Sorry I'm late folks. We had my mother here for Christmas and yesterday we took her to my brother's for the holiday handoff. We visited and didn't get home until late last night.
--------------------------
December 30, 1972
Dear John: When I opened the door today there were actually six geese laying on my front steps. So you're back to the birds again, huh? These geese are huge. Where will I ever keep them? The neighbors are complaining and I can't sleep through the racket. Please stop.
Cordially, Agnes
I interrupt the latest instalment of our 12 Days saga to report on the latest violence in the Middle East.
Rival priests brawl inside Bethlehem church (what better way to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace - at his birthplace?)
Groups of Greek Orthodox and Armenian priests attacked each other with brooms and stones inside the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. The church houses the site believed by most Christians to be the birthplace of Jesus. The incident occurred during an annual cleaning ceremony which precedes the Armenian and Orthodox Christmas in January.
The altercation seems to have been the result of a long-standing feud between the two rival gangs who, along with the Roman Catholic gang, run the turf contained inside the Basilica under a truce between the three groups. The unholy, er, uneasy alliance allows the three hostile factions dominion over their own church turf however encroachment into a rival gang's church territory is not taken lightly and retribution is often swift and violent.
Palestinian police separated the groups and restored order. Associated Press photographers were ordered out of the church but not before capturing the events leading to the incident on the following video.
December 28, 1972
Dear John: Today the postman delivered four calling birds. Now really, they are beautiful, but don't you think enough is enough? You are being too romantic.
Affectionately, Agnes
December 27, 1972
Dear John: Oh! Aren't you the extravagant one! Now I must protest. I don't deserve such generosity. Three French hens! They are just darling, but I must insist, you've been too kind.
All my love, Agnes
I've been absent lately. Sorry about that but with the holidays and all it's been kinda busy. I'll be in and out sporadically over the next few days.
In the meantime I'll leave you with this festive holiday story:
Rampaging Santas strike New Zealand cinema
Ho Ho Ho.
Okay, so our youngest daughter was in her middle school production of "A Christmas Carol" this past Friday night. She played young Ebenezer's fiancee in Christmas past and she was wonderful. Our oldest had just gotten home from college that morning and brought along her boyfriend to visit for a few days. The whole family was there. I was proud of my baby and fun was had by all.
After the show we decided we all wanted to go to the movies to see "I Am Legend" because we wouldn't have been able to sleep at night without helping Wil Smith break a huge box office record for the weekend. We had some time to kill so we grabbed a quick dinner then headed to the theater.
There we are at the ticket window. My wife, me, our three kids and my daughter's boyfriend. The oldest and her boyfriend are college students. The other two kids are in high school and middle school respectively. The sign has a regular, full price and a STUDENT price. So my wife asks for two adults and four students.
The troll hiding behind bullet-proof glass (for a reason) in the booth says she needs to see student ID's. The two 19 year olds produce college ID's. The 16 year old produces a high school ID. The 11 year old (because they don't issue ID's in middle school) gets busted for trying to buy popcorn without a license.
Troll: "You're going to have to pay full price for her."
Wife: "So, the two college students and the high school student can get the student price but the 11 year old can't?"
Troll: "Sorry." (At least it sounded like sorry, I wasn't totally sure because of the raw goat leg she was gnawing on).
Wife: "You're really not going to give her the student price just because she doesn't have an ID?"
Troll (lips curled in an angry sneer, fangs dripping with goat blood): No, I'm not and it won't do you any good to argue about it."
Wife: "I'm not arguing, I'm expressing disbelief over how ridiculous it is that the older students can get in but she can't even though she is clearly a school age girl. Don't you think that's just a little ridiculous?"
Troll: "No."
At this point we had the tickets (three student, three full price) and everyone just wanted to go see the movie. But I, not being happy with the level of aggravation to which the troll had been aroused entered the fray.
Me: "What are you saying? Are you saying that you don't believe we send our children to school? She's clearly school aged. So, if she's not a student then you must be saying that we don't send her to school."
Troll (who had now resorted to using the microphone instead of just snarling through the glass): I could have enforced our rule that "student" only applies to COLLEGE students but I didn't. I didn't have to discount the other girl."
Me (matching her volume without the microphone): "Oh so that interaction you just had with my wife was you being NICE? And what do you mean "student" only means "college student"? Where does it say that on the sign? SHOW ME WHERE IT SAYS THAT ON THE SIGN!"
The last was said as I was being dragged away from the ticket booth. Likely a good thing since the next words out of my mouth were going be something along the lines of "I can see why they keep you in that cage you fucking primate!" Then I would've missed the movie.
Once inside the theater.
Perky blonde taking tickets (with big smile and in a very friendly voice): Hello and welcome. Thank you for coming. May I take your ticket please?"
Me: Wow. You're MUCH more friendly and pleasant than the hag out in the ticket booth."
Perky blonde taking tickets: Yeah. I get that a lot.
I hate officious idiotic pricks with a little power.
I know I've mentioned the fact that I'm married before. And that we have a great relationship and I'm an extraordinarily lucky man. I'm extraordinarily lucky for reasons too numerous to list. Today I shall list one. My wife is...are you ready?...A Writer. A writer as in a professional, published writer. But it gets better. To be more specific my wife is a Romance Writer. That is to say, she writes romance novels for a living. She's a multi-published, award winning, real-life romance novelist. And she's all mine. Cool huh?
I though I'd mention this today as an introduction to the fact that I want to give her a little promotional consideration. As it happens, now through the end of the month you have the opportunity to sample some of her work absolutely free. Harlequin, her publisher, is featuring one of her complete stories as their daily online read at their website eHarlequin. It will be posted one chapter each weekday through the end of the month. It started this past Monday so there are already five chapters available. It's called "And a Dead Guy in a Pear Tree" and yes, it's Christmas themed. Can't you tell?
Her next book "One Wild Wedding Night" will be released next month.
You can read a description and an excerpt on her website. Then you can go buy it. Then look for all the books on her backlist. And buy them too. Hey, we have a kid in college and two more behind her. And I want to retire into the lap of luxury. But besides that she's a great writer and you'll love her. She's my favorite author and I couldn't be more proud of her.
I told you I was a lucky guy.
Sorry I've been missing in action for the last few days. The weekend was...well, the weekend. And Monday was my day off and I had better things to do (no offense). Yesterday...I had nothin'. I'm trying to sort out another writing project (that has been laying dormant for far too long) in my head and get it from outline form into something resembling a proposal, so my mind was elsewhere.
Interesting article yesterday on Yahoo. Historian: First English Bible Fueled First Fundamentalists. James Simpson, a professor of English at Harvard University believes that once the bible was translated into colloquial English by William Tyndale in 1525, newly literate Englishmen were terrified by the frightening moral code and began following it "to the letter" in order to avoid misinterpreting it.
Before getting to the blog I'd like to take a moment to recognize today December 7th, Pearl Harbor Day in honor of all those of that generation who served in World War II.
--------------
I thought the subject of this blog was rather timely since lately we've all been traveling back through time to visit our 13 year old selves.
I was surfing around a couple of months ago for a reason that I've since forgotten and somehow stumbled on a discussion forum. To this day I don't know what the forum is or even if it has a specific purpose but I happened on a thread that cracked me up. A bunch of (presumably) geeky kids have proposed and are attempting to organize "Pretend to be a Time Traveler day". The comments on the thread are pretty amusing to read. Don't ask me why but I love this idea. Maybe it appeals to the 45% abnormal part of me that I discoverd I had thanks to Kitty's quiz. The date is set for tomorrow - Saturday December 8th. Here are some guidelines from the originator of the idea:
You must spend the entire day in costume and character. The only rule is that you cannot actually tell anyone that you are a time traveler. Other than that, anything's game.
There are three possible options:
1) Utopian/cliché Future - "If the Future did a documentary of the last fifty years, this is how badly the reenactors would dress." Think Star Trek: TNG or the Time Travelers from Hob. Ever see how the society in Futurama sees the 20th century? Run with it. Your job is to dress with moderately anachronistic clothing and speak in slang from varying decades. Here are some good starters:
- Greet people by referring to things that don't yet exist or haven't existed for a long time. Example: "Have you penetrated the atmosphere lately?" "What spectrum will today's broadcast be in?" and "Your king must be a kindly soul!"
- Show extreme ignorance in operating regular technology. Pay phones should be a complete mystery (try placing the receiver in odd places). Chuckle knowingly at cell phones.
2) Dystopian Future - This one offers a little more flexibility. It can be any kind of future from Terminator to Freejack. The important thing to remember is dress like a crazy person with armor. Black spray painted football pads, high tech visors, torn up trenchcoats and maybe even some dirt here or there. Remember, dystopian future travelers are very startled that they've gone back in time. Some starters:
- If you go the "prisoner who's escaped the future" try shaving your head and putting a barcode on the back of your neck. Then stagger around and stare at the sky, as if you've never seen it before.
- Walk up to random people and say "WHAT YEAR IS THIS?" and when they tell you, get quiet and then say "Then there's still time!" and run off.
- Stand in front of a statue (any statue, really), fall to your knees, and yell "NOOOOOOOOO" - Stare at newspaper headlines and look astonished.
- Take some trinket with you (it can be anything really), hand it to some stranger, along with a phone number and say "In thirty years dial this number. You'll know what to do after that." Then slip away.
3) The Past - This one is more for beginners. Basically dress in period clothing (preferably Victorian era) and stagger around amazed at everything. Since the culture's set in place already, you have more of a template to work off of. Some pointers:
- Airplanes are terrifying. Also, carry on conversations with televisions for a while.
- Discover and become obsessed with one trivial aspect of technology, like automatic grocery doors. Stay there for hours playing with it.
- Be generally terrified of people who are dressed immodestly compared to your era. Tattoos and shorts on women are especially scary.
And that's it. Remember, the only real rule is staying in character and try to fit in. Never directly admit you're a time traveler, and make really, really bad attempts at keeping a low profile.
Flaunt your abnormality! Get out there and act crazy - these days who the hell will notice? And try not to get arrested. Have a great weekend.
I was tagged earlier this week by my buddy Mike over at Tongue In Check to do a Meme created by Malach. The rules are:
Link back to the person who tagged you.
Send a letter back in time to your 13 year old self.
Tag 5 more people to do this meme.
Dear Bruce,
This is a letter from you – 35 years in the future. The year for you is 1972 and you’re 13 years old. For me (well, you really) it’s 2007 and I’m 48. Yeah I know, you think that’s really OLD but trust me you’ll rethink that when you get here. You’re experiencing some disbelief but just go with it. I know that out of anyone in your family you’ll be able to accept this.
Some background on you so hopefully you’ll know I’m telling you the truth. You’re the youngest of four brothers. The older three are all close in age but there’s an 11 year gap between you and the next oldest. You’re “the baby”. You hate that but you might as well accept it, it won’t stop. It’ll always be that way and you’ll hate it even more by the time you get to where I am. You live with your parents, brothers and your grandparents in an extended family. You father is Irish but everyone else is either all or half Italian and they’re volatile. It’s loud and the general form of communicating is yelling. You sometimes feel like you were adopted. You were not. You have big spaghetti dinners every Sunday and you love to sneak in the kitchen to steal a freshly made meatball or dip a piece of bread in the sauce pot when you think your grandmother isn’t looking. She is and she knows. When you were little you loved riding around with your grandfather (even though you usually got car sick before the end of the driveway, see, I know) when he ran errands for his business. You’ll never forget when you were around ten and he took you to lunch in a restaurant called “The Boat House”. He led you to a back booth, ordered two roast beef sandwiches and two beers and told you to enjoy. He knew long before you did that you were too sheltered and more than a little bit spoiled by your mother and that it needed to change.
That memory makes it hard for me to tell you what I’m about to say. Your grandfather is sick and in the hospital, you know that. What you don’t know is that he will never come home. Even though no one has told you the truth, he’s very sick and I’m sorry to say that he’ll be gone in less than a month. Because you have again been sheltered you will never be taken to the hospital to see him. Insist on going. Your family has good intentions but that seldom makes them right. You should have the chance to say goodbye. I’m sorry.
With the exception of 4th grade (that teacher was a witch, just forget about it) school so far hasn’t been bad. You’re about to enter 7th grade in Junior High School and I’m very sorry to tell you that it will be the worst year you’ll have in school. You are in a very difficult transitional period in life and there are others who will add greatly to that difficulty. An evil demon from hell in the human form of a girl with the initials SS (you know her) will continue to enjoy using you as a target and she will only get worse. It’s never cool to hit a girl no matter how badly you want to but take solace in the fact that Karma is real and she’ll be just as miserable an adult as she is a kid. If it makes you feel better, spit on her when no one’s looking. Also, there’s a guy named Ron. Please remember that fighting never solved anything, should be avoided and that you shouldn’t be the one to start a fight. Except in this case. On the first day you meet him, punch him in the face as hard as you can. Drop him like a fucking bad habit. Trust me it will save you a lot of problems down the road and it certainly won’t hurt your relationship with him. The good news is that you’ll have some good teachers to talk to, the year will end, and you’ll be a stronger person for the experience. After that it starts getting better and you’ll actually begin to enjoy yourself.
Your brother is about to start his own trash removal business. You’re going to start working for him on weekends and summer vacations. It will be exactly what you need for a while. It’ll keep you busy, put some money in your pocket, and the physical labor will have you in great shape by the time you’re in high school. You’ll come out of that transitional phase that I mentioned just fine.
Now’s the time that you should start working on being a better student. You’re not stupid, in fact, you’re pretty smart (if I do say so myself) but you are lazy and unmotivated. That will be made worse by the dread of going to school every day this coming year. You don’t want to form habits that will last into the following years so you need to make a special effort whether you want to or not. It will be worth it. You have a pretty curious mind and you like to learn about a wide variety of subjects and figure out how things work. That will never change. What you do need to try to change is your follow-through. There’s nothing wrong with sampling a lot of different things but once in a while stick with something long enough to be good at it. It doesn’t happen overnight. For instance, you know those guitar lessons you took? I really wish you would’ve kept at it. You’re not terribly musically inclined but you’ll always wish that you were so practice. By the way, while we’re talking about music. Do you remember when you were in Cub Scouts and your dad was troop leader and they brought in some music teacher to organize you to sing Christmas carols to the people at the old folk’s home? And the guy said you couldn’t sing and made you take a speaking part? That shit still bothers you/me. Who the hell tells a kid that he can’t sing Christmas carols to old deaf people in an old folks home? Fuck him! If you ever get the chance, take singing lessons. You’ll never be a great singer, you’ll probably never be a good singer but at least you won’t be afraid to sing Happy Birthday out loud to your kids.
After high school you will go to college at a small school in Maryland. It will be a fantastic experience for you. It will open the door for you to things that you never knew existed and will provide a much needed opportunity to grow and mature. It’s a liberal arts school and despite its religious affiliation and the presence of that influence, you’ll never feel that anything is being shoved down your throat. You’ll learn how to think, not what to think. That’s more valuable than you know. You’re not going to be a doctor but that’s okay, you never really wanted to be anyway. A few years after school you’ll fall into a profession and although you’ll never be particularly passionate, you’ll do well. There will be a few bumps along the way with work, mainly due to the fact that you just don’t fit in well with the corporate world and their bullshit – you’re too independent (deep down, you don’t care much for authority, in particular, the abuse of authority). All in all you’ll do okay.
I’m sure you find this all very interesting but I know you well my friend and what you really want to know about is girls. Before I go into that let me say this. You have and will continue to have a passing interest in astrology (not the “the stars rule my life” kind of interest, more like the “what’s the weather going to be like this week?” kind). You’re a Pisces and the classic description of a Pisces fits you to a tee. You’re romantic, creative, imaginative, a dreamer, and you’re sensitive. You’re sensitive to others that you care about BUT you also get your feelings hurt easily. Less so as you get older but still, it’s there. Also, you love to be in the company of girls. That’s been true ever since you discovered them in kindergarten. Those two facts about you taken together will prove to be a blessing and a curse for a long time…but in the end it will work out splendidly. In the first grade you fell in love with Juanita and risked ridicule from other boys by playing hopscotch with her at recess. That more or less set a precedent. In a few years when you’re looking at extra-curricular activities, I’ve got one word for you. Theater. Think about it. In sports you’ve got a bunch of smelly, sweaty guys rolling around on the grass with each other and taking showers together. In theater you’ve got a bunch of attractive, talented, creative girls; a bunch of gay (in 1972 that would be queer, but we don’t say that anymore, it’s offensive) guys; and YOU. Do the math. Besides, it comes into play later.
In high school you’re in great shape, you’re not bad looking, you start to get noticed and have fun but not much really happens. College is where it takes off. You have a series of relationships with high highs, low lows and you will get hurt. But I’m not going to warn you off of any of them. You will learn from them but more importantly in some weird fated way each one leads you to the next one until eventually you arrive at the ONLY one. At the end of your senior year you’ll meet someone from outside school. You’ll move in with her and stay in Maryland after graduation. She’s NOT the one. In the fall of 1981 when you’re 22 you’ll go to see her in a theater production. You won’t know it but there you’ll catch your first glimpse of the right one. Three years and a lot of life experience for both of you passes before you’ll see her again. This time you’ll both be in a theater production. She’s beautiful, smart, talented, and funny and she looks amazing in a sweater. You become friends and a lot of flirting takes place. The show ends and you part company but you think about her a lot. Be patient. In the spring you stage manage the next production. One Sunday night you walk into the rehearsal studio and see her across the room. She’ll be wearing a white dress with a red belt and red high-heeled shoes. Fasten your seatbelt. Take that first step towards her and do not look back. I’ve given you more information here than I probably should have but I do not want you to fuck this up. Honestly I believe that it's meant to happen and it will no matter what you do, so be patient and let it. I can’t stress how important this is. She will be your life and is mine and everything meaningful for you from that point on will come through being with her. We’ve been together for 22 years, we have three beautiful daughters that fill us with joy and pride and I promise you…life is good. It all starts when you realize that you cannot let her get away, so don’t.
That’s not to say that there will be no bad. I wrestled with warning you about some painful things that will happen along the way but in the end I can’t for fear of changing what comes after. If I had assurances that nothing in my present would change I would give you much more information but no such assurances exist so I'm forced to let life happen. I’m sorry. More sorry than I can tell you. Sometimes bad things happen to good people but life moves forward. Don’t take anyone or anything for granted.
Remember to close your mouth and open your mind and that life is a journey that ends with the destination of death. You'll never know how long the journey will be, only how long it was. Enjoy the ride and don’t be in a rush to reach the destination. It’s all about the ride. You’re doing fine - you will do fine - and as I said, life really is good.
Oh, two more things.
1) The first Saturday in May 2005. The Kentucky Derby. Bet the #10, #18, # 12, and #17 horse on the Superfecta. A $2 ticket will win a record $1.7 million.
2) Powerball lottery drawing for Wednesday August 22, 2007, numbers 12, 37, 40, 48, 50 and powerball 37. There was no winner for that drawing and it rolls over to $340 million. You can get a ticket in Pennsylvania. Don’t forget.
As far as who to tag...This meme has been circulating all week and I'm late getting it done so most everybody I know has already been tagged. So I will nominate:
1. Crashed Site
2. Spirit Uncensored
3. Three players to be named later or anyone that hasn't been tagged that wants to take a crack at it.
Our world obviously doesn't have enough serious problems in it these days. People just have too much time on their hands. A particular group of people that have too much time on their hands are the members of the world's organized revealed religions. These are the people who have a direct line to God right? I would think given the state of things here on good old Earth that these folks would be on their knees lighting up the night sky with a celestial phone bank on a heavenly telethon asking God to fix things toot sweet. Even if they aren't fully occupied doing that you'd think with all the time they spend telling the rest of us what we'll be damned for and trying to get laws passed to force us to be moral that there just wouldn't be enough time left in the day. But alas and alack.
First we have a nation arresting an elementary school teacher for letting her class name a teddy bear after their prophet (never mind the fact that half the kids in her class either have the name themselves or have relatives who do) because, you know, that is a much more serious affront to God than say, the little problem in DARFUR!!!. And don't worry, I won't print the teddy bear's name here. I live in fear of a suicide blogger (of course it would be okay if HE had that name).
Now I read this:
Saints on cellphones spark controversy in Italy
Catholics there are up in arms over a company that sells electronic pictures of your favorite patron saint that you can download to your cell phone. I grew up in an Italian household and the little saint pictures (called santino - little saint) were all over the place. They're like...Catholic baseball cards. All the relatives carried them. I even had some. My mother gave me one when I went to college to keep on my desk - St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases. I don't know what the hell she was trying to tell me but it wasn't very inspirational. This cell phone thing strikes me as a normal step into the electronic age and certainly isn't any less reverent than folding up the picture, putting it in your wallet and sitting on it. And yet the critics find it disrespectful.
"This is in really bad taste," Bishop Lucio Soravito De Franceschi, a member of the Italian bishops conference committee for doctrinal matters, told the Turin newspaper La Stampa.
"It is a distortion of sacred things ... selling 'santini' for cell phones is horrifying," he said.
Horrifying! Oh my. Thank goodness the church is on top of stopping things that are horrifying. My word, I can't think of a single thing more horrifying than having an electronic picture of some dead guy that the church declared holier than the rest of us on your cell phone! Truly horrifying...and in bad taste. Clearly we should be more tasteful and honor these holy servants of God as the church does.
Throughout it's history the church SO revered these Saints that they opened their tombs in order to conduct a "translation of relics". That's a tasteful way of saying removing their remains and placing them in reliquaries to be "venerated" and later divided up and distributed as Holy Relics of the Church. In many cases the head or entire limbs of the saint were displayed. Of course it was declared illegal to sell such relics but only after a roaring cottage industry sprung up selling fakes thus cutting into their action. At one point Europe had a dozen or more holy foreskins of Jesus vying for the title of the one and true foreskin of the savior. In fact one town in, yes, Italy had the last of those foreskins on record in a jewel-encrusted reliquary that was paraded through the streets on the (and I can't type this without laughing) Feast of the Circumcision (seriously, look it up) as late as 1983. Unfortunately it was stolen by thieves presumably for the jewels but you never know.
I would like to propose that those filthy infidels...wait, wrong group...I mean heretics that would dare engage in the HORRIFYING practice of having a picture of a saint on their cell phone be stoned like it says in the bible. No, no, not harsh enough. They should be tortured into admitting their sin like they were during the Inquisition. Nope, not nearly horrible enough. They should be slaughtered out of existence by invading armies of explorers, ah no, that won't do! They should be BURNED ALIVE!!! Dammit! CRAP! I just can't think of a punishment HORRIBLE enough for this blatant demonstration of bad taste. I pray that someone from the Holy See is inspired to come up with something suitable. After all they have plenty of time on their hands what with nothing more important going on in the world.
While I wait for word from the church I'm gonna try to get my hands on that Teddy Bear. I'm cuttin' that sonofabitch up and sellin' his ass on Ebay! Praise the Lord!
Which in turn reminds me, for some strange reason, of Moose Lips.
Which aren't something I'd want to put in my mouth either for breakfast or to stop coughing.In any case, what I really began to think about was advertising campaigns for drugs. I don't know about the rest of you but I don't send my 12 year old out to buy medicine for me. So could someone please tell me why the hell all of our physical ailments have to be portrayed by cartoons on the commercials? I don't want to think about a lungful of mucus having a dance party in my chest. It's bad enough it's making me cough without thinking about what it's doing with Mrs. Mucus down there.
What the hell are these blobby things on the Zoloft commercial supposed to be anyway? So Zoloft turns you from a sad blob into a happy blob? Welcome to America.
Don't even get me started about Toenail Fungus!
And why do they use cartoons for some and not others? Why not cartoon critters for a cure for crabs, jock itch, or yeast infections? They would all seem to lend themselves to the use of animated creatures crawling around your body crevasses. Wait, I know I know, they could get Bob the Builder to be spokesman for Viagra or Levitra and have this little cartoon construction team with a crane working in the background. Whadaya think?
I've been absent for a couple of days. Honestly I've been in kind of a fog. I've had a cold coming on for about the last week. Not a full blown cold but one of those annoying little ones that gives you just enough congestion to cause post nasal drip. You don't notice it so much during the day but when you lay down at night you start to cough. And cough. And cough.
I told you before that I have apnea and sleep with an embryonic Alien face-hugger strapped to my face but what I didn't tell you was that I also tape my mouth shut. Yes. Tape across the lips. Voluntarily. And no, my wife doesn't have anything to do with it. I started having problems with the air leaking out of my mouth during the night and when that happens the therapy goes right out with it. Now no doctor or therapist in his right mind will tell you to tape your mouth shut but when you're struggling with this goofy therapy you try whatever it takes to get some sleep so I started using paper medical tape and it actually worked pretty well. Until this week when I got a cold.
I think you see what's coming. There I am all strapped in and taped up and settling down for the night when it starts. A tiny little tickle in the back of my throat. Maybe it'll go away. cough. That wasn't so bad. Okay tickle's gone. Ah. cough cough. Damn. Alright, I can control this. I'll cough will myself cough cough to not 
Now here is a church that I can really get behind. So to speak.
Baptists. Who knew?
After Sex Comments by Astrological Sun Sign:
Aries: "Okay, let's do it again!"
Taurus: "I'm hungry--pass the pizza."
Gemini: "Have you seen the remote?"
Cancer: "When are we getting married?"
Leo: "Wasn't I fantastic?"
Virgo: "I need to wash the sheets."
Libra: "I liked it if you liked it."
Scorpio: "Perhaps I should untie you."
Sagittarius: "Don't call me--I'll call you."
Capricorn: "Do you have a business card?"
Aquarius: "Now let's try it with our clothes off!"
Pisces: "What did you say your name was again?"
Just a few random articles that got my attention.
Beauty Is Hardwired in the Brain
Italian researchers showed test subjects both normal and slightly distorted images of sculptures and measured brain activity. What I found interesting was that the images considered to be more appealing were the unaltered ones which were in proportion to the Golden Ratio, 1.618 (followed by a long string of numbers), which was determined geometrically by Euclid but turns up everywhere in nature, art and architecture from ancient times to the present. Everything from the spirals of hurricanes and mollusk shells to the pyramids (in Egypt and Central America) and the Parthenon to the human face and body to the seed arrangement on a sunflower exhibit geometric proportions that equal this number. Fascinating stuff.
Men Act Dumber Around Blond Women
Well duh. While I doubt there's anyone that would question this finding I do disagree with their explanation. They seem to think the cause is due to, for lack of a better term, prejudice. That men have been conditioned to buy into the image of the "dumb blond" and that they therefore act dumber in the presence of a blond. Personally I think it's physiological. The guy becomes dumber because his brain isn't functioning at peak efficiency due to decreased blood flow. Blood is being diverted from the big head to the little head and that's where the "thinking" is taking place. The researchers unfortunately did not design the experiment to measure the correlation between dumbness and erectile activity. That's another study all together. In any case, my wife is a beautiful and extremely intelligent blond (support for MY hypothesis) and in light of the findings of this research I'd like to say in my defense...See honey, it's not my fault!
Biggest Bug Ever
Of the three Indiana Jones movies I could easily do the snake scene from the first and the rat scene from the third. The bug scene in the second however has an extraordinarily high squirm factor for me. I don't particularly care for bugs and I really, really hate BIG bugs. You know, the ones that are big enough to look in their eyes. Those are big enough but this prehistoric scorpion was EIGHT FEET LONG!!! Holy shit. You'd have to buy Raid by the tanker load.
'Ello Bruce...
I mentioned last week that had to strap a CPAP contraption on my head before I went to sleep and I promised I'd explain.
I have Obstructive Sleep Apnea (OSA). Sleep apnea in general is defined as a condition characterized by episodes of stopped breathing during sleep. Obstructive sleep apnea occurs when the soft tissues in your throat relax and close off your airway. Sounds like a lot of fun doesn't it? It's a shame I'm asleep and missing it.
It all started out with snoring. It was occasional (I think) and not terribly loud. Then it progressively got worse. I wasn't quite keeping my wife from falling asleep but if she woke up for some reason and I was sawing wood, well, let's say she had a hard time going back to sleep. Then it got to the point where she started wearing earplugs to bed. Eventually she told me she was (sort of) getting used to the snoring but it was the absence of snoring that was really starting to bother her. WHAT? I can't win. She explained that I'd be snoring along for a while then all of a sudden I would stop breathing. There would be silence for a long time then I'd gasp for air and start breathing again. I told her maybe she should stop holding that pillow over my face. She wasn't amused. I asked how long she waited and watched before I started breathing and if she considered maybe, I don't know, shaking me or something. She was even less amused. I had a medical appoint scheduled for another issue and I promised I would bring it up.
I mentioned the situation to the doctor and he gave me a referral to a sleep specialist. The sleep specialist had me go for a sleep study. For those of you that don't know what a sleep study is, it's when you go to a strange place where strange people you've never met show you to a strange room and tell you to change into a hospital gown. Then they take you to a room and glue electrodes all over your head, chest and legs, they stick a couple probes up your nose, wrap a band around your chest, and clip a pulse-ox meter to your finger. Then they take you back to the room where they hook all the electrodes and wires to a box on the wall. They tell you to get into bed, which is about the time you notice the video camera on the wall pointing at the bed, and they say "make yourself comfortable and have a good night's sleep, I'll be in around 5:30 AM to wake you up". Then you spend the rest of the night tangled in wires feeling like Frodo after Shelob got him in the spiderweb.
The sleep study found that I had moderate sleep apnea. I stopped breathing an average of 23 times an hour. The doctor discussed treatment options and we decided on using CPAP which stands for Continuous Positive Airway Pressure. Then he sent me for another sleep study. Oh for Chrissakes! This time the study is called a Titration. It's when they determine the optimal flow rate of air that will keep your airway open. I don't know how it was possible but the second time was far worse than the first. The results of the study indicated that I slept three hours out of the eight that I was there but somehow they managed to get enough data. Then I got to take the doctor's prescription to a Durable Medical Equipment (DME) supplier to get my CPAP equipment and instructions for use.
I was fitted for a CPAP interface, more commonly referred to as a mask, that is strapped to my head and connected by a hose to the CPAP machine which supplies air to the mask.
Here's my machine being modeled by little Mikey:
Here's the interface I've been using since I started therapy six months ago as modeled by Wayne:
And this is what it felt like during the first couple of weeks of treatment:
Eventually, I did begin to get used to it and really did start to sleep more or less normally. Some nights are better than others but I have started to feel better during the day. It's not a dramatic difference but I really noticed on the mornings after the one or two times I slept without the CPAP. I woke up feeling hungover - and I hadn't been drinking. The hardest part is getting used to it because you spend your whole life just going to bed. Now you have to get all this crap ready and don your gear before you can settle in. It sort of kills spontaneity and it makes you look really really sexy. It's also rather daunting to think that this is a condition that's not going away and that the CPAP is a treatment, not a cure. There are mornings, like today, when you get up after a particularly bad night and think that you just can't do this another night. But you do. It's not the best treatment to have to live with, in fact I frequently think that it involves smoke and mirrors and black magic. The whole education, patient information, doctor, DME, and insurance situation is more often than not extremely frustrating and is set up to prevent the patient from having control over their own treatment. Right now, it's the best thing available.
Talking to others that are dealing with this condition really helps and there is a discussion forum that has been particularly supportive. The people at CPAPTALK.COM have been absolutely amazing and I honestly don't know that I would still be doing this without them. All joking aside, Sleep Apnea is a very serious condition that can lead to high blood pressure and other cardiovascular disease such as stroke and heart attack, memory problems, weight gain, impotency, and headaches as well as job impairment and motor vehicle crashes.
Information can be found at the American Sleep Apnea Association and by search the internet. I'd also be happy to answer questions if I can.
I got a comment on an old post yesterday from a fellow father of daughters. For some reason it reminded me of these rules so I went and dug them up. I didn't write them and if I could credit the person who did I would but I have no idea who he is. I think they've been around since the days when jokes circulated through the office via Xerox rather than email. For fathers of daughters they are timeless.
Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.
Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.
Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do no, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.
Rule Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "Barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: "early."
Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.
Okay, I'm a slug. And I'm an employee of the US government. I suppose some would say I was being redundant. In any case, yesterday was a federal holiday and I had the day off. The majority of our federal holidays are on Mondays. In fact when they first went to that system I remember my dad being pissed off because he was born on Washington's Birthday and he like getting his birthday off on the actual day.
The federal government also utilizes something called Alternate Work Schedules which allow more flexibility to its employees. There are several variations but the one I work is called a 5-4-9 schedule. In a two week pay period I work eight 9-hour days, one eight hour day and I get one day off. My day off is a Monday so I get every other Monday off. That in and of itself is very nice. It gets better however when we have a federal holiday on a Monday that I'm supposed to have off - like yesterday. In that case, the Monday is still my day off AND I get Tuesday as the holiday and no matter how you add that up it's a FOUR DAY WEEKEND.
My point in tell you this? Well:
Four day weekend + Me being a slug = slacking on the old blog
Get it? Fact is, I just got out of bed so like it or not this is it.
We've all heard about "honor among thieves" and about bad guys and villains with their own sense of right and wrong but all that always seemed to be more of a romanticized creation of Hollywood than actually reality. Finally we have proof.
Mafia '10 Commandments' Found
I absolutely love this. I'm half Italian and my grandfather came over from Sicily, so maybe that's why this story appealed to me. Italian police finally located and arrested Salvatore Lo Piccolo after 14 years on the run. He was positioning himself to be the Don of Dons in the Sicilian Mafia. When they searched the country house in Palermo where he was arrested they found administrative documents of Cosa Nostra (even they can't escape paperwork) which contained among other things, THE CODE. Who would've believed that the Mafia had a written code of ethics? The list begins with a simple preamble that states "I swear to be faithful to Cosa Nostra. Should I betray, my flesh will burn."
The Ten 'Mafiosi' Commandments are:
1. No one can present himself directly to another of our friends. There must be a third person to do it.
2. Never look at the wives of friends.
3. Never be seen with cops.
4. Don't go to pubs and clubs.
5. Always being available for Cosa Nostra is a duty - even if your wife's about to give birth.
6. Appointments must absolutely be respected.
7. Wives must be treated with respect.
8. When asked for any information, the answer must be the truth.
9. Money cannot be appropriated if it belongs to others or to other families.
10. People who can't be part of Cosa Nostra: anyone who has a close relative in the police, anyone with a two-timing relative in the family, anyone who behaves badly and doesn't hold to moral values.
I don't know whether knowing that almost all of our politicians couldn't be in the Mafia comforts or frightens me. Holy crap! The Mafia has a higher moral standard than Congress! I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. Let's adopt this list as a new oath of office - along with the same punishments if the oath is broken. In some sort of twisted way it seems...I don't know...more honest.
Have a great weekend and remember, "leave the gun, take the cannoli".
Almost two years ago while I was clicking through a news website I came across an article that saddened me. It reported the closing of the Winchester Repeating Arms Co. (technically the U.S. Repeating Arms Co., the Winchester name is licensed) manufacturing plant in New Haven, CT. The plant where Winchester rifles and shotguns had been made for over 150 years and production of the Model 1892 Winchester, probably THE most recognizable rifle in history was to cease. Anybody who has ever seen a John Wayne movie or any other Western knows what a 1892 Winchester lever-action rifle looks like even without the picture I posted above. It's been used in just about every Western movie ever made, even the ones that historically take place long before 1892 (which curiously is when the Model 1892 was introduced). This rather nostalgic article from (of all places) The Washington Post sums up what I was feeling when I heard the news of the demise of this unique American icon.
This BBC video reports that "Texting" along with one of my favorite subjects (can you detect heavy sarcasm?) "Political Correctness" are among reasons being blamed for people not getting enough cuddles. "Cuddles" is their word (it's the BBC and it sounds kinda cute with the accent) but if you're more comfortable we can call them hugs.
