cheap assholes, who obviously must hate kids, because they’re wearing slacks. Nice grade school psychology going on there, right up there with sitting at the cool table.
Jeans day is an insult, it’s that simple. I’m supposed to think this company cares more, because they allowed me to wear something I purchased and they wrote a rule against? Wow, they’re sure care about the employees. With such a willingness to bend the rules for is and all, I should never want to leave. What if my new employer didn’t allow such wonderful things as “wear different pants for a random day,” I’ll just feel so much more un-appreciated working for such a hateful company. Unless they pay me better, that always helps.
What the hell is so great about jeans? They aren’t that much more comfortable than any other pair of pants, and they sure as shit aren’t cheaper any more. Is it because Fonzie wore jeans, sometimes jeans with holes, that we now thing they are the ultimate sign of rebellion? Are jeans a way to rebel? C’mon, that’s what you’re the wall paper on your monitor is for.
And then we get jeans on Fridays, because, well, my company just cares about us that much. It’s like we aren’t even working, because it’s the weekend, and I’m already wearing my weekend uniform. Except not really, they want us to wear nice shirts with the jeans. So we can look, like, well, we aren’t really wearing jeans. So I can’t wear my “Poker Players Love a Good Pair’ tee, and that’s fine, I can’t wear it at home anymore either. Amazing how things change when a kid learns how to read. Cosmo ends up upside down on the coffee table, or is only allowed in the restroom, and then I’m stuck reading it when I have to drop the kids off at the pool.
So if I’m feeling extra saucy, sometimes I’ll wear a vulgar tee shirt as an under shirt, and you know what, I don’t even need to wait for jeans day for that. Right now I could be wearing my “It’s Magically Delicous” tee under my button up. That’s just my way of telling my boss to, “suck it.”
Then they have the audacity to ask for donations for March of Dimes, and if we pony up, well then we can wear jeans for two, maybe even four weeks if you donate enough. And we can spot those cheap assholes, who obviously must hate kids, because they’re wearing slacks. Nice grade school psychology going on there, right up there with sitting at the cool table.
Jeans day is an insult, it’s that simple. I’m supposed to think this company cares more, because they allowed me to wear something I purchased and they wrote a rule against? Wow, they’re sure care about the employees. With such a willingness to bend the rules for is and all, I should never want to leave. What if my new employer didn’t allow such wonderful things as “wear different pants for a random day,” I’ll just feel so much more un-appreciated working for such a hateful company. Unless they pay me better, that always helps.
May 14, 2008
Waa
My job is pretty easy, the pay is okay, the company is iffy at best, the flexibility is great, and there’s maybe even room to grow. So I’ve come to the conclusion that I want a new job, timing never was a strength for me. I know how good I have it, I don’t have to work hard and all things considered, I decent coin. So I don’t love what I do, of all the people I know, I could count those who love their work on one hand and still have enough fingers to flip off the guy driving the pick-up on steroids that screams “over-compensation.”
But I don’t feel challenged, I often feel lost, completely un-inspired, and I feel this new stress from with-in to provide for my new family. But the grass isn’t always greener, and I know that. I have friends with what appear to be great careers, and make a very nice chunk of cash, but they don’t get to spend nearly as much time at home as I do. They deal with work around the clock, where as I pretty much leave it in my cube 30 minutes before I leave. I grew up with a father who traveled probably 40% of the time, and as much I would have loved to travel just 18 months ago, I can’t stand the thought of being gone for one night a month.
It doesn’t help that I’m not really sure what I want to do, only that there are a lot of things I don’t want to do. The thought of interacting with people I don’t know, well, is a less than pleasant thought. I’m good with joining a team, and working with those people, but having to sell myself to new people on a regular basis sounds as appealing as sitting next to a crying baby on an overseas flight.
A few people have suggested I get into writing, which I’d love. But shit, how? I don’t have a degree, and I’m pretty sure the stuff I wrote for the high school paper are as helpful as a note from my mom. So I’ve toiled with writing a screen play, which hit a bump after the first page. I started a book under the urging of my pops, and that hasn’t gone too well either. I can’t even update my blog as often as I used to. But I swear if someone is willing to give me 45 grand a year to write whatever comes to mind, I’ll wear out my keyboard. With both hands, not like college.
I search the job sites, and the one in 83 jobs that doesn’t sound like a work from home scam, seems to put too much emphasis on having a college degree. I get it, I should have one. But come on, the only people who really need one, are doctors. I really believe anything else can be learned. So then it comes down to my work experience, which doesn’t really make me all that attractive to someone hiring for a marketing position. I made glasses and did glorified data entry. By the way, I’m pretty sure this little ditty won’t be used as a cover letter. Although, maybe it should. Someone out there would have to appreciate the honesty right? I applied for a couple of writing related jobs earlier this week, and I tried to be a little different with my cover letter. I haven’t heard anything back yet either.
What kills me is everywhere you look, there’s something that made someone rich. The chair I’m sitting on, the mouse pad, my keyboard, the paperclips on my desk, the plastic cups, the friggin papers I haven’t looked at, the walls of the cube itself. Every single item, and all I can come up with is words for a blog that someone else is making money off of. Well, I’m going to take some time to slam my head on my desk now.
But I don’t feel challenged, I often feel lost, completely un-inspired, and I feel this new stress from with-in to provide for my new family. But the grass isn’t always greener, and I know that. I have friends with what appear to be great careers, and make a very nice chunk of cash, but they don’t get to spend nearly as much time at home as I do. They deal with work around the clock, where as I pretty much leave it in my cube 30 minutes before I leave. I grew up with a father who traveled probably 40% of the time, and as much I would have loved to travel just 18 months ago, I can’t stand the thought of being gone for one night a month.
It doesn’t help that I’m not really sure what I want to do, only that there are a lot of things I don’t want to do. The thought of interacting with people I don’t know, well, is a less than pleasant thought. I’m good with joining a team, and working with those people, but having to sell myself to new people on a regular basis sounds as appealing as sitting next to a crying baby on an overseas flight.
A few people have suggested I get into writing, which I’d love. But shit, how? I don’t have a degree, and I’m pretty sure the stuff I wrote for the high school paper are as helpful as a note from my mom. So I’ve toiled with writing a screen play, which hit a bump after the first page. I started a book under the urging of my pops, and that hasn’t gone too well either. I can’t even update my blog as often as I used to. But I swear if someone is willing to give me 45 grand a year to write whatever comes to mind, I’ll wear out my keyboard. With both hands, not like college.
I search the job sites, and the one in 83 jobs that doesn’t sound like a work from home scam, seems to put too much emphasis on having a college degree. I get it, I should have one. But come on, the only people who really need one, are doctors. I really believe anything else can be learned. So then it comes down to my work experience, which doesn’t really make me all that attractive to someone hiring for a marketing position. I made glasses and did glorified data entry. By the way, I’m pretty sure this little ditty won’t be used as a cover letter. Although, maybe it should. Someone out there would have to appreciate the honesty right? I applied for a couple of writing related jobs earlier this week, and I tried to be a little different with my cover letter. I haven’t heard anything back yet either.
What kills me is everywhere you look, there’s something that made someone rich. The chair I’m sitting on, the mouse pad, my keyboard, the paperclips on my desk, the plastic cups, the friggin papers I haven’t looked at, the walls of the cube itself. Every single item, and all I can come up with is words for a blog that someone else is making money off of. Well, I’m going to take some time to slam my head on my desk now.
May 06, 2008
Hirpasms
Friday night Mrs. Hirp and I went to dinner with some friends, good times, yet uneventful. Then on the way home, I look in my rear view mirror ( I do that from time to time) and I see these headlights coming up on us in the passing lane. Now, these headlights weren’t just moving, they were hauling ass. When they passed us, we felt the car shake from the wind (I’m sure there’s a scientific name for it, but I don’t know it). And then suddenly there was another car, which I didn’t even see coming, that flew by us too, and the car shook again. We both commented on how we’d like to see them either “end up as spots on the highway,” or simply just, “crash.”
Seconds later we saw tail lights going in directions that were well, less than consistent than you’d expect from a car going down a straight path of highway and dust flew, and then we came on the scene. And low and behold, those little teenage shits wrecked. We’re not sure what happened, but based on the damage we could see, it appeared that the Acura had some how spun around, and in doing so made contact with the drivers side door of the Mustang. The Mustang was off to the left of the highway, and the Acura was on the shoulder on the right hand side of the highway. There was another vehicle, a mini-van of all things, parked in front of the Acura. And there were kids everywhere. Not in the, bodies littering the side of the highway like Keystone cans, but gathered like they do in front of McDonalds. No one seemed upset, no one appeared hurt, in fact they didn’t seem to even give a shit. Seriously, these punks were lucky to be alive, and they most upset kid looked like their phone dropped a call.
Our first reaction was amazement, amazed they weren’t affected. We were amazed that we sort of asked for this to happen, and amazed that these shits had such nice cars. We pulled over, called the po-po’s, and waited and observed everything. Then we decided there wasn’t really a reason for us to sit there any longer, and we drove off. It took seconds, maybe, and then we began to think about the fact that our six year-old was 10 years away tops, from being in cars with idiots like the one’s we just saw. And panic set in. Sympathy for the parents of those morons was next; those poor saps were just getting the most terrifying phone calls of their lives.
10 years, that’s how long I have to convince this girl not to date and that using a bicycle is the best way to get around. Wish me luck.
***
I really need to start buying Powerball tickets. We keep talking about what we’d do if we win, but that probably won’t happen if we don’t buy a ticket. And I don’t see any other way for me to come into money, unless I jerk-off onto a $20 bill.
Yesterday at lunch, a waitress at Longbranch lost the diamond from her wedding ring. Not known for their service, we were treated to watching the entire staff perform a Fugitive-worthy hunt for this rock. I just hope they washed their hands after crawling around on less-than sterile floors.
I’m a little nervous; tomorrow I have to present some team builder ideas to my director and her managers. My public speaking skills are more than lacking. To speak like President Bush would be an upgrade, although I’d like to refrain from making a stupid face anytime I think I make a point. So tonight I won’t sleep, and I’ll get up there slur my words like Mel Gibson at a sobriety check point. Bad times.
By the way, this is post #401. That's the scary stat of the day.
Seconds later we saw tail lights going in directions that were well, less than consistent than you’d expect from a car going down a straight path of highway and dust flew, and then we came on the scene. And low and behold, those little teenage shits wrecked. We’re not sure what happened, but based on the damage we could see, it appeared that the Acura had some how spun around, and in doing so made contact with the drivers side door of the Mustang. The Mustang was off to the left of the highway, and the Acura was on the shoulder on the right hand side of the highway. There was another vehicle, a mini-van of all things, parked in front of the Acura. And there were kids everywhere. Not in the, bodies littering the side of the highway like Keystone cans, but gathered like they do in front of McDonalds. No one seemed upset, no one appeared hurt, in fact they didn’t seem to even give a shit. Seriously, these punks were lucky to be alive, and they most upset kid looked like their phone dropped a call.
Our first reaction was amazement, amazed they weren’t affected. We were amazed that we sort of asked for this to happen, and amazed that these shits had such nice cars. We pulled over, called the po-po’s, and waited and observed everything. Then we decided there wasn’t really a reason for us to sit there any longer, and we drove off. It took seconds, maybe, and then we began to think about the fact that our six year-old was 10 years away tops, from being in cars with idiots like the one’s we just saw. And panic set in. Sympathy for the parents of those morons was next; those poor saps were just getting the most terrifying phone calls of their lives.
10 years, that’s how long I have to convince this girl not to date and that using a bicycle is the best way to get around. Wish me luck.
***
I really need to start buying Powerball tickets. We keep talking about what we’d do if we win, but that probably won’t happen if we don’t buy a ticket. And I don’t see any other way for me to come into money, unless I jerk-off onto a $20 bill.
Yesterday at lunch, a waitress at Longbranch lost the diamond from her wedding ring. Not known for their service, we were treated to watching the entire staff perform a Fugitive-worthy hunt for this rock. I just hope they washed their hands after crawling around on less-than sterile floors.
I’m a little nervous; tomorrow I have to present some team builder ideas to my director and her managers. My public speaking skills are more than lacking. To speak like President Bush would be an upgrade, although I’d like to refrain from making a stupid face anytime I think I make a point. So tonight I won’t sleep, and I’ll get up there slur my words like Mel Gibson at a sobriety check point. Bad times.
By the way, this is post #401. That's the scary stat of the day.
May 05, 2008
From the Hirp
Here is something I can not understand, why is Barak Obama catching all this crap for Reverend Wright’s statements, yet the church he’s associated with is being given a pass. We want to hold Obama responsible, on some level, for the way another man feels, yet the organization this man works for hasn’t been asked to do anything? What a crock of spit. Rev. Wright doesn’t speak for Obama, but he is a voice for the Church. But I guess if he’s building a 10,000 sq ft house as I heard he is, someone else is probably making even more money off this guy.
Is it in poor taste that the special edition DVD of Twister is coming out tomorrow? Will they edit out the tornadoes so the survivors of this past weeks twisters won’t be upset? Or is it just in bad taste to release such a piece of shit movie? Helen Hunt, what were you thinking? Flying cows, ‘nuff said.
Was there a more upsetting story in the news last week, than the revelation that Barbra Walters had an affair? I don’t care when it happened, that’s a visual our country doesn’t need. I will now jab thump tacks into my eyes.
What kind of odds is Vegas giving that Miley Cyrus ends up in rehab? Over or under 16? These girls get all the headlines for the situations they get in, but why isn’t more time spent looking at their parents? I have a much bigger issue with a father whoring out his kid than I do a 15 year old trying to be sexy. Billy Ray, Joe Simpson, Britney’s mom, and Lindsay Lohan’s mom all need to spend a few years in prison.
Get Showtime ordered now, and rent the DVDs so you’re all caught up. Californiacation season 2 and Weed’s season 4 are set to debut June 14th. Entourage is scheduled for a Sept 28th debut.
Is it in poor taste that the special edition DVD of Twister is coming out tomorrow? Will they edit out the tornadoes so the survivors of this past weeks twisters won’t be upset? Or is it just in bad taste to release such a piece of shit movie? Helen Hunt, what were you thinking? Flying cows, ‘nuff said.
Was there a more upsetting story in the news last week, than the revelation that Barbra Walters had an affair? I don’t care when it happened, that’s a visual our country doesn’t need. I will now jab thump tacks into my eyes.
What kind of odds is Vegas giving that Miley Cyrus ends up in rehab? Over or under 16? These girls get all the headlines for the situations they get in, but why isn’t more time spent looking at their parents? I have a much bigger issue with a father whoring out his kid than I do a 15 year old trying to be sexy. Billy Ray, Joe Simpson, Britney’s mom, and Lindsay Lohan’s mom all need to spend a few years in prison.
Get Showtime ordered now, and rent the DVDs so you’re all caught up. Californiacation season 2 and Weed’s season 4 are set to debut June 14th. Entourage is scheduled for a Sept 28th debut.
April 28, 2008
That Had To Suck
On my way to work this morning (I wanted to say en route, I just didn’t think I could start a paragraph with it) I was part of what is at least a weekly phenomenon for highway travelers. The instance when suddenly every car ahead of you, in every lane, must suddenly go from doing 65 to slamming their brakes, for no apparent reason. To make this morning’s occurrence even more special, a guy in the far left lane, hit his brakes and felt the need to move to the shoulder, in order to avoid slamming into the car ahead of him. And I saw him clip the cement divider, and sparks flew, but just as randomly as it began, it ended and everyone resumed their normal speed. But this poor bastard was left with some, what I assume is, significant damage to the driver-side of his car. That’s how he started his week. I saw him shaking his head, and I can only imagine the level of fury he must feel. Now he gets to go to work and tell his story, and then I’m guessing, he gets to tell his wife. So no matter how crappy this morning goes, at least I didn’t hit a cement wall.
April 24, 2008
Hirp Control
So I hear that the Governor of Kansas has signed off on a bill that makes it legal to own fully automatic machine guns, sawed off shot guns and silencers. Now, I’m pretty much in favor of gun control, because I really don’t think we need to worry about the Red Coats anymore. And I’m pretty sure the majority of guns used in crimes, were at one time, purchased legally. But that being said, who the hell needs a fully automatic? What useful purpose does a sawed off serve? And other than hit men, who would want a silencer? Reminds me of a line from a De La Soul song, goes something like this: "gun control in my land, means using both hands."
I have friends who won’t live in Missouri because they feel that strongly about the KU-MU rivalry and I can almost respect that. I just think if you’re going to take such a strong stance, you can do so for something a little more serious. Just move over to Lee’s Summit, sure we have more pick ups than BMW’s, but the margins are shrinking. Other than that National Title, what else has Kansas been in the news for in the past few years? Not teaching evolution, Ron Phelps, sex scandal, “High School Confidential” (which I need to watch I’m told by Red, because it takes place at our alma mater) and now a Kansan resident can have a full arsenal of guns. That’s just greeeaaaat. My cousin in California loved the KU-MU rivalry so much; he purchased one of the “Keeping America Safe from Missouri since 1863” tee shirts. But I’m pretty sure we don’t need weapons to keep America safe from Missouri anymore.
I have friends who won’t live in Missouri because they feel that strongly about the KU-MU rivalry and I can almost respect that. I just think if you’re going to take such a strong stance, you can do so for something a little more serious. Just move over to Lee’s Summit, sure we have more pick ups than BMW’s, but the margins are shrinking. Other than that National Title, what else has Kansas been in the news for in the past few years? Not teaching evolution, Ron Phelps, sex scandal, “High School Confidential” (which I need to watch I’m told by Red, because it takes place at our alma mater) and now a Kansan resident can have a full arsenal of guns. That’s just greeeaaaat. My cousin in California loved the KU-MU rivalry so much; he purchased one of the “Keeping America Safe from Missouri since 1863” tee shirts. But I’m pretty sure we don’t need weapons to keep America safe from Missouri anymore.
April 22, 2008
Hirparent
Last night the KC area had a bit of an electrical storm, and now you’re wondering why this blog worthy is. Well, our place didn’t catch fire, nor do I know anyone whose home did. What happened was so subtle, and personal. So of course I have to make it public. The sound of the hail and thunder woke up the kid around 2:30, and it wasn’t but a minute or two later that she was in our bed. And amazingly, she chose me to snuggle up against. This isn’t like the first time she’s felt safe with me, or gone to me for comfort, but based on the night we had before the storm, I’m pretty moved by it.
See earlier in the night there were some battle lines drawn, over bed time of course. And I kind of messed up, and stepped on mommies toes and tried to lay down the law to get her to stay in bed. Um, this backfired, and so I felt like crap for most of the night. She balled some more, and I kicked myself for the remainder of the night. Then the storm hits, and she finds security in me. So yeah, I was kind of hit by a lightening bolt last night.
And this morning I find myself thinking about parenting, or technically “step-parenting.” Personally, I hate the term, and “step-dad” isn’t a label we often use. I’m a parent now, really have been for the past 6 months or so. But I’m not dad, nor do I have any interest in replacing or father or competing with him for her affections. I have nieces and nephews who lost their father, and I learned then that trying to replace him would be the quickest way to end our relationship. I’m sure it’s all very confusing for her, and we’ve tried very hard to educate her that I’m a friend, not her father.
But that doesn’t change the fact that at times I have to play the role of “dad.” This is different from the role of “big daddy,” so get that out of your mind. And as a team, we do really well. I mean really well, and we saw proof of that in Mexico, not to brag or anything. Okay, fine, I’ll brag. I take a very small, miniscule even, amount of credit for how well adjusted this child is. And that means the world to me.
So this morning I can’t get over the fact that I’m a parent, a sentiment I imagine most of my friends with children of their own often feel. And I really don’t think they feel any differently than I do about this child and this huge responsibility. It’s terrifying, rewarding, empowering and humbling all at once. This isn’t some huge revelation either, I’ve fully understood the magnitude of all this from the very beginning. I just never imagined that one scary storm would floor a relatively full grown adult.
See earlier in the night there were some battle lines drawn, over bed time of course. And I kind of messed up, and stepped on mommies toes and tried to lay down the law to get her to stay in bed. Um, this backfired, and so I felt like crap for most of the night. She balled some more, and I kicked myself for the remainder of the night. Then the storm hits, and she finds security in me. So yeah, I was kind of hit by a lightening bolt last night.
And this morning I find myself thinking about parenting, or technically “step-parenting.” Personally, I hate the term, and “step-dad” isn’t a label we often use. I’m a parent now, really have been for the past 6 months or so. But I’m not dad, nor do I have any interest in replacing or father or competing with him for her affections. I have nieces and nephews who lost their father, and I learned then that trying to replace him would be the quickest way to end our relationship. I’m sure it’s all very confusing for her, and we’ve tried very hard to educate her that I’m a friend, not her father.
But that doesn’t change the fact that at times I have to play the role of “dad.” This is different from the role of “big daddy,” so get that out of your mind. And as a team, we do really well. I mean really well, and we saw proof of that in Mexico, not to brag or anything. Okay, fine, I’ll brag. I take a very small, miniscule even, amount of credit for how well adjusted this child is. And that means the world to me.
So this morning I can’t get over the fact that I’m a parent, a sentiment I imagine most of my friends with children of their own often feel. And I really don’t think they feel any differently than I do about this child and this huge responsibility. It’s terrifying, rewarding, empowering and humbling all at once. This isn’t some huge revelation either, I’ve fully understood the magnitude of all this from the very beginning. I just never imagined that one scary storm would floor a relatively full grown adult.
April 21, 2008
I Did, part II
So we finally made it to Mexico, and as Porqchop said, Frontier is the way to go. The flight from KC to Cancun is as long as our drive from KC to Springfield. Do you have any idea how sick that made us feel? And we had no clue Springfield even had an airport. We take our bus from the airport to the hotel, and after finally checking in we see the ocean.
Just a gorgeous beach. But we’re still a little worried, because we read some not so favorable reviews. We trust my folks, but having a group of 24, we knew some could run into various issues. And they did. A stank room and no A/C, that doesn’t spell fun. But the issues were pretty much solved, and fairly quickly. We found ‘Chop and some other friends almost immediately, re-enforcing our confidence in choosing to get married at a smaller resort.
The next couple of days were spent lounging on the beach and by the pool, playing with the kid (who did an amazing job of warming up to everyone and getting over her shyness, as well as soaking in all the attention as the only child in the group). And then it was Game Time.
Saturday came, and off went Mrs. Hirp to get her hair done. I went to my folks room to get dressed, then hit the pool bar to get a beer for the nerves. Not nervous about getting married, just the attention. And by this time, the attention wasn’t just from our friends and family. We had become celebs of sorts around the resort. Thanks in large part to my mother, who announced we were getting married to every single person she saw. I heard plenty of “good lucks” and a few “don’t do it” cracks. This just added to the experience, I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t have happened had we been married in KC.
Then everyone finds there way to the spot on the beach where we were to take the giant leap. And they waited, and then waited a little more. Shit, the bride is running late. I said running LATE, not away. Turns out there were some communication problems with the hair stylist. So we started maybe 2 minutes late, and my mother was already crying. Hell, she was crying the day before at the rehearsal. And I don’t mean getting misty, she was crying. It was great. It helped that we had my brother, who was also marrying us, sing her favorite song “Sunrise, Sunset” which guarantees tears like the water in Mexico guarantees tears from the other end. Then we learned how hard it can be to walk gracefully in sand, luckily we were barefoot.
In no time I was standing in front of our family and friends repeating the vows we wrote. We must admit the reading about marriage wasn’t ours; we stole it from Paul Newman. Hey, if you’re gonna borrow (steal) from someone, there’s lesser man to borrow from.
And just like that, I was married. Suddenly everything changed, yet remarkably it stayed the same. Game over.
Just a gorgeous beach. But we’re still a little worried, because we read some not so favorable reviews. We trust my folks, but having a group of 24, we knew some could run into various issues. And they did. A stank room and no A/C, that doesn’t spell fun. But the issues were pretty much solved, and fairly quickly. We found ‘Chop and some other friends almost immediately, re-enforcing our confidence in choosing to get married at a smaller resort.
The next couple of days were spent lounging on the beach and by the pool, playing with the kid (who did an amazing job of warming up to everyone and getting over her shyness, as well as soaking in all the attention as the only child in the group). And then it was Game Time.
Saturday came, and off went Mrs. Hirp to get her hair done. I went to my folks room to get dressed, then hit the pool bar to get a beer for the nerves. Not nervous about getting married, just the attention. And by this time, the attention wasn’t just from our friends and family. We had become celebs of sorts around the resort. Thanks in large part to my mother, who announced we were getting married to every single person she saw. I heard plenty of “good lucks” and a few “don’t do it” cracks. This just added to the experience, I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t have happened had we been married in KC.
Then everyone finds there way to the spot on the beach where we were to take the giant leap. And they waited, and then waited a little more. Shit, the bride is running late. I said running LATE, not away. Turns out there were some communication problems with the hair stylist. So we started maybe 2 minutes late, and my mother was already crying. Hell, she was crying the day before at the rehearsal. And I don’t mean getting misty, she was crying. It was great. It helped that we had my brother, who was also marrying us, sing her favorite song “Sunrise, Sunset” which guarantees tears like the water in Mexico guarantees tears from the other end. Then we learned how hard it can be to walk gracefully in sand, luckily we were barefoot.
In no time I was standing in front of our family and friends repeating the vows we wrote. We must admit the reading about marriage wasn’t ours; we stole it from Paul Newman. Hey, if you’re gonna borrow (steal) from someone, there’s lesser man to borrow from.
And just like that, I was married. Suddenly everything changed, yet remarkably it stayed the same. Game over.
April 20, 2008
I Did...
I’m baaack. And I have a wife now. ( reading, typing and saying that still knocks me on my ass) It was a phenomenal week, and there are pictures to come soon. Most will be on our mywedding.com site.
But let me share the expiernce with you, and it started days before we exchanged vows. Not sure if you heard about it, but recently American Airlines decided they should ground some flights. Just so happens they grounded the model of plane we were scheduled to depart for Dallas on April 10th. So my dad calls the airline at 3pm on the 9th, and they said all things were a go. Good news right? Yes, but then 6pm came. When my now mother-in law called and said they heard the flight was cancelled. Needless to say, panic set in. Turns out, the flight was cancelled. Um, fucking shit comes to mind. The next 4 hours were spent trying to get a hold of someone at the airlines.
Finally that happens, and we’re faced with new decisions. How do we get to Dallas? Our flight out of Dallas leaves at noon, and it’s now 11pm. American has offered us a flight out of Springfield Missouri, just 3 ½ hours away. To make things even more complicated, there’s 7 of us on the flight. The plan is to rent a mini van and leave for Springfield at 1:30am. Then there’s a new hurdle, the car rental place at Kansas City International Airport closes at 12, and it’s 11:40. My dad is en route, but probably wont make it. I call, and of course there is no direct line, so I tell the operator for the company our story. She contacts the office and shares the story with them, and they stay open till 1am just for us.
That’s the type of customer service you see re-created in a commercial, I had no idea that stuff really happened. So at 1:30 we all meet at the airport, so we can have our cars there when we get home, and head out. The ride wasn’t completely uneventful, although I slept through most of it, just to be woken the few times my dad started to dose and ran on the edge of the highway. Had I been awake, I probably would have needed to change my boxers.
We made it though, but I won’t lie. The bride, as well as myself, were a bit nervous about what the week held for us after this start. And I’ll tell you about that later.
April 04, 2008
Been a few...
I haven’t blogged in a while, I know, and I’m sorry. That’s a bad Hirp. I guess I’ve had a bit of writers block of late. Instead of thinking of things to bitch about, I have been pretty focused on this whole wedding thing. And no, the feet aren’t cold. They aren’t luke warm, nor are they heating up from getting so close to the flame. In fact, I’m not at all nervous about getting married. And I am, by nature, a pretty nervous guy. I often meet the expectations set forth by the stereotypical Jew. Have you seen Brighton Beach Memoirs or Biloxi Blues? That could almost be me.
But I’m not at all nervous, just totally out of my mind excited. Excited about everything really, from the ceremony to just hanging out on the beach having drinks, to just making a life with this woman (this very brave perhaps confused, woman.) I’ve come up with a character I do at home, I guess it’s a character. It’s how I envision myself as an old married man. Asking if she’s seen my pills, complaining about having to pee again, yapping endlessly about the good ole days. I’m actually looking forward to that. Really, the one thing I’m not looking forward to is when the kid starts dating (or the teenage years entirely)
So I haven’t blogged much. And I think, at least for a while, the blog may change a bit. From what I hear, it kind has already. I still have plenty to bitch and moan about, but if you could only see how the conversations during poker games have changed. You’d think on the one night a month the guys are free of the wives and kids, free to play cards, drink, watch porn and crack jokes, they’d do exactly that. Well, it happens, but not like it used to. So as the table talk has turned from tits to tots and downing bottles to warming bottles, I think it’s safe to assume the blogging will change too.
Many, well most, don’t know this tid-bit. But it turns out; this blog helped me tremendously with winning the girl over. Before she and I met, some friends of mine who worked with Mrs. Hirp got her to start reading this little spot on the web to get to know me. And some how, by the grace of some thing or someone, she liked what she read and wasn’t scared for her life. Well, she may have been scared, but she also liked it.
But I’m not at all nervous, just totally out of my mind excited. Excited about everything really, from the ceremony to just hanging out on the beach having drinks, to just making a life with this woman (this very brave perhaps confused, woman.) I’ve come up with a character I do at home, I guess it’s a character. It’s how I envision myself as an old married man. Asking if she’s seen my pills, complaining about having to pee again, yapping endlessly about the good ole days. I’m actually looking forward to that. Really, the one thing I’m not looking forward to is when the kid starts dating (or the teenage years entirely)
So I haven’t blogged much. And I think, at least for a while, the blog may change a bit. From what I hear, it kind has already. I still have plenty to bitch and moan about, but if you could only see how the conversations during poker games have changed. You’d think on the one night a month the guys are free of the wives and kids, free to play cards, drink, watch porn and crack jokes, they’d do exactly that. Well, it happens, but not like it used to. So as the table talk has turned from tits to tots and downing bottles to warming bottles, I think it’s safe to assume the blogging will change too.
Many, well most, don’t know this tid-bit. But it turns out; this blog helped me tremendously with winning the girl over. Before she and I met, some friends of mine who worked with Mrs. Hirp got her to start reading this little spot on the web to get to know me. And some how, by the grace of some thing or someone, she liked what she read and wasn’t scared for her life. Well, she may have been scared, but she also liked it.
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