Sunday, January 31, 2010
Lullaby
by Dawn Potter
The lilacs are fading; their petals are falling.
The ants have crawled into their holes.
The children are restlessly tossing their beds.
The horses are chasing their foals.
The dark, oh the dark, flies upon us so fast.
The little boys roll up and down.
Their feet kick the walls, and they churn up the sheets,
while sailors jump ship and then drown,
and armies hunt men, and butchers kill hogs,
and hurricanes level the towns
on the coast where the sea goes on slapping the shore,
and the dogs run careening like clowns.
The lilacs are fading; their petals are falling.
The ants have crawled into their holes.
The children are restlessly tossing their beds.
The horses are chasing their foals.
The dark, oh the dark, flies upon us so fast.
The little boys roll up and down.
Their feet kick the walls, and they churn up the sheets,
while sailors jump ship and then drown,
and armies hunt men, and butchers kill hogs,
and hurricanes level the towns
on the coast where the sea goes on slapping the shore,
and the dogs run careening like clowns.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Why I Could Never Work in Construction
I would just be doing dumb stuff like this all day . . . .
BTW - the next time your contractor says there have been some "delays" - now you know why . . .
-Thanks Sean!
Bacon, Cheese and Potato Chowder
This was one of the first recipes Beth and I made together back in 2007. Our only complaint was that it called for two strips of bacon for six bowls. It should be more like two strips for each bowl.
RECIPE HERE
Friday, January 29, 2010
CC
I know, it has been FAAARRR too long since I posted photos - but the photos are on the . . . oh forget it. It's just one of those digital mish-mashes that make life difficult.
These are photos from our Christmas trip to Seattle. That's Cousin Crystal (CC) in the photos with Annie . . .
HEY! It's Only Tomato Juice!
The moniker "Heinz 57" has troubled me since the time I could read. What was 56? 42? 35?
The answer is here - but it is little help . . . .
Big Daddy
Right now Daddy is the hero. That is not to say that the wee one doesn't light up like Christmas Eve when the mommy comes into the room. But Daddy is the fun one. No reason really. It probably has to do with the fact that Annie spends more time with mommy and so daddy is an exciting break from the routine.
I am fully aware that this is nothing but weather. It will change and see-saw back and forth and round and round. Next month mommy will be the favorite, then daddy and so on until some boy catches her eye or teenage angst settles in and then both mommy and daddy will be on the outs until late college when she realizes that life can be damn challenging and all she wants to do is retreat to the comfort and safety of "home" where mom makes her favorite meal and dad has that "dad smell" that she has come to associate with comfort and safety.
What brought this all on? This:
Earlier in the afternoon I went to daughter’s orchestra concert, the usual vague sawing conducted with knitted brows and palpable concentration. Delightful. Afterwards we went to the grocery store, a jaunt that’s made her roll her eyes for half a decade. Me, I remember the compliant years when every outing with Daddy was fun, but she’s no longer in a cart and has that damnable thing experts call “a mind of her own” and the attendant sense of sarcasm that infects American children at a preternatural age. But still: fun. I love how she gives me the mock big pleading eyes in a parody of a child making the genuine big pleading eyes.
We had an argument on the way home, and I told her she had made a logically inconsistent assertion.
“Oh like you don’t.” Pause. “What does that mean?”
“Never mind. But don’t try to slip one past me. I will see through your arguments for years to come until I am old and slow and dim, and then you’ll get no satisfaction when you fool me, because you will dealing with pity and sadness.”
We really do have conversations like this. I mimed a toothless old man sounding confused, then said “your mommy is a lawyer and your daddy uses words for a living too, so you had better bring your best game. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh, you’re a writer, but what do you do? Blah blah blah on the TV.”
Zing! ZING! It’s all in good fun.
- Lileks
PS. Last night the fun daddy-break from the routine involved inadvertently feeding the wee one Mickey Mouse chicken nuggets until she puked. Daddy's agenda for tomorrow?: Sharp objects and why you should be careful when putting them in your mouth . . .
I am fully aware that this is nothing but weather. It will change and see-saw back and forth and round and round. Next month mommy will be the favorite, then daddy and so on until some boy catches her eye or teenage angst settles in and then both mommy and daddy will be on the outs until late college when she realizes that life can be damn challenging and all she wants to do is retreat to the comfort and safety of "home" where mom makes her favorite meal and dad has that "dad smell" that she has come to associate with comfort and safety.
What brought this all on? This:
Earlier in the afternoon I went to daughter’s orchestra concert, the usual vague sawing conducted with knitted brows and palpable concentration. Delightful. Afterwards we went to the grocery store, a jaunt that’s made her roll her eyes for half a decade. Me, I remember the compliant years when every outing with Daddy was fun, but she’s no longer in a cart and has that damnable thing experts call “a mind of her own” and the attendant sense of sarcasm that infects American children at a preternatural age. But still: fun. I love how she gives me the mock big pleading eyes in a parody of a child making the genuine big pleading eyes.
We had an argument on the way home, and I told her she had made a logically inconsistent assertion.
“Oh like you don’t.” Pause. “What does that mean?”
“Never mind. But don’t try to slip one past me. I will see through your arguments for years to come until I am old and slow and dim, and then you’ll get no satisfaction when you fool me, because you will dealing with pity and sadness.”
We really do have conversations like this. I mimed a toothless old man sounding confused, then said “your mommy is a lawyer and your daddy uses words for a living too, so you had better bring your best game. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh, you’re a writer, but what do you do? Blah blah blah on the TV.”
Zing! ZING! It’s all in good fun.
- Lileks
PS. Last night the fun daddy-break from the routine involved inadvertently feeding the wee one Mickey Mouse chicken nuggets until she puked. Daddy's agenda for tomorrow?: Sharp objects and why you should be careful when putting them in your mouth . . .
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Temptations
Anyone who has known me for a few years knows that one of my weaknesses is bourbon. I love the color, I love cool temperature, I love the caramel taste (and the gasoline taste). Put an extra dry Makers Mark Manhattan in a martini glass? Even my wife admits is beautiful (intoxicated by the beauty she takes a sip and is repulsed . . . EVERY time).
All of this is why we no longer allow bourbon in the house.
And why I won't be ordering this amazingly beautiful book anytime soon . . . .
LINK HERE
BTW - I can quit anytime . . . . (but no one likes a quitter)
All of this is why we no longer allow bourbon in the house.
And why I won't be ordering this amazingly beautiful book anytime soon . . . .
LINK HEREBTW - I can quit anytime . . . . (but no one likes a quitter)
Monday, January 25, 2010
Cayenne-Candied Bacon
I wondered why my mother, Gloria, has been serving candied bacon for breakfast all week until I unfurled a stack of past issues of the local paper, wherein I spied this candied bacon recipe from Emeril Lagasse.
RECIPE HERE
Quote of the Day
"People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone."
- Audrey Hepburn
- Audrey Hepburn
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Storm Update
So. Hmm.
After ONE WHOLE WEEK OF RAIN, here is the latest:
- 6 foot sinkhole opened in in our friend's backyard just before all their power went out.
- Half our family room flooded and I am pretty sure the shed did too (where we are storing our books)
- I tried to go to lunch today and within 1/2 mile of my office I hit 4 road blocks - 3 due to waist-high flooding and one due to a tree laying across the road.
In 8 years in the rainy Northwest, I did not see this much havoc over one week of rain . . . maybe we are "doing it wrong" in So. Cal. . . .
What's that fancy word they use in Seattle? In . . . infra . . . . infrastructure! That's it!
After ONE WHOLE WEEK OF RAIN, here is the latest:
- 6 foot sinkhole opened in in our friend's backyard just before all their power went out.
- Half our family room flooded and I am pretty sure the shed did too (where we are storing our books)
- I tried to go to lunch today and within 1/2 mile of my office I hit 4 road blocks - 3 due to waist-high flooding and one due to a tree laying across the road.
In 8 years in the rainy Northwest, I did not see this much havoc over one week of rain . . . maybe we are "doing it wrong" in So. Cal. . . .
What's that fancy word they use in Seattle? In . . . infra . . . . infrastructure! That's it!
No idea what it means . . . .
Pretty Sure
A few years back the wife and I went to Disneyland with some friends and the usual happi-wonderment ensued. We caught a show at one end of the park and then had to hot-foot it to main street so we could watch the fireworks. Of course, the square in front of the castle was packed by the time we got there.
We carefully hopped a fence into one of the planters (careful not to damage the happi-wonderment landscaping) and stood under a tree - it was a close as we could get.
You read that right - we stood UNDER A TREE to WATCH FIREWORKS by straining to see through the branches. The music swelled, the bombs exploded, the crowd oohhed and aaahhhed all the way to the finale when we all burst into applause. At which point, having only seen snippets of the show from my vantage I exclaimed, "WOW! I'm pretty sure that was awesome!" We still laugh about it today.
But that's life lately - one significant exploding burst followed by another - all obscured by the in-your-face stresses of daily life.
Everything I said back then goes doubly now.
Just in the last six weeks there have been births and deaths and funerals and holidays, plane trips and "I'll take the job" and "I am giving my notice", and rain and power outages and a half-flooded family room.
I like to stop and ponder these happenings from time to time and put pen to paper here on the ol' blog but lately it has been one continuous fireworks show. There is no time to stop, turn to your neighbor and discuss the latest burst of brilliance because if you do, you will miss the next one.
So we stand and strain and ooh and ahhh and with some luck we find ourselves at the end surrounded by friends on main street, laughing and applauding and "pretty sure that was awesome". Try and discuss it after the fact and there is no point - it all was too fast and too brilliant and it is impossible to put your finger on one moment and discuss it.
Of course, not all "bombs bursting in air" are friendly. Sometimes the explosions stop and you find yourself surrounded by friends picking up the pieces of what is left behind.
There is a scene in Band of Brothers where the troops are under fire, bombs are exploding all around them - the very trees are exploding - it is all light and dark and flashes and explosions and the deafening thunder of bombardment. One of the troops looks up from his foxhole and laughs because all he can think of is the beauty of the fireworks on the 4th of July: Watch up until the 1:40 mark to get the point (as you would expect, it gets graphic after that so you may want to stop there).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9F1szmKOa8&feature=player_embedded
Life is both awesome and terrifying at times - but there is no time to blog about it because amidst all the beauty, we are hanging on for dear life.
All that is a long way around to saying, "Sorry I haven't written more - I'll try to write more."
The new job should make it a little easier to do so from time to time. My last day is today! My first day is Monday!
We carefully hopped a fence into one of the planters (careful not to damage the happi-wonderment landscaping) and stood under a tree - it was a close as we could get.
You read that right - we stood UNDER A TREE to WATCH FIREWORKS by straining to see through the branches. The music swelled, the bombs exploded, the crowd oohhed and aaahhhed all the way to the finale when we all burst into applause. At which point, having only seen snippets of the show from my vantage I exclaimed, "WOW! I'm pretty sure that was awesome!" We still laugh about it today.
But that's life lately - one significant exploding burst followed by another - all obscured by the in-your-face stresses of daily life.
Everything I said back then goes doubly now.
Just in the last six weeks there have been births and deaths and funerals and holidays, plane trips and "I'll take the job" and "I am giving my notice", and rain and power outages and a half-flooded family room.
I like to stop and ponder these happenings from time to time and put pen to paper here on the ol' blog but lately it has been one continuous fireworks show. There is no time to stop, turn to your neighbor and discuss the latest burst of brilliance because if you do, you will miss the next one.
So we stand and strain and ooh and ahhh and with some luck we find ourselves at the end surrounded by friends on main street, laughing and applauding and "pretty sure that was awesome". Try and discuss it after the fact and there is no point - it all was too fast and too brilliant and it is impossible to put your finger on one moment and discuss it.
Of course, not all "bombs bursting in air" are friendly. Sometimes the explosions stop and you find yourself surrounded by friends picking up the pieces of what is left behind.
There is a scene in Band of Brothers where the troops are under fire, bombs are exploding all around them - the very trees are exploding - it is all light and dark and flashes and explosions and the deafening thunder of bombardment. One of the troops looks up from his foxhole and laughs because all he can think of is the beauty of the fireworks on the 4th of July: Watch up until the 1:40 mark to get the point (as you would expect, it gets graphic after that so you may want to stop there).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9F1szmKOa8&feature=player_embedded
Life is both awesome and terrifying at times - but there is no time to blog about it because amidst all the beauty, we are hanging on for dear life.
All that is a long way around to saying, "Sorry I haven't written more - I'll try to write more."
The new job should make it a little easier to do so from time to time. My last day is today! My first day is Monday!
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
We Should All Be So Lucky To Be Remembered in Such a Way
Reminds me of my grandfather, in a way; he liked to go out and see the crops. On a summer Sunday when we went to the Farm, he’d drive out to see how the crops were doing, a trip that inevitably included the School Land and the Flax and the Barley. The last two are self-explanatory, of course. But the School Land? From what I’ve learned, they set aside land for schools when they laid out North Dakota, and whether or not a school was actually built on the plot, it was known as the School Land. The only school in the area was to the east of the Farm, across the river, by Harwood proper. My father went there until he had completed 7th grade, and then it was time to go to work, and then to war. I still wonder if today’s 7th grade dropouts know enough math to run a business and fill the back of a placemat at Perkins with tables of figures calculating what’s owed and what’s coming in.
Grandpa would invite me, and my cousins, to tour the crops. I had no standard of reference – couldn’t tell if they were stunted or average or high as an elephant’s eye, but I remember sitting in the back of the car, broiling on the plastic seats, bumping along the county road, Grandpa in the front seat with a fedora on his head and a grasshopper on his shoulder. The hopper only made one appearance, but I never forgot it and have since added it to all memories of Grandpa in rural driving mode. A big green hopper on his shoulder, motionless, along for the ride.
A plain, straightforward man, I think. Always had time to amuse the grandkids. Loved Jack Benny. Smoked Old Golds; had a favorite lighter and a favorite floor-stand ashtray. Stood at the window on Sunday nights and waved goodbye, just as my dad – his son-in-law – stands in the driveway now and waves goodbye when I leave. I suppose there’s a time when you turn away before the taillights disappear, and a day when you decide to wait until they’re completely out of sight. I don’t remember the last time I saw him, but I know where I was when I heard he’d fallen, and died. Had to drive home from college and get a funeral suit. The man who measured me had fitted all the men in the family.
Grandpa was the only man I ever knew who wore a hat.
- Lileks
Grandpa would invite me, and my cousins, to tour the crops. I had no standard of reference – couldn’t tell if they were stunted or average or high as an elephant’s eye, but I remember sitting in the back of the car, broiling on the plastic seats, bumping along the county road, Grandpa in the front seat with a fedora on his head and a grasshopper on his shoulder. The hopper only made one appearance, but I never forgot it and have since added it to all memories of Grandpa in rural driving mode. A big green hopper on his shoulder, motionless, along for the ride.
A plain, straightforward man, I think. Always had time to amuse the grandkids. Loved Jack Benny. Smoked Old Golds; had a favorite lighter and a favorite floor-stand ashtray. Stood at the window on Sunday nights and waved goodbye, just as my dad – his son-in-law – stands in the driveway now and waves goodbye when I leave. I suppose there’s a time when you turn away before the taillights disappear, and a day when you decide to wait until they’re completely out of sight. I don’t remember the last time I saw him, but I know where I was when I heard he’d fallen, and died. Had to drive home from college and get a funeral suit. The man who measured me had fitted all the men in the family.
Grandpa was the only man I ever knew who wore a hat.
- Lileks
A prayer for Haiti's children
by Joye Lisk
Lonely form, a child found
Helpless cry with moaning sound.
The restless suffering in the cold
Homeless children, the tales unfold.
A price that cost so much it seems,
A broken heart in rubble’s dreams,
The toll is taken, the bridge is crossed,
The memories of connections lost.
Kids long to play and comfort be,
Someone to say it’s fine you see.
A petted head and held so tight.
A kiss and hug to make it right.
Their heart is then a different shape,
Not covered by a dusty scape.
But open to the outside world.
Singing, dancing…..being twirled.
Loved hearts beat fast, a rhythmic pace,
With kindness dance so full of grace,
A touch so rich and warm with light,
Calming voice in darkest night.
May there always be an angel there,
For Haiti’s kids to hug and share,
Love may come and never go,
Always there so they may know.
May lives be filled with sunny rays,
A love that comes and fills their days.
With hearts that hold…and always keep.
Them far from lonely nights that weep.
A child cries and do we hear,
The lonely sounds of soul so dear?
Without a roof or tummy full,
A mind that grows more dim and dull.
We must be wise and listen well,
To children’s cries from lonely hell.
This planet’s future and our soul.
Depends on love to pay the toll.
Lonely form, a child found
Helpless cry with moaning sound.
The restless suffering in the cold
Homeless children, the tales unfold.
A price that cost so much it seems,
A broken heart in rubble’s dreams,
The toll is taken, the bridge is crossed,
The memories of connections lost.
Kids long to play and comfort be,
Someone to say it’s fine you see.
A petted head and held so tight.
A kiss and hug to make it right.
Their heart is then a different shape,
Not covered by a dusty scape.
But open to the outside world.
Singing, dancing…..being twirled.
Loved hearts beat fast, a rhythmic pace,
With kindness dance so full of grace,
A touch so rich and warm with light,
Calming voice in darkest night.
May there always be an angel there,
For Haiti’s kids to hug and share,
Love may come and never go,
Always there so they may know.
May lives be filled with sunny rays,
A love that comes and fills their days.
With hearts that hold…and always keep.
Them far from lonely nights that weep.
A child cries and do we hear,
The lonely sounds of soul so dear?
Without a roof or tummy full,
A mind that grows more dim and dull.
We must be wise and listen well,
To children’s cries from lonely hell.
This planet’s future and our soul.
Depends on love to pay the toll.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Mr. Schmantzy Pants
Yep. That's my shiny new ball and chain.Why would someone who despises all things phone (cellular especially) upgrade to a 3G whiz-bang where I can not only be pestered by phone calls but text messages, e-mails and the like ALL HOURS OF THE DAY AND NIGHT? Because I gotz a new job. That's why. I start this coming Monday.
After 12+ years in real estate, it is time to move on (oooooh if only I had done this 3 years ago!!!). Hopefully the move will be permanant.
What will I miss about the old job? All the good times. What won't I miss? All the bad times. I will leave it to you to figure the percentages.
A taste of the bad times:
New job?
Impressive Chest-puffing Title: International Sales Manager
Reality: I am going to be selling chairs: West of the Mississippi and in Canada (is it just me, or does Mississippi have too many letters?).
NOT JUST ANY CHAIRS, MIND YOU! The kind that go in Movie theatres, Opera houses, School auditoriums, places of Worship and what-not. So the next time you go to a performance and sit in an uncomfortable chair, exclaim to your significant other: "I know this isn't a Matt Linden chair!"
The job is full of promise (and a raise) so we are hopeful. Because what else is there to be in 2010, but HOPEFUL!?
So that's the news. I will be on the road at least 10 days a month so I think that qualifies me for the "Road Warrior" moniker.
Updates to follow - right now I am trying to figure out how to turn off this new-fangled phone . . .
Oh, BTW . . . I have been boning up on sales techniques (language warning) . . . . .
UPDATE:
When a friend heard of the new job, he sent me this photo:
I'm not sure if my new company carries this design. If not, I will be sure to suggest it at my very first staff meeting . . . .
Quote of the Day
It’s the action, not the fruit of the action,that’s important. You have to do the right thing. It may not be in your power, may not be in your time, that there’ll be any fruit. But that doesn’t mean you stop doing the right thing. You may never know what results come from you action. But if you do nothing, there will be no result.
- Gandhi
- Gandhi
Monday, January 18, 2010
Quote of the Day
If you think dogs can't count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then give him only two of them..
-Phil Pastoret
-Phil Pastoret
Talking to Ourselves
by Philip Schultz
A woman in my doctor's office last week
couldn't stop talking about Niagara Falls,
the difference between dog and deer ticks,
how her oldest boy, killed in Iraq, would lie
with her at night in the summer grass, singing
Puccini. Her eyes looked at me but saw only
the saffron swirls of the quivering heavens.
Yesterday, Mr. Miller, our tidy neighbor,
stopped under our lopsided maple to explain
how his wife of sixty years died last month
of Alzheimer's. I stood there, listening to
his longing reach across the darkness with
each bruised breath of his eloquent singing.
This morning my five-year-old asked himself
why he'd come into the kitchen. I understood
he was thinking out loud, personifying himself,
but the intimacy of his small voice was surprising.
When my father's vending business was failing,
he'd talk to himself while driving, his lips
silently moving, his black eyes deliquescent.
He didn't care that I was there, listening,
what he was saying was too important.
"Too important," I hear myself saying
in the kitchen, putting the dishes away,
and my wife looks up from her reading
and asks, "What's that you said?"
A woman in my doctor's office last week
couldn't stop talking about Niagara Falls,
the difference between dog and deer ticks,
how her oldest boy, killed in Iraq, would lie
with her at night in the summer grass, singing
Puccini. Her eyes looked at me but saw only
the saffron swirls of the quivering heavens.
Yesterday, Mr. Miller, our tidy neighbor,
stopped under our lopsided maple to explain
how his wife of sixty years died last month
of Alzheimer's. I stood there, listening to
his longing reach across the darkness with
each bruised breath of his eloquent singing.
This morning my five-year-old asked himself
why he'd come into the kitchen. I understood
he was thinking out loud, personifying himself,
but the intimacy of his small voice was surprising.
When my father's vending business was failing,
he'd talk to himself while driving, his lips
silently moving, his black eyes deliquescent.
He didn't care that I was there, listening,
what he was saying was too important.
"Too important," I hear myself saying
in the kitchen, putting the dishes away,
and my wife looks up from her reading
and asks, "What's that you said?"
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Quote of the Day
A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.
-Josh Billings
-Josh Billings
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Quote of the Day
Don’t ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.
- Harold Whitman
- Harold Whitman
Friday, January 15, 2010
At the Vet's
by Maura Stanton
The German shepherd can't lift his hindquarters
off the tiled floor. His middle-aged owner
heaves his dog over his shoulder, and soon
two sad voices drift from the exam room
discussing heart failure, kidneys, and old age
while a rushing woman pants into the office
grasping a terrier with trembling legs
she found abandoned in a drainage ditch.
It's been abused, she says, and sits down,
The terrier curled in her lap, quaking
as the memory of something bad returns and returns.
She strokes its ears, whispering endearments
while my two cats, here for routine checkups,
peer through the mesh of their old green carrier,
the smell of fear so strong on their damp fur
I taste it as I breathe. Soon the woman,
Like the receptionist with her pen in mid-air,
Is listening, too, hushed by the duet
swelling in volume now, the vet's soprano
counterpointed by the owner's baritone
as he pleads with her to give him hope, the vet
trying to be kind, rephrasing the truth
over and over until it becomes a lie
they both pretend to accept. The act's over.
His dog's to stay behind for ultrasound
and kidney tests, and the man, his face
whipped by grief as if he were caught in a wind,
hurries past us and out the front door,
leaving the audience—cats, terrier, people—
sunk in their places, too stunned to applaud.
The German shepherd can't lift his hindquarters
off the tiled floor. His middle-aged owner
heaves his dog over his shoulder, and soon
two sad voices drift from the exam room
discussing heart failure, kidneys, and old age
while a rushing woman pants into the office
grasping a terrier with trembling legs
she found abandoned in a drainage ditch.
It's been abused, she says, and sits down,
The terrier curled in her lap, quaking
as the memory of something bad returns and returns.
She strokes its ears, whispering endearments
while my two cats, here for routine checkups,
peer through the mesh of their old green carrier,
the smell of fear so strong on their damp fur
I taste it as I breathe. Soon the woman,
Like the receptionist with her pen in mid-air,
Is listening, too, hushed by the duet
swelling in volume now, the vet's soprano
counterpointed by the owner's baritone
as he pleads with her to give him hope, the vet
trying to be kind, rephrasing the truth
over and over until it becomes a lie
they both pretend to accept. The act's over.
His dog's to stay behind for ultrasound
and kidney tests, and the man, his face
whipped by grief as if he were caught in a wind,
hurries past us and out the front door,
leaving the audience—cats, terrier, people—
sunk in their places, too stunned to applaud.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Try As I Might, I Just Can't Not Like The Boss
Now if you will excuse me, I am going to cue up some musica . . .
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The Office (Conversations overheard from my cubicle)
Co-worker #1: Do you know who you need to call?
Co-worker #2: Who? Ghostbusters?!
Me: Shoot me now . . .
I Guess I Need to Brush Up on my Greek Mythology . . .
Interesting day; Wednesday proves to be more so, with an early AM documentary shoot on an ice factory. Yes, an ice factory. My goal: work in “Paradise Lost” and the idea that the lowest rung of Hades is solid ice, with Lucifer endlessly chewing on the heads of Brutus and Judas. Which reminds me: on the way to choir, Gnat said “Looks like Penelope is down in the underworld again.”
“What?”
“It’s cold! She’s down in you know the H place and Demeter is mourning.”
She’s been reading a series of books that have lots of Greek / Roman myths.
“That’s nonsense,” I said, having some sport. “Demeter should be used to it by now.”
“You’re MEAN. He’s mourning, and so nothing grows.”
“Seriously. If every year she goes down to Hades, well, she comes back again, and shouldn’t he figure that out by now? It’s like she’s gone to Arizona for the season. And why punish everyone else with cold weather?”
“He’s MOURNING.”
“Okay, well, how about someone takes him aside and says Demeter old chap, we understand it’s hard for you, but how about lightening up a bit on the rest of us? Experience teaches us she’ll be back. Meanwhile I can’t feel my feet. It’s humbug. I don’t think even the Romans bought that one.”
“Well they didn’t know.”
“Yes, because they hadn’t conquered Australia. Where it’s summer. So Demeter doesn’t care about the southern hemisphere.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “You’re right.”
And thus were ancient myths punctured in a trice as we bounced along the rutted road. Mythology. Meh. High school drama + thunderbolts.
- Lileks
“What?”
“It’s cold! She’s down in you know the H place and Demeter is mourning.”
She’s been reading a series of books that have lots of Greek / Roman myths.
“That’s nonsense,” I said, having some sport. “Demeter should be used to it by now.”
“You’re MEAN. He’s mourning, and so nothing grows.”
“Seriously. If every year she goes down to Hades, well, she comes back again, and shouldn’t he figure that out by now? It’s like she’s gone to Arizona for the season. And why punish everyone else with cold weather?”
“He’s MOURNING.”
“Okay, well, how about someone takes him aside and says Demeter old chap, we understand it’s hard for you, but how about lightening up a bit on the rest of us? Experience teaches us she’ll be back. Meanwhile I can’t feel my feet. It’s humbug. I don’t think even the Romans bought that one.”
“Well they didn’t know.”
“Yes, because they hadn’t conquered Australia. Where it’s summer. So Demeter doesn’t care about the southern hemisphere.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “You’re right.”
And thus were ancient myths punctured in a trice as we bounced along the rutted road. Mythology. Meh. High school drama + thunderbolts.
- Lileks
Monday, January 11, 2010
Quote of the Day
"Going to church no more makes you a Christian than standing in a garage makes you a car."
- Garrison Keillor
- Garrison Keillor
Laws of the Father
This is hilarious.
Teaser:
Laws When at Table
And if you are seated in your high chair, or in a chair such as a greater person might use, keep your legs and feet below you as they were. Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table, for that is an abomination to me. Yes, even when you have an interesting bandage to show, your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke. Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils, nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for; if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you will be sent away. When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table, and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck; for you will be sent away.
Teaser:
Laws When at Table
And if you are seated in your high chair, or in a chair such as a greater person might use, keep your legs and feet below you as they were. Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table, for that is an abomination to me. Yes, even when you have an interesting bandage to show, your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke. Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils, nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for; if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you will be sent away. When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table, and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck; for you will be sent away.
Out Elvising "The King"
I have always loved this song and when I came across this video I was entranced. I wasn't going to post it b/c of a few seconds of "raciness" but it is just sooo good . . . .
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Yep! Bacon Makes You Smarter!
Teaser:
In a story published by the Daily Mail in the UK, it has been reported that pregnant women that eat bacon produce smarter offspring. Now I know what you thinking, “I thought prego women should stay away from nitrites”. Well every true bacon lover knows you can buy nitrite free bacon.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Quote of the Day
Can you tell I'm tired? So tired. It's like being drunk, except without all the peeing. Maybe I shouldn't blog when I'm like this.
- HOTD
- HOTD
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Quote of the Day
I think that somehow, we learn who we really are and then live with that decision.
~ Eleanor Roosevelt
~ Eleanor Roosevelt
Guinea Pig
by Julie Cadwallader-Staub
As if your cancer weren't enough,
the guinea pig is dying.
The kids brought him to me
wrapped in a bath towel
‘Do something, Mom.
Save his life.'
I'm a good mom.
I took time from work,
drove him to the vet,
paid $77.00 for his antibiotics.
Now, after the kids rush off to school,
you and I sit on the bed.
I hold the guinea pig, since he bites.
You fill the syringe.
We administer the foul smelling medicine,
hoping the little fellow will live.
admitting to each other:
if he doesn't,
it'll be good practice.
As if your cancer weren't enough,
the guinea pig is dying.
The kids brought him to me
wrapped in a bath towel
‘Do something, Mom.
Save his life.'
I'm a good mom.
I took time from work,
drove him to the vet,
paid $77.00 for his antibiotics.
Now, after the kids rush off to school,
you and I sit on the bed.
I hold the guinea pig, since he bites.
You fill the syringe.
We administer the foul smelling medicine,
hoping the little fellow will live.
admitting to each other:
if he doesn't,
it'll be good practice.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Quote of the Day
"For two people in a marriage to live together day after day is unquestionably the one miracle the Vatican has overlooked."
- Bill Cosby
- Bill Cosby
And You Think YOU Had a Great New Years . . . .
Guests snowed in for New Year at UK's highest pub
Teaser:
About 30 people arrived at the Tan Hill Inn in North Yorkshire on New Year's Eve to welcome in 2010.
But the wintry weather conditions meant the residents were snowed in for a further two nights.
Resident DJ Peter Richardson said: "We've kept our spirits up. It's actually been quite heart-warming."
Teaser:
About 30 people arrived at the Tan Hill Inn in North Yorkshire on New Year's Eve to welcome in 2010.
But the wintry weather conditions meant the residents were snowed in for a further two nights.
Resident DJ Peter Richardson said: "We've kept our spirits up. It's actually been quite heart-warming."
And You Say You Are a Cat Person . . . .
Boy calls dog who fought off cougar his 'guardian'
Teaser:
A boy from Boston Bar, B.C., whose golden retriever saved him from a charging cougar, says he wouldn't be alive if his dog hadn't stepped in.
Austin Forman, 11, was gathering firewood in his backyard at about 5 p.m. Saturday when his dog, Angel, started acting strangely.
Angel started following him to and from the woodshed, Austin said, almost as though she was checking to make sure he was OK.
Suddenly, Angel ran toward Austin and jumped over a lawn mower — right into the path of a charging cougar.
Teaser:
A boy from Boston Bar, B.C., whose golden retriever saved him from a charging cougar, says he wouldn't be alive if his dog hadn't stepped in.
Austin Forman, 11, was gathering firewood in his backyard at about 5 p.m. Saturday when his dog, Angel, started acting strangely.
Angel started following him to and from the woodshed, Austin said, almost as though she was checking to make sure he was OK.
Suddenly, Angel ran toward Austin and jumped over a lawn mower — right into the path of a charging cougar.
Not Me
Have you ever Googled you own name to find that someone else is making a bigger mockery of it than you are?
THIS IS NOT ME:
THIS IS NOT ME:
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Coolest Thing You Will See All Day Today
This incredible machine was built as a collaborative effort between the Robert M. Trammell Music Conservatory and the Sharon Wick School of Engineering at the University of Iowa .. Amazingly, 97% of the machines components came from John Deere Industries and Irrigation Equipment of Bancroft , Iowa ....Yes, farm equipment!
It took the team a combined 13,029 hours of set-up, alignment, calibration, and tuning before filming this video but as you can see it was WELL worth the effort.
It is now on display in the Matthew Gerhard Alumni Hall at the University and is already slated to be donated to the Smithsonian.
Imagining It
by Kate Barnes
At eighteen, in Paris,
I just woke up out of a dream
just before dawn, and stepped through the long window
from my cold room with its red silk walls.
Shivering a little in my dressing gown,
I leaned on the balustrade
and, look, overnight a light snow had fallen;
no car had driven over it yet, it lay in the street
as white, as innocent, as snow on the open fields.
Then something approached with a calm rhythm
of hoof-beats made softer by the snow, the sound
of a quiet heart. It was a heaped-up wood cart
pulled by a gray horse who walked along slowly,
head down, while the driver
sat at the back of one shaft and hunched over
to light his cigarette.
From above, I saw clearly
the lit match in the old man's cupped hands, its glow
on his long jaw, the small well of flame
between his living palms like the flare
of the soul in his body. He went on
down the street, and the sky went on
growing lighter, and I saw how he left
his dark tracks behind him on the whiteness
of the snow, just the lines of the two wheels,
slightly wavering, and the dints of the horse's hooves
between them, a writing in an undiscovered
language, something whose meaning
we feel sure we know, and still can't quite
translate.
When I stepped inside again,
I stopped thinking about love for a minute — I thought about it
almost all the time then — and thought instead
about being alive for a while in a world
with cobblestones, new snow, and the unconscious
poem printed by hooves on the maiden street.
Of course I was not yet ready to be grateful.
At eighteen, in Paris,
I just woke up out of a dream
just before dawn, and stepped through the long window
from my cold room with its red silk walls.
Shivering a little in my dressing gown,
I leaned on the balustrade
and, look, overnight a light snow had fallen;
no car had driven over it yet, it lay in the street
as white, as innocent, as snow on the open fields.
Then something approached with a calm rhythm
of hoof-beats made softer by the snow, the sound
of a quiet heart. It was a heaped-up wood cart
pulled by a gray horse who walked along slowly,
head down, while the driver
sat at the back of one shaft and hunched over
to light his cigarette.
From above, I saw clearly
the lit match in the old man's cupped hands, its glow
on his long jaw, the small well of flame
between his living palms like the flare
of the soul in his body. He went on
down the street, and the sky went on
growing lighter, and I saw how he left
his dark tracks behind him on the whiteness
of the snow, just the lines of the two wheels,
slightly wavering, and the dints of the horse's hooves
between them, a writing in an undiscovered
language, something whose meaning
we feel sure we know, and still can't quite
translate.
When I stepped inside again,
I stopped thinking about love for a minute — I thought about it
almost all the time then — and thought instead
about being alive for a while in a world
with cobblestones, new snow, and the unconscious
poem printed by hooves on the maiden street.
Of course I was not yet ready to be grateful.
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