I think Facebook and Twitter have teamed up to murder my blog. The random thoughts that used to end up as rants on this slice of the web, are now summed up in 140 or less characters. The irony isn’t lost on this blogger either, as the blogsphere has done it’s part in killing newspapers and even books. And as most other “current” technological advances, the shelf life is shorter than an open carton of milk on the counter in August. You know, not long.
So I’m looking at my twitter and “FB” (as the kids call it) updates, and I’m going to attempt to expand on them, in true FromTheHirp fashion.
April 11th
“The kyd just asked me "what’s donkey kong" so now I know what troubles are ahead for this generation..its gonna be ugly.”
It started when she threw down the gauntlet, challenging me to a wrestling match. My response was, the always clever, “oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong.”
And she gave me a nice age check, with “what’s Donkey Kong?”
Never mind slutty toys like Bratz, or pop shit like Hannah Montana, or the sex and drugs on television, the real problem with kids today is that they don’t even know who Donkey Kong is. The lessons that game can teach, and the hours it can waste are being missed by our kids. Someone needs to get congress involved.
April 6th
“So my dumbass causes to my wife giving the kyd A talk (not THE talk) but close enough. Daddy needs a drink.”
Here’s the story: as the wife was getting the Kyd ready for bed, I had picked up one of Mrs. Hirp’s magazines off of the coffee table and thumbed through the pages. It wasn’t even a Cosmo, but there was some article that had something to do with sex. So, of course I had to read it. Then the Kyd came back in to the living room, so I closed it. She left and I resummed my reading. Of course she had to come back in to say goodnight to the dog and I, and so I closed the magazine. She turned to leave, so I went back to the article. And who knew a 7 year old could read upside down.
She says, “I saw what that said,” and giggled. Great, way to go, Hirp. Oh well, no biggie, she’s seen that word on mom’s magazines before. Shouldn’t be a big deal. But as her mom is tucking her in, the Kyd asks the question, and just 10 years before we wanted her to. “Mommy, what’s sex? The kids at school talk about it, and said its gross.” (she’s in 1st grade, I’m not okay with this in any way)
Mrs. Hirp is thrown off her game, so she tries to get defuse the situation. “It’s when a mommy and daddy are hugging and kissing, and how they make a baby.” She’s feeling pretty good now, as that seems to have ended the conversation. Until a few minutes later when she tells me the story.
“Uh oh,” I tell her, “now when she sees us kiss or hug, she’ll think we’re having sex.” We can already see her at school the next day, “Mommy and G have sex all the time.” To be followed by a visit from the authorities. So we decide it would best for Mrs. Hirp to give a little more detail, hopefully just enough to make the Kyd slightly uncomfortable and drop it until we can consume a few drinks and hope she never, ever ever ever, asks that question again.
Way to go, Hirp. You know better than to do something as silly as read. Idiot.
April 13, 2009
March 25, 2009
Doc Revisited
I feel like a jackass, I really do. Not that it’s totally uncharted territory for me or anything, but the circumstances are at least new for me. I’ve really dug Facebook, it’s been a great way to keep in touch with friends, and find catch up with old friends. But I found someone, and now I’m not sure if that was a good thing. It isn’t even someone I knew personally. It’s the son of my childhood hero, Dwight Gooden, and we’ve swapped a few emails.
He’s been cool about it, and I hope I have too. But looking at his page, I was offended myself with the comments other people were leaving. Everything was about his dad, women commenting on his looks, or just fans checking in. I understand their thought process, to a point. I flat out told the guy that I grew up a big fan of his fathers, and I had read he (Dwight Gooden Jr) was now doing some music, and I wished him well. Maybe I’m just more articulate than those other fans, either way, it just feels kind of dirty.
But I couldn’t really help myself. Not that it should be his problem, but like most fans, I’ve had a relationship of sorts with his dad. Man that sounds too much like Macauly Culkin talking about Michael Jackson. But his father had a huge impact on my childhood. Not just as a sports fan, because there’s so much more to his story than what happened between the lines. I vividly remember how I reacted in 1987 when I found out that he was going into rehab. I was furious, and I was only 10.
I think Doc and Darryl’s woes forever changed the way athletes were covered and perceived. I’ll have to do some research, but I think they were the first major scandals, at least in the age of 24 hour sport networks. The day he went into rehab, was the end of the era that saw reporters covering for ball players. How much a guy drank or what he did off the field was protected in the past and with Gooden and Strawberry’s troubles, reporters began looking at the personal lives of the ballplayers as newsworthy.
That was my first experience with “knowing” someone with a drug problem, not just Nancy Reagan telling me to say “no.” Soon after, I had some much closer relationship with someone with a substance abuse problem. How I handled that was directly impacted by my response to Doc. There was, and still is plenty of anger, but there was also forgiveness and since that day, I’ve come to realize that I can handle someone messing up, as long as they can own up to it. Doc taught me that, I never learned how to throw a curve.
So here I am, 32 years old and I’ve emailed his son. There’s no ulterior motive, I’m not looking to accomplish anything. Well, other than revisit the 10 year old in me. I like that kid, and its always been important to me to remember him. That’s why I have Doc’s rookie card in my wallet. In 1996, Doc threw a no-hitter for the evil empire (Yankees) and I jumped up and down (just one jump!) on the bed in my dorm room. It looked like I was alone (had there been an outside observer) but I was with the 10 year old me. So it wasn’t just some 32 year old emailing the son of his hero, it was the 10 year old that made the decision.
He’s been cool about it, and I hope I have too. But looking at his page, I was offended myself with the comments other people were leaving. Everything was about his dad, women commenting on his looks, or just fans checking in. I understand their thought process, to a point. I flat out told the guy that I grew up a big fan of his fathers, and I had read he (Dwight Gooden Jr) was now doing some music, and I wished him well. Maybe I’m just more articulate than those other fans, either way, it just feels kind of dirty.
But I couldn’t really help myself. Not that it should be his problem, but like most fans, I’ve had a relationship of sorts with his dad. Man that sounds too much like Macauly Culkin talking about Michael Jackson. But his father had a huge impact on my childhood. Not just as a sports fan, because there’s so much more to his story than what happened between the lines. I vividly remember how I reacted in 1987 when I found out that he was going into rehab. I was furious, and I was only 10.
I think Doc and Darryl’s woes forever changed the way athletes were covered and perceived. I’ll have to do some research, but I think they were the first major scandals, at least in the age of 24 hour sport networks. The day he went into rehab, was the end of the era that saw reporters covering for ball players. How much a guy drank or what he did off the field was protected in the past and with Gooden and Strawberry’s troubles, reporters began looking at the personal lives of the ballplayers as newsworthy.
That was my first experience with “knowing” someone with a drug problem, not just Nancy Reagan telling me to say “no.” Soon after, I had some much closer relationship with someone with a substance abuse problem. How I handled that was directly impacted by my response to Doc. There was, and still is plenty of anger, but there was also forgiveness and since that day, I’ve come to realize that I can handle someone messing up, as long as they can own up to it. Doc taught me that, I never learned how to throw a curve.
So here I am, 32 years old and I’ve emailed his son. There’s no ulterior motive, I’m not looking to accomplish anything. Well, other than revisit the 10 year old in me. I like that kid, and its always been important to me to remember him. That’s why I have Doc’s rookie card in my wallet. In 1996, Doc threw a no-hitter for the evil empire (Yankees) and I jumped up and down (just one jump!) on the bed in my dorm room. It looked like I was alone (had there been an outside observer) but I was with the 10 year old me. So it wasn’t just some 32 year old emailing the son of his hero, it was the 10 year old that made the decision.
Changed Hirp
Two years ago yesterday KU was in the NCAA Tournament, and they were playing UCLA, the school I rooted for as a kid. KU-UCLA also hooked up my freshmen year at KU, when the Bruins were defending champs. They came to the Fieldhouse, and lead KU by 15 at the half. The Hawks came back to win by 15, and it was the best live sporting event I ever witnessed. I proudly sent my cousin, the UCLA grad who also showed me around the campus when I was 12, a “PHUCK UCLA” tee shirt. I still have mine, but I doubt he has his. Two years ago, that game is a distant memory, but that day changed my life.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
March 23, 2009
One TrHirpy Weekend
The past weekend was without question one of the most bizarre, and scariest, in recent memory. And based on what we did, you’d think it was just another weekend in the ‘burbs. It started off great, as we took the Kyd to Potter’s Haven in downtown Lee’s Summit. She’s a creative kid who loves craft projects, and for a few months we’ve kicked around the idea of heading there. She loved it too, other than stressing over mistakes (I told her, there are no mistakes in art, sounds good, right?)
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
March 12, 2009
Shirped Myself
I feel like I should be wearing a tee shirt that says “I survived the ’09 layoffs.” The last two months have been a roller coaster ride, and I’m not a fan of roller coasters. Being a little bit on the short side, my head happens to be positioned perfectly, so that it bounces between the over the shoulder restraints like a super ball. Not much fun. When word came out that my company was going to be laying off a significant portion of the work force, the rumors and emotions started flying.
“I have a family, there are no jobs out there, we just moved, and what the fuck am I going to do if I’m on the list?” Pretty much covers the flow of my thoughts on 18 second intervals for the first two weeks. Then I sat down with excel and crunched the numbers. I made pivot tables, I had formulas and on paper, I saw that we’d be fine for almost a year. I slept a little better. Then the company started talking about notification dates. Originally we were to find out March 13th, a Friday no less. I mentally circled that date on my mental calendar, and told the wife that I wouldn’t be sleeping at all on the 12th, and probably not much more on the few days before either.
So a month goes by, and I’m more scared of any calendar showing that week than George Clooney is scared of commitment. And then we get an email that announcements will come either on the 12th or 13th. That’s just mean, how about giving us real info, or nothing at all. Don’t tell me just so I can readjust how much to worry. And then this Monday we find out that it’ll be Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. That’s just fantastic. I can just write off the idea of sleeping for the rest of the week. Thanks, suit.
At a meeting yesterday, my boss said that word would be coming out later in the day. Depending on if he gets the final cut list in time, and then it might not be till tomorrow. I’m pale, but I went to a new level of pure-white when I heard that. Around 2pm word gets out, they’re calling people and having them go to meet with their managers in conference rooms. It took another two and a half hours before I got the call, and to make me sweat a little more, the call was to tell me that I’d be getting THE call in another 5 or 10 minutes. Lucky me, I got two calls rather than one. So what if I sharted my pants twice? Finally I get the call, head to the conference room and get the good news. I still have a job.
I may have lost a few years off my life, grew hair just to see it fall to my desk and soiled myself four times. But hey, there are a lot of good people who aren’t as well off as I am today. Good luck to all of them.
“I have a family, there are no jobs out there, we just moved, and what the fuck am I going to do if I’m on the list?” Pretty much covers the flow of my thoughts on 18 second intervals for the first two weeks. Then I sat down with excel and crunched the numbers. I made pivot tables, I had formulas and on paper, I saw that we’d be fine for almost a year. I slept a little better. Then the company started talking about notification dates. Originally we were to find out March 13th, a Friday no less. I mentally circled that date on my mental calendar, and told the wife that I wouldn’t be sleeping at all on the 12th, and probably not much more on the few days before either.
So a month goes by, and I’m more scared of any calendar showing that week than George Clooney is scared of commitment. And then we get an email that announcements will come either on the 12th or 13th. That’s just mean, how about giving us real info, or nothing at all. Don’t tell me just so I can readjust how much to worry. And then this Monday we find out that it’ll be Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. That’s just fantastic. I can just write off the idea of sleeping for the rest of the week. Thanks, suit.
At a meeting yesterday, my boss said that word would be coming out later in the day. Depending on if he gets the final cut list in time, and then it might not be till tomorrow. I’m pale, but I went to a new level of pure-white when I heard that. Around 2pm word gets out, they’re calling people and having them go to meet with their managers in conference rooms. It took another two and a half hours before I got the call, and to make me sweat a little more, the call was to tell me that I’d be getting THE call in another 5 or 10 minutes. Lucky me, I got two calls rather than one. So what if I sharted my pants twice? Finally I get the call, head to the conference room and get the good news. I still have a job.
I may have lost a few years off my life, grew hair just to see it fall to my desk and soiled myself four times. But hey, there are a lot of good people who aren’t as well off as I am today. Good luck to all of them.
March 02, 2009
Random Hirps
Was Nancy Pelosi expecting some sort of prize for jumping to her feet the fastest last night? Or was there just a broken spring in her chair?
Gov. Bobby Jindal, just wondering if you even realize “Americans can do anything” is just about the same as “Yes We Can?”
Saw a story online yesterday, about a 9 year old having a big wedding. At first glance I thought it was some sick and twisted story, and fully expected to be sick to my stomach and furious. Turns out she has terminal cancer, and a big wedding was something she always wanted. So she “married” her best friend, the vows included, “will you take Jose to be your friend, forever and ever?” That’s the most amazing combination of sweet and heartbreaking as I’ve ever heard.
I received some beads at work yesterday; someone was a little too much into the spirit of Mardi Gras. It was that moment I decided, if the Kyd ever drives home with some beads hanging from her mirror, she’s grounded for a year. For each string of beads. I’m just not sure at what age I can safely warn her, without it coming off as “I dare you.” She’s much smarter than me.
Is it easier to make a comedian laugh or a prostitute climax? I shouldn’t watch “Cathouse” on HBO.
This weekend I watched KU wax that MU ass. Hate to say it, but its time for fans of both schools to watch “Battle for Tobacco Road.” Since 1990, KU is 27-14 against MU. When one team is winning 66% of the games, it’s not really a rivalry on the court. (By comparison, since 1990 Duke is 24-22 against UNC) I know KU-MU means a lot to the alumni, students and the residents of the metro area. But KU has pretty much been winning ever since we won the Civil War.
Gov. Bobby Jindal, just wondering if you even realize “Americans can do anything” is just about the same as “Yes We Can?”
Saw a story online yesterday, about a 9 year old having a big wedding. At first glance I thought it was some sick and twisted story, and fully expected to be sick to my stomach and furious. Turns out she has terminal cancer, and a big wedding was something she always wanted. So she “married” her best friend, the vows included, “will you take Jose to be your friend, forever and ever?” That’s the most amazing combination of sweet and heartbreaking as I’ve ever heard.
I received some beads at work yesterday; someone was a little too much into the spirit of Mardi Gras. It was that moment I decided, if the Kyd ever drives home with some beads hanging from her mirror, she’s grounded for a year. For each string of beads. I’m just not sure at what age I can safely warn her, without it coming off as “I dare you.” She’s much smarter than me.
Is it easier to make a comedian laugh or a prostitute climax? I shouldn’t watch “Cathouse” on HBO.
This weekend I watched KU wax that MU ass. Hate to say it, but its time for fans of both schools to watch “Battle for Tobacco Road.” Since 1990, KU is 27-14 against MU. When one team is winning 66% of the games, it’s not really a rivalry on the court. (By comparison, since 1990 Duke is 24-22 against UNC) I know KU-MU means a lot to the alumni, students and the residents of the metro area. But KU has pretty much been winning ever since we won the Civil War.
February 17, 2009
EqualiHirpty
Last night I found myself on the outside of a conversation, the kind I love. There’s a man, a hard working blue collar kinda guy, and he expressed his concerns/displeasure with the fact that his child is being exposed to “Black history month.” On some levels, I kind of agree with his sentiment, but for different reasons. His concern is there’s no German History Month, or White History Month (I know, isn’t that every other month?) and that generally, things just aren’t fair. He’s all for equality, but feels there’s a strong portion of society that is looking more to take advantage of the system, rather than assure an even playing field.
I know he isn’t alone in his thinking, and to be honest, I’m not really a big fan of “Black History Month.” I prefer that we just incorporate what we now call “Black History” into American history. I don’t see that it makes them special, to have their own month, rather I think it serves more to clearly draw a line in the sand.
We have an African-American President now, and that’s a sign of great progress. But I don’t think the idea should be to discontinue progress when we hit a certain milestone, this isn’t a marathon, and we don’t have a finish line. The road to equality stops when the lines that clearly separate us are no longer around the track. When women are paid the same wage, for doing the same work, as a man. When my daughter receives a great education in our little Agrestic as the black boy receives in KCMO and the Hispanic girl receives in KCK. When the life expectancy of our neighbors isn’t altered by their color. When our religious, or lack thereof, beliefs are given the same respect. When every adult man and woman is allowed to marry whomever they choose. When paper is designed so our left handed friends can write without their hand being covered in ink.
The man I’m referring to has a little girl, and I think the best way to prove the lack of equality is to simply state one statistical fact, that is most relevant to him. According to the US Census, on average, women earn 76.7% of what men earn. So his little girl will earn almost 25 cents less per dollar, than the little boys in her class. These times are far from being equal.
We are not there, and we may (probably) never get there. The fact that there’s a “Black History Month” isn’t shifting the playing field so that it benefits one race over another. The playing field is already so heavily titled, so much so that we call someone who is equal parts black and white, “black.” I understand the frustration when it seems as if someone is being given a hand out, and the minority who is less qualified for a job, ends up with the job. Of course that isn’t how we want things to be, not in a perfect world. But we’re not in a perfect world.
The great equalizer is among us now, being our current economic conditions. We can all be equally unemployed, be equally behind on our payments and get a nice close look at how things look from the other side.
I know he isn’t alone in his thinking, and to be honest, I’m not really a big fan of “Black History Month.” I prefer that we just incorporate what we now call “Black History” into American history. I don’t see that it makes them special, to have their own month, rather I think it serves more to clearly draw a line in the sand.
We have an African-American President now, and that’s a sign of great progress. But I don’t think the idea should be to discontinue progress when we hit a certain milestone, this isn’t a marathon, and we don’t have a finish line. The road to equality stops when the lines that clearly separate us are no longer around the track. When women are paid the same wage, for doing the same work, as a man. When my daughter receives a great education in our little Agrestic as the black boy receives in KCMO and the Hispanic girl receives in KCK. When the life expectancy of our neighbors isn’t altered by their color. When our religious, or lack thereof, beliefs are given the same respect. When every adult man and woman is allowed to marry whomever they choose. When paper is designed so our left handed friends can write without their hand being covered in ink.
The man I’m referring to has a little girl, and I think the best way to prove the lack of equality is to simply state one statistical fact, that is most relevant to him. According to the US Census, on average, women earn 76.7% of what men earn. So his little girl will earn almost 25 cents less per dollar, than the little boys in her class. These times are far from being equal.
We are not there, and we may (probably) never get there. The fact that there’s a “Black History Month” isn’t shifting the playing field so that it benefits one race over another. The playing field is already so heavily titled, so much so that we call someone who is equal parts black and white, “black.” I understand the frustration when it seems as if someone is being given a hand out, and the minority who is less qualified for a job, ends up with the job. Of course that isn’t how we want things to be, not in a perfect world. But we’re not in a perfect world.
The great equalizer is among us now, being our current economic conditions. We can all be equally unemployed, be equally behind on our payments and get a nice close look at how things look from the other side.
February 10, 2009
HgHirp
If I was going under the knife, and there was a pill that the doctor could take to make him better at his job, wouldn’t I want him to take it?
If the Kyd’s teacher could inject something we give to cancer patients, and he’d be a better teacher for it, wouldn’t I want him to take it?
We’re okay when a baseball player shreds his shoulder, heads down to Alabama and has a tendon from his knee placed in his shoulder, and comes back throwing harder. That’s some how natural, and okay. But drugs make for an uneven playing field. That makes sense.
Our government is spending millions of dollars to prosecute Barry Bonds, and is going to do the same to Roger Clemens, because these guys lied about using banned substance. Yet when a US Senator has to with drawl from a cabinet post because he forgot to pay some taxes, we give him a pass. Oh, and we’re in a bit of a recession right now, maybe spending millions of dollars to catch a drug user in a lie.
What’s the deal with these steroid stories coming to light just in time to maximize the black eye it gives baseball? I read a great book, by Mike Lupica, in 1999. He documented how a great home run chase between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa helped to save baseball after the work stoppage in the mid ‘90s. He’s supposed to be a reporter, yet he never thought to dig around, even though we all knew Mac was taking Andro that year? Now I read his columns where he’s bashing Alex Rodriguez and all other steroid users, now he’s taking the high road. The accomplishments we’ve seen in the past 15 years or so are tainted, and were obtained under false pretense, but what about the checks he cashes from benefiting from both sides of this story?
In 2003 baseball ran conducted some random drug testing, with the agreed upon plan that if more than 5% tested positive, baseball would implement baseball drug testing. It was all supposed to be confidential, and by all accounts, the results were kept separate from anything that could identify who they belong to. Allegedly, 104 tested positive, and only one name has been released. This should outrage us more than anything. With Bonds, we’ve seen leaked grand jury testimony, and now we have confidential drug tests leaked.
If the Kyd’s teacher could inject something we give to cancer patients, and he’d be a better teacher for it, wouldn’t I want him to take it?
We’re okay when a baseball player shreds his shoulder, heads down to Alabama and has a tendon from his knee placed in his shoulder, and comes back throwing harder. That’s some how natural, and okay. But drugs make for an uneven playing field. That makes sense.
Our government is spending millions of dollars to prosecute Barry Bonds, and is going to do the same to Roger Clemens, because these guys lied about using banned substance. Yet when a US Senator has to with drawl from a cabinet post because he forgot to pay some taxes, we give him a pass. Oh, and we’re in a bit of a recession right now, maybe spending millions of dollars to catch a drug user in a lie.
What’s the deal with these steroid stories coming to light just in time to maximize the black eye it gives baseball? I read a great book, by Mike Lupica, in 1999. He documented how a great home run chase between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa helped to save baseball after the work stoppage in the mid ‘90s. He’s supposed to be a reporter, yet he never thought to dig around, even though we all knew Mac was taking Andro that year? Now I read his columns where he’s bashing Alex Rodriguez and all other steroid users, now he’s taking the high road. The accomplishments we’ve seen in the past 15 years or so are tainted, and were obtained under false pretense, but what about the checks he cashes from benefiting from both sides of this story?
In 2003 baseball ran conducted some random drug testing, with the agreed upon plan that if more than 5% tested positive, baseball would implement baseball drug testing. It was all supposed to be confidential, and by all accounts, the results were kept separate from anything that could identify who they belong to. Allegedly, 104 tested positive, and only one name has been released. This should outrage us more than anything. With Bonds, we’ve seen leaked grand jury testimony, and now we have confidential drug tests leaked.
February 02, 2009
Super Bowl Re-hirp
Some random, and not so random, thoughts on last night’s Super Bowl:
Jennifer Hudson was fantastic. I thought about saying she killed it, but that’s just insensitive. She may be Idol alum, but I like her anyway. Can’t imagine how hard that was for her.
Two great finishes in a row, I remember a time when the Super Bowl always ended up being a huge let down with a huge blow out.
Bruce was great at half time, and I’ve never been much of a fan. Watching Bruce and Silvio, lead my cousin and I to discuss who may possibly play half time next year. I see a trend of mostly big acts from the 70’s and 80’s getting the stage to themselves. They’ve had Bruce, Tom Petty, Prince, Rolling Stones, and Paul McCartney since 2005. 2004 was Nipple Gate, and the end of their multi-act half time shows. So who could we see in 2010? Bon Jovi and Billy Joel come to mind, if we stick with the current trend. But I have three more current acts to suggest: Beyonce and Jay Z, Kanye West or Justin Timberlake.
I don’t think the good ol’ boys would allow a rapper, such as Eminem (suggested by my cousin) to have the stage to himself. Plus, it’s almost a guarantee that he’d try to piss off the FCC. Beyonce and Jay are pop royalty, and would totally kill. Kanye is the one rapper who is showmen enough and clean enough to consider. Justin would be fantastic, but Nipple Gate would be front and center and distract from the game and show, so I don’t see that happening, unfortunately.
Best ads: Hulu, Pepsi, Cash4Gold.com, E*trade and Pepsi Max.
Jennifer Hudson was fantastic. I thought about saying she killed it, but that’s just insensitive. She may be Idol alum, but I like her anyway. Can’t imagine how hard that was for her.
Two great finishes in a row, I remember a time when the Super Bowl always ended up being a huge let down with a huge blow out.
Bruce was great at half time, and I’ve never been much of a fan. Watching Bruce and Silvio, lead my cousin and I to discuss who may possibly play half time next year. I see a trend of mostly big acts from the 70’s and 80’s getting the stage to themselves. They’ve had Bruce, Tom Petty, Prince, Rolling Stones, and Paul McCartney since 2005. 2004 was Nipple Gate, and the end of their multi-act half time shows. So who could we see in 2010? Bon Jovi and Billy Joel come to mind, if we stick with the current trend. But I have three more current acts to suggest: Beyonce and Jay Z, Kanye West or Justin Timberlake.
I don’t think the good ol’ boys would allow a rapper, such as Eminem (suggested by my cousin) to have the stage to himself. Plus, it’s almost a guarantee that he’d try to piss off the FCC. Beyonce and Jay are pop royalty, and would totally kill. Kanye is the one rapper who is showmen enough and clean enough to consider. Justin would be fantastic, but Nipple Gate would be front and center and distract from the game and show, so I don’t see that happening, unfortunately.
Best ads: Hulu, Pepsi, Cash4Gold.com, E*trade and Pepsi Max.
January 29, 2009
Hirp Thoughts
Just about every day my wife or I will hear a name we like, and we’ll play the baby name game. We’ve pretty much considered every name, and I can’t really blame her for never giving serious consideration to Barack, Tupac, Dwight or Michael Corelone. The thing is, we’re pretty much sure we’ve decided against having a baby. It isn’t that we don’t want to, and there are days that both of us are head over heels in love with the idea of a little one.
But we also have plenty of reasons, and good ones, why we don’t want to. While I assume most prospective parents have a plethora of unknowns, we have more answers than questions. I know she’s a great mom, and she knows what kind of parent I am. We know we don’t make nearly enough money, not that anyone really makes enough money to be a parent, and we know we really don’t want to be that tired all the time. We know how expensive raising a child is, and we know how rewarding it is. We also know how hard it is, even though she knows better than I.
Maybe we know too much, and if we knew a little less, we’d be more likely to have a little Hirp. Maybe we still will. The Kyd loves the idea, not that we’ve asked her, but she’s volunteered the fact numerous times. She’s also suggested we adopt Porqchop’s daughter. We’re smart enough too understand that it isn’t just having a baby, it’s having a 7 year old and a teenager (eventually) and as great as those ages can be, you can’t just focus on the idea of a cute little baby. That baby is going to learn to walk, talk back to us, drive, stay out late, get zits, get sick, have sex and want money for college. He or she would also make us very proud, have a great sense of humor, take first steps, lose a first tooth, greet us with big hugs, get a first job, care about the world around him/herself, tell us we’re not cool enough and serve as another great reminder for how I married the most perfect woman for me. And hey, having a baby would probably make for some great blogging.
So I really don’t know how most couples come to a decision on this. I understand more than I used to though, as I never understood that just loving someone would make you want to have a baby with them. That really never computed for me. Love made sense, but how that love could lead to you doing something that you know would make it more difficult to spend time with that person, would exhaust you and keep you awake at night worrying about everything and nothing. That’s a little clearer now.
But we also have plenty of reasons, and good ones, why we don’t want to. While I assume most prospective parents have a plethora of unknowns, we have more answers than questions. I know she’s a great mom, and she knows what kind of parent I am. We know we don’t make nearly enough money, not that anyone really makes enough money to be a parent, and we know we really don’t want to be that tired all the time. We know how expensive raising a child is, and we know how rewarding it is. We also know how hard it is, even though she knows better than I.
Maybe we know too much, and if we knew a little less, we’d be more likely to have a little Hirp. Maybe we still will. The Kyd loves the idea, not that we’ve asked her, but she’s volunteered the fact numerous times. She’s also suggested we adopt Porqchop’s daughter. We’re smart enough too understand that it isn’t just having a baby, it’s having a 7 year old and a teenager (eventually) and as great as those ages can be, you can’t just focus on the idea of a cute little baby. That baby is going to learn to walk, talk back to us, drive, stay out late, get zits, get sick, have sex and want money for college. He or she would also make us very proud, have a great sense of humor, take first steps, lose a first tooth, greet us with big hugs, get a first job, care about the world around him/herself, tell us we’re not cool enough and serve as another great reminder for how I married the most perfect woman for me. And hey, having a baby would probably make for some great blogging.
So I really don’t know how most couples come to a decision on this. I understand more than I used to though, as I never understood that just loving someone would make you want to have a baby with them. That really never computed for me. Love made sense, but how that love could lead to you doing something that you know would make it more difficult to spend time with that person, would exhaust you and keep you awake at night worrying about everything and nothing. That’s a little clearer now.
January 27, 2009
Trust Me
So yesterday the company I work for, I don’t want to name names so I’ll just call it Shashmint, announced they were laying off 8,000 employees. (funny, Word gave me the green squiggly line under “laying” and offered “lying” as its corrective action) So my day consisted of multiple conference calls to go over the upcoming layoffs. While I understand that delivering that sort of news is probably the worst part of their job, and I in no way want any piece of that responsibility, I couldn’t help but notice how no one would really say anything.
Here’s what I learned:
8,000 people are losing their job, but the company isn’t in any eminent danger.
The severance package will have the same structure as it did last year at this time, although I still don’t know what it is.
The layoffs are to be completed by the end of March, and my team will know within a month, wait no, the middle of March.
The company will no longer match their contribution to 401k or offer tuition reimbursements.
My group won’t be impacted as harshly as others, only 20% (although 8,000 out of 56,000 is 14%, so I don’t understand how 20% is supposed to make me feel any better, except that 20% is lower than 40%, which is how deeply some groups will be hit.
So I have that going for me, which is nice.
***
Checked out the new TNT show, “Trust Me” I heard that they know drama. The premise was good enough, a couple of friends going up the corporate ladder at a Chicago advertising agency. And the two leads are good enough, Tom Cavanaugh and Eric McCormick. But I’d have to say, even though it’s just one episode, it’s a miss. This is a show that should have Sorkin-esque dialogue, and instead feels more like it was written by just another Joe.
I’ll give it another shot, but my 8ball says, “Outlook not good.” Trust me.
Here’s what I learned:
8,000 people are losing their job, but the company isn’t in any eminent danger.
The severance package will have the same structure as it did last year at this time, although I still don’t know what it is.
The layoffs are to be completed by the end of March, and my team will know within a month, wait no, the middle of March.
The company will no longer match their contribution to 401k or offer tuition reimbursements.
My group won’t be impacted as harshly as others, only 20% (although 8,000 out of 56,000 is 14%, so I don’t understand how 20% is supposed to make me feel any better, except that 20% is lower than 40%, which is how deeply some groups will be hit.
So I have that going for me, which is nice.
***
Checked out the new TNT show, “Trust Me” I heard that they know drama. The premise was good enough, a couple of friends going up the corporate ladder at a Chicago advertising agency. And the two leads are good enough, Tom Cavanaugh and Eric McCormick. But I’d have to say, even though it’s just one episode, it’s a miss. This is a show that should have Sorkin-esque dialogue, and instead feels more like it was written by just another Joe.
I’ll give it another shot, but my 8ball says, “Outlook not good.” Trust me.
January 23, 2009
Hirpped Off
It was 1991, and three days after I turned 15, I became an uncle for the first time. For me this was the absolute coolest thing in the world. We had moved to KC just two years before, and my sister was still living in Connecticut. So I didn’t get to see baby Courtney till I went back east for Christmas break. Till then, I had always enjoyed the rare occasions where I was the “big” kid, although it really meant just being the older kid. But I still had never really been around babies.
I remember the first time I saw her and got the chance to hold her. Such a little thing with these big blue eyes, and she kept smiling at me. It’s not like that moment totally changed everything I was doing, because I wasn’t “that” 15 year old. But I knew from that moment on, that everything I did had more meaning. I could be a cool uncle, I could be a good role model, I could be a good example. Now, chances are I wasn’t going to drink or do that stupid shit in high school, having grown up with a sister with a substance abuse problem, but holding Courtney made it a certainty.
The age difference was pretty much perfect, I was young enough that she’d find me cool, but old enough that I didn’t just think she’d help me pick up girls. In the future, she tried to help me, but that was her own doing. But she gave everything in my life a purpose, the one thing every 15 year old really wants. When I got back from Connecticut, I bragged about her to my friends, who had no interest in hearing about a baby. A year and a half later her brother was born, and then my sister married their father.
Yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m 17 and my sister is moving to Kansas with her two kids, and they’re going to live with us. The next best thing to happen during my teenage years.(after their births, of course) The first night they stayed with us, I slept on the floor in their room. I didn’t have to wait till I was all grown up, married with a new baby to learn; there’s no better nap, than a nap with a baby on your chest. You couldn’t learn that in school. Rather than coming home from school and calling friends, I was coming home to play with the kids. Soon, every morning I woke up in my twin bed I had one, or sometimes both, of the kids crammed in there with me.
When my niece and nephew were a little older, and had moved out, I would alternate taking one of them out every week. It was as much for me as it was for them, as it was always a great way to keep things in perspective. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a degree, or how much money I had, or what kind of car I drove, my grades didn’t disappoint them. All I had to do was play with them, or just spend time with them. And often tell them, “No, we can’t listen to that CD because there are some not so nice words. No, not that CD either, okay, let’s listen to the radio.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda, I am in my late 20’s. Things have changed. My sister now has four kids, and none of them live with her. Things will never be the same. I made an effort at first, tried to maintain contact, but then life caught up to us. Court was a teenager, even though I think she hit 16 on her 6th birthday, now all her friends had caught up to her. The kids were (rightfully) angry, angry at my sister, my parents and at me. I think I was as angry at myself, if not more so, because I wasn’t able to come to the rescue like I had always promised them. I was immature, living in a small apartment and barely responsible enough to pay all my bills.
Now I’m 32, I’m married with a kyd and my niece is moving to Phoenix in less than a month. She’s 17 now, and I’ve missed out on her entire high school career. I haven’t been able to get to know her boyfriends, and let them know how difficult I can make their lives if they hurt her. I wasn’t able to be there for her Sweet 16, and I didn’t get to tell her I was getting married. The Kyd hasn’t been able to spend time with her, other than meeting her once, and she’d be nuts about her big cousin. She won’t get to ask her big cousin about makeup, or (I’m throwing up in my mouth as I type it) boys. It’s cool that she has other cousins, and she won’t miss out completely on those moments. But she won’t get to hear stories about me from the cousins she won’t get to know. And when she’s pissed at me, they won’t tell her that I’m really not that bad.
And my niece won’t get to know my wife, or (most depressingly) see how a man who loves his wife, is supposed to treat her. They won’t make fun of a shirt I’m wearing, or roll their eyes together at my lame jokes. We won’t get to sit in the stands when she graduates high school, or stop by her dorm room to take her to dinner (and threaten her boyfriend some more). So my hearts a tad bit shattered today. She won’t have anything to do with me.
I have friends in Phoenix, who have two young kids, I could arrange for some babysitting gigs. If this was “normal” and it was just some family moving to another city, she’d already have a way to earn some extra cash and get out of the house, away from her nagging parents. She’d be just a drive away from her grandparents, who could take her shopping and bore her to death with classical music.
And of course, I’m upset about not having any kind of relationship with the other three kids. But they aren’t moving to Phoenix, so there’s a better chance that with time, we can reconnect. And frankly, they weren’t first. Although I love them with all my heart, they weren’t the first kids to call me “uncle” or learn how much of a pushover I am.
I remember the first time I saw her and got the chance to hold her. Such a little thing with these big blue eyes, and she kept smiling at me. It’s not like that moment totally changed everything I was doing, because I wasn’t “that” 15 year old. But I knew from that moment on, that everything I did had more meaning. I could be a cool uncle, I could be a good role model, I could be a good example. Now, chances are I wasn’t going to drink or do that stupid shit in high school, having grown up with a sister with a substance abuse problem, but holding Courtney made it a certainty.
The age difference was pretty much perfect, I was young enough that she’d find me cool, but old enough that I didn’t just think she’d help me pick up girls. In the future, she tried to help me, but that was her own doing. But she gave everything in my life a purpose, the one thing every 15 year old really wants. When I got back from Connecticut, I bragged about her to my friends, who had no interest in hearing about a baby. A year and a half later her brother was born, and then my sister married their father.
Yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m 17 and my sister is moving to Kansas with her two kids, and they’re going to live with us. The next best thing to happen during my teenage years.(after their births, of course) The first night they stayed with us, I slept on the floor in their room. I didn’t have to wait till I was all grown up, married with a new baby to learn; there’s no better nap, than a nap with a baby on your chest. You couldn’t learn that in school. Rather than coming home from school and calling friends, I was coming home to play with the kids. Soon, every morning I woke up in my twin bed I had one, or sometimes both, of the kids crammed in there with me.
When my niece and nephew were a little older, and had moved out, I would alternate taking one of them out every week. It was as much for me as it was for them, as it was always a great way to keep things in perspective. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a degree, or how much money I had, or what kind of car I drove, my grades didn’t disappoint them. All I had to do was play with them, or just spend time with them. And often tell them, “No, we can’t listen to that CD because there are some not so nice words. No, not that CD either, okay, let’s listen to the radio.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda, I am in my late 20’s. Things have changed. My sister now has four kids, and none of them live with her. Things will never be the same. I made an effort at first, tried to maintain contact, but then life caught up to us. Court was a teenager, even though I think she hit 16 on her 6th birthday, now all her friends had caught up to her. The kids were (rightfully) angry, angry at my sister, my parents and at me. I think I was as angry at myself, if not more so, because I wasn’t able to come to the rescue like I had always promised them. I was immature, living in a small apartment and barely responsible enough to pay all my bills.
Now I’m 32, I’m married with a kyd and my niece is moving to Phoenix in less than a month. She’s 17 now, and I’ve missed out on her entire high school career. I haven’t been able to get to know her boyfriends, and let them know how difficult I can make their lives if they hurt her. I wasn’t able to be there for her Sweet 16, and I didn’t get to tell her I was getting married. The Kyd hasn’t been able to spend time with her, other than meeting her once, and she’d be nuts about her big cousin. She won’t get to ask her big cousin about makeup, or (I’m throwing up in my mouth as I type it) boys. It’s cool that she has other cousins, and she won’t miss out completely on those moments. But she won’t get to hear stories about me from the cousins she won’t get to know. And when she’s pissed at me, they won’t tell her that I’m really not that bad.
And my niece won’t get to know my wife, or (most depressingly) see how a man who loves his wife, is supposed to treat her. They won’t make fun of a shirt I’m wearing, or roll their eyes together at my lame jokes. We won’t get to sit in the stands when she graduates high school, or stop by her dorm room to take her to dinner (and threaten her boyfriend some more). So my hearts a tad bit shattered today. She won’t have anything to do with me.
I have friends in Phoenix, who have two young kids, I could arrange for some babysitting gigs. If this was “normal” and it was just some family moving to another city, she’d already have a way to earn some extra cash and get out of the house, away from her nagging parents. She’d be just a drive away from her grandparents, who could take her shopping and bore her to death with classical music.
And of course, I’m upset about not having any kind of relationship with the other three kids. But they aren’t moving to Phoenix, so there’s a better chance that with time, we can reconnect. And frankly, they weren’t first. Although I love them with all my heart, they weren’t the first kids to call me “uncle” or learn how much of a pushover I am.
January 22, 2009
Hirpped
It’s not that I’ve always done a great job preparing myself for difficult times, but I like to think I do more than most. At the very least, I will almost always play out any number of undesirable outcomes in my head. Often the scenarios I play out in my noggin are morbid, but the OCD and general pessimistic outlook force me to consider my options. This marks the first time I’ve actually gone to looking fairly closely at my family’s financial situation.
See, the company I work for, I’ve mentioned how familiar it is with the layoff process in the past, and the rumor mill is spinning again. The number I’m hearing is around 40% of the company may be let go in the near future. So, by my math, that gives me a 40% chance of being out of a job. 40% in baseball makes you an all-time great, in the operating room it probably keeps a doctor from ever getting insured and that same number may belong to the worst lawyer in the Public Defenders life. That same number, in my situation, is scarier than an un-opened letter from the IRS.
See, the company I work for, I’ve mentioned how familiar it is with the layoff process in the past, and the rumor mill is spinning again. The number I’m hearing is around 40% of the company may be let go in the near future. So, by my math, that gives me a 40% chance of being out of a job. 40% in baseball makes you an all-time great, in the operating room it probably keeps a doctor from ever getting insured and that same number may belong to the worst lawyer in the Public Defenders life. That same number, in my situation, is scarier than an un-opened letter from the IRS.
January 14, 2009
Hirp on Coutler
I’ve often heard how “hate” is a strong word, and now that I’m a parent, I strongly urge the Kyd to pick a different word to express her feelings. But yesterday I saw a clip of Ann Cuntler, and that four letter word just feels like the truest description for how I feel about her. I saw a clip of her on “the View” getting into it with Whoopi Goldberg, about the actions of half white, half black celebrities. So I went to my good friend, Youtube, to watch her appearance on the show.
She has issue with President-elect Barrack Obama writing his book, “Dreams From My Father” and it’s some how wrong that “he identifies with the father who abandoned him.” She tells Barbara Walters that she read a segment from her book like she was reading Mein Kampf. And she says the whole point of her book is how the liberals are always playing the victim. But poor Ann, the host of one of the most popular day time shows is reading from her book, but she doesn’t like the tone, of course it should be compared to the work of Adolf Hitler, doing so makes total sense. Bitch.
Coulter picks on Halle Berry’s Oscar acceptance speech for saying she was “doing it for the Blacks” and she’s identifying only with her black father, and not her mother. Well, maybe Ann missed the movie, but Halle won her Oscar for playing a black woman who falls in love with a racist prison guard. It’s such a mystery, that she’d identify with her “black” side. This is an actress whose first major role came in Jungle Fever, directed by that black director, Spike Lee. Not that I’m a fan of Berry, but she hasn’t really shied away from movies dealing with race, specifically race and relationships. Bulworth, Boomerang, Things We Lost in the Fire, Losing Isaiah and even Die Another Day when she was the first black Bond-girl.
Whenever I’ve filled out an application for a job, there’s been that page at the end that asks male or female, and then gives options for which race I belong to. I’ve never seen “half white, half black” as an option. Society likes to tell us, that if someone isn’t entirely white, then they default to the minority. And she has an issue with Halle Berry and Barack Obama identifying with African-Americans? All of this crap is coming from a woman who often likes to use Obama’s middle name, Hussein, when she speaks about him. I’m sure she’s not doing that to identify with his white mother from Kansas.
Coutler also took on single mothers:
“If you take single motherhood out of the equation, the black and white crime rates are exactly the same. SO if you take everything else out, single motherhood is not good for children,” which seems perfectly valid to me. But she’s attacking the single mothers, her beef is they’re claiming to be victims and we glorify single mothers with movies, and books, and give them un-do credit. Someone should revoke her vagina, it’s that simple. The single mothers aren’t to blame for this, it’s the absent fathers. It takes two to tango, sure, but at least put half the blame on the sperm donors. Only a woman attacking dead beat dads wouldn’t create a stir, and that’s all Coutler does. Logic, facts, tact and common sense aren’t part of her very lucrative equation.
She has issue with President-elect Barrack Obama writing his book, “Dreams From My Father” and it’s some how wrong that “he identifies with the father who abandoned him.” She tells Barbara Walters that she read a segment from her book like she was reading Mein Kampf. And she says the whole point of her book is how the liberals are always playing the victim. But poor Ann, the host of one of the most popular day time shows is reading from her book, but she doesn’t like the tone, of course it should be compared to the work of Adolf Hitler, doing so makes total sense. Bitch.
Coulter picks on Halle Berry’s Oscar acceptance speech for saying she was “doing it for the Blacks” and she’s identifying only with her black father, and not her mother. Well, maybe Ann missed the movie, but Halle won her Oscar for playing a black woman who falls in love with a racist prison guard. It’s such a mystery, that she’d identify with her “black” side. This is an actress whose first major role came in Jungle Fever, directed by that black director, Spike Lee. Not that I’m a fan of Berry, but she hasn’t really shied away from movies dealing with race, specifically race and relationships. Bulworth, Boomerang, Things We Lost in the Fire, Losing Isaiah and even Die Another Day when she was the first black Bond-girl.
Whenever I’ve filled out an application for a job, there’s been that page at the end that asks male or female, and then gives options for which race I belong to. I’ve never seen “half white, half black” as an option. Society likes to tell us, that if someone isn’t entirely white, then they default to the minority. And she has an issue with Halle Berry and Barack Obama identifying with African-Americans? All of this crap is coming from a woman who often likes to use Obama’s middle name, Hussein, when she speaks about him. I’m sure she’s not doing that to identify with his white mother from Kansas.
Coutler also took on single mothers:
“If you take single motherhood out of the equation, the black and white crime rates are exactly the same. SO if you take everything else out, single motherhood is not good for children,” which seems perfectly valid to me. But she’s attacking the single mothers, her beef is they’re claiming to be victims and we glorify single mothers with movies, and books, and give them un-do credit. Someone should revoke her vagina, it’s that simple. The single mothers aren’t to blame for this, it’s the absent fathers. It takes two to tango, sure, but at least put half the blame on the sperm donors. Only a woman attacking dead beat dads wouldn’t create a stir, and that’s all Coutler does. Logic, facts, tact and common sense aren’t part of her very lucrative equation.
January 07, 2009
2008 reHirpped
Most years I put together my own Top 10 Movies list, but this year I don’t I can do that. I’m not even sure if I went to the movies 10 times, and I know I didn’t see enough quality to compile a list. Although in 2009, I may be able to work on my 2008 list as movies hit Blockbuster. But since 2008 had so many personal highlights, I figure I’ll pull a page from Porqchop’s book, and post my very own Top 10, with no help from Hollywood.
Separating them out won’t be easy, as it was such a great year for me. It’s like breaking down the Godfather to 10 great moments. As great as any one scene may be, you can never do the entire movie justice. Each entry has a solid 5 or 6 great “moments” in their own right:
10. Barack Obama. I really never thought I’d see a politician in my lifetime that could actually inspire people. Smooth talkers who can win a room like Bill Clinton, sure, but a man that actually seems honest, sincere and the smartest guy in the room? Yes We Can.
9. Arizona Trip. Always nice to get away, and drama aside, it was a great trip; with beautiful vistas, great weather and my two girls.
8. Chicago Trip. A staple in my annual travel plans, but it was nice to mix it up and stay at a nice hotel downtown. Love the city and the friends that live there.
7. My year in sports. Giants win the Super Bowl, I won my fantasy football title, KU wins the National Championship, I won my fantasy baseball title and I ended the year with two good poker games.
6. Writing. Although my blog hasn’t been updated as much as I’d like, I actually started a book and a screenplay. Hopefully I’ll finish them both in 2009. Or have a good reason for deleting the files.
5. Saw my sister. It hasn’t lead to any thing else, but it was a pretty big step I’m proud of.
4. Riley dog. Great dog and fine addition to the family, I just hope she stops scaring the Kyd’s friends in 2009.
3. All the “dad” moments. There was the first day of school, picking her up from school, building forts, watching ‘toons, laughing, reading, and watching.
2. Getting our house. There’s no one living above, below or next to us, a garage for our cars and a basement for our “stuff”, a yard for the dog and room for mom and dad. You won’t see it on Cribs, but you won’t see it on any of those makeover shows either. It’s truly a happy home.
1. Getting married. The act it self, was mind blowing. The ceremony/reception/and the location was all off the charts. It was absolutely perfect in every way, even with the drama we experienced just getting down to Mexico. I know plenty of people who really enjoyed their wedding, some who wish they had just eloped and some who wish they had a mulligan. I wouldn’t change a thing about ours, and I highly suggest getting married on a beach, and even more strongly suggest marrying the kind of girl I did.
Separating them out won’t be easy, as it was such a great year for me. It’s like breaking down the Godfather to 10 great moments. As great as any one scene may be, you can never do the entire movie justice. Each entry has a solid 5 or 6 great “moments” in their own right:
10. Barack Obama. I really never thought I’d see a politician in my lifetime that could actually inspire people. Smooth talkers who can win a room like Bill Clinton, sure, but a man that actually seems honest, sincere and the smartest guy in the room? Yes We Can.
9. Arizona Trip. Always nice to get away, and drama aside, it was a great trip; with beautiful vistas, great weather and my two girls.
8. Chicago Trip. A staple in my annual travel plans, but it was nice to mix it up and stay at a nice hotel downtown. Love the city and the friends that live there.
7. My year in sports. Giants win the Super Bowl, I won my fantasy football title, KU wins the National Championship, I won my fantasy baseball title and I ended the year with two good poker games.
6. Writing. Although my blog hasn’t been updated as much as I’d like, I actually started a book and a screenplay. Hopefully I’ll finish them both in 2009. Or have a good reason for deleting the files.
5. Saw my sister. It hasn’t lead to any thing else, but it was a pretty big step I’m proud of.
4. Riley dog. Great dog and fine addition to the family, I just hope she stops scaring the Kyd’s friends in 2009.
3. All the “dad” moments. There was the first day of school, picking her up from school, building forts, watching ‘toons, laughing, reading, and watching.
2. Getting our house. There’s no one living above, below or next to us, a garage for our cars and a basement for our “stuff”, a yard for the dog and room for mom and dad. You won’t see it on Cribs, but you won’t see it on any of those makeover shows either. It’s truly a happy home.
1. Getting married. The act it self, was mind blowing. The ceremony/reception/and the location was all off the charts. It was absolutely perfect in every way, even with the drama we experienced just getting down to Mexico. I know plenty of people who really enjoyed their wedding, some who wish they had just eloped and some who wish they had a mulligan. I wouldn’t change a thing about ours, and I highly suggest getting married on a beach, and even more strongly suggest marrying the kind of girl I did.
January 05, 2009
JstPosting
So of course, I ended up falling asleep for a bit. I finally crashed at around 5:45am, only to have my alarm go off at 6. Turned that annoying peace of technology off and went back to sleep till 7. At which point I was both exhausted and feeling rushed, as I usually get to work at that time. And the bed that fought with me all night, and kicked my ass, was finally welcoming me, damn near taunting me.
I made my way to the kitchen to make my wife’s coffee, that’s one of my morning responsibilities. It isn’t really a chore, and although it may not make much sense, I really love getting up before her to make her coffee. This morning I wish I drank coffee, I almost stopped at Starbucks and asked them to just pour espresso down my throat. But I did the next best thing, took my Ritalin. Usually that gets me going pretty good in the morning. It’s not like a shot of adrenalin, it just makes me function. By the time I get to work, I’m pretty alert and ready to do a few minutes of actual work. That wasn’t the case today. So I took another one, something I’ve never done before. Not 30 minutes apart, maybe 4 or 6 hours, but certainly not twice in one morning.
It wasn’t long till I felt nauseas. And going home at 8:30 the first day back after being off for 12 days, and being employed by company that lays off people as often as they issue paychecks, well that just doesn’t sound like a smart move. Certainly would not be a good start to the New Year. The second Ritalin finally set in, and I feel halfway decent, just hoping this day moves quickly.
Random Hirpasms:
I don’t like ESPN.com’s new look. Personally, I prefer the layout from 1995.
Will Facebook make it acceptable to start speaking in the third person? Hirp hopes so.
The Kyd is the absolute best traveler. Not just for her age, but for any age. If only she could always behave as well as she does on vacation or in transit.
Marley & Me was very good, but don’t take a kid to see it. And bring Kleenex, you know, for your wife.
First, I have to admit, I’m not a John Travolta fan. Second, that’s horrible news for he and his family, truly horrible. Third, maybe the Bahamas aren’t the best place for nut job celebs to visit. I’m just saying…
I made my way to the kitchen to make my wife’s coffee, that’s one of my morning responsibilities. It isn’t really a chore, and although it may not make much sense, I really love getting up before her to make her coffee. This morning I wish I drank coffee, I almost stopped at Starbucks and asked them to just pour espresso down my throat. But I did the next best thing, took my Ritalin. Usually that gets me going pretty good in the morning. It’s not like a shot of adrenalin, it just makes me function. By the time I get to work, I’m pretty alert and ready to do a few minutes of actual work. That wasn’t the case today. So I took another one, something I’ve never done before. Not 30 minutes apart, maybe 4 or 6 hours, but certainly not twice in one morning.
It wasn’t long till I felt nauseas. And going home at 8:30 the first day back after being off for 12 days, and being employed by company that lays off people as often as they issue paychecks, well that just doesn’t sound like a smart move. Certainly would not be a good start to the New Year. The second Ritalin finally set in, and I feel halfway decent, just hoping this day moves quickly.
Random Hirpasms:
I don’t like ESPN.com’s new look. Personally, I prefer the layout from 1995.
Will Facebook make it acceptable to start speaking in the third person? Hirp hopes so.
The Kyd is the absolute best traveler. Not just for her age, but for any age. If only she could always behave as well as she does on vacation or in transit.
Marley & Me was very good, but don’t take a kid to see it. And bring Kleenex, you know, for your wife.
First, I have to admit, I’m not a John Travolta fan. Second, that’s horrible news for he and his family, truly horrible. Third, maybe the Bahamas aren’t the best place for nut job celebs to visit. I’m just saying…
Insomnia
I finally gave up trying at 4am, which was all of 9 minutes ago. It just wasn’t my night for sleeping. I’ve had nights like this in the past, but when I was much younger and being up till 4am wasn’t even all that unusual then. I tried everything I could think of, I may have even tried counting sheep. I got out of bed a couple times and laid on the couch, because I knew the tossing and turning was disturbing my wifes sleep. She’s the lightest sleeper on the planet, I really feel for her. And that’s on every other night, when I know the dog shifting positions can wake her. Tonight must have been pure torture for her.
So I tried watching “Forensic Files” hoping that it would be almost interesting to pay attention to, but mostly solid background noise so I would stop paying attention to the seeing the minutes pass on the cable box. Tonight, I wish there was no cable tv. No cable TV would mean no digital boxes, displaying the green numbers so brightly in the dark of the room, that they could almost keep me up on their own. That, and the digital clock that sits around 17 inches from my face, made it impossible to ignore the vanishing-prime sleeping hours.
So I’m up, and I’ve given up. It just wasn’t my night. I came out to the living room, wrote my wife an apology, which will do little to help replace her hours of lost sleep and ironically enough, won’t let me sleep any better. ‘Cause you know, I can’t friggin sleep. The upside, as if there is one, is that I have my first blog post of 2009. I really wasn’t sure what I would write about, but I hope this is the last post I ever write about not being able to sleep. What kills me, is how much I sounded like the Kyd when she can’t sleep. She tosses and turns, and gets up and down like the Dow. I tried taking all the advice we’d normally give her. Nothing worked, and the longer I was up, the more I worried. Will I be a zombie at work tomorrow? Did I just start the worst week ever? If I get to sleep right this second, I’ll get a solid three hours, that’s passable, along with an extra Ritalin. How can I make this up to my wife? I probably asked those questions a few hundred times each, never once did I answer myself.
And now it’s 4:20am. There’s another ExtenZe ad on ESPN and I can’t even think of a joke for that. I’m not sure if I even want to fall asleep now, that would just make the waking up portion of my morning that much more difficult. A catnap wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it’s hardly a lock. Not for another hour anyway.
So I tried watching “Forensic Files” hoping that it would be almost interesting to pay attention to, but mostly solid background noise so I would stop paying attention to the seeing the minutes pass on the cable box. Tonight, I wish there was no cable tv. No cable TV would mean no digital boxes, displaying the green numbers so brightly in the dark of the room, that they could almost keep me up on their own. That, and the digital clock that sits around 17 inches from my face, made it impossible to ignore the vanishing-prime sleeping hours.
So I’m up, and I’ve given up. It just wasn’t my night. I came out to the living room, wrote my wife an apology, which will do little to help replace her hours of lost sleep and ironically enough, won’t let me sleep any better. ‘Cause you know, I can’t friggin sleep. The upside, as if there is one, is that I have my first blog post of 2009. I really wasn’t sure what I would write about, but I hope this is the last post I ever write about not being able to sleep. What kills me, is how much I sounded like the Kyd when she can’t sleep. She tosses and turns, and gets up and down like the Dow. I tried taking all the advice we’d normally give her. Nothing worked, and the longer I was up, the more I worried. Will I be a zombie at work tomorrow? Did I just start the worst week ever? If I get to sleep right this second, I’ll get a solid three hours, that’s passable, along with an extra Ritalin. How can I make this up to my wife? I probably asked those questions a few hundred times each, never once did I answer myself.
And now it’s 4:20am. There’s another ExtenZe ad on ESPN and I can’t even think of a joke for that. I’m not sure if I even want to fall asleep now, that would just make the waking up portion of my morning that much more difficult. A catnap wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it’s hardly a lock. Not for another hour anyway.
December 19, 2008
Jst Kydding
I wonder, when the Kyd’s teacher gives the class something and tells them to take it home to “mom and dad,” does she think about correcting him? G isn’t her “dad” but maybe she just doesn’t want to bring attention to that fact. I’m sure there are other kids in the same boat, probably close to 50%. But I really don’t ever worry all that much about any of those kids.
Does she know who Santa and the Tooth Fairy really are, and just play along for our sake?
Why does she behave all night, and then suddenly become bi-polar at bedtime?
Last night she picked out a movie, Soccer Mom from Red Box, and it wasn’t awful. But thank Joe Pesci (see George Carlin, for why I’m thanking Joe over God) that she didn’t pick up on all the adult jokes. We have a soccer star who is also supposed to be some hunk, played by the greatness that is Dan Cortesse, and a girls soccer team that expects him to be their coach. Only it ends up being the Soccer Mom in disguise. Anyway, there’s reference to hotel room hook-ups, French maids uniforms, and naughty mother’s who need punishment. The writer was one more Red Bull away from writing a Cinemax flick.
In my life time I’ve seen the following technological advances as part of my every day life:
Color TV > Cable TV > Dish > Digital cable > HD
Cassette > CD > Digital music
Boom box > Walkman > iPod
Beta > VCR > Laser Disc > DVD > DVR/TiVo > BluRay
Rotary phone > Push button phone > Cordless phone > Cell phone in a bag > Smart phone
Big screen TVs > Bigger and flatter TVs
Atari > Nintendo > Genesis > PlayStation > xBox360 > Wii
Home computer > Laptop > Pocket PCs
Dial up > Broadband > Wireless
So what will the world look like in 25 years, when the Kyd is the same age as I am now?
Does she know who Santa and the Tooth Fairy really are, and just play along for our sake?
Why does she behave all night, and then suddenly become bi-polar at bedtime?
Last night she picked out a movie, Soccer Mom from Red Box, and it wasn’t awful. But thank Joe Pesci (see George Carlin, for why I’m thanking Joe over God) that she didn’t pick up on all the adult jokes. We have a soccer star who is also supposed to be some hunk, played by the greatness that is Dan Cortesse, and a girls soccer team that expects him to be their coach. Only it ends up being the Soccer Mom in disguise. Anyway, there’s reference to hotel room hook-ups, French maids uniforms, and naughty mother’s who need punishment. The writer was one more Red Bull away from writing a Cinemax flick.
In my life time I’ve seen the following technological advances as part of my every day life:
Color TV > Cable TV > Dish > Digital cable > HD
Cassette > CD > Digital music
Boom box > Walkman > iPod
Beta > VCR > Laser Disc > DVD > DVR/TiVo > BluRay
Rotary phone > Push button phone > Cordless phone > Cell phone in a bag > Smart phone
Big screen TVs > Bigger and flatter TVs
Atari > Nintendo > Genesis > PlayStation > xBox360 > Wii
Home computer > Laptop > Pocket PCs
Dial up > Broadband > Wireless
So what will the world look like in 25 years, when the Kyd is the same age as I am now?
December 17, 2008
Giving Tree
It’s funny how your point of view can change over time. When I was a youngin’, my favorite book in the world was Shel Silverstiens’ “The Giving Tree.” I just thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I wanted to be that boy, and I wanted that tree. He had a best friend, and one that would play whatever games he wanted. Then I became an uncle at 15, so when I was 16 I got my baby niece a copy of “The Giving Tree.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but obviously I wasn’t seeing the world through the eyes of a toddler any more. Most teenagers are angry and confused, but I was probably a little angrier than most at that age. So re-reading it to my niece, I began to see it as a story about being taken advantage of. That tree loved the boy unconditionally, and the boy just took advantage of the love and loyalty. He literally left the tree with nothing left to give, and nothing in return.
Now I’m a parent, and last year I got a copy for the Kyd. I hadn’t read it with her till last night, and once again, my interpretation has been turned upside down. Now I see the tree as a parent. And the boy is its child, and no one’s being taken advantage of. The tree, like any good parent, is just doing the best it can do to provide for its child. The boy wants to play, the tree gives him a safe place to play. The boy wants to rest, and he can rest with the tree. He needs money, and the tree provides him with work. Sounds just like my dad. But it isn’t just work, it’s a chance, a chance to provide for himself, a chance to make his own way. And when the boy gets older and is ready to move on, the tree makes that possible. Then the boy is a man, and every man still needs his parents. We need them for rest, for peace, for a safe place to go and to always remember where we come from.
Now I’m a parent, and last year I got a copy for the Kyd. I hadn’t read it with her till last night, and once again, my interpretation has been turned upside down. Now I see the tree as a parent. And the boy is its child, and no one’s being taken advantage of. The tree, like any good parent, is just doing the best it can do to provide for its child. The boy wants to play, the tree gives him a safe place to play. The boy wants to rest, and he can rest with the tree. He needs money, and the tree provides him with work. Sounds just like my dad. But it isn’t just work, it’s a chance, a chance to provide for himself, a chance to make his own way. And when the boy gets older and is ready to move on, the tree makes that possible. Then the boy is a man, and every man still needs his parents. We need them for rest, for peace, for a safe place to go and to always remember where we come from.
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