Saturday, October 20, 2007
this just makes me laugh
Ah, there is nothing nearly as fine as to spend time in the shade of a giant Elm tree relaxing in the Autumn breeze of a Saturday afternoon, whilst sipping a cold one or two.
Here's a little light-hearted political humor to satisfy your inquisitive mind:
I saw this headline -- Giuliani Woos Christian Right
(linking to this story)
With all the recent openings of Republican closets, the first question I asked myself was, "Huh, I wonder if this is what he's wearing?"
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Here's a little light-hearted political humor to satisfy your inquisitive mind:
I saw this headline -- Giuliani Woos Christian Right
(linking to this story)
With all the recent openings of Republican closets, the first question I asked myself was, "Huh, I wonder if this is what he's wearing?"
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Tuesday, October 16, 2007
broken streak
Please my dear reader, allow me to make one thing clear from the beginning: I am not a graceful person. My movements will never be mistaken for those of a skilled dancer or one blessed with the propreoceptive and kinetic gifts of a great athlete.
I fall. Some might describe me as a faller. If you can fall off, on, in, or down it; well then I have doubtless already done so. Some might be tempted to correlate that with the fact that I also drink. I am something of a drinker. But at this point I must caution you, my dear reader, that as any good scientist or researcher will tell you, correlation does not imply causality. And anyway that is an issue best left for another discussion at some other time.
Streets, signs, steps, sidewalks, lawns, lots, fences, walls, holes, curbs, cliffs, rocks, hills, mountains, beaches, pools, puddles, ponds, counters, carpets, floors, and so on and so on. . . All have encountered that squishily firm sensation of my body suddenly and forcefully impacting their surface. Many of those falls involved both beer and bicycle.
Given that, I remained quite proud that throughout all my mishaps and misadventures during my almost forty one and a half years on this fair blue planet; despite my countless scrapes, scars, bruises and abrasions, one thing remained unbroken. That one thing is my bones.
Until now.
The streak is quite literally, like one of my bones, now fractured and broken.
While I am fortunate that the broken bone is more awkward and embarrassing than debilitating or disabling, it is still woefully disappointing. In moments of somber if not quite sober reflection, I am tempted to view it as a sign of perhaps my own mortality, as the invincibility of youth gives way to the inevitability of middle age.
And yes, my dear reader, the mere typing of these words is made annoying if not quite difficult by the metal splint that adorns my broken finger.
Yes, my finger.
On the exterior, the finger is purple, engorged and throbs like the member of a teen-age boy making out with his girlfriend in the backseat of his buddy's bitchin' Camaro while Def Leppard pulsates from the radio and vibrates through steamed up windows.
On the interior, and more specifically, the distal phalanx on the fourth (ring) finger of my left hand has been split nearly symmetrically asunder. I saw the x-ray. I know this to be true.
"How did this happen?" you ask yourself, as you doubtlessly are right now my dear reader, for that is a very valid question.
In a vainglorious attempt to boost my prestige I could tell you that it happened during an elite almost Herculean contest of strength and skill, or in the midst of a great battle against the minions of the New World Order. But that would be a lie.
And in reality the truth is never as glamorous and exciting as it is portrayed on television.
I clumsily smashed it between two dumbbells while working out at the local gym.
Sigh.
Oh well.
On the bright side of things, I have an opportunity to take advantage of the splint and over the next two weeks to teach myself to play some killer slide blues guitar.
If life gives you lemons. . .
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I fall. Some might describe me as a faller. If you can fall off, on, in, or down it; well then I have doubtless already done so. Some might be tempted to correlate that with the fact that I also drink. I am something of a drinker. But at this point I must caution you, my dear reader, that as any good scientist or researcher will tell you, correlation does not imply causality. And anyway that is an issue best left for another discussion at some other time.
Streets, signs, steps, sidewalks, lawns, lots, fences, walls, holes, curbs, cliffs, rocks, hills, mountains, beaches, pools, puddles, ponds, counters, carpets, floors, and so on and so on. . . All have encountered that squishily firm sensation of my body suddenly and forcefully impacting their surface. Many of those falls involved both beer and bicycle.
Given that, I remained quite proud that throughout all my mishaps and misadventures during my almost forty one and a half years on this fair blue planet; despite my countless scrapes, scars, bruises and abrasions, one thing remained unbroken. That one thing is my bones.
Until now.
The streak is quite literally, like one of my bones, now fractured and broken.
While I am fortunate that the broken bone is more awkward and embarrassing than debilitating or disabling, it is still woefully disappointing. In moments of somber if not quite sober reflection, I am tempted to view it as a sign of perhaps my own mortality, as the invincibility of youth gives way to the inevitability of middle age.
And yes, my dear reader, the mere typing of these words is made annoying if not quite difficult by the metal splint that adorns my broken finger.
Yes, my finger.
On the exterior, the finger is purple, engorged and throbs like the member of a teen-age boy making out with his girlfriend in the backseat of his buddy's bitchin' Camaro while Def Leppard pulsates from the radio and vibrates through steamed up windows.
On the interior, and more specifically, the distal phalanx on the fourth (ring) finger of my left hand has been split nearly symmetrically asunder. I saw the x-ray. I know this to be true.
"How did this happen?" you ask yourself, as you doubtlessly are right now my dear reader, for that is a very valid question.
In a vainglorious attempt to boost my prestige I could tell you that it happened during an elite almost Herculean contest of strength and skill, or in the midst of a great battle against the minions of the New World Order. But that would be a lie.
And in reality the truth is never as glamorous and exciting as it is portrayed on television.
I clumsily smashed it between two dumbbells while working out at the local gym.
Sigh.
Oh well.
On the bright side of things, I have an opportunity to take advantage of the splint and over the next two weeks to teach myself to play some killer slide blues guitar.
If life gives you lemons. . .
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Sunday, October 14, 2007
the real deal
Saturday, October 13, 2007
one more reason
Sunday, October 07, 2007
bliss
Okay, I like get it or something. No really, I do.
Please, my dear reader, do not mistake my passion for raging against the dying of the light as the late night drunken ramblings of a crazy person, best ignored as if standing unseen on the corner with a clever sign begging for your pennies while you wait for the light to change.
Even if that's what it is.
But it is not.
Again I say, it is not.
I may gladly suffer fools because I frequently find them amusing. But as Saint Rodney says, "I don't take shit from no one".
(I'm a Mellon!)
And we are a nation caught in a raging shit storm.
However, much still remains that just makes me smile and grin from ear to ear.
This evening The Boy played his second game of baseball. Yes, baseball.
Like the first game, it was remarkable, it was wonderful, it was a beauty to behold and would warm the cockles of even the most cold dead heart.
Okay, so it's not baseball in the traditional sense. But then again, The Boy is nothing if not quite traditional. He has been and always will be a truly exceptional and remarkable creature.
And long ago he warmed the cockles of my cold dead heart.
His two best friends along along with a small host of family and other wishers of well were amongst those in attendance to cheer him on.
Following the game, the friends came back to our home for a slumber party, the first of presumably many sleep overs.
The kids were rambunctious, as they frequently and characteristically are. They ate corn dogs and frozen pizza, played video games and stayed up way past a responsible bedtime watching Ben Stiller and Robin Williams.
Eventually they all passed out in a post sugar hangover on the floor and now sleep blissfully like puppies in the warmth of their blankets and love of their friendships.
It's freakin' beautiful man.
I tucked The Wife into bed a couple of hours ago and agreed to stay up late and eventually (when this post is finished?) fall asleep on the couch in order to keep a watchful if sleepy eye on our child and his guests.
This is exactly why I live the life I live, why I travel down the path I have chosen.
There is no other way to say it.
Yes, I know in a very real yet metaphorical sense we are being slowly and steadily encircled by a a pack of hungry wolves moving towards a kill. (It is with appropriate irony that as I typed that sentence a police helicopter raced by overhead. Really.)
But sometimes I just don't care.
I find strength and take comfort in the love of The Wife and The Boy.
As long as my family can sleep comfortably, troubled by nothing in the world of wakefulness or slumber, well for the moment at least, all is right with the world.
Good night, and good luck.
|
Please, my dear reader, do not mistake my passion for raging against the dying of the light as the late night drunken ramblings of a crazy person, best ignored as if standing unseen on the corner with a clever sign begging for your pennies while you wait for the light to change.
Even if that's what it is.
But it is not.
Again I say, it is not.
I may gladly suffer fools because I frequently find them amusing. But as Saint Rodney says, "I don't take shit from no one".
(I'm a Mellon!)
And we are a nation caught in a raging shit storm.
However, much still remains that just makes me smile and grin from ear to ear.
This evening The Boy played his second game of baseball. Yes, baseball.
Like the first game, it was remarkable, it was wonderful, it was a beauty to behold and would warm the cockles of even the most cold dead heart.
Okay, so it's not baseball in the traditional sense. But then again, The Boy is nothing if not quite traditional. He has been and always will be a truly exceptional and remarkable creature.
And long ago he warmed the cockles of my cold dead heart.
His two best friends along along with a small host of family and other wishers of well were amongst those in attendance to cheer him on.
Following the game, the friends came back to our home for a slumber party, the first of presumably many sleep overs.
The kids were rambunctious, as they frequently and characteristically are. They ate corn dogs and frozen pizza, played video games and stayed up way past a responsible bedtime watching Ben Stiller and Robin Williams.
Eventually they all passed out in a post sugar hangover on the floor and now sleep blissfully like puppies in the warmth of their blankets and love of their friendships.
It's freakin' beautiful man.
I tucked The Wife into bed a couple of hours ago and agreed to stay up late and eventually (when this post is finished?) fall asleep on the couch in order to keep a watchful if sleepy eye on our child and his guests.
This is exactly why I live the life I live, why I travel down the path I have chosen.
There is no other way to say it.
Yes, I know in a very real yet metaphorical sense we are being slowly and steadily encircled by a a pack of hungry wolves moving towards a kill. (It is with appropriate irony that as I typed that sentence a police helicopter raced by overhead. Really.)
But sometimes I just don't care.
I find strength and take comfort in the love of The Wife and The Boy.
As long as my family can sleep comfortably, troubled by nothing in the world of wakefulness or slumber, well for the moment at least, all is right with the world.
Good night, and good luck.
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