Friday, February 29, 2008

The demise of Television

Remember when "the idiot box" robbed families of true togetherness? Technology is relentless, and now the cell phone has robbed us of our family-time in front of the T.V. Something is always vibrating, chiming or playing musical ring tones, which is usually followed by many buttons being pressed, because no one actually talks anymore, they text.

The language of the text is very abbreviated, which has some parents baffled. Think about it though, us old fogies invented the acronym and have used them for years. We had a.s.a.p.(asap), byob, sob, bs, a-hole (which is half acronym and probably represents the birth of the acronym. Interesting that leaving out a couple s' somehow made this more appropriate to say.) r&r, b&b, r&b, b&o, b.o., fu (which also represents another progression in acronyms, where a letter replaces a whole word phonetically, which is also a mainstay of texting.) Texting uses the same concepts we developed,there are just a slew of new acronyms to learn if you so desire.

The sting of modern technology robbing my family of our tv time is no longer an issue because my kids are no longer at home. My days of people calling, texting, and IM'ing my house at 2 AM are over. Most of the time I was kept in the dark about it, but when I somehow became aware of it, I never understood completely giving up your personal time this way, and being accessible 24 hours a day. At this point I will briefly touch on the flaw with the statement 24/7/365. The progression is from 24 hours in a day to 7 days in a week to 52 weeks in a year: 24/7/52. Why refer to days twice, with 7 and 365?, just a question.

Back to acronyms. The ones that trouble me are the secretive ones like PLOS(or something like that), which means parents looking over shoulder (or something like that). To me the progression from plos to blos(boss), or slos(spouse), or ainthsflos (anyone I need to hide stuff from) is BS. This secretive behavior almost always leads to hurt feelings or someones death.

They do have some good acronyms these days. There is KMA (kiss my a--), LMAO (laughing my a-- off), TMWYLSICSY (tell me where you live so I can stalk you ) If you fall for that one I guess you get what you deserve.

They actually have shows on MTV where you can watch young people sit around and text each other, oddly enough they call it the real world or something like that. If you don't have kids, or yours are off to college or something, you can tune in for a little reminder of what it's like. They throw in a little BFLOS (boy friend looking over shoulder) so there is also some life-like controversy involved as they innocently text some new "friend."

I guess I just miss the days of guessing commercials as a family. I miss sitting around in our bow ties and laughing in unison at the antics of the stooges as Mom brought us more Ovaltine. I miss the good old days, before cell phones and texting robbed us of our tv time.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

A short story

I sat down to write a kids story, just something short and creative. That's when it hit me that all the good short stories have already been written. Seriously, with a little less greed Dr. Seuss could easily have left one for someone else to write. While contemplating the slim pickin's left, I was thinking about a story with a pig that had a magic pair of pants, only they weren't really magic, it was just thinking that they were magic that gave him the confidence to do things...that is so stupid and unoriginal. Damn you Dr. Seuss!

Maybe I could write a story about a disobedient little dog that ate the entire bottle of glucosamine off the counter, and then greeted her unsuspecting owner with a 10 second stream of water from her butt when he got home. This, along with the three other puddles of disgust already spread around the house, really made his day. He already had a fever that had reappeared during the day at work, and an ear infection that felt like it would rupture each time he bent over to swab up some more of the butt fluid. Fortunately she was ok, and many hours later actually ate some food and kept it in her stomach. The only reason she ate then, was because the cat started eating out of her bowl and it was more than she could stand. Interesting that greed trumped irritable bowels. It's also interesting that bowls and bowels are spelled so similarly.

Sometimes I wish I were in the cash cab, I could really use a street shout out:
"Hey, can someone explain the point of my life to me, because nothing that I thought has actually turned out to be true or relevant?
"I'm in the cash cab and really need the answer! Is anyone out there?"

Mobile shout out:
"Hello, I'm in the cash cab and really need some answers!"
"For English please press one."
"For technical assistance please press or say two."
"Thank you. Your call will be answered in the order received."
Beep, beep, beep.
"Pressing additional buttons will not help, our next available representative will be with you."
Bleep, bleep, bleep.
"Please hold while we route your call to a foreign country and let them practice English on you."
"No! which button do I press for no?"
"We're sorry, your call has been disconnected. If you'd like to make a call please hang up and dial again."
"I only had one mobile shout out, now what?"

If only all the good books hadn't been written already...I'd have something to do. Once again Dr. Seuss, damn you.

Monday, February 25, 2008


I had a fever for four and a half days, I'm three days into my antibiotics for the resulting bronchitis, and all I did was lay there and think about life, and suffer. As I thought about life, it occurred to me how many people are routinely the target of aggression only because they are different. It seems like so many people just look for reasons to hate, and any "non-normal" behavior makes for an easy target for the masses.

I often see a guy who works near me, and is halfway through the sex change process. Apparently one gets to this halfway point by taking estrogen for an extended period of time and gradually transforming your appearance into that of a woman. There are so many people that have ill will toward him, and I'm not talking about hidden, private and relatively healthy ill will, I'm talking about open disdain that needs the laws against hate crimes to keep it in check. This man's choice for his life is not what most of us would choose, but is it worth hating over?

When you look into the night sky and see the same stars that Galileo saw, you get a sense of how temporary we are, and what a small piece of the history of things that each of us represents. With such a small window in which to live and be decent, why do we spend so much of our energy on anger and hate? We hate over differences mostly, differences in: religious beliefs, appearance, sexual orientation, political orientation and so much more.

The sun keeps us all alive, and our bodies need the same food and water. If we all looked the same, sounded the same, and believed exactly the same things about the same God, we would still have a thousand other things that make us unique. At some point, to appreciate anyone else we have to accept their differences.

We're all really much closer than you might think anyway; the water molecules we drink have been in other peoples bodies, and they got out somehow...

It has been a really long and painful week, thank you for indulging me.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

The fate of America

I don't usually bring up the racially prejudiced things that I routinely hear from the unenlightned people I while away my time with here in Atlanta. I don't see the point in keeping the negativity going, so I tune it out and remind myself that the carpool is helping to save the earth. I only mention the prejudice now so you know where this train of thought originated...

Cut to a quiet hillside overlooking the Atlantic ocean, and a small bay filled with boats carrying weary, pale-faced travelers to the shore. Two native Americans carry on a casual conversation as they eat and watch the spectacle...

"Dude, how's the corn on the cob?"
"It's pretty sweet."
"Man, look at all those damned Europeans!"
"Yeah, pretty wild clothes they wear."
"Forget their clothes man! This is the beginning of the end for us!"
"Relax dude, you're two tense. We've got this brotherhood of man thing going on, it'll be alright."
"Nooooooooo!," One of them shouted as he sprinted off through the woods, "by the time you get it it will be too late!"
"What a whackjob," The other one mumbled as he looked out over the boats filled with peaceful pale faces.

Meanwhile, aboard the "HMS Killemall", another conversation, amongst the deceptively benign looking Europeans takes place...

"Look at this land, ripe for the takingeth."
"Yessith, and only these unenlightened natives to swindle it away from."
"All in favor of destroying their culture?"

"Those opposed?"
"Where'd the Japanese guy come from?"
"I don't know, but we'll have to keep an eye on him."

"The ayes have it, lets go announce ourselveseth. Anyone know how Sir Thomas is doing developing those grenades we spoke of? No? Well, keep me apprised of the situation, they would certainly improve our bargaining power."
With an appreciative smile they each thought some version of, "Look at this land, ripe for the taking."

Monday, February 18, 2008

A lot to consider

So, last weekend I took a trip to Portland OR, and somehow wound up in Montana...When I was a kid we moved every two or three years, so I was never from anywhere. We spent a couple weeks in Montana every summer, so Montana was always where I considered myself to be from. At the end of each vacation I always had a great sense of loss as we left Montana to head back to wherever we lived at the time.

When my kids were young we always spent our summer vacations in Montana too. Even as an adult, I felt a sense of loss as we left Montana behind to head back to wherever we lived at the time.This weekend I felt a similar sense of loss as we left Portland to head back to Atlanta and left the kids behind. I think the pangs are worse now because they don't head back to "wherever" with us anymore. Yesterday my kids were young and we were all in Montana; this morning we are all older, and wondering where the rest of our lives will take us.

Just when I was becoming fully immersed in loss and self-pity, we showed up at the airport for our 11:50PM "red-eye" back to Atlanta. We had returned the rental car and checked out of our hotel; imagine our surprise when we discovered that our red-eye had actually been a white-eye that left at 11:50 AM that day.

I got up at 3:50 AM to go for a run from our new hotel by the airport. I ran down an empty road in an industrial area nearby. Imagine my surprise as I ran past a huge rock that looked like a sleeping guinea pig."What the hell?" I wondered aloud, even as I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet and crept noiselessly by lest I awaken it. I escaped unmolested, due more to my lack of a need for inspiration than the goodness of this undoubtedly evil rock.

We made it home, and the sense of loss is easing up a bit. Loss is my least favorite emotion, unless it’s over weight that I have lost, then its ok... I'm slowly losing my mind, but I forget that that is happening so there is no real sense of loss there most of the time. Other than those two exceptions, loss is my least favorite emotion. keeps you alive and feels like it's killing you all at once.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Mid-winter break

We're off to Portland to see the kids. This is a much anticipated trip, with a lot of room for good things to happen. There is no room for bad things, so I'm hoping this fact repells them.

On saturday my son and I are going to go to the Washington state wrestling tournament to close the final door on what once was. The youngest of his old teammates is a senior and poised to win a state championship. This is a guy that we travelled to Montana, Idaho, Nevada and Oklahoma with for wrestling tournaments, so there is some history there. The younger brother of my son's number one competitor is a senior also, and is ranked number one at his weight too. It should be a good day...the nostalgia factor is in play already, and I haven't seen anyone face to face yet.

My son is back in school and doing well, and I am very proud of who he is. When I think of his wrestling days it's not that I wish he were someone else, just that I fully expected him to be wrestling in college now. He was wonderful to watch compete; not the most athletic, strongest, or fittest, but he overcame all of this and was a fierce competitor.

Who knows, by the time we get back our house may have sold, I may have won the lottery, and the stars may have rearranged themselves to spell random messages that only I can decipher. "Why are you building a fortified bunker in your yard dude?"
"No reason, I just want to be prepared if a large asteroid stirkes, oh, let's say Miami."
"Why are you wearing a garlic necklace dude?"
"No reason, I just want to be prepared if a bunch of undead swarm the town."

I made someone undead one time...twice actually. It didn't take a dried chickens foot ar anything special to do it. I'm thinking of giving a class on it if anyone is interested...let me know.

Gotta run, literally, it's a drive that I just can't explain. If I don't run for a while due to sickness or injury, I start to dream about running. Anyway, I'll be back.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Gandhi, Hillary and the divorce table.

If Gandhi were here I think I would punch him in the nose, maybe a couple times to see if he would actually defend himself. Who goes hungry on purpose? I am slimming down to my official race weight by training my body to efficiently use less food...yeah right. Right now my body is angry because there is more acid than food in my belly, and I don't feel enlightened in the least. I took some extra niacin so I am flushed and somewhat itchy, which, while I understand this to be healthy, is only adding to my general discomfort.

In an effort to have healthy snacks on hand I made some bran muffins. One of the pot holders is a little stiff, so I didn't have a great grip on the pan when I flipped it upside down; it slipped out of my hand and sliced/scraped the tops of half of the muffins off on the edge of the sink. I was so thankful that all the pieces went into the sink and not on the floor like they usually do.

The highlight of my day came this morning when I learned that Hillary had lost most of her lead. How can anyone who would accept Bill Clinton into their life be any good for our country? I guess you could say that she's tolerant... If you heard someone say that someone had pulled a "Bill Clinton," would anything good come to mind? I think not. If someone had pulled a "Gandhi," you'd know they weren't eating much, but thinking alot. If they had pulled a "John McCain," you would assume that they had reminded everyone yet again that they had been a prisoner of war.

We set up the divorce table in the dining room, and with a few special touches it looks pretty good. The drawers in the base of the table had a bunch of junk in them that we had to throw away, so I don't feel so bad about buying it now. We did give back the silver flatware and a few other choice items that were in a drawer. After the good stuff was gone, we were left with the "freebies," which we had to throw away... I haven't convinced myself that we're even, I still feel bad about taking his table.
My niacin flush has all but passed, the bran muffin scraps have eased my hunger, and I feel a little guilty about wanting to punch Gandhi. I'm going for a run soon to get my mind right; I'm attempting to learn HTML and need to focus my chi before today's lesson.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

I took a look in a book

I read a book about poetry yesterday, and how to develop your style and word selection. The book itself was ok; some of it seemed a bit too much like trying really hard to be artistic, and becoming immersed in the process of doing so. She recommended giving yourself another name while you write...that just feels weird to me. There was also a section about making up words...I don't see anything wrong with poetry that is beautiful and relevant and not so convoluted that reading it feels like taking a test.

I think that my conservative side is what's resisting the alter ego concept. There are definitely times where we feel more creative, and I'm sure the spirit of that mood is what the alter ego is suppposed to instantly conjure up. If I had actually finished that section of the book she probably went into something similar; damn my impatience and predisposition to flee in the face of the unknown and creepy.

Speaking of creepy, we bought a dining room table at a divorce sale yesterday. I don't handle suffering very well when I see it in others; if it's my own suffering I can be pretty tough and resilient, but when I see pain and loss in someone else it makes my heart hurt. To see people making deals with this partially broken man made my stomache tighten up. My wife said that he was trying to get rid of everything and wanted it gone, but this had been a home to a family at one point.

We went on Friday and looked at a table, he got misty eyed when he described how he and his wife had made it. We went back yesterday and he had nearly cut the price in half...we had waited him out and he was forced to take even less for his broken home. Hooray for us!

If my writing ever has a different feel to it, and even manages to be poetic or meaningful, you can assume that it's my alter ego behind the key board. As Genreman I will likely explore different styles, and express myself with flair and panache ( a quick consultation with the dictionary...yes, panache is appropriate).

As the sun resembulates and the morning pestapholizes, I bid you adieu.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Melancholy Morning

Surprise! I woke up at 4:30 AM on this fine Saturday morning; with the exception of a terrible headache and a throbbing right foot I feel great. The bad thing is that I can't remember doing anything to cause my foot to hurt so...I was kicking myself over a choice I made yesterday.

Morning has always been my favorite time of the day, and as I sit here thinking about my daughter I think I know why. Morning was the time that we shared while my wife and son slept. She would wander into the kitchen in a t-shirt that went down to her calves and sit on my lap without saying anything. I would hug her for a while and eventually she would put some space between us and ask me some seemingly innocent question that took about an hour to fully discuss; "Why does Joshua (the dog) wag his tale?" As we both slowly woke up , and our minds were each going a hundred miles an hour again, the moment passed and we were back to wearing each other, and everyone around us, out with our energy.

Her intelligence has always amazed me. She taught herself the alphabet when she was four because she wanted to be able to read the signs along the highway. At five she would draw pictures of people having a conversation; the words coming out of the person looking to the left would start from their mouth and make backwards words and sentences. The letters, the spelling of the words and the sentence structure were all backwards, it was amazing. The sad thing is that with her genius and energy, she never adapted to school or enjoyed it. Her third grade teacher told me in a conference that he wasn't too sure she had the ability to be in his class. Pardon this please, but that disgraceful little turd didn't deserve to teach her.

So, here we are 14 years later. My mind is starting to wake up, and what was clear and simple an hour ago is now under layers of thought. My fingers are hitting letters in the next word before this one is complete. I know that my daughter will begin her day the same way. I'd like to be there for that first hour, when we are both relaxed and uncluttered.

My foot feels better and I think I'll be able to run this morning after all. The nice thing about running is that enough energy is going out of my body that my mind works very well; I usually figure problems out while I run.
For a penny, the world fell away. Have a good day.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Oreo's new digs

We decided to make a cat condo for Oreos. What follows is an actual recounting of the events as they occured.

Oreos voiced her concern that she has no place to call her own; it sounded like I'm hungry, constipated or want to go outside to me, but as I previously stated, my wife has the ability to discern what it is that the cat really wants.

We prepared the plans and presented them to Oreos for her approval. I listened carefully to her response, and headed to the pantry to refill her food bowl. While I was gone they decided that the plans were okay; Oreos never ate the food I gave her.

We bought an 8' x 6' carpet, a 12" diameter tube and some adhesive from home depot; the 12' of 2x4 and the 1/2" plywood scraps we already had. We stapled the carpet to the wood, glued it to the tube for the base and lined the seams with rope to hide the imperfections. We made the base 18" x 24", but it is five ft. tall and I would make it 24" x 24" next time.

We cut holes in the plywood discs so they could slide down over the 2x4's, where we nailed them in place.

Oreos seems to love it. I included pictures of various stages of the project. I also included the one that captured her scraping at the air around the litter box.


P.S. Soon I will post pictures showing the many faces of that wretched Pig Rock.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Pig Rock revisited

Many nights I sleep restlessly and wake up often, but last night I slept like a rock. I don't think I moved until my alarm went off at 3:50; you can't imagine how much I didn't want to get up and go running.

Once I was outside, it was so warm that I started sweating immediately. It must have been 60 degrees, and soon my profuse sweating forced me to take my shirt off. I approached Pig Rock (PR) from the same angle as yesterday and, still lacking inspiration, I glanced toward it hopefully. Yesterday's dolphin was gone and I was suddenly glad that I hadn't gone to the church and told them that a dolphin sent me, because today there was a large eagles head coming out of the ground.
"What the hell?" I said.
"What am I now Marathon Man?" the rock wanted to know.

I was being taunted by a rock, a gifted rock no doubt, but a rock nonetheless.

"What meaning do I offer you this morning?" it poked fun at me. "Where's your shirt?" it continued.

I lowered my eyes to the road and sped up, deciding to change my easy run into a lung-searing
anaerobic threshold run. I checked my watch at the turnaround, 22 minutes. As I headed back, I knew I still had PR to contend with so I was a little tense. As I neared the wicked rock I averted my eyes and hummed Hail to the Chief.

Soon I was past it, and was able to relax a bit. A mile later as I made the turn up my road, from the back of my mind I heard,
"What am I now?...
"Marathon Man, what am I now?"

It struck me as odd that a talking rock doesn't have to be in the immediate vicinity to taunt you.

I neared the house and checked my watch, 18 minutes 40 seconds to get home. I trimmed three minutes 20 seconds off the last three miles of the run, and I had not suffered too greatly.
It turns out that PR had come through with some needed inspiration yet again.

All hail Pig Rock!

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Super Tuesday

And it was a super Tuesday.

This morning offered everything that I like about living in Georgia. The stars were out, and it was a pleasant 53 degrees while I ran at 4 AM. My nose also ran; I can clear my sinuses continuously for an entire marathon. I ran, the sweat ran, my nose ran, and the clock ran; it was a symphony of running.

As I ran I realized that my writing has been disappointing me, and I knew I needed an inspiration-fix.
"You're forcing it," I told myself, "just let it flow."
"Easy for you to say," I told my ever intrusive inner-self, "you never do anything except offer advice, and quite often you're wrong."

I crossed the road to take in Pig Rock (PR) from a new, and hopefully inspiring, angle. It sort of looked like a smiling dolphin that was headed toward the church. I thought the message was that I was supposed to go to the church, but it was 4 Am and it was closed, so I knew that I had misinterpretted the message. I moved on silently.
"Don't underestimate the power of PR," I told myself.
"Give it a rest," I also told myself.

As I ran, I looked around me for something that presented itself as an idea to ponder....nothing. I saw a dead inspiration there.
At the gas station I whipped around and headed home, I was brooding now and ran along with gritty determination.

On a whim, I left the road and went into the woods seeking some sort of enlightenment. I tripped over a log and nearly fell, then I heard bigfoot so I scrambled back to the road.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I hissed at myself.
"I ddddon't know," I stammered.
"...end up all splayed open in the woods as a bigfoot treat....dumbass," I wasn't cutting myself any slack on this one.

I cleared my nose and headed down the road for home.
I actually had a tick on my leg later; an eery reminder of my brush with bigfoot. I had forgotten how difficult a tick can be to get out, and cursed myself again for being foolish.


Monday, February 4, 2008

Cell Hell

Our cell phone contract is up and, since we haven't had good service with verizon in our last two homes, we're searching for a new service. As a side note, verizon didn't care that we didn't have service in our home. I walked into the verizon store and there was a sign on the wall that said Your problem is our problem. I presented my problem and they said,
"We don't guarantee that the phone will work inside your home sir."
"What about, can you hear me now?" I said, "If I'm in my house, the answer is no, I cannot hear you now."
"We checked the tower near your house and it's at peak power. Sorry that you don't have service inside your home, but you should have it in the front yard."
"I will never renew my service with verizon," I told the 14 year old working behind the customer service counter.
"I'm sorry to hear that sir... Next!"

So, I called t-mobile to ask about a plan that I found on the internet.
"Do you have t-mobile now sir?"
"No, I have verizon."
"I'm sorry, that plan is for people with no existing service."
"What? Okay, I will cancel mine right now, consider it cancelled."
"Well, okay, what would you like to know?"
"How much will this plan cost me?"
"That depends on the carrier and the phones you choose."
"Is this not t-mobile?"
"We activate their phones for them."
"But I'm looking at a pink t-mobile screen that says "come join us,"and that's where I got your number."
"Yes sir, we're a third party contractor."
"Oh my gosh, this whole industry is already horrible with only two parties involved, I don't need a third to activate my phone and take a cut."
"click, bzzzzzzzzzzzz....doo di doo, if you'd like to make a call please hang up and dial again."

Why is it so difficult to get good service and a straight forward answer? I think it is because there are so many customers available that they don't really care if you are happy or not; three others will be along to replace you. So, my own little statement to verizon is that I am no longer your problem, and you are no longer mine. Just as soon as I get some clear answers, and can replace you with a better alternative, I'm saying adios. My plight fell on deaf ears with you, but if enough people feel the same way, we'll all get together and bail out on your sorry butts with a chorus of "can you hear us now?"

Who's with me?

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Why dosent spell check worke?

Why do so many people hate the Patriots. If you think about it, they mirror the American image, so why are there so many haters? America has been a dominant country for quite some time; the patriots are a dynasty. The U.S. spies on it's enemies; the Patriots did the same.

But the hatred of the Patriots started long before "spygate." I must say that names like spygate really annoy me. Nowadays, to attach a really negative stigma to anything, you need only add "gate" after it when you say it. Let's give it a try:

Clintongate(I like it)
Segwaygate(remember when the battery died and it fell over).

"Gate's" uses are limited, and it seems to work better with one or two syllable words; it's a learning process. I'm surprised they didn't call the microsoft trial a few years ago, "Billsgate."

Back to the Patriots, we all want to see a winner, 9 out of 10 of us that is, and we all want to believe that they are, somehow, just that much better than the rest of us. Before performance enhancing drugs and WMD's, things were clearer; Jim thorpe was super human, and the bad guys wore black hats. Think about that, you can identify the country that a soldier is from on the battlefield by their helmet. That identification process works for both sides, not just so your buddies don't shoot you. What if Iraq's military put them in US uniforms to increase their life expectancy, we'd have:

There are so many viable options.

In a few short hours we'll have either the greatest football team ever, or the greatest upset ever.
In the meantime, Tiger may still pull through in Dubai, and I will attempt to run rhyme free.

Good day

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Post run

Unfortunately, my run did not enlighten me on the subject of inspiration. I did however have a nonstop stream of rhyming, like a childrens nursery rhyme, going on inside my head. It all began when my neighbor waved to me, and so did the next one, and the next one, whom I didn't really know, nodded her head in appreciation of my commitment to running, I think.

Mrs. Thompson said "howdy"
Bill and Ken did the same
Another nodded her head
Though I don't know her name
The air was so crisp
The birds twittered in flight
I like running in daylight
Much more than at night
I sped round a corner
The UPS driver waved
From a huge four wheel drive
Though the roads are all paved
My heart rate picked up
The sweat started to glisten
"Slow down," screamed my lungs
But my legs didn't listen
I ran through the square
And through the Gazeebo
Those runs on the eliptical
Were but a placeebo
There is no replacement
For an actual run
To feel so alive
To have so much fun

And that's how it went, line after line of silliness coming together as I put in some good miles. There were a few lines that were negative but I changed directions quickly. They were mostly about work, like:
They took my benefits and cut my pay
But with the prestige I earn here
I said what the hay
I've nothing better to do
As the years roll away...

You can see why I abandoned that line of thinking. It was too nice a morning for that.
No one has called me, so I don't think we won the lottery. Oh well, I think it's better if you struggle for your money. I believe that you appreciate it more that way; that's what I've heard anyway.

If you want to be inspired by uplifting music, listen to The Nutcracker Suite.

I'm out.

Blah Blah Blogging

I awoke before dawn, but she lives on the west coast and I'm in Georgia so that's not that big a deal. It was not only dark out, but the sun was still hours from showing itself. I awoke somewhat agitated because of a dream I had, in which my son was failing school. I lay there and reasoned that my fears were only about me and my lack of control over something as important to me as my son's success in life is. It helped, but I was done sleeping, so I joined Oreos in the nook for a bite to eat. We don't have a nook, it's more of an open area in front of a window, but Oreos was there and I was there and it had a nook-like ambiance to it.

Oreos hops up and heads for the laundryroom, where both her food and litter box are kept. She gallops around and meows until I follow her. Thinking that she must need food, I enter the room and see that her bowl still has food in it; I begin to realize that something else is afoot. She leaps into her litter box and gets busy. I was pretty sure she was smiling at me at this point, it turns out that she was concentrating a good bit. Hershey (the dog) was asleep in my bed, so I was able to whisk away the toxicity before she could get to it. She's taken it upon herself to clean the cat box regularly. When I do have the honor of sifting the poop from the litter I always comment on how Hershey is slacking on her chores. She is selective about what she takes from the litter box though; the other day Oreos completely missed the litter box (how is that even possible?), and Hershey just let the urine sit there on the floor untill my wife cleaned it up... I guess I'm selective as well (I need to revisit my selection process). If I had only left a shirt on the floor, Oreos would have mopped it up herself during her usual scraping of the wall, the floor, and anything else that is near the box but not actually in it.

I head back to my high fiber cereal and a hot cup of Christmas blend. As I choke down my multi-vitamin, salmon oil, flax seed oil, niacin, anti-oxidants, glucosamine, and metamucil, I wonder how to best help my son and inspire him. My method is, "just get it done, want to or not." That's not very inspiring, and not received very well outside of the salt mine. Actually, it's not received well inside the salt mine either. Who ever thought of mining salt anyway?
I guess that's the angle to take,

Dad - "Stay out of the salt mines son, does that make sense?"
Son - "No dad, that makes no sense at all."
Dad - "Just get it done son, want to or not."
Son - "That's not very inspiring."
Dad - "It's all I've got son."
Son - "Don't you hate how history repeats itself?"
Dad - "You are a wonderful human being and you will be ok."
Son - "Thanks dad" (probably a bit choked up)
Dad - "Sometimes things repeat themselves and it's okay."

It will soon be light enough for me to head out for a nice weekend run; everything is always better after running. I'll probably figure out how to be inspiring in the first few miles, but I will also probably forget again in the last few.

As always,
run, always run.

Friday, February 1, 2008

The lottery

Whenever the lottery jackpot is above 50 million a bunch of us at work pool our money and buy tickets. The best part of the whole ritual is the day before the drawing, when I allow myself to explore the possibility of instant wealth. We rarely match even one number and I don't actually watch the drawing or check on the numbers at all; I'm sure someone would call me if we won. In that time before failure reappears, when possibilities fill my head, there is a sense of joy that I find when I consider not having to go back to the salt mine... Alas, life goes on.

Back to life, back to reality, back to the salt mine, back to the long oar. "Pull," the sound of a whip cracking splits the air like a rifle shot. We pull on the oars and propell the ship forward. Meanwhile up on the deck Christopher Columbus gets all the glory. Damn you to hell Christopher, you got lost at sea and still became famous. My company actually unwittingly continued Columbus' work; He was going to India and ended up in America, My job started in America and ended up in India. That is some ridiculous shiznit.

Shiznit of course brings up my next point, which is that I am both hip and slang savvy. Savvy is my middle name. I was often ridiculed for it as a child; "Savvy doesn't get it," they'd say, or "Savvy doesn't understand," or, "Savvy is stupid." Kids can be so cruel.

If I could just win the lottery I could afford some therapy. Please, oh powers that be, let me have therapy.