Monday, March 23, 2009
empty vessels ringing loud
And all the preaching voices -Cripes man, sometimes it is embarrassing to live in this Great State:
Empty vessels ring so loud
As they move among the crowd
Fools and thieves are well disguised
In the temple and market place
- Neil Peart
Bill in Texas would allow creationists to grant Masters of Science degrees
Texas School Board Set to Vote on Challenge to Evolution
Idiots.
What next, will the Legislature dictate that medical schools resume teaching that the cure for most ailments is a bloodletting to resume the proper balance of bodily humors?
Not just idiots. Fucking idiots.
God is a concept by which we measure our pain
- John Lennon
|
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
the high life
Okay, so I've finished my labors for the day on the "not so master" bathroom, that tiny converted closet sized room that I am shaping with my labor and my very blood into a functional space.
So happy Spring Break. How was your St. Pat's?
I still have lots of details to go before it's tile ready, a fair amount of standing in awkward positions fastening hardibacker to the wall.
But for the day I am done. I didn't quite meet my goal. I never do. I am always overambitious in my intentions. But it is only Wednesday, and my ultimate goal is to be tile ready by the weekend; two days to go, plenty of time. Right?
I am in my element, my office, on the back patio, comfortably seated in a dusty old office chair listening to the sound of old T. Rex. Despite my underachievement I am proud of the day's effort, and I have a plan for tomorrow. Overambitious again, I'm sure.
I just washed down three Advil and a Pepcid with the Champagne of Beers.
Yeah baby, that's right. I'm still living the high life.
It just hurts a lot more than it used to.
|
So happy Spring Break. How was your St. Pat's?
I still have lots of details to go before it's tile ready, a fair amount of standing in awkward positions fastening hardibacker to the wall.
But for the day I am done. I didn't quite meet my goal. I never do. I am always overambitious in my intentions. But it is only Wednesday, and my ultimate goal is to be tile ready by the weekend; two days to go, plenty of time. Right?
I am in my element, my office, on the back patio, comfortably seated in a dusty old office chair listening to the sound of old T. Rex. Despite my underachievement I am proud of the day's effort, and I have a plan for tomorrow. Overambitious again, I'm sure.
I just washed down three Advil and a Pepcid with the Champagne of Beers.
Yeah baby, that's right. I'm still living the high life.
It just hurts a lot more than it used to.
|
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
it was 20 years ago today
Sgt. Pepper brought the band to play. . .
And five years ago today. . .
I became a dad with like an hour's notice.
Most folks have eight, nine months to plan and prepare. Hell, even if you didn't mean for it to happen, you still know when the damned thing, er, sweet child is coming.
We had an hour, maybe an hour and a half.
"How so?" you may properly ask, my dear reader. Well, here's the short version. . .
To be honest, The Wife and I were in the process of adopting The Boy, then two years of age. We had known, loved and cared for him since he was a baby. He was a ward of the state, his biological mother voluntarily terminated her parental rights as soon as he was born. His biological father is listed in court documents as "Chris LAST NAME UNKNOWN". When he was 10 days old, the state placed him in the group/foster home where The Wife (then still girlfriend) worked.
This group/foster home for children with complex chronic medical needs was run by a woman with Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. I only wish I was joking or exaggerating. She ran this home like something out of a Dickens novel, predominately for the benefit of her public accolades and a twisted Catholic desire to demonstrate her martyrdom more so than for the good of the children. She put on a good show when she needed to do so.
We had completed the state mandated foster/adoption parent training and orientation class. At times it was entertaining, mostly just really annoying. But we made it through. We were waiting to move the paperwork process slowly forward through the bureaucracy. Realistically, we were told it would be several more months if all the papers were pushed appropriately.
Then something happened.
Ms von Munchausen learned we were out to take The Boy away from her. The evil crazy bitch. We caught a clue, played a hunch, and made our move. We shared our concerns for the health and safety of The Boy with our newly appointed and previously unmet CPS caseworker. There was a clear pattern. Whenever kids were about to leave the group/foster home to be adopted out they suddenly got very sick, and the adoption was delayed for weeks if not months.
The caseworker thought we were crazy but we were credible.
As if on cue, three days later, She almost killed him.
Again, the evil crazy bitch.
Time stopped for the restless, anxious and edgy eternity of a day or two, maybe three. . . until the phone rang, our adoption caseworker was on the other end of the line:
As I sit now five years down the line, on the couch with The ever-growing Boy nestled snugly in my lap, I marvel at what a long strange trip it's been. He is an amazing creature, truly an angel.
And yes, I am still quite blessed.
|
And five years ago today. . .
I became a dad with like an hour's notice.
Most folks have eight, nine months to plan and prepare. Hell, even if you didn't mean for it to happen, you still know when the damned thing, er, sweet child is coming.
We had an hour, maybe an hour and a half.
"How so?" you may properly ask, my dear reader. Well, here's the short version. . .
To be honest, The Wife and I were in the process of adopting The Boy, then two years of age. We had known, loved and cared for him since he was a baby. He was a ward of the state, his biological mother voluntarily terminated her parental rights as soon as he was born. His biological father is listed in court documents as "Chris LAST NAME UNKNOWN". When he was 10 days old, the state placed him in the group/foster home where The Wife (then still girlfriend) worked.
This group/foster home for children with complex chronic medical needs was run by a woman with Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. I only wish I was joking or exaggerating. She ran this home like something out of a Dickens novel, predominately for the benefit of her public accolades and a twisted Catholic desire to demonstrate her martyrdom more so than for the good of the children. She put on a good show when she needed to do so.
We had completed the state mandated foster/adoption parent training and orientation class. At times it was entertaining, mostly just really annoying. But we made it through. We were waiting to move the paperwork process slowly forward through the bureaucracy. Realistically, we were told it would be several more months if all the papers were pushed appropriately.
Then something happened.
Ms von Munchausen learned we were out to take The Boy away from her. The evil crazy bitch. We caught a clue, played a hunch, and made our move. We shared our concerns for the health and safety of The Boy with our newly appointed and previously unmet CPS caseworker. There was a clear pattern. Whenever kids were about to leave the group/foster home to be adopted out they suddenly got very sick, and the adoption was delayed for weeks if not months.
The caseworker thought we were crazy but we were credible.
As if on cue, three days later, She almost killed him.
Again, the evil crazy bitch.
Time stopped for the restless, anxious and edgy eternity of a day or two, maybe three. . . until the phone rang, our adoption caseworker was on the other end of the line:
"Hello."and I woke up the next morning to this.
"Go get him."
"What?"
"Go get him right now."
"Really?"
"Yes! Go! Now!"
As I sit now five years down the line, on the couch with The ever-growing Boy nestled snugly in my lap, I marvel at what a long strange trip it's been. He is an amazing creature, truly an angel.
And yes, I am still quite blessed.
|
