So the Juice isn’t loose. OJ has finally been squeezed. Paybacks a bitch, right? Well, shockingly enough, I think that whole thing is complete and utter BS. Did OJ break the law? Sure, and he should go to jail for what he did. But the law should be above vengeance. The system shouldn’t carry a grudge and OJ shouldn’t be looking at spending as much as 30 years in prison.
Of course I don’t know all the facts, hell, I probably know like four or five at the most. I know this much, he took some stuff from a moron who stole from him. I know he brought some friends with him to a hotel room, and one of the guys brought a gun, while another genius brought a tape recorder. Wait a second, time out right there, who goes to Vegas and brings a tape recorder? Better question is, who the hell still has a tape recorder? That guy must have purchased that recorder back in ’94 and always carried it on him, just incase he happened to be invited to commit a felony. Now I know there are some really stupid criminals out there, but one who audio tapes his crime, well he’s at the top (or maybe it’s the bottom) of that list. Really, you know he had that recorder on him, because once he knew he’d be around OJ, he saw dollar signs. And now he had a chance to record an angry Juice, how much would that be worth to the paparazzi? At least a few grand.
So this “over the hill” gang finds out that someone who stole from OJ is staying at the lovely Palace Station. They’re in Vegas for a wedding, having a few drinks I assume, and came up with the master plan of knocking on their door and demanding his items back. This sounds more like a story of how alcohol can make us do stupid things than criminal conspiracy, one of his five charges. Hell, OJ was even seen in the courtroom halls chatting with the “victim.”
Of course all three co-defendants make deals, and Clark County throws, not just the book at OJ, but the entire library. They, of course, convict OJ and sentence him to a total of 33 years in prison, with the possibility of parole in about 9 years. Just the possibility though, we all know he’ll serve more than 9. Why? Because he deserves to, duh. I mean, he did kill Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown, everyone knows that.
Only I thought the law was supposed to give us justice, not even the score. Look, the guys that carjacked me (and I think 3 or 4 others that weekend) saw their “ring leader” do 8 years. They actually shot someone that night, stole 3 or 4 cars at gunpoint and ran from the po-po’s. 8 years versus a guy with no priors, who wasn’t holding the gun and is still friendly with his “victim” and he’s looking at possibly spending 33 years in prison.
They didn’t convict OJ of stealing memorabilia, they evened the score. And that isn’t justice. Of course OJ should have done time for killing two people in Brentwood, but the system failed then. But the system just failed again. Revenge is fine, I totally understand and appreciate revenge. That’s just human nature, and if Fred Goldman wanted to hire someone to cut of OJ Simpsons’ head, that’d closer to “justice” than the state of Nevada cleaning up California’s mess 13 years later.
OJ going to jail is the ending every wanted to see, and no one (other than the Judge in Nevada) is trying to deny it, but we’re supposed to at least act like we want more from our legal system. We’re supposed to turn to our legal system RATHER than seek revenge, not for it. Yet this is widely acceptable in our society now. Maybe it’s because our President was willing to send troops to die so he could avenge his father’s nemesis, or maybe because it makes for the most entertaining story.
The only people, I think, that have the right to be pleased with this outcome are the families of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown. Not because they finally got the bastard, but because maybe now they can be left alone. If the public really wants justice for the victims, then Judge Ito, Marcia Clarke, Mark Furhman and OJ Simpson should all be doing time. Together, they killed two people and let the killer get away with it while making millions of dollars off the crime and absence of punishment.
December 08, 2008
December 02, 2008
Hirplash
Last night I re-watched Crash, and my wife watched it for the first time. She’s a smart cookie, and was catching on to some events before they happened, and would ask me if this or that was going to happen. Before I met her, most the moms I knew had difficulty or flat out didn’t want to see, any movie in which a child was a victim. My wife isn’t any different, and we’ve had to turn off a movie or two in the past.
Of course the character she liked most was the hard working and doting father, Daniel (played by Michael Pena), and she instantly connected with him on a parent level in the scene where he gives his daughter her “impenetrable cloak.” She put the pieces together fairly quickly, and began asking me if the store owner was going to hurt or kill him. I didn’t want to give it away, but I knew she’d be pissed at me if he was killed and I let her watch. So I told her the truth, that he isn’t hurt. Soon the store owner was robbed and found Daniels name on a receipt, and my wife stirred in her seat. As the lunatic owner sat outside Daniels home, she asked if something happened to his daughter. I said that she wouldn’t be killed. It was true, and I knew she’d be upset by the scene in which we are lead to believe she’s shot, but I didn’t want to dilute the scene.
Then it happened, that powerful moment where Lara leaps into her father’s arms to protect him just as the gun goes off. She gasped, and I quickly told her that the girl was okay. But it was too late. It didn’t matter that for two seconds she thought the girl had been shot, those two seconds was all it took. I may get in trouble here, but my wife cried. Probably a mixture of emotions; horrified, sad, pissed at me, confused and top of the list, imaging she and the Kyd in that situation.
I’m fairly certain that not telling her what was the come was the “right” thing to do, but it didn’t make it the easy thing to do. Crash, in my opinion, is an important movie, and I didn’t want to lessen the impact because those two seconds stay with you. The silent scream we see from Daniel is completely audible in our heads.
Earlier in the evening, I was watching another Don Cheadle movie, Talk to Me. I saw it last summer, and it’s a solid B, maybe B+ movie. But I was distracted by the voices in my head. I had an idea for a cast that in part I really would like to see assembled, and part of me wondered why it hadn’t happened yet. I want to see a movie with Denzel, Cheadle, Terrance Howard, Jeffrey Wright, Thadie Newton, and Halle Berry. Just give us a great script with great characters for a talented cast. Race doesn’t need to be a theme, and lets just skip the bio-pic, which seems to be the only time the masses will accept a largely black cast. Give us The Departed or a Saving Private Ryan. Throw a ton of money behind it, and put a world class director in the chair. Don’t market it with a soundtrack of the most popular rappers of the day. Score it as you’d score any great movie. No token white guy roles, unless it’s the right actor for the part.
It could be a monumental movie, and not a monumental “black” movie, only when that adjective is removed from the description. And there’s absolutely no reason this cast shouldn’t be assembled.
Of course the character she liked most was the hard working and doting father, Daniel (played by Michael Pena), and she instantly connected with him on a parent level in the scene where he gives his daughter her “impenetrable cloak.” She put the pieces together fairly quickly, and began asking me if the store owner was going to hurt or kill him. I didn’t want to give it away, but I knew she’d be pissed at me if he was killed and I let her watch. So I told her the truth, that he isn’t hurt. Soon the store owner was robbed and found Daniels name on a receipt, and my wife stirred in her seat. As the lunatic owner sat outside Daniels home, she asked if something happened to his daughter. I said that she wouldn’t be killed. It was true, and I knew she’d be upset by the scene in which we are lead to believe she’s shot, but I didn’t want to dilute the scene.
Then it happened, that powerful moment where Lara leaps into her father’s arms to protect him just as the gun goes off. She gasped, and I quickly told her that the girl was okay. But it was too late. It didn’t matter that for two seconds she thought the girl had been shot, those two seconds was all it took. I may get in trouble here, but my wife cried. Probably a mixture of emotions; horrified, sad, pissed at me, confused and top of the list, imaging she and the Kyd in that situation.
I’m fairly certain that not telling her what was the come was the “right” thing to do, but it didn’t make it the easy thing to do. Crash, in my opinion, is an important movie, and I didn’t want to lessen the impact because those two seconds stay with you. The silent scream we see from Daniel is completely audible in our heads.
Earlier in the evening, I was watching another Don Cheadle movie, Talk to Me. I saw it last summer, and it’s a solid B, maybe B+ movie. But I was distracted by the voices in my head. I had an idea for a cast that in part I really would like to see assembled, and part of me wondered why it hadn’t happened yet. I want to see a movie with Denzel, Cheadle, Terrance Howard, Jeffrey Wright, Thadie Newton, and Halle Berry. Just give us a great script with great characters for a talented cast. Race doesn’t need to be a theme, and lets just skip the bio-pic, which seems to be the only time the masses will accept a largely black cast. Give us The Departed or a Saving Private Ryan. Throw a ton of money behind it, and put a world class director in the chair. Don’t market it with a soundtrack of the most popular rappers of the day. Score it as you’d score any great movie. No token white guy roles, unless it’s the right actor for the part.
It could be a monumental movie, and not a monumental “black” movie, only when that adjective is removed from the description. And there’s absolutely no reason this cast shouldn’t be assembled.
December 01, 2008
CaliHirponiacation
Sophomore slumps may sound as they only belong to college kids, but any music or sports fan knows this isn’t the case. A rookie hits the scene and has a great first season, and in their second season their production is far below the now high expectations they have set for themselves. Music works the same way, a great debut is followed up with something sub-par, the fact that par is set after just one release is both unfair and honest. Just ask Hootie, Fionna Apple and any Royals fan (you remember the Hammer and Berrora).
Television works the same way. “Californiacation” was one of the few shows to have a near perfect first season; it was as likely to suffer a drop off this year. I didn’t want to even consider the possibility, but then season two began. I’m not a prude, or easily offended, but in the first few episodes they said “fuck” as often, and as meaningless, as any rapper with a gold album. There was so much meaningless sex and drugs it could have been written by just about any high school senior who spent his nights snorting Ritalin and watching Cinemax. Worst of all, it had stopped sounding personal. They went through the motions, and followed some foolishly designed formula.
Based on how last season ended, I knew it would be hard to strike the same chords. Hank took Karen away from marriage that made about as much sense as Lyle and Julia; they sped away to a happy ending. But there was nothing “happy” about Hank, the only happy endings he could have would have capped off a massage. It was a dud season ending, and it set up season two to flop. Expectedly, it did just that. Until the happy union between the couple that seemed destine to be together, fell apart. There were some bumps, and a little too much time spent with Ashby and Mia (a nasty little something the writers need to banish with a shot of Penicillin) but they brought the show back to its roots.
We’ve seen it time and time before, the television shows where everyone is pulling for the guy to get the girl. Only once he gets the girl, the quality of the show almost always slumps. “Friends” is, of course, the perfect example. The highly underrated, “How I Met Your Mother” is designed to avoid this pitfall, as we know that when Ted finally meets Mrs. Right, that it will be time to call it a wrap.
But we may have a television first, a breakup actually fixing a mistake. Hopefully Showtime can perform the same magic on “Weeds”; as that would be the tri-fecta. We’ve seen “Entourage” and “Californiacation” return to form, so there’s a chance.
Television works the same way. “Californiacation” was one of the few shows to have a near perfect first season; it was as likely to suffer a drop off this year. I didn’t want to even consider the possibility, but then season two began. I’m not a prude, or easily offended, but in the first few episodes they said “fuck” as often, and as meaningless, as any rapper with a gold album. There was so much meaningless sex and drugs it could have been written by just about any high school senior who spent his nights snorting Ritalin and watching Cinemax. Worst of all, it had stopped sounding personal. They went through the motions, and followed some foolishly designed formula.
Based on how last season ended, I knew it would be hard to strike the same chords. Hank took Karen away from marriage that made about as much sense as Lyle and Julia; they sped away to a happy ending. But there was nothing “happy” about Hank, the only happy endings he could have would have capped off a massage. It was a dud season ending, and it set up season two to flop. Expectedly, it did just that. Until the happy union between the couple that seemed destine to be together, fell apart. There were some bumps, and a little too much time spent with Ashby and Mia (a nasty little something the writers need to banish with a shot of Penicillin) but they brought the show back to its roots.
We’ve seen it time and time before, the television shows where everyone is pulling for the guy to get the girl. Only once he gets the girl, the quality of the show almost always slumps. “Friends” is, of course, the perfect example. The highly underrated, “How I Met Your Mother” is designed to avoid this pitfall, as we know that when Ted finally meets Mrs. Right, that it will be time to call it a wrap.
But we may have a television first, a breakup actually fixing a mistake. Hopefully Showtime can perform the same magic on “Weeds”; as that would be the tri-fecta. We’ve seen “Entourage” and “Californiacation” return to form, so there’s a chance.
November 20, 2008
Hirpology
It’s damn near 2009, I know it doesn’t matter that I feel like the 90’s just ended, we should be further along than we are. No just socially, and obviously economically, but I mean technology. I’m not talking about space vacations or everyone having a robot at home to let the dog out, nothing that would change the very shape of our world today. Simple every day tasks could be, and should be, easier with the help of technology.
Sadly, this just isn’t the case. In my perfect world we’d have the following:
Every vending machine would have the ability to read your dollar bill. Seriously, how long have they been taking dollars now? They still spit out 54.9% of each dollar, and those rejected dollars are rejected more than three times 80.3% of the time. I probably didn’t make up any of those percentages. I said probably. Really though, it should no longer matter if the bill is as wrinkled as Bea Authors vazhïn or has one or four folded corners. Take the friggin’ dollar, give me my Starburst and let’s end this transaction. American’s waste 4 hours a year dealing with vending machine issues, probably something like that.
I want all ATM’s and those terminals at the store you swipe your credit card through should all have the same lay out. All computer keyboards have the main keys in the same spot; they can do the same for us. Imagine if the “U” was different by keyboard manufacturer. At an ATM, the yes/no, English/Spanish, and complete another transaction, should come in the same order and the appropriate keys should be placed the same. You can jazz up your ATM with a nice display or a beep so I know I really hit the key, that’s fine. But let’s keep it simple stupid. Same goes for the terminals at Targets, pharmacies and grocery stores. They should all work the same. This isn’t Mac versus PC, but it’s to the point that I’ve already considered walking out of a store without milk because their keypad is laid out differently. Can you imagine if I was one of those OCD freaks or just really anal?
Sadly, this just isn’t the case. In my perfect world we’d have the following:
Every vending machine would have the ability to read your dollar bill. Seriously, how long have they been taking dollars now? They still spit out 54.9% of each dollar, and those rejected dollars are rejected more than three times 80.3% of the time. I probably didn’t make up any of those percentages. I said probably. Really though, it should no longer matter if the bill is as wrinkled as Bea Authors vazhïn or has one or four folded corners. Take the friggin’ dollar, give me my Starburst and let’s end this transaction. American’s waste 4 hours a year dealing with vending machine issues, probably something like that.
I want all ATM’s and those terminals at the store you swipe your credit card through should all have the same lay out. All computer keyboards have the main keys in the same spot; they can do the same for us. Imagine if the “U” was different by keyboard manufacturer. At an ATM, the yes/no, English/Spanish, and complete another transaction, should come in the same order and the appropriate keys should be placed the same. You can jazz up your ATM with a nice display or a beep so I know I really hit the key, that’s fine. But let’s keep it simple stupid. Same goes for the terminals at Targets, pharmacies and grocery stores. They should all work the same. This isn’t Mac versus PC, but it’s to the point that I’ve already considered walking out of a store without milk because their keypad is laid out differently. Can you imagine if I was one of those OCD freaks or just really anal?
November 18, 2008
Hirpoooo
I really enjoy watching “How I Met Your Mother” and I consider it to be one of the best comedies on TV. Last night however, I realized that I could write for the series. They had a whole bit about girls “wooing.” Not wooing, as in courting or trying to win over someone, but that annoying sound we often hear from a group of women in their late teens and if they are especially retarded, into their early twenties. I blogged about it many moons ago, along with a few other pet peeves of mine.
Back in July of 2005, I posted my Top 10 List of things that annoy the shit out of me. Woohoo made that list, along with high fives; they came in at #7. “Woooo” is a version of the aforementioned “woohoo,” it’s really more of a regional thing I believe. Aside from the fact that the writers went to that well a few too many times and took it from the smart social commentary it was and made it as annoying as the actual phrase, I realized I could write for this show. Maybe even a few other shows, some shows I’d have to get paid more than others to write for, but we’re only talking an extra $10 or $20. Seriously, I think most of my rants (see: bitching) on this very site could be turned into episodes of a successful sitcom.
My last name even fits the requirements for being shown in the credits; it ends with “berg.”
***
I have a bit of a conundrum at work. My boss has organized a team building activity, which ironically enough is being called “volunteer work,” even though the email specifically states that participation is not optional. The kicker is, we’re supposed to go to church, and not just any church, her church, to help staff backpacks full of food for kids who are in the unfortunate situation of not always getting a meal outside of school. The cause is a good one, and I have no qualms with doing something like that.
I do, however, have a beef with having to go to her church, or any church for that matter, for a work related function. So I’ve wrestled with saying something about how I feel it isn’t appropriate, which it isn’t, or biting my tongue and going along, or option three which results in me unexpected and unavoidable absence from work that day.
It’s been pointed out to me that a lot of good goes on at the church, which I don’t deny. And I highly doubt that there will be much preaching going on towards us, but any preaching while I’m at work is too much preaching. I highly doubt any of my co-workers would like to sit down and listen to my views, and better yet, I wouldn’t subject them to such an event. As I realize there’s a time and a place, and this isn’t either of those.
So as much as I find this awkward and potentially harmful to my career, I also find this pretty upsetting. That’s right, it upsets me. This angers me in fact. But as I think out my reactions to this, I see even more drama. If I say anything, I know the company would protect me, but I also think I’d be a bit ostracized. If I just go, I’ll be disappointed in myself for caving, and there’s still the possibility of a brain fart leading to some verbal diarrhea. I don’t think bringing up the fact that I didn’t ask anyone to die for my sins, or that I think I should own my sins, is going to win anyone over. Either one of those reactions causes me to be at the center of both an HR issue and piss off some coworkers who are way to comfortable talking about their beliefs.
My third option, where I some how being unable to come in that day has its own double edged sword, as we’re also supposed to go to lunch for my bosses boss’ birthday. Not that he’s really going to give a damn if I’m not there, but I don’t think it’s really smart to ever be the lone absent employee at a lunch like that.
Back in July of 2005, I posted my Top 10 List of things that annoy the shit out of me. Woohoo made that list, along with high fives; they came in at #7. “Woooo” is a version of the aforementioned “woohoo,” it’s really more of a regional thing I believe. Aside from the fact that the writers went to that well a few too many times and took it from the smart social commentary it was and made it as annoying as the actual phrase, I realized I could write for this show. Maybe even a few other shows, some shows I’d have to get paid more than others to write for, but we’re only talking an extra $10 or $20. Seriously, I think most of my rants (see: bitching) on this very site could be turned into episodes of a successful sitcom.
My last name even fits the requirements for being shown in the credits; it ends with “berg.”
***
I have a bit of a conundrum at work. My boss has organized a team building activity, which ironically enough is being called “volunteer work,” even though the email specifically states that participation is not optional. The kicker is, we’re supposed to go to church, and not just any church, her church, to help staff backpacks full of food for kids who are in the unfortunate situation of not always getting a meal outside of school. The cause is a good one, and I have no qualms with doing something like that.
I do, however, have a beef with having to go to her church, or any church for that matter, for a work related function. So I’ve wrestled with saying something about how I feel it isn’t appropriate, which it isn’t, or biting my tongue and going along, or option three which results in me unexpected and unavoidable absence from work that day.
It’s been pointed out to me that a lot of good goes on at the church, which I don’t deny. And I highly doubt that there will be much preaching going on towards us, but any preaching while I’m at work is too much preaching. I highly doubt any of my co-workers would like to sit down and listen to my views, and better yet, I wouldn’t subject them to such an event. As I realize there’s a time and a place, and this isn’t either of those.
So as much as I find this awkward and potentially harmful to my career, I also find this pretty upsetting. That’s right, it upsets me. This angers me in fact. But as I think out my reactions to this, I see even more drama. If I say anything, I know the company would protect me, but I also think I’d be a bit ostracized. If I just go, I’ll be disappointed in myself for caving, and there’s still the possibility of a brain fart leading to some verbal diarrhea. I don’t think bringing up the fact that I didn’t ask anyone to die for my sins, or that I think I should own my sins, is going to win anyone over. Either one of those reactions causes me to be at the center of both an HR issue and piss off some coworkers who are way to comfortable talking about their beliefs.
My third option, where I some how being unable to come in that day has its own double edged sword, as we’re also supposed to go to lunch for my bosses boss’ birthday. Not that he’s really going to give a damn if I’m not there, but I don’t think it’s really smart to ever be the lone absent employee at a lunch like that.
November 17, 2008
Hirpback
I love a good comeback story. There’s nothing as rewarding as seeing a good comeback, and there’s no genre or situation that is as fun to see no matter the story line. Be it a conversation, some solid banter, the comeback is the winner. In sports, even more than the long shot, the comeback has more staying power. Be it a personal story, the comeback is the most inspirational.
Merriam-Webster defines a comeback as:
1 a: a sharp or witty reply: Retort b: a cause for complaint
2: a return to a former position or condition (as of success or prosperity)
And “Entourage’ has come all the way back. It hit the scene and knocked us on our collective asses. It was the most honest view into male relationships, and knew that men generally don’t want to use the “R” word to describe anything. Then a few seasons later it began to slip, still capable of producing a couple solid episodes a season, but far below it’s previous greatness.
This year changed all that. I love that we’re seeing more Turtle, and finding out what a decent guy he is. The signs were always there, he was honest (even about living off of Vin) loyal (even to the point he missed out on some lovin’ because he had to defend his dog) and he was always reliable. Of course he isn’t the brightest guy in the group, but he doesn’t need to be.
This show is always ten times better when we’re dealing with actual drama, and not the idiot brother. When Chase’s career is the catalyst, things really click. And it’s nice to have the boys back. Too bad there’s just one episode left, then I go into “Weeds” withdrawl. I just hope those writers take a page from HBO’s playbook, and get back to basics, so their show can have an Entourage-esque encore.
Merriam-Webster defines a comeback as:
1 a: a sharp or witty reply: Retort b: a cause for complaint
2: a return to a former position or condition (as of success or prosperity)
And “Entourage’ has come all the way back. It hit the scene and knocked us on our collective asses. It was the most honest view into male relationships, and knew that men generally don’t want to use the “R” word to describe anything. Then a few seasons later it began to slip, still capable of producing a couple solid episodes a season, but far below it’s previous greatness.
This year changed all that. I love that we’re seeing more Turtle, and finding out what a decent guy he is. The signs were always there, he was honest (even about living off of Vin) loyal (even to the point he missed out on some lovin’ because he had to defend his dog) and he was always reliable. Of course he isn’t the brightest guy in the group, but he doesn’t need to be.
This show is always ten times better when we’re dealing with actual drama, and not the idiot brother. When Chase’s career is the catalyst, things really click. And it’s nice to have the boys back. Too bad there’s just one episode left, then I go into “Weeds” withdrawl. I just hope those writers take a page from HBO’s playbook, and get back to basics, so their show can have an Entourage-esque encore.
November 13, 2008
Hirp Review
Normally I only review movies I’ve seen in their entirety, and usually I won’t give a movie a good review if I dosed off during it. But hey, I’m all about breaking rules. It’s gettin’ crazy up in this mofo, ya’all. That’s what happens when Hirp watches a movie based on one of the American Girl Store dolls. And that’s what we started last night, Kitt Kittredge: An American Girl, one of the many gifts the Kyd has received for her 7th birthday. So she’s just 6 years away from being a teenager, and I won’t even be able to blame her teenage years for my hair loss.
The Kyd has had the American Girl Doll, Kitt, for a while now, and last year she and her mom read the book that tells the story of her doll. Seriously, each doll gets a book, and now those books are being turned into movies. In my world, that would be like every rapper getting a book and a movie about their life story. Oh wait, never mind. Back to Kitt Kitty Kitt.
The first thing I noticed, okay second, was the impressive cast they assembled. Julia Ormand, Chris O’Donnell, Joan Cusack, Stanley Tucci and Abigal Breslin. Abigal is the first thing I noticed, because my wife has always said how she looks so much like a younger version of ‘Chop’s wife, and it’s down right eerie how much she resembles her. Back to the cast, I realize this isn’t the cast of The Departed, but those are some pretty impressive names for a movie about a doll.
So we have a story about a girl in depression-era Ohio, and we catch a glimpse of the best of times and the worst of times, through the eyes of a sweet 10ish year old girl. We see her friends impacted by a tough economy. The rich friends hear from their dads how the hobo’s are all criminals and that we can’t allow the government to take our money and give it to the poor. Then her dad loses his job, and she grows close to being one of those “worthless” poor people herself. A real pick me up kinda movie when you work for a company that lays off people every other Thursday.
But that’s what I like about this movie; it has an element of reality that most movies for young girls lack. Rather then a storyline that centers around on either idiot parents or kids who hang out and we never even see or hear about their parents, we see parents who love and worry about their kids. And kids who love their parents, and are stressed by the drama of the adult world. It sparked a conversation with the Kyd about how there are families losing their houses today, just the way they did in the movie. I can’t imagine how scary that is for her to hear about, but seeing a character she can relate to, going through the same things, and coming out okay on the other end may give her some sort of comfort (man, I hope so) that her mom and I can’t with our reassurances. And it sure beats her hearing a story on the news about foreclosures and trying to explain it.
But yes, I dosed off for a few minutes early in the movie. It really wasn’t the movies fault, it was that damn couch. It made me do it. We paused the movie and will finish it off tonight, right after we watch the news about a certain local telecom company cutting jobs as their stock falls.
The Kyd has had the American Girl Doll, Kitt, for a while now, and last year she and her mom read the book that tells the story of her doll. Seriously, each doll gets a book, and now those books are being turned into movies. In my world, that would be like every rapper getting a book and a movie about their life story. Oh wait, never mind. Back to Kitt Kitty Kitt.
The first thing I noticed, okay second, was the impressive cast they assembled. Julia Ormand, Chris O’Donnell, Joan Cusack, Stanley Tucci and Abigal Breslin. Abigal is the first thing I noticed, because my wife has always said how she looks so much like a younger version of ‘Chop’s wife, and it’s down right eerie how much she resembles her. Back to the cast, I realize this isn’t the cast of The Departed, but those are some pretty impressive names for a movie about a doll.
So we have a story about a girl in depression-era Ohio, and we catch a glimpse of the best of times and the worst of times, through the eyes of a sweet 10ish year old girl. We see her friends impacted by a tough economy. The rich friends hear from their dads how the hobo’s are all criminals and that we can’t allow the government to take our money and give it to the poor. Then her dad loses his job, and she grows close to being one of those “worthless” poor people herself. A real pick me up kinda movie when you work for a company that lays off people every other Thursday.
But that’s what I like about this movie; it has an element of reality that most movies for young girls lack. Rather then a storyline that centers around on either idiot parents or kids who hang out and we never even see or hear about their parents, we see parents who love and worry about their kids. And kids who love their parents, and are stressed by the drama of the adult world. It sparked a conversation with the Kyd about how there are families losing their houses today, just the way they did in the movie. I can’t imagine how scary that is for her to hear about, but seeing a character she can relate to, going through the same things, and coming out okay on the other end may give her some sort of comfort (man, I hope so) that her mom and I can’t with our reassurances. And it sure beats her hearing a story on the news about foreclosures and trying to explain it.
But yes, I dosed off for a few minutes early in the movie. It really wasn’t the movies fault, it was that damn couch. It made me do it. We paused the movie and will finish it off tonight, right after we watch the news about a certain local telecom company cutting jobs as their stock falls.
November 10, 2008
Hirp Thoughts
If I had to, or if I could, weight what percentage of the following question comes from actual external sources, my guess is it would come out to be about 22%. But that 22% has influenced me about 100%, with a +/- of .02%. Sorry, I’ve seen about 108% of my poll threshold, and I think it’s starting to take it’s toll. The thing is, I could probably only count a hand full, maybe two, times in my life where an apparently harmless question, left a ripple effect that lead to me questioning most aspects of my life.
I don’t know if those questions came first, or my own drive to be true to myself came first. It’s the proverbial chicken and the egg. But it’s come in one of the following six ways (in no particular order): true fan, real New Yorker, real Jew, brother, Uncle, and now parent. Those are the subject of the same question, and the answers have been what I often used to define myself. The question being, “am I a real ____” and fill in the blank with the six previous subjects.
It’s been in good fun and the harassing nature of some of my longest, and best, friendships. We love to give each other shit, and we’re good at it. When I first met them, I was the die hard sports fan. ESPN was the only channel that mattered 22 hours of the day, and I didn’t have Cinemax enough to make up for one of the remaining two hours, so ESPN and NBC were all I needed access to.
It could be that I grew up, or that my tastes and priorites changed. And there’s probably some truth to that. Also, there’s some truth to the fact that I became more disenchanted with sports, after running into a few athletes as a near adult, and seeing what dicks they are. I believe I’ve posted about this a little in the past. But because I was at one time, the diehard fan my wife is glad I’m no longer, I still identify, at least somewhat, as part of who I am. And to be honest, even though I don’t know everyone in Triple-A, let alone everyone on the KU roster, I still know more than the average fan. But I’m not where, or who, I once was. So when I get that, “you’re not a true fan,” I both agree with it, deny it, regret it, and feel proud of it.
The most common question posed to me by others, relates to me being a “real New Yorker.” And in some way, this offends me and screws me up the most. I was born in New York to parents who were born and raised in Cleveland, with a brother and sister who were born in Detroit. I left New York, by the choice of others, when I was eight. And when I was a kid, I was terrorifed of the city. But of the places I lived as a kid, my best memories are from New York. It’s influenced my taste in music, movies, food and sports. Probably even how I speak. But no, I didn’t grow up running around Manhattan, and I don’t have family residing out there now. But everything about what I do now was influenced and is still influenced by New York.
There’s no way I’m just another tourist who loves the city, because they didn’t hit Jones Beach as a kid. They didn’t take a trip to the Catskills, and they didn’t ride their bike to Artie’s to get baseball cards. They didn’t grow up watching the Mets, and there’s no way they have fond memories of going to their first ball game at Shea. A tourist didn’t camp out by the sound, even if they know all of Billy Joel’s songs by heart. They may know how to get around the city better, and they may get out there more often than I do, and I may have lived most of my life between the Rockies and the Mississippi, but I never forget where I came from.
I understand why it’s questioned, I really do. I’ve lived away from New York for 75% of my life, and that number will do nothing except grow. And I’ve kind of turned my nose up at Kansas and Missouri as if I think I’m too good for the area or something. For the record, I am not. My home is here, and I don’t want to live, or be, anywhere else, other than with my family in Lee’s Summit. But as a kid who moved around a little, and I know there are tons of kids who moved around a lot more than I did, it was the only way to keep myself grounded. Some move around, and they’re chameleons, and blend in with their new surroundings nice and easy. I didn’t have the social skills for that, and I didn’t have the drive to do that. So I held on to where I was happiest as tight as I could, and I don’t regret it for a second. That’s the loyalty in me that I happen to believe is my best quality. Even if it’s just being loyal to a zip code to most, to me, it’s being loyal to the 7 year old Hirp.
Maybe all Jews are such neurotic messes. But then again, I’m the Jew that doesn’t believe in God, hasn’t been to Temple for anything other than a wedding in the past 17 years, and knows less about our traditions than Rush Limbaugh. But I am a Jew. My parents, raised me Jewish, my bloodline is made up of nothing but Jews. But I never heard stories about aunts and uncles who survived Auschwitz, I’ve never even watched a Woody Allen movie and I read Italian about as well as I read Hebrew. Oh, and I’m pretty much in opposition of any and all organized religions. Never mind that I don’t believe in God. So am I a real Jew? Oy, I just don’t know. I’ve been to West Palm Beach, Boca, the upper west side and I’ve worn a Yamaka.
This one hasn’t come up often, and it’s probably just me when I get into my over-analyzing mode coupled with my defensive mode. See, my brother and sister were both adopted by my parents, but make no mistake; they are my brother and sister. Maybe two times in my life, I have heard, “well they aren’t your real brother and sister,” in response to the fact they were born with different DNA. Bullshit, and double bullshit because it opens up the thought that my nieces and nephews aren’t my “real” nieces and nephews. They couldn’t be more “real” and I couldn’t be more of an uncle to them. Maybe it’s just a pitty defense others come up with when they hear some of the stories, and think, that maybe it’d be easiser for me to separate myself from some drama. Only that couldn’t be more untrue. And sadly, I think someone has planted that seed with my sister and her kids. That we aren’t their “real family.” That’s some dangerous thinking there. Real family, there’s no such thing. There’s just family. Blood or genetics are questions for science to concern itself with, you can get that at a sperm bank or after a few too many drinks at a bar one random night.
It’s those infrequent situations that caused my semi-frequent visits to inside my head. See, if anyone would ask that, then I know they’d use the same reasoning when it comes to their judgement of me as a parent. Not that they should matter, or really do, but importance aside, that’s the shit that screws us all up on some level. But it matters not, that the Kyd share my DNA, not having been there when she woke in the night or that I wasn’t there for her first words or steps, and the fact that I am not “daddy” is of little significance. I lose sleep thinking about her, worried for her health, happiness, education and future. I dread when she begins dating, driving, and the first time someone offers her a beer or a hit. I hope she finds the right guy, or girl, and that her mom, father and I don’t screw her up too much. Will I walk her down the aisle, no. But I’ll be sitting up front with a giant grin, maybe a tear, and perhaps a loaded weapon just incase he gets any bad ideas.
It probably sounds bad, but it’s honest, this seed was planted by the Kyd’s friends. There have been a few times where I picked her up from school, and a classmate asked if I was her “real dad.” She says I am her “G” but I can see she’s uncomfortable with the question, and I understand. It makes me uncomfortable when I pick her up and someone at the daycare asks if I’m her dad, or if we’re out at Blockbuster and the person checking us out speaks to her and calls me her dad. Part of me wants to explain, well, I’m her step-dad. Why the hell do I do that? Because I don’t want to mislead anyone, especially her, I’m afraid whenever I don’t correct someone, that subconsciously, or consciously, she’ll think I’m trying to be her dad.
For all the things I am you can call me Sybil if you want. I’m a Jewish New Yorker, a real fan, a brother, uncle and a parent.
I don’t know if those questions came first, or my own drive to be true to myself came first. It’s the proverbial chicken and the egg. But it’s come in one of the following six ways (in no particular order): true fan, real New Yorker, real Jew, brother, Uncle, and now parent. Those are the subject of the same question, and the answers have been what I often used to define myself. The question being, “am I a real ____” and fill in the blank with the six previous subjects.
It’s been in good fun and the harassing nature of some of my longest, and best, friendships. We love to give each other shit, and we’re good at it. When I first met them, I was the die hard sports fan. ESPN was the only channel that mattered 22 hours of the day, and I didn’t have Cinemax enough to make up for one of the remaining two hours, so ESPN and NBC were all I needed access to.
It could be that I grew up, or that my tastes and priorites changed. And there’s probably some truth to that. Also, there’s some truth to the fact that I became more disenchanted with sports, after running into a few athletes as a near adult, and seeing what dicks they are. I believe I’ve posted about this a little in the past. But because I was at one time, the diehard fan my wife is glad I’m no longer, I still identify, at least somewhat, as part of who I am. And to be honest, even though I don’t know everyone in Triple-A, let alone everyone on the KU roster, I still know more than the average fan. But I’m not where, or who, I once was. So when I get that, “you’re not a true fan,” I both agree with it, deny it, regret it, and feel proud of it.
The most common question posed to me by others, relates to me being a “real New Yorker.” And in some way, this offends me and screws me up the most. I was born in New York to parents who were born and raised in Cleveland, with a brother and sister who were born in Detroit. I left New York, by the choice of others, when I was eight. And when I was a kid, I was terrorifed of the city. But of the places I lived as a kid, my best memories are from New York. It’s influenced my taste in music, movies, food and sports. Probably even how I speak. But no, I didn’t grow up running around Manhattan, and I don’t have family residing out there now. But everything about what I do now was influenced and is still influenced by New York.
There’s no way I’m just another tourist who loves the city, because they didn’t hit Jones Beach as a kid. They didn’t take a trip to the Catskills, and they didn’t ride their bike to Artie’s to get baseball cards. They didn’t grow up watching the Mets, and there’s no way they have fond memories of going to their first ball game at Shea. A tourist didn’t camp out by the sound, even if they know all of Billy Joel’s songs by heart. They may know how to get around the city better, and they may get out there more often than I do, and I may have lived most of my life between the Rockies and the Mississippi, but I never forget where I came from.
I understand why it’s questioned, I really do. I’ve lived away from New York for 75% of my life, and that number will do nothing except grow. And I’ve kind of turned my nose up at Kansas and Missouri as if I think I’m too good for the area or something. For the record, I am not. My home is here, and I don’t want to live, or be, anywhere else, other than with my family in Lee’s Summit. But as a kid who moved around a little, and I know there are tons of kids who moved around a lot more than I did, it was the only way to keep myself grounded. Some move around, and they’re chameleons, and blend in with their new surroundings nice and easy. I didn’t have the social skills for that, and I didn’t have the drive to do that. So I held on to where I was happiest as tight as I could, and I don’t regret it for a second. That’s the loyalty in me that I happen to believe is my best quality. Even if it’s just being loyal to a zip code to most, to me, it’s being loyal to the 7 year old Hirp.
Maybe all Jews are such neurotic messes. But then again, I’m the Jew that doesn’t believe in God, hasn’t been to Temple for anything other than a wedding in the past 17 years, and knows less about our traditions than Rush Limbaugh. But I am a Jew. My parents, raised me Jewish, my bloodline is made up of nothing but Jews. But I never heard stories about aunts and uncles who survived Auschwitz, I’ve never even watched a Woody Allen movie and I read Italian about as well as I read Hebrew. Oh, and I’m pretty much in opposition of any and all organized religions. Never mind that I don’t believe in God. So am I a real Jew? Oy, I just don’t know. I’ve been to West Palm Beach, Boca, the upper west side and I’ve worn a Yamaka.
This one hasn’t come up often, and it’s probably just me when I get into my over-analyzing mode coupled with my defensive mode. See, my brother and sister were both adopted by my parents, but make no mistake; they are my brother and sister. Maybe two times in my life, I have heard, “well they aren’t your real brother and sister,” in response to the fact they were born with different DNA. Bullshit, and double bullshit because it opens up the thought that my nieces and nephews aren’t my “real” nieces and nephews. They couldn’t be more “real” and I couldn’t be more of an uncle to them. Maybe it’s just a pitty defense others come up with when they hear some of the stories, and think, that maybe it’d be easiser for me to separate myself from some drama. Only that couldn’t be more untrue. And sadly, I think someone has planted that seed with my sister and her kids. That we aren’t their “real family.” That’s some dangerous thinking there. Real family, there’s no such thing. There’s just family. Blood or genetics are questions for science to concern itself with, you can get that at a sperm bank or after a few too many drinks at a bar one random night.
It’s those infrequent situations that caused my semi-frequent visits to inside my head. See, if anyone would ask that, then I know they’d use the same reasoning when it comes to their judgement of me as a parent. Not that they should matter, or really do, but importance aside, that’s the shit that screws us all up on some level. But it matters not, that the Kyd share my DNA, not having been there when she woke in the night or that I wasn’t there for her first words or steps, and the fact that I am not “daddy” is of little significance. I lose sleep thinking about her, worried for her health, happiness, education and future. I dread when she begins dating, driving, and the first time someone offers her a beer or a hit. I hope she finds the right guy, or girl, and that her mom, father and I don’t screw her up too much. Will I walk her down the aisle, no. But I’ll be sitting up front with a giant grin, maybe a tear, and perhaps a loaded weapon just incase he gets any bad ideas.
It probably sounds bad, but it’s honest, this seed was planted by the Kyd’s friends. There have been a few times where I picked her up from school, and a classmate asked if I was her “real dad.” She says I am her “G” but I can see she’s uncomfortable with the question, and I understand. It makes me uncomfortable when I pick her up and someone at the daycare asks if I’m her dad, or if we’re out at Blockbuster and the person checking us out speaks to her and calls me her dad. Part of me wants to explain, well, I’m her step-dad. Why the hell do I do that? Because I don’t want to mislead anyone, especially her, I’m afraid whenever I don’t correct someone, that subconsciously, or consciously, she’ll think I’m trying to be her dad.
For all the things I am you can call me Sybil if you want. I’m a Jewish New Yorker, a real fan, a brother, uncle and a parent.
November 06, 2008
Yes Hirp Can
I thought it would be best to wait a day, before I posted anything about the election. I wanted to let everything really set in, and anyway, I commented either via Twitter or Facebook every 18 minutes on Election Night. The thing that has had the greatest impact on me, actually wasn’t President-elect Obama’s acceptance speech. But lets just start rewriting the book on great speakers now, the Obama needs to be in one of the first three or four chapters. What really moved me was the clips of the spontaneous celebrations both in our country and abroad. It’s not that I thought, “we’ll never see the world celebrate one of our elections,” it’s that I never would have considered that even a possibility.
And I’ve heard friends comment on post-election celebrations we’ve seen on the news in the past. We couldn’t understand how an election could inspire them to party in the streets. A sports franchise winning the final game of their season, which results in little more than the players getting new rings and the arenas or stadiums getting new flags, well celebrating that makes sense. Hell, in America, we’ll even tear down a city in celebration of such an accomplishment. But celebrate an election? Never.
Well that’s just one of many things that changed on November 4, 2008. There are three national events of my lifetime, that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my days. The first was the tragedy of the Challenger disaster. I remember where I was sitting and exactly how I heard about it. If I say third grade, it might make a few readers feel, well, a little more chronologically advanced. The second was 9/11/01. I now have #3 in the memory bank, thankfully and finally, it’s something positive. The day America grew up.
I don’t, for one second, believe this mean’s everything is right with America now. Race is still, and will always be an issue. Just as sex, class and religion. These things aren’t going away, but perhaps we’re back on the right path of facing these permanent obstacles. I’m no historian, but my gut tells me that after the combination of the Kennedy’s, Dr. King, John Lennon and Malcolm X being assassinated, and the Vietnam War finally ended, I think American’s became too exhausted to care enough. What was the point of caring, if it was just going to result in yet another crushing disappointment? We got to the 80’s, and we began to care just about our own worlds even more. Greed was good, and the sentiment trickled down.
The 90’s came, and soon the internet began making it easy to stay in touch, but not to really communicate. We had a new community, but it was and is still largely, a faceless one. We retreated even deeper in to our closets. The world saw genocide, terrorist attacks, diseases, poverty and famine. And we only bonded long enough for a telethon, benefit concert and to raise funds for our military. Oh, and we would print some clever t-shirts and bumper stickers. Then it was back to soccer games, e-mails, SUV’s and iPods. The only thing that came close to inspiring us was a few good movies, and even those were increasingly infrequent.
Then there was a candidate, and people began to stir. He had something we’d seen before, but not in a long time. I think it took the economy sinking as it did to finally scare people out of their little worlds, and realize it was time. Could we change, and make it back? Yes we can.
It still bothers me that we call Barack Obama an African-American, I think doing so is racist. Why is a man that has one Caucasian parent and one African-American parent, automatically labeled an African-American? When we get past that, when we no longer make an issue out of how blacks are voting for this candidate, or women vote for this candidate just because the candidates are either of the same shade or have the pee out of the same thing, that’s when we’ll have made serious progress. Obama doesn’t tell me that we did it, only that Yes We Can. It’s been a long time since we thought we could, it feels good.
And I’ve heard friends comment on post-election celebrations we’ve seen on the news in the past. We couldn’t understand how an election could inspire them to party in the streets. A sports franchise winning the final game of their season, which results in little more than the players getting new rings and the arenas or stadiums getting new flags, well celebrating that makes sense. Hell, in America, we’ll even tear down a city in celebration of such an accomplishment. But celebrate an election? Never.
Well that’s just one of many things that changed on November 4, 2008. There are three national events of my lifetime, that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my days. The first was the tragedy of the Challenger disaster. I remember where I was sitting and exactly how I heard about it. If I say third grade, it might make a few readers feel, well, a little more chronologically advanced. The second was 9/11/01. I now have #3 in the memory bank, thankfully and finally, it’s something positive. The day America grew up.
I don’t, for one second, believe this mean’s everything is right with America now. Race is still, and will always be an issue. Just as sex, class and religion. These things aren’t going away, but perhaps we’re back on the right path of facing these permanent obstacles. I’m no historian, but my gut tells me that after the combination of the Kennedy’s, Dr. King, John Lennon and Malcolm X being assassinated, and the Vietnam War finally ended, I think American’s became too exhausted to care enough. What was the point of caring, if it was just going to result in yet another crushing disappointment? We got to the 80’s, and we began to care just about our own worlds even more. Greed was good, and the sentiment trickled down.
The 90’s came, and soon the internet began making it easy to stay in touch, but not to really communicate. We had a new community, but it was and is still largely, a faceless one. We retreated even deeper in to our closets. The world saw genocide, terrorist attacks, diseases, poverty and famine. And we only bonded long enough for a telethon, benefit concert and to raise funds for our military. Oh, and we would print some clever t-shirts and bumper stickers. Then it was back to soccer games, e-mails, SUV’s and iPods. The only thing that came close to inspiring us was a few good movies, and even those were increasingly infrequent.
Then there was a candidate, and people began to stir. He had something we’d seen before, but not in a long time. I think it took the economy sinking as it did to finally scare people out of their little worlds, and realize it was time. Could we change, and make it back? Yes we can.
It still bothers me that we call Barack Obama an African-American, I think doing so is racist. Why is a man that has one Caucasian parent and one African-American parent, automatically labeled an African-American? When we get past that, when we no longer make an issue out of how blacks are voting for this candidate, or women vote for this candidate just because the candidates are either of the same shade or have the pee out of the same thing, that’s when we’ll have made serious progress. Obama doesn’t tell me that we did it, only that Yes We Can. It’s been a long time since we thought we could, it feels good.
November 04, 2008
JstVote
I’m reviewing the candidates for some local elections, and I can’t help but cringe a little when I see candidates that are MU graduates. Is that bad? I’m looking at the web site for Secretary of State Candidate, Mitch Hubbard, and on the values page, he lead off with his faith and belief in Jesus Christ. Now, that’s his business. And as much as I am for freedom of speech, I really wish people would keep their business where it belongs: on blogs or to themselves.
Really, his beliefs don’t matter when it comes to doing his job. Employers aren’t allowed to ask potential (or current) employees about their religious beliefs. Is it really asking too much to treat these candidates the same way? I get it, I do, and I just don’t like it. When reading the profiles of these candidates, I admit that I am more likely to vote for someone who I feel I can relate to. And we know how much society uses religious beliefs as a measure for connecting, but that doesn’t make it right.
I don’t want to know if Barrack Obama is Christian, Jewish, Muslim or Scientologist. Okay, that’s not true. If he were Scientologist, I’d want to know that. And that’s wrong on my part; they can’t all be like Tom Cruise, John Travolta and Kristie Alley. Anyway, I don’t want to get off another rant about religion.
I’m pretty sure every Republican has to throw a variation of the phrase “better Government, not bigger” on their web sites. I think they can all do us a favor, and take pay cuts, that’ll help reduce the size at least a little bit.
And by the way, I’m not voting down party lines. For Treasuer, I’m going with a Republican. It just makes sense to me, like hiring a Jewish accountant, female house keeper or Democrat for President.
Really, his beliefs don’t matter when it comes to doing his job. Employers aren’t allowed to ask potential (or current) employees about their religious beliefs. Is it really asking too much to treat these candidates the same way? I get it, I do, and I just don’t like it. When reading the profiles of these candidates, I admit that I am more likely to vote for someone who I feel I can relate to. And we know how much society uses religious beliefs as a measure for connecting, but that doesn’t make it right.
I don’t want to know if Barrack Obama is Christian, Jewish, Muslim or Scientologist. Okay, that’s not true. If he were Scientologist, I’d want to know that. And that’s wrong on my part; they can’t all be like Tom Cruise, John Travolta and Kristie Alley. Anyway, I don’t want to get off another rant about religion.
I’m pretty sure every Republican has to throw a variation of the phrase “better Government, not bigger” on their web sites. I think they can all do us a favor, and take pay cuts, that’ll help reduce the size at least a little bit.
And by the way, I’m not voting down party lines. For Treasuer, I’m going with a Republican. It just makes sense to me, like hiring a Jewish accountant, female house keeper or Democrat for President.
November 03, 2008
hirPolitics
I’ve decided to run for office, because I have one good idea. It might even make sense. I’m pretty much against guns, except for in my movies and music. But if people want to have guns, fine, I get it. We won’t ever see that law changed. So lets treat it like alcohol and cigarettes. Actually, I think I heard an idea like this from Chris Rock once. Anyway, tax the hell out of ammo. Not just 8% or whatever, I mean really tax it. Tax it like you mean it. 50, 60, 80%, a man’s tax.
If you can’t afford the tax, you probably don’t need a gun to protect your property, as you have nothing worth stealing. And if you’re that poor, you’d probably just use the ammo to commit some crime. So like everything else in this country, health care, legal fees, education, we’ll leave the ammo for the rich.
I think Rock once said that a bullet should cost a million dollars, that way we’d see less innocent by-standers as victims.
Now I also have a visual for my commercials. I see sub-titles.
***
I thought of some Obama phrases that are pretty horrible ideas, but still, they humor me:
McCain doesn’t care about the future; he won’t be here for it
Hey, I’m half-white
War hero? He got caught!
Because a President should be able to lift his arms
The 70’s are over, no one wants any more Bush
***
I’m sure some marketing company did some studies, and proved that those lawn signs help decide an election. But I say ban ‘em. Do we really want to decide elections by who puts out the most signs? I’m thinking those are voters shouldn’t be voting in the first place. Plus, think of how much money can be saved if candidates didn’t print up retarded lawn signs.
And really, putting your political views out there like that, you’re just asking for your house to be tp’d or egged.
If you can’t afford the tax, you probably don’t need a gun to protect your property, as you have nothing worth stealing. And if you’re that poor, you’d probably just use the ammo to commit some crime. So like everything else in this country, health care, legal fees, education, we’ll leave the ammo for the rich.
I think Rock once said that a bullet should cost a million dollars, that way we’d see less innocent by-standers as victims.
Now I also have a visual for my commercials. I see sub-titles.
***
I thought of some Obama phrases that are pretty horrible ideas, but still, they humor me:
McCain doesn’t care about the future; he won’t be here for it
Hey, I’m half-white
War hero? He got caught!
Because a President should be able to lift his arms
The 70’s are over, no one wants any more Bush
***
I’m sure some marketing company did some studies, and proved that those lawn signs help decide an election. But I say ban ‘em. Do we really want to decide elections by who puts out the most signs? I’m thinking those are voters shouldn’t be voting in the first place. Plus, think of how much money can be saved if candidates didn’t print up retarded lawn signs.
And really, putting your political views out there like that, you’re just asking for your house to be tp’d or egged.
JstSore
I am sore, so sore in fact, that “sore” is no longer a descriptive enough word. But I am thrilled, so thrilled in fact, that “thrilled” no longer works to describe how I feel. We moved in to the house over the weekend, and when I say over the weekend, I mean the entire thing plus last Thursday. Pretty much all day, every day, consisted of load boxes, unloading boxes. We’ve been unpacking boxes, moving boxes, then moving empty boxes out of the way, and ultimately taking empty boxes out of the house. I’m not quite done with the latter portion of the process. Seriously, moving is like the whole circle of life, the Cliffs Notes version that you can get through over a weekend.
We have a nice 32” inch HDTV, has the flat screen but, it isn’t thin. In our apartment, it looked great. But now that we have a bigger room, and a tall wall, it’s just a little too small. This really has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve wanted a big flat screen for a long time. Luckily, I hear that the price for such a TV is going to drop drastically after the Holidays. No one knows how much “drastically” is, but it sounds like a good number to me. So, we’ll put that at the top of Hirp’s Wish List. Please, Santa, I’ve been good. Except for being Jewish, you should be really happy with me this year.
Now I’ve had my heart set on going up to 42”, as it sounds like a good size, plus we wouldn’t have to sell off one of the Kyd’s limbs. But my pop told me about a chart, and it says that based on how far away our couch is, we should make the jump to 50”. How can I argue with a chart?
***
I’ll be glad when the Election is over. Glad that I will no longer be “reminded” to vote, or that day light savings is coming. I just hope I’m not reminded how stupid the citizens of this country can be.
“Entourage” has bounced back after a couple of off seasons. Maybe “Californiacation” can do the same, but that show has dropped from a 10 to a 7.
We have a nice 32” inch HDTV, has the flat screen but, it isn’t thin. In our apartment, it looked great. But now that we have a bigger room, and a tall wall, it’s just a little too small. This really has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve wanted a big flat screen for a long time. Luckily, I hear that the price for such a TV is going to drop drastically after the Holidays. No one knows how much “drastically” is, but it sounds like a good number to me. So, we’ll put that at the top of Hirp’s Wish List. Please, Santa, I’ve been good. Except for being Jewish, you should be really happy with me this year.
Now I’ve had my heart set on going up to 42”, as it sounds like a good size, plus we wouldn’t have to sell off one of the Kyd’s limbs. But my pop told me about a chart, and it says that based on how far away our couch is, we should make the jump to 50”. How can I argue with a chart?
***
I’ll be glad when the Election is over. Glad that I will no longer be “reminded” to vote, or that day light savings is coming. I just hope I’m not reminded how stupid the citizens of this country can be.
“Entourage” has bounced back after a couple of off seasons. Maybe “Californiacation” can do the same, but that show has dropped from a 10 to a 7.
October 29, 2008
2Hirp
I’m a wuss. I have lost sleep, my mouth is dry and I sorta wanna vomit. No, I’m not pregnant, just slightly retarded. All this because, gasp, I have to lead a conference call this morning. To many, it probably sounds like just another day to day function they do at their jobs. Like checking email, pooping and watching the clock. But I hate public speaking, I detest speaking to people I don’t know, and I have good reason to.
For those who have had the pleasure(?) of conversing with me, you’ve said “what” “huh” or “one more time” after no less than 63% of my comments. And that’s almost always in person. You’ve cracked jokes, and I’ve laughed at them, even made my own from time to time about the language known as “Greggese.”
But today I have to go over a process flow for a report I’ve worked weekly for the past two years, so I’m a little worried I might have a stroke. And then on top of the anxiety, is the fact that I feel like a complete idiot for getting so worked up over something so insiginicant. Sure, they’ll call in, and 2 of the 5 might even listen to what I’m attempting to say s l o w l y and clearly. They won’t give my mumble two seconds of thought after the call, and I’ll spend the rest of the day replaying the entire session in my head. I’ll be pissed that I stuttered here, annoyed that I said “um” too many times and wishing I was a mime.
***
Last night, as a family, we took the dog out for a walk. Now she’s a sweet dog, but she’s not without her issues. She’s nipped at kids, and isn’t very fond of smaller dogs. Walking out of our apartment (hey, did I mention we’re getting a house?) the Kyd had hold of her leash. We were talking about how she should hold it, because last week the dog got away from her.
We reached the stairs to the sidewalk and saw a smaller dog across the street, we had just enough time to get nervous, and she was off. Riley was too strong for the Kyd to hold on, and too fast for me to grab the leash. She rushed to this 50 something year old woman and her pint sized dog, that couldn’t have weighted more than 6 pounds. Then she scooped her up, and shook back and forth to the horror of all of us. I ran across the street, which was maybe 40 feet, but it felt like a mile.
When I got there, and grabbed Riley, I feared that if I pulled to hard to separate them that I’d cause even more damage. Luckily we watch “The Dog Whisper” on a regular basis, and he addressed how to handle such a situation. So I held her head up high, so she’d loser her leverage and finally set the poor dog free.
The Kyd screamed, scared to death for good reason obviously, and everyone was pretty shaken up. We gave the lady our info and apologized no less than 83 times. We spent the right of the night discussing what we should do. Give her up, or get a trainer. Try a shock collar and hope it works. Fear what she could do if a kid crosses her path in our back yard, or figure out if we know anyone who could take her.
Not a fun night. And we still don’t know what to do with her. Time to email Cesar. He rehabilitates dogs and trains people ya know. Now excuse me, I'm going to throw up before my call starts.
***
I read that Joaquin Phoenix has retired from acting. And that’s just awesome. Not because I don’t want to see any more of his movies, that’s not the case. It’s just fascinating and strangely admirable to me. I love it when a high profile entertainer just ups and quits when no one expects it.
One of my favorite football players ever, Barry Sanders, retired in the prime of his career. He was a season, maybe two from setting the record for most yards in a career. He was on a losing team, but could have forced a trade. He did none of that. When the fire in his belly was gone, he walked away.
How many athletes, actors or singers do sub-par work just to collect a fat check? And you can’t really blame them, that is crazy money they earn. That’s the kind of money that sets up future generations for a comfortable life, and they thumb their nose at it and do what’s in their heart. I just admire that so much.
***
I just saw a story online about David Caruso’s stalker. Wait, David Caruso has a stalker? Now, stalkers in general aren’t playing with a full deck. But how far have things spiraled out of control when you can’t even pick a respectable victim to stalk? Davis Caruso deserves a stalker like George W deserves another four years.
For those who have had the pleasure(?) of conversing with me, you’ve said “what” “huh” or “one more time” after no less than 63% of my comments. And that’s almost always in person. You’ve cracked jokes, and I’ve laughed at them, even made my own from time to time about the language known as “Greggese.”
But today I have to go over a process flow for a report I’ve worked weekly for the past two years, so I’m a little worried I might have a stroke. And then on top of the anxiety, is the fact that I feel like a complete idiot for getting so worked up over something so insiginicant. Sure, they’ll call in, and 2 of the 5 might even listen to what I’m attempting to say s l o w l y and clearly. They won’t give my mumble two seconds of thought after the call, and I’ll spend the rest of the day replaying the entire session in my head. I’ll be pissed that I stuttered here, annoyed that I said “um” too many times and wishing I was a mime.
***
Last night, as a family, we took the dog out for a walk. Now she’s a sweet dog, but she’s not without her issues. She’s nipped at kids, and isn’t very fond of smaller dogs. Walking out of our apartment (hey, did I mention we’re getting a house?) the Kyd had hold of her leash. We were talking about how she should hold it, because last week the dog got away from her.
We reached the stairs to the sidewalk and saw a smaller dog across the street, we had just enough time to get nervous, and she was off. Riley was too strong for the Kyd to hold on, and too fast for me to grab the leash. She rushed to this 50 something year old woman and her pint sized dog, that couldn’t have weighted more than 6 pounds. Then she scooped her up, and shook back and forth to the horror of all of us. I ran across the street, which was maybe 40 feet, but it felt like a mile.
When I got there, and grabbed Riley, I feared that if I pulled to hard to separate them that I’d cause even more damage. Luckily we watch “The Dog Whisper” on a regular basis, and he addressed how to handle such a situation. So I held her head up high, so she’d loser her leverage and finally set the poor dog free.
The Kyd screamed, scared to death for good reason obviously, and everyone was pretty shaken up. We gave the lady our info and apologized no less than 83 times. We spent the right of the night discussing what we should do. Give her up, or get a trainer. Try a shock collar and hope it works. Fear what she could do if a kid crosses her path in our back yard, or figure out if we know anyone who could take her.
Not a fun night. And we still don’t know what to do with her. Time to email Cesar. He rehabilitates dogs and trains people ya know. Now excuse me, I'm going to throw up before my call starts.
***
I read that Joaquin Phoenix has retired from acting. And that’s just awesome. Not because I don’t want to see any more of his movies, that’s not the case. It’s just fascinating and strangely admirable to me. I love it when a high profile entertainer just ups and quits when no one expects it.
One of my favorite football players ever, Barry Sanders, retired in the prime of his career. He was a season, maybe two from setting the record for most yards in a career. He was on a losing team, but could have forced a trade. He did none of that. When the fire in his belly was gone, he walked away.
How many athletes, actors or singers do sub-par work just to collect a fat check? And you can’t really blame them, that is crazy money they earn. That’s the kind of money that sets up future generations for a comfortable life, and they thumb their nose at it and do what’s in their heart. I just admire that so much.
***
I just saw a story online about David Caruso’s stalker. Wait, David Caruso has a stalker? Now, stalkers in general aren’t playing with a full deck. But how far have things spiraled out of control when you can’t even pick a respectable victim to stalk? Davis Caruso deserves a stalker like George W deserves another four years.
October 28, 2008
Good, Bad, the Hirply
I guess I got my swagger back. Let’s get to it. We’ll lead off with the good news. As I mentioned in my previous post, the Wife and I got a house. We’re talking about a real house, no one living above us or directly next to us. It has yard, garage, basement and a laundry room. All growns up, I tell ya, all growns up. We’re ecstatic, thrilled, jubilant, delighted, overjoyed and elated. I can’t believe that in a year and a half or so, I went from being the lifelong bachelor, to owning an SUV and living in the ‘burbs with my wife and kid. Not only that, it’s the absolute right life for me. I wouldn’t trade places, or one aspect of my life, for anything. Maybe that comes from a lifetime of watching (and dreaming up) blockbuster sport trades that backfired more than half the time. Or maybe it’s just good instinct on my part, and even a little bit of intelligence, that I realize I’ve already won.
We’ve been living among boxes for a few weeks, which is almost as much fun as a trip to a dentist who forgot to order Novocain. The dog is going nuts, but that’s just par for the course. We can’t wait till we get everything moved out, and start unpacking. That’ll actually be fun, and a relief. Then I can spend more of time concentrating on my “one-day” plans for how we’ll finish the basement, aka “Dad’s room.”
The bad news, or the very predictable otherwise better known as duh. The feds arrested some neo-Nazi duchebags who were plotting to kill Presi.. er, Senator Obama. This ranks right up there, I mean it’s neck and neck, with the shock of the “Steve Irwin killed by wild animal” story from a few years ago. Neo-Nazi’s plotting to kill a black man who will be President wasn’t (and isn’t) just a possibility, it’s a mortal lock. And we’ll hear about this for the next 8-10 years. I don’t mean this specific story, I mean we’ll be reading about exposed plots for at least 8-10 years. No matter what kind of job he does, although I’d put my money on “stellar,” there’ll always be assholes out there. And “assholes” with guns have a knack of making the times suck.
What scares me, although not as much as the idea of a threat being turned into a reality, is what this could do to the election. Will those undecided (how could you be undecided a week before the election?!) be scared off because they understand that having our President assassinated could be one of the most horrific events that could happen. So will they vote for the guy, who is even more likely to die while in office, but at least will go for natural causes? You know what? I kinda wouldn’t blame them. Well, until John McCain’s inauguration. Then I’d have some serious blame to pass around. Seriously though, we’re supposed to pay attention to history. Well, history is very clear about this. Put a Black Man in a position of power in this country, and his life will come to an early and violent end.
And now sports. The World Series is going on, even if no one cares (I sure don’t). The Phillies lead the series 3 games to 1, so they just have to win one more game to be the champs. Playing game 5 last night, the rain came down, and the game was delayed in the 6th inning, and will be finished today. How is that for blue balls? Imagine getting all psyched up, going to the game, and then you don’t see your team lose a heart breaker, you don’t see them win, you don’t even finish the game.
What does that compare to? If this was a wedding, it wouldn’t be a run-away bride, but a bride who would walk all the way down the aisle, and then say, “Hey, let’s do the whole vow thing tomorrow. Or maybe tomorrow I’ll bolt.”
It’s going through the entire job seeking process, nailing the interviews, and showing up the day you’ll either get the offer or the load of crap about some other candidate who is more qualified. Only when you show up at the office, they ask you to come back tomorrow.
It’s sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, and the doctor comes out, and he doesn’t have good news. He doesn’t have bad news either, he just says come back tomorrow. This isn’t even a cliff hanger, because you expect those. Hell, you love a cliff hanger that leaves you wanting more. That’s what the bottom of the 9th is.
We’ve been living among boxes for a few weeks, which is almost as much fun as a trip to a dentist who forgot to order Novocain. The dog is going nuts, but that’s just par for the course. We can’t wait till we get everything moved out, and start unpacking. That’ll actually be fun, and a relief. Then I can spend more of time concentrating on my “one-day” plans for how we’ll finish the basement, aka “Dad’s room.”
The bad news, or the very predictable otherwise better known as duh. The feds arrested some neo-Nazi duchebags who were plotting to kill Presi.. er, Senator Obama. This ranks right up there, I mean it’s neck and neck, with the shock of the “Steve Irwin killed by wild animal” story from a few years ago. Neo-Nazi’s plotting to kill a black man who will be President wasn’t (and isn’t) just a possibility, it’s a mortal lock. And we’ll hear about this for the next 8-10 years. I don’t mean this specific story, I mean we’ll be reading about exposed plots for at least 8-10 years. No matter what kind of job he does, although I’d put my money on “stellar,” there’ll always be assholes out there. And “assholes” with guns have a knack of making the times suck.
What scares me, although not as much as the idea of a threat being turned into a reality, is what this could do to the election. Will those undecided (how could you be undecided a week before the election?!) be scared off because they understand that having our President assassinated could be one of the most horrific events that could happen. So will they vote for the guy, who is even more likely to die while in office, but at least will go for natural causes? You know what? I kinda wouldn’t blame them. Well, until John McCain’s inauguration. Then I’d have some serious blame to pass around. Seriously though, we’re supposed to pay attention to history. Well, history is very clear about this. Put a Black Man in a position of power in this country, and his life will come to an early and violent end.
And now sports. The World Series is going on, even if no one cares (I sure don’t). The Phillies lead the series 3 games to 1, so they just have to win one more game to be the champs. Playing game 5 last night, the rain came down, and the game was delayed in the 6th inning, and will be finished today. How is that for blue balls? Imagine getting all psyched up, going to the game, and then you don’t see your team lose a heart breaker, you don’t see them win, you don’t even finish the game.
What does that compare to? If this was a wedding, it wouldn’t be a run-away bride, but a bride who would walk all the way down the aisle, and then say, “Hey, let’s do the whole vow thing tomorrow. Or maybe tomorrow I’ll bolt.”
It’s going through the entire job seeking process, nailing the interviews, and showing up the day you’ll either get the offer or the load of crap about some other candidate who is more qualified. Only when you show up at the office, they ask you to come back tomorrow.
It’s sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, and the doctor comes out, and he doesn’t have good news. He doesn’t have bad news either, he just says come back tomorrow. This isn’t even a cliff hanger, because you expect those. Hell, you love a cliff hanger that leaves you wanting more. That’s what the bottom of the 9th is.
Hirpversation
When I worked at Lenscrafters (man, I miss that hook-up) they taught us about “courageous conversations” and I rolled my eyes. We were supposedly taught how to have conversations with employees, the conversations you just don’t want to have. Tom smells bad, you need to address his BO. Suzy comes back from lunch smelling of Jack, her eyes are glassy and she needs to hold on to the counter to stand still. Those are “courageous conversations.”
I don’t think I learned squat from the classes, which is really my M.O for learning. I either learn by someone else’s poor experiences (drugs, drinking and driving, being a shitty husband, white guy getting Thug Life tattooed on his beer belly) or by the grace of Google. But I never really learned how to have “courageous conversations.” For me, they typically involve a lot of stuttering, repeating the eloquent phrase “um” as often as Sarah Palin says “maverick” and generally sounding like a fool. More so then a typical Hirp-versation.
So last night, the time came for me to call up my buddy V. We’ve been friends since I was 17, and we had the worlds worst Geometry teacher. What did I get from that class? Well, I traded for Manny Ramierez, then traded him away, and got him back no less than three times. Same goes for Steve Karsay and Travis Fryman. I studied the Fab Five, and learned of the Hall of Famer to be, Todd Day. Dwight Gooden was 28, and Bret Saberhagen was a Met. Anthony Young won only 1 more Major League Baseball game than I did, even though he was in 39 more. And not once did that teacher try to tell us to stop. I’ve never been so disrespectful to a teacher, well, publicly anyway. We really bonded over the legendary Jim “Chris” Everett-Jim Rome throw down.
The following year we were on the newspaper staff together. Along with another guy, we were compared to the three Muppets that sat in the booth and made fun of everyone else. I wrote an NBA Preview (I really did call for the Knicks to play the Rockets in the Finals) and a plagiarism claim was falsely thrown my way years later. I didn’t write one story I didn’t want to. I should have, but that teacher sucked. Okay, maybe that was the most disrespectful I’ve ever been of a teacher.
“Red” was there on the sandy beach of Playa Del Car when the wife and I tied the knot. And recently he became engaged himself, and began to plan a wedding in St. Thomas. He asked me to stand up with him, a great honor, and one of the few times in our friendship we didn’t give each other shit. Really, when I announced that I was getting hitched he emailed me “Alright, let me be the first to say congratulations to then. You get one vagina for the rest of your life. Real smart Frank. Way to work it through.” Perhaps the most important result of our friendship, was him introducing me to The Sports Guy. That’s friendship.
So our conversation started as they normally do. We talked sports. Then I mentioned to him the big news, which I’m now putting on here for the first time, that the wife and I were getting a house. And sadly, this probably meant that we wouldn’t be able to attend his wedding. A fact that causes us great guilt and regret, we’d love to be there with them. I knew he wouldn’t be mad, at least outwardly. And he took the news in great stride, being as supportive as any real friend would be. Which probably adds to the guilt total, but so be it.
I guess I did it, finally had a successful “courageous conversation.” But it still sucked. I’d rather tell Jim that he was seen whackin’ it in the break-room while thumbing through the Sears catalog. And if we can some how get the scratch together, we’ll head for St. Thomas, and of course, heckle the hell out of V all the way down the aisle.
I don’t think I learned squat from the classes, which is really my M.O for learning. I either learn by someone else’s poor experiences (drugs, drinking and driving, being a shitty husband, white guy getting Thug Life tattooed on his beer belly) or by the grace of Google. But I never really learned how to have “courageous conversations.” For me, they typically involve a lot of stuttering, repeating the eloquent phrase “um” as often as Sarah Palin says “maverick” and generally sounding like a fool. More so then a typical Hirp-versation.
So last night, the time came for me to call up my buddy V. We’ve been friends since I was 17, and we had the worlds worst Geometry teacher. What did I get from that class? Well, I traded for Manny Ramierez, then traded him away, and got him back no less than three times. Same goes for Steve Karsay and Travis Fryman. I studied the Fab Five, and learned of the Hall of Famer to be, Todd Day. Dwight Gooden was 28, and Bret Saberhagen was a Met. Anthony Young won only 1 more Major League Baseball game than I did, even though he was in 39 more. And not once did that teacher try to tell us to stop. I’ve never been so disrespectful to a teacher, well, publicly anyway. We really bonded over the legendary Jim “Chris” Everett-Jim Rome throw down.
The following year we were on the newspaper staff together. Along with another guy, we were compared to the three Muppets that sat in the booth and made fun of everyone else. I wrote an NBA Preview (I really did call for the Knicks to play the Rockets in the Finals) and a plagiarism claim was falsely thrown my way years later. I didn’t write one story I didn’t want to. I should have, but that teacher sucked. Okay, maybe that was the most disrespectful I’ve ever been of a teacher.
“Red” was there on the sandy beach of Playa Del Car when the wife and I tied the knot. And recently he became engaged himself, and began to plan a wedding in St. Thomas. He asked me to stand up with him, a great honor, and one of the few times in our friendship we didn’t give each other shit. Really, when I announced that I was getting hitched he emailed me “Alright, let me be the first to say congratulations to then. You get one vagina for the rest of your life. Real smart Frank. Way to work it through.” Perhaps the most important result of our friendship, was him introducing me to The Sports Guy. That’s friendship.
So our conversation started as they normally do. We talked sports. Then I mentioned to him the big news, which I’m now putting on here for the first time, that the wife and I were getting a house. And sadly, this probably meant that we wouldn’t be able to attend his wedding. A fact that causes us great guilt and regret, we’d love to be there with them. I knew he wouldn’t be mad, at least outwardly. And he took the news in great stride, being as supportive as any real friend would be. Which probably adds to the guilt total, but so be it.
I guess I did it, finally had a successful “courageous conversation.” But it still sucked. I’d rather tell Jim that he was seen whackin’ it in the break-room while thumbing through the Sears catalog. And if we can some how get the scratch together, we’ll head for St. Thomas, and of course, heckle the hell out of V all the way down the aisle.
October 22, 2008
Failhirp
I know this probably isn’t the most logical of reasoning, but this morning I feel like a failure. As we had dinner last night with my parents, they told us that my niece and her foster parents (who want to adopt her) are headed for Phoenix in the near future. This sucks because she’s moving away, and sucks even more because she won’t have anything to do with my family. Sometimes I don’t know if I can blame her, if I was in her shoes, I’d feel pretty abandoned too.
So where is this illogical reasoning? Here it is: I feel like a failure. I didn’t keep my family together, and that was the job I assigned myself as a kid. No matter what, try to keep the family together. You’d think we were trying to survive Auschwitz. And really, I have to say it again, it’s not as if we had some horrible up bringing. A lot of kids have been worse off, and a lot of kids will be worse off. I had both parents, they loved us, and we had all kinds of advantages.
But last night I said goodbye to my parents. My brother moved his family to Alabama a few years ago. My sister lives in the area, but we couldn’t be further apart. My nieces and nephews, already broken up, are getting further apart. And that all sucks even more because now I have my own family, and I’d love for the Kyd to know all her cousins. The girl that’s just two years older, who she could have lots in common with. She misses out on her 10 year old boy cousin, who could watch out for her. She doesn’t get to know her 16 year old cousin, who was adored by his younger sister, and would spoil her given the chance. And the beautiful, smart and ornery 17 year old cousin, who could give her make up tips (much to my disapproval) who the Kyd reminds me of quite often with her sass and wisdom beyond her years. The Kyd doesn’t have her aunt, my sister, who for years wanted me to have kids, and could have been that cool aunt, who I would have to beg not to give the Kyd beer when she’s 17 or get her smoking when she’s 14.
Then there are my brother’s girls. The oldest has the same name as the Kyd, and could teach the Kyd the Soulja Boy dance, just as she taught her youngest sister. Who is also just a little older than the Kyd, and the two of them hit it off so well the one time they met last Thanksgiving. My brother, sister-in-law and the Kyd had such a good time in Mexico, going into the ocean or going for ice cream.
Such is life. I have my own family to keep together now. Wow, that’s depressing shit.
* Sarah Palin is in the news for running up some nice bills, for flying her daughters all over for various bullshit events. Maybe she should have just kept the jet, rather than selling it at a loss.
So where is this illogical reasoning? Here it is: I feel like a failure. I didn’t keep my family together, and that was the job I assigned myself as a kid. No matter what, try to keep the family together. You’d think we were trying to survive Auschwitz. And really, I have to say it again, it’s not as if we had some horrible up bringing. A lot of kids have been worse off, and a lot of kids will be worse off. I had both parents, they loved us, and we had all kinds of advantages.
But last night I said goodbye to my parents. My brother moved his family to Alabama a few years ago. My sister lives in the area, but we couldn’t be further apart. My nieces and nephews, already broken up, are getting further apart. And that all sucks even more because now I have my own family, and I’d love for the Kyd to know all her cousins. The girl that’s just two years older, who she could have lots in common with. She misses out on her 10 year old boy cousin, who could watch out for her. She doesn’t get to know her 16 year old cousin, who was adored by his younger sister, and would spoil her given the chance. And the beautiful, smart and ornery 17 year old cousin, who could give her make up tips (much to my disapproval) who the Kyd reminds me of quite often with her sass and wisdom beyond her years. The Kyd doesn’t have her aunt, my sister, who for years wanted me to have kids, and could have been that cool aunt, who I would have to beg not to give the Kyd beer when she’s 17 or get her smoking when she’s 14.
Then there are my brother’s girls. The oldest has the same name as the Kyd, and could teach the Kyd the Soulja Boy dance, just as she taught her youngest sister. Who is also just a little older than the Kyd, and the two of them hit it off so well the one time they met last Thanksgiving. My brother, sister-in-law and the Kyd had such a good time in Mexico, going into the ocean or going for ice cream.
Such is life. I have my own family to keep together now. Wow, that’s depressing shit.
* Sarah Palin is in the news for running up some nice bills, for flying her daughters all over for various bullshit events. Maybe she should have just kept the jet, rather than selling it at a loss.
October 21, 2008
From The Hirp
I’m not sure how tonight will go, but my gut thinks it could get kind of emotional. Not that I see myself as some tough guy who can’t cry, it can happen. But tonight we’re going to dinner with my parents, and we’ll probably say our goodbyes. Mom will most definitely cry, and I know it won’t entertain me like it did when she cried at our wedding. Hell, I made it a point to try and ensure her tears. “Sunrise, Sunset” was like taking candy from a baby with no arms.
I’m least looking forward to seeing how my wife and the Kyd react. That’ll tear me up inside like in “Oz” when Nino Schibetta unknowingly digested broken glass. Man, I miss that show. Yeahanyway, I’m not sure how the Kyd will react. She really loves my folks, and they’re nuts about her, but she usually likes to keep her feelings out of the eyes of others. Except for at home, she has no problem letting us know exactly how she feels. I remember when I was just a year or so younger than she is now, and my neighbor and best friend moved to Pennsylvania. It sucked, and it was the first time I had to deal with someone moving away. The experience never really improves.
Then I’m worried about how the wife will take it. From the first time she met my parental units, they’ve gotten along amazingly well. No one’s wife gets along as well, or loves her in-laws more, and has all those feelings reciprocated. There may be some equals, but never more. As long as I’ve known my parents wanted to retire to Arizona, I know for a fact that her joining the family is making it easier for them to move, as well as harder. Easier because they know I’m in good hands, and harder because they’re leaving behind a new daughter.
And that makes the whole move harder on us too. We understand that this is what they want, but the timing sucks. Just a little over 6 months after we get married? No way around it, but it sucks. Although, it’ll be nice to go visit the desert while Kansas City is a popsicle. I just tried calling them, and their home phone number has already been turned off. They’ve had that number, or “they had”, since we moved here in the summer of ’89. Not that I really dial it often, thanks to the phonebook in my Centro, but in some strange way I feel sad about the phone number. I want to bury it, and mourn the loss of that randomly assigned 10 digit number. (I just typed a number, then the words “digit” and “number” consecutively, that’s three of the same thing)
I do have some regrets. I’ve been a bit of an asshole to them since they sold the house. I wish I handled it better, and was more supportive. And I also wish I had aborted the joke about the baby. Wow, I just said “aborted” and “baby” in the same sentence. But when I found out a friends’ sister-in-law, who has the same name as my wife, was preggars, well I couldn’t help myself. So I regret saying, “Chris is pregnant” even if it was kind of funny, it just wasn’t cool. The one time I actually kept a straight face too, go figure.
I’m least looking forward to seeing how my wife and the Kyd react. That’ll tear me up inside like in “Oz” when Nino Schibetta unknowingly digested broken glass. Man, I miss that show. Yeahanyway, I’m not sure how the Kyd will react. She really loves my folks, and they’re nuts about her, but she usually likes to keep her feelings out of the eyes of others. Except for at home, she has no problem letting us know exactly how she feels. I remember when I was just a year or so younger than she is now, and my neighbor and best friend moved to Pennsylvania. It sucked, and it was the first time I had to deal with someone moving away. The experience never really improves.
Then I’m worried about how the wife will take it. From the first time she met my parental units, they’ve gotten along amazingly well. No one’s wife gets along as well, or loves her in-laws more, and has all those feelings reciprocated. There may be some equals, but never more. As long as I’ve known my parents wanted to retire to Arizona, I know for a fact that her joining the family is making it easier for them to move, as well as harder. Easier because they know I’m in good hands, and harder because they’re leaving behind a new daughter.
And that makes the whole move harder on us too. We understand that this is what they want, but the timing sucks. Just a little over 6 months after we get married? No way around it, but it sucks. Although, it’ll be nice to go visit the desert while Kansas City is a popsicle. I just tried calling them, and their home phone number has already been turned off. They’ve had that number, or “they had”, since we moved here in the summer of ’89. Not that I really dial it often, thanks to the phonebook in my Centro, but in some strange way I feel sad about the phone number. I want to bury it, and mourn the loss of that randomly assigned 10 digit number. (I just typed a number, then the words “digit” and “number” consecutively, that’s three of the same thing)
I do have some regrets. I’ve been a bit of an asshole to them since they sold the house. I wish I handled it better, and was more supportive. And I also wish I had aborted the joke about the baby. Wow, I just said “aborted” and “baby” in the same sentence. But when I found out a friends’ sister-in-law, who has the same name as my wife, was preggars, well I couldn’t help myself. So I regret saying, “Chris is pregnant” even if it was kind of funny, it just wasn’t cool. The one time I actually kept a straight face too, go figure.
October 13, 2008
Hirp Terrors
A couple of months ago, after a knock down drag out fight between us and the Kyd over bedtime (you’d think that two parents against one six year old, the parents would have the edge, but Vegas must be familiar with how Rocky did against Drago, and called it even) we saw a glimpse of something, and hoped it was a one time occurrence. You know, like U2’s ZooTV record. After the wife and I finally won out, and the kyd finally drifted off to sleep, we were amazed/horrified/curious/and slightly damp from a (very small amount) of urine in our pants, when the kyd woke up screaming Bloody Mary. It seemed as if she was re-living the entire battle in her sleep, only it was very vocal and even violent.
She thrashed around her bed like Johnny Depp in the first Elm Street. Repeating her argument against the evil bedtime, as if we were still battling over that sacred time like WMD’s. We went and took her from her bed, out to the couch, in an attempt to wake her from what we could only imagine was a “night terror.” She had a gazed look in her eyes, and really wasn’t coherent. You never want to see your Kyd looking like Anna Nicole Smith. The next morning, she had no recollection of what went down the night before.
A few weeks later, again after a rough night, it all seemed to happen again. And again, no memory. All was quiet on the bedtime front, until Friday night. While Hirp was out playing cards (or having the Kyd’s birthday gift money extracted from his wallet as he likes to call it now) the Kyd went to sleep like an angel. I came home around midnight, and all was quiet. About 45 minutes later, she came walking out of her room. Only she wasn’t all there. When we spoke to her, she screamed and ran back into her room. It was happening again, and this time she had gone mobile. She screamed some, thrashed some, and suddenly she was fast asleep. Then, as the wife and I sat on the floor by her bed, she jerked once more and made some loud high pitched noises, causing the both of us to suffer small heart attacks. We’re doing fine, by the way. And then she was asleep again.
So then we’re talking about being afraid of what could happen, if she were out walking around in that state. Google wasn’t our friend, as we read a story about a father-in-law being attacked and his wife murdered, by their sleep walking son-in-law. He was acquitted (note to self). The following night was incident free. And then last night, or to be more accurate it was really early this morning, we had what appears to be incident #4.
The wife heard the Kyd cry out for her at about 5:30 (it isn’t that I don’t wake up for these things, but the wife has Superman like hearing, and springs from bed and into action in milli-seconds) She’s also an amazingly light sleeper, I can’t even fart in my sleep and get away with it. So she goes to the Kyd’s bedroom, finds the door halfway open (or halfway closed if you’re, well, me) and the TV is blaring SpongeBob. The remote is buried on her desk, so it’s not as if she just rolled over and the TV came on. And there were enough toys, including a dollhouse, directly in the path from her bed to where her TV sits, that it amazes us she was able to turn it on without tripping over anything. And she was dead to the world, fast asleep.
And I thought I’d be able to sleep a little bit, at least until she turned 12 or 13. I’ll have to find the alarm system that would alert me if she moves from her bed, a good 6 years before I wanted to. I’ll also have to start putting the knives away before going to sleep.
She thrashed around her bed like Johnny Depp in the first Elm Street. Repeating her argument against the evil bedtime, as if we were still battling over that sacred time like WMD’s. We went and took her from her bed, out to the couch, in an attempt to wake her from what we could only imagine was a “night terror.” She had a gazed look in her eyes, and really wasn’t coherent. You never want to see your Kyd looking like Anna Nicole Smith. The next morning, she had no recollection of what went down the night before.
A few weeks later, again after a rough night, it all seemed to happen again. And again, no memory. All was quiet on the bedtime front, until Friday night. While Hirp was out playing cards (or having the Kyd’s birthday gift money extracted from his wallet as he likes to call it now) the Kyd went to sleep like an angel. I came home around midnight, and all was quiet. About 45 minutes later, she came walking out of her room. Only she wasn’t all there. When we spoke to her, she screamed and ran back into her room. It was happening again, and this time she had gone mobile. She screamed some, thrashed some, and suddenly she was fast asleep. Then, as the wife and I sat on the floor by her bed, she jerked once more and made some loud high pitched noises, causing the both of us to suffer small heart attacks. We’re doing fine, by the way. And then she was asleep again.
So then we’re talking about being afraid of what could happen, if she were out walking around in that state. Google wasn’t our friend, as we read a story about a father-in-law being attacked and his wife murdered, by their sleep walking son-in-law. He was acquitted (note to self). The following night was incident free. And then last night, or to be more accurate it was really early this morning, we had what appears to be incident #4.
The wife heard the Kyd cry out for her at about 5:30 (it isn’t that I don’t wake up for these things, but the wife has Superman like hearing, and springs from bed and into action in milli-seconds) She’s also an amazingly light sleeper, I can’t even fart in my sleep and get away with it. So she goes to the Kyd’s bedroom, finds the door halfway open (or halfway closed if you’re, well, me) and the TV is blaring SpongeBob. The remote is buried on her desk, so it’s not as if she just rolled over and the TV came on. And there were enough toys, including a dollhouse, directly in the path from her bed to where her TV sits, that it amazes us she was able to turn it on without tripping over anything. And she was dead to the world, fast asleep.
And I thought I’d be able to sleep a little bit, at least until she turned 12 or 13. I’ll have to find the alarm system that would alert me if she moves from her bed, a good 6 years before I wanted to. I’ll also have to start putting the knives away before going to sleep.
October 09, 2008
JstShh
Oddly enough, I consider myself to be a private person. Even though I have, and will continue, to put some pretty personal things on this blog for all the world to see, I still consider myself to be a private person. I may write about this or that, but I don’t advertise it. I’m not telling every Tom, Dick and Harry my life story. The fact that I don’t know a Tom, Dick, or Harry has nothing to do with this. But there are some people, and perhaps one or more I work with, that have no problem sharing every detail of their life with anyone with half a good ear and a weak pulse.
Doesn’t matter what happens, they treat it as public information. And for some unknown reason, believe their co-workers actually give a damn. There are some I work with, that I enjoy shooting the shit with, but only one or two have my personal e-mail address. If we don’t intentionally swap home e-mail addresses, I have no need to know anything about you. One co-worker specifically, has no filter when it comes to personal issues.
Not only do we all know that she was off recent to deal with a family issue, as well as knowing the gritty details of what happened, this co-worker went as far as basically advertising the fact. Some of us have dry-erase boards by the entrance of our cel, er, cubes, so we can leave a quick note for those who may be looking for us and didn’t want to e-mail first. Really, we have them incase a higher up decides to cube drop us on a day we may be on vacation or out of the office.
“PTO/Family Issue” isn’t what anyone had in mind when we first got them. You’re on PTO, that’s all we need to know. If it’s because you’re just taking a day to watch the 1986 World Series (I gotta say, it’d be a good day) or if you’re taking the kid to the doctor, all you have to say is PTO. Family issues? I want to know about your family issues about as much as I want to know the cycles of all the women I work with, or which guys shave their balls.
Call my cynical; I just don’t think anything good can come from putting that info in circulation. Call me hypocritical, because I do so in this forum. But, in my defense, it’s pretty much just friends or the occasional web surfer who happened to Google “Tony Siciro” (true story, I get all kinds of visits from people that Google good ole Paulie Walnuts) And the more personal issues, well this is often the only place I’ll freely discuss them.
***
So rumor has it, Jamie Lynn Spears is preggars with baby #2. 16 years old, with a 4 month old, and she’s 2 months pregnant. This stopped being funny a while back, it just gets sadder and sadder. At this rate, she’ll be a grandmother when she’s my age.
Doesn’t matter what happens, they treat it as public information. And for some unknown reason, believe their co-workers actually give a damn. There are some I work with, that I enjoy shooting the shit with, but only one or two have my personal e-mail address. If we don’t intentionally swap home e-mail addresses, I have no need to know anything about you. One co-worker specifically, has no filter when it comes to personal issues.
Not only do we all know that she was off recent to deal with a family issue, as well as knowing the gritty details of what happened, this co-worker went as far as basically advertising the fact. Some of us have dry-erase boards by the entrance of our cel, er, cubes, so we can leave a quick note for those who may be looking for us and didn’t want to e-mail first. Really, we have them incase a higher up decides to cube drop us on a day we may be on vacation or out of the office.
“PTO/Family Issue” isn’t what anyone had in mind when we first got them. You’re on PTO, that’s all we need to know. If it’s because you’re just taking a day to watch the 1986 World Series (I gotta say, it’d be a good day) or if you’re taking the kid to the doctor, all you have to say is PTO. Family issues? I want to know about your family issues about as much as I want to know the cycles of all the women I work with, or which guys shave their balls.
Call my cynical; I just don’t think anything good can come from putting that info in circulation. Call me hypocritical, because I do so in this forum. But, in my defense, it’s pretty much just friends or the occasional web surfer who happened to Google “Tony Siciro” (true story, I get all kinds of visits from people that Google good ole Paulie Walnuts) And the more personal issues, well this is often the only place I’ll freely discuss them.
***
So rumor has it, Jamie Lynn Spears is preggars with baby #2. 16 years old, with a 4 month old, and she’s 2 months pregnant. This stopped being funny a while back, it just gets sadder and sadder. At this rate, she’ll be a grandmother when she’s my age.
October 08, 2008
Jsteat
So I just took a pretty big step. I didn’t call Charter House, close though. I made an appointment to talk to someone about this eating disorder thing I have. I’m sure this thrills everyone in the medical profession, but I kinda-sorta self-diagnosed myself with the help of Google. “Selective Eating Disorder”, so I have ADD and SED. As if I wasn’t sick enough of acronyms from work.
The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:
Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.
You may think I wouldn’t like that it’s most common in toddlers, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m more worried about the idea that this minor step, of just making a phone call and setting an appointment, could lead to me one day eating a salad or chicken or something gross like that. I’m excited to maybe, oh, grow up, but afraid I’ll throw up. And your momma comes around the corner and licks it up..wait, strike that last sentence.
Years of my parents, friends, co-workers and even a few strangers did little else, except annoy me and make me self-conscious. But hearing the Kyd’s questions the last year and a half, and realizing sarcasm had no impact as a self-defense mechanism is what really got the ball rolling here.
Hey, after this maybe I’ll learn to annunciate (get it?). Next thing you know, I’ll grow a couple of inches and wake up with a full head of hair. Maybe then the stock market will right itself. And monkey’s will fly out of my butt.
The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:
Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.
You may think I wouldn’t like that it’s most common in toddlers, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m more worried about the idea that this minor step, of just making a phone call and setting an appointment, could lead to me one day eating a salad or chicken or something gross like that. I’m excited to maybe, oh, grow up, but afraid I’ll throw up. And your momma comes around the corner and licks it up..wait, strike that last sentence.
Years of my parents, friends, co-workers and even a few strangers did little else, except annoy me and make me self-conscious. But hearing the Kyd’s questions the last year and a half, and realizing sarcasm had no impact as a self-defense mechanism is what really got the ball rolling here.
Hey, after this maybe I’ll learn to annunciate (get it?). Next thing you know, I’ll grow a couple of inches and wake up with a full head of hair. Maybe then the stock market will right itself. And monkey’s will fly out of my butt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)