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4/4/04
Church, of course.
Lunch at Hy Vee. I ordered the fish just to keep the kids off balance. It was a mistake though. If you don’t have the right tartar sauce fish is hardly edible. I also got sweet potatoes because they are one of the Super Wife’s favorite foods and I just wanted to share them with her.
As we were seating ourselves because, oddly enough, the grocery store doesn’t have a maitre’d on Sundays, Trainboy riddled- “What do you call a sister with half a brain?” …. “gifted.” The Super Wife laughed. Ms. Pikachu said, “I don’t get it.” She of the straight A report card didn’t get it. Hah. What is this educational system coming to?
When we got home our neighbor Tom, the Super Fix-it Guy was trying to get his cat out of the tree across the street. It is a tall tree indeed. I told him my Dad always said a cat would come down when it got hungry enough. (Everyone nods at such wisdom.) I had no sympathy for the cat anyway. It was probably up there to kill birds. Let it starve.
Tom threw rocks at the cat to try to encourage it to retreat from the limb and come down. Even something as dumb as a cat that trees itself probably doesn’t want to come down a tree and get closer to somebody throwing rocks at it. More rocks, the cat retreats to the tree trunk. More rocks, the cat runs back out on the limb. You just can’t beat urban living.
Ms. Pikachu asked if she could volunteer my paintball gun. She has lost all contact with reality. “No.” She goes outside. She comes back inside. She asks again. “No.” Out. In. She’s going to nag till she gets what she wants. I am a weenie. Sadly, the system works. Okay, fine. Let’s be realistic here, does he really want to get paint all over his cat? Does he really want to risk knocking it right off of the tree? As if logic mattered. She just wants to shoot the cat. She comes back disheartened- he refused her offer.
I asked Trainboy if he wanted to help feed the birds. He thought it was a good idea. I grabbed the feed and a stepstool and away we went. I held the top of the feeder open, he climbed up and shoveled the feed in. I love those bonding moments.
Five hours later the cat is still up the tree making its pitiful mewling. But I have no pity for it. At least while it’s up there it isn’t threatening any other birds, and that’s what’s important, isn’t it?
The rest of the day looks to be laundry, TV, whatever home improvement I get around to doing, and I may not get around to doing any. Ah weekends.
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Sunday, April 04, 2004
Saturday, April 03, 2004
04/03/04
Pills had me napping again. When I woke up it was time to feed the critters supper. It was Steak & Shake again by the roar of the mob. So away we go. When the Super Wife is along Ms. Pikachu rides in the back seat. Since the Super One was at work Ms. Pikachu rode up front, keeping an eagle eye out for traffic problems. She knows I have eye problems, and it makes her nervous. It will only be a few years before she’s learning how to drive and it will be my turn to be nervous.
Regardless, we arrived at the restaurant with no unexpected events. Instead of ordering a kid’s meal like usual she ordered a single and two sides. My but she is growing. Then she got a shake with hot fudge topping and she went nuts over the fudge. She looked around and said, “Dad, people are looking at me.” Imagine that. I don’t suppose you noticed if there was any guilt by association?
Trainboy looked at her and asked, “What planet are you from?” I’ve often wondered myself. In blonde mode she sing-songed “Jupiter, because I couldn’t be stupider.” I was not going to look for the public’s reaction. There are times I don’t know why I don’t lock them up and feed them through a slot in the door. Must be their entertainment value, such as it were.
When we were about done I ordered a Frisco burger to go. I know the Super Nurse likes them, and sometimes she doesn’t get to eat all day. Then it was back home, where I did laundry, watched TV, and waited for Her return. When she got home she said, “Didn’t you get my message? I couldn’t eat because I had no money and I couldn’t charge it because I couldn’t find my ID before I left. I wanted you to bring it over.” Uh oh, big whoops .
Time to dance. “Why no I’m sorry I didn’t see your message but if I had you know I would have found it and brought it to you because nothing makes me happier than making you happy but when we went out to eat I got you a sandwich that you like would you like it now? Darling?” Fast waltz. She ate her sandwich and was grateful, I guess. There were no bodily injuries and that’s always a good sign.
The day was done.
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-
Pills had me napping again. When I woke up it was time to feed the critters supper. It was Steak & Shake again by the roar of the mob. So away we go. When the Super Wife is along Ms. Pikachu rides in the back seat. Since the Super One was at work Ms. Pikachu rode up front, keeping an eagle eye out for traffic problems. She knows I have eye problems, and it makes her nervous. It will only be a few years before she’s learning how to drive and it will be my turn to be nervous.
Regardless, we arrived at the restaurant with no unexpected events. Instead of ordering a kid’s meal like usual she ordered a single and two sides. My but she is growing. Then she got a shake with hot fudge topping and she went nuts over the fudge. She looked around and said, “Dad, people are looking at me.” Imagine that. I don’t suppose you noticed if there was any guilt by association?
Trainboy looked at her and asked, “What planet are you from?” I’ve often wondered myself. In blonde mode she sing-songed “Jupiter, because I couldn’t be stupider.” I was not going to look for the public’s reaction. There are times I don’t know why I don’t lock them up and feed them through a slot in the door. Must be their entertainment value, such as it were.
When we were about done I ordered a Frisco burger to go. I know the Super Nurse likes them, and sometimes she doesn’t get to eat all day. Then it was back home, where I did laundry, watched TV, and waited for Her return. When she got home she said, “Didn’t you get my message? I couldn’t eat because I had no money and I couldn’t charge it because I couldn’t find my ID before I left. I wanted you to bring it over.” Uh oh, big whoops .
Time to dance. “Why no I’m sorry I didn’t see your message but if I had you know I would have found it and brought it to you because nothing makes me happier than making you happy but when we went out to eat I got you a sandwich that you like would you like it now? Darling?” Fast waltz. She ate her sandwich and was grateful, I guess. There were no bodily injuries and that’s always a good sign.
The day was done.
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-
Friday, April 02, 2004
I left work early because Trainboy had his Spring Program at school. By the time I’d gotten home the Super Wife had already left, so I drove on to the school. I found her in the gym, already seated and about in the middle of a row. She had an empty seat beside her so I excused myself all the way to it.
She seemed happy to see me, but said she reserved rebuttal rights on last night’s blog posting. Everybody’s a critic. Shortly after exchanging pleasantries I looked for the camera bag. It was not there. I asked her if she wanted pictures. She thought the gear was in the back of my car. It was not. It was in the back of her van. But yes, she’d like some pictures.
I excused myself all the way out to the other end of the line. Then came a jog to the van. I’d parked across the street from it about a block away. Open the rear of the van and… there it is- one camera bag. It’s a fairly large one, and by the time you put in a fairly large video camera, 35 mm camera, zoom lens, and assorted accessories it’s a heavy thing. No matter, I need the exercise. I jog back to school with it.
Sweating, I excuse myself all the way back to her seat, carrying this big bag, trying not to bump people too badly. I unpack the 35 mm and put the zoom on, locked and loaded. Then I ask, “You want video too?” When will I learn? She says why yes. Unpack the video camera, etc.
I excuse myself out, grateful that it’s highly unlikely anybody would pack heat in a grade school, but wondering if it isn’t about time we installed metal detectors. I also wonder if my deodorant is working. It doesn’t matter. Just set up.and.we.are.LIVE!
Neither of my hearing aids is working. I haven’t a clue what they’re singing; apparently this is the Spring Program of the Obscure. (dramatically) Before we can go into the future, first we must understand the past. It is time… for a time warp {{{{{}}}}}
Last night the Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit for Trainboy. His teacher had sent a note home that all the boys should try to dress like cowboys. The ever-resourceful Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit including a cowboy hat and a vest made out of a fake wool last seen on the seat covers of a 1968 Dodge Dart. It was unconvincing fake wool and we would leave it at that, except. Except even a six year-old knew it wasn’t exactly cowboy gear, not unless the cowboy had shot a sheep herder, and was willing to wear the skin of a wooly gila monster. Not likely. Time to …time warp {{{{{}}}}}.
Trainboy, now Cowboy, is onstage. He is not wearing a vest. He is not wearing a hat. The Super Mom is surprised; I am not. Because I realize that Trainboy is more like me than I’d ever suspected. As a kid I would have refused to wear any vest that didn’t meet my expectation of authentic. And I would have refused to wear any hat. It was never so cold I had to wear a hat, never. Super Mom may be surprised, but I understand completely, and I’m happy.
When the program finished we went home. Ms. Pikachu was already home, honing her Nintendo skills. Tired from being up too late last night blogging, I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up the Super Nurse had already departed for work.
The reasonable thing would be to ask the kids if they’re hungry. So I ask them. Ms. Pikachu says no, she’s already eaten. Trainboy says he’s not hungry either. Well I am. So I grabbed a TV dinner out of the freezer, popped it in the microwave, and really pitied my poor ancestors. How did they get by?
Properly heated, I sit down in front of the TV because where else should one eat a TV dinner? There’s pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy and the usual etc… Take a bite, not bad, not bad at all. Trainboy is sitting by me, I ask him if he’d like a bite. He points at a piece of meat, “That one.” Well alrighty then. For a kid who isn’t hungry he does very well. He eats everything except the green beans and celery. No problem with me, there’s more as close as a trip to the freezer and microwave.
We watched Spongebob; it was a good one. Ms. Pikachu came down stairs and said “I heard you laughing.” In the interest of saving energy we aren’t going to use the time warp, I’m just going to tell you- the last time the Schwan’s man came around I got a French silk pie figuring Ms. Chocoholic would like that. She did. So, before she headed back upstairs she told me she’d already eaten the pie, and would I please get another. I could, but technically, that would probably make me an enabler.
Eventually Trainboy decided it was time to pull the plug. We went upstairs and he asked me for a “big shirt” for bed. He likes to use one of my T-shirts for a nightshirt. I got him my Mensa T and told him that it’s a shirt for smart people and now that he can recite all the presidents he can wear it. He seemed pleased. Then we read ‘Harry and the Lady Next Door’ and he was done.
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-
She seemed happy to see me, but said she reserved rebuttal rights on last night’s blog posting. Everybody’s a critic. Shortly after exchanging pleasantries I looked for the camera bag. It was not there. I asked her if she wanted pictures. She thought the gear was in the back of my car. It was not. It was in the back of her van. But yes, she’d like some pictures.
I excused myself all the way out to the other end of the line. Then came a jog to the van. I’d parked across the street from it about a block away. Open the rear of the van and… there it is- one camera bag. It’s a fairly large one, and by the time you put in a fairly large video camera, 35 mm camera, zoom lens, and assorted accessories it’s a heavy thing. No matter, I need the exercise. I jog back to school with it.
Sweating, I excuse myself all the way back to her seat, carrying this big bag, trying not to bump people too badly. I unpack the 35 mm and put the zoom on, locked and loaded. Then I ask, “You want video too?” When will I learn? She says why yes. Unpack the video camera, etc.
I excuse myself out, grateful that it’s highly unlikely anybody would pack heat in a grade school, but wondering if it isn’t about time we installed metal detectors. I also wonder if my deodorant is working. It doesn’t matter. Just set up.and.we.are.LIVE!
Neither of my hearing aids is working. I haven’t a clue what they’re singing; apparently this is the Spring Program of the Obscure. (dramatically) Before we can go into the future, first we must understand the past. It is time… for a time warp {{{{{}}}}}
Last night the Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit for Trainboy. His teacher had sent a note home that all the boys should try to dress like cowboys. The ever-resourceful Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit including a cowboy hat and a vest made out of a fake wool last seen on the seat covers of a 1968 Dodge Dart. It was unconvincing fake wool and we would leave it at that, except. Except even a six year-old knew it wasn’t exactly cowboy gear, not unless the cowboy had shot a sheep herder, and was willing to wear the skin of a wooly gila monster. Not likely. Time to …time warp {{{{{}}}}}.
Trainboy, now Cowboy, is onstage. He is not wearing a vest. He is not wearing a hat. The Super Mom is surprised; I am not. Because I realize that Trainboy is more like me than I’d ever suspected. As a kid I would have refused to wear any vest that didn’t meet my expectation of authentic. And I would have refused to wear any hat. It was never so cold I had to wear a hat, never. Super Mom may be surprised, but I understand completely, and I’m happy.
When the program finished we went home. Ms. Pikachu was already home, honing her Nintendo skills. Tired from being up too late last night blogging, I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up the Super Nurse had already departed for work.
The reasonable thing would be to ask the kids if they’re hungry. So I ask them. Ms. Pikachu says no, she’s already eaten. Trainboy says he’s not hungry either. Well I am. So I grabbed a TV dinner out of the freezer, popped it in the microwave, and really pitied my poor ancestors. How did they get by?
Properly heated, I sit down in front of the TV because where else should one eat a TV dinner? There’s pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy and the usual etc… Take a bite, not bad, not bad at all. Trainboy is sitting by me, I ask him if he’d like a bite. He points at a piece of meat, “That one.” Well alrighty then. For a kid who isn’t hungry he does very well. He eats everything except the green beans and celery. No problem with me, there’s more as close as a trip to the freezer and microwave.
We watched Spongebob; it was a good one. Ms. Pikachu came down stairs and said “I heard you laughing.” In the interest of saving energy we aren’t going to use the time warp, I’m just going to tell you- the last time the Schwan’s man came around I got a French silk pie figuring Ms. Chocoholic would like that. She did. So, before she headed back upstairs she told me she’d already eaten the pie, and would I please get another. I could, but technically, that would probably make me an enabler.
Eventually Trainboy decided it was time to pull the plug. We went upstairs and he asked me for a “big shirt” for bed. He likes to use one of my T-shirts for a nightshirt. I got him my Mensa T and told him that it’s a shirt for smart people and now that he can recite all the presidents he can wear it. He seemed pleased. Then we read ‘Harry and the Lady Next Door’ and he was done.
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-
When I got home Trainboy asked me if I wanted to play Hot and Cold. No way can you refuse a child's request like that, I told him I'd be happy to play Hot and Cold. So I walked in different directions and he told me if I was getting hotter or colder. It really didn't take long to arrive at 'hottest' and he was so excited he was practically percolating himself.
I was in front of the deacon's bench so there was only one thing to do. I opened the lid and he started hopping up and down, he WAS percolating. Inside was a box wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon. As I lifted it out he told me he'd bought it at Awanas last night because it was a store night. He used the shares he'd earned to buy something for me. It was supposed to be for Father's Day, but he just couldn't wait. He had to give it to me now.
I am now the proud owner of a truck with a missile launcher on the back. He knew I liked missiles. He was so happy to give it to me. What a sweet boy. God I love him.
Later it was our night to do taxes. She did them earlier during the day on paper forms. That's right, the SuperNurse/SuperMom/SuperWife does taxes too. She's very versatile. It was up to me to then type them in using TaxAct. We used the program last year and generally speaking it was very easy, except, and there's always and exception, it took a long time to figure out how to enter the mortgage credit. It finally occurred to me to just click on 'forms' and choose the correct form instead of trying to just get it from the program's flow.
It took us four hours last year. This year, since we were experienced, it took an hour and a half. The problem, as I see it, is that it's hard to really get used to something you only use once per year. It's always something, but next year it'll probably only take about a half hour. We'll see.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I was in front of the deacon's bench so there was only one thing to do. I opened the lid and he started hopping up and down, he WAS percolating. Inside was a box wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon. As I lifted it out he told me he'd bought it at Awanas last night because it was a store night. He used the shares he'd earned to buy something for me. It was supposed to be for Father's Day, but he just couldn't wait. He had to give it to me now.
I am now the proud owner of a truck with a missile launcher on the back. He knew I liked missiles. He was so happy to give it to me. What a sweet boy. God I love him.
Later it was our night to do taxes. She did them earlier during the day on paper forms. That's right, the SuperNurse/SuperMom/SuperWife does taxes too. She's very versatile. It was up to me to then type them in using TaxAct. We used the program last year and generally speaking it was very easy, except, and there's always and exception, it took a long time to figure out how to enter the mortgage credit. It finally occurred to me to just click on 'forms' and choose the correct form instead of trying to just get it from the program's flow.
It took us four hours last year. This year, since we were experienced, it took an hour and a half. The problem, as I see it, is that it's hard to really get used to something you only use once per year. It's always something, but next year it'll probably only take about a half hour. We'll see.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
It looked like a free night, showing how delusional I am. The Thriftywife informed me that she’d bought a video game for Ms Pikachu and since then, horrors, it had gone on sale elsewhere. This can only mean one thing- we are going to get some money back.
So we take a poll of the kids. “We are going make a stop at the library and then go to Target and Toys R’ Us, do you want to go?” They don’t want to go. We’ve already eaten and they don’t want to bounce around between stores when then could stay at home and watch Cartoon Network. Kids grow up so early nowadays.
But I would go, yes me, Weenie Husband! Off we went and on the way she explained to me what needed to be done. It involved buying another, taking one back, and getting a price adjustment- at least that’s all I remember. The whole thing seemed so convoluted it would intimidate a venture capitalist. All that mattered was that she knew what she was doing, and wanted to do it..
During the drive I asked her how much money she was making on this little adventure. She said “$5.00.” I was a little incredulous. Driving to two different stores and dealing with customer service in both of them for $5.00? I asked her what her time was worth, and did not mention gas or wear on the van. She didn’t mind, for her $5.00 is $5.00. Right there you know she’ll never spend us poor, nor will she let me. Which is a good thing…within limits.
So I didn’t say anything else about it. It doesn’t do much good to get somebody angry over so little. Hey if it’s worth it to you to drive all over town for $5.00, if that makes you happy, well alrighty then. So I shut up and put up with it.
In return, I got about an hour and a half with just her, no kids. She drove so I got to just look at her face, squeeze her right leg, and hold hands. For $5.00 I’d be more than happy to do it again.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
So we take a poll of the kids. “We are going make a stop at the library and then go to Target and Toys R’ Us, do you want to go?” They don’t want to go. We’ve already eaten and they don’t want to bounce around between stores when then could stay at home and watch Cartoon Network. Kids grow up so early nowadays.
But I would go, yes me, Weenie Husband! Off we went and on the way she explained to me what needed to be done. It involved buying another, taking one back, and getting a price adjustment- at least that’s all I remember. The whole thing seemed so convoluted it would intimidate a venture capitalist. All that mattered was that she knew what she was doing, and wanted to do it..
During the drive I asked her how much money she was making on this little adventure. She said “$5.00.” I was a little incredulous. Driving to two different stores and dealing with customer service in both of them for $5.00? I asked her what her time was worth, and did not mention gas or wear on the van. She didn’t mind, for her $5.00 is $5.00. Right there you know she’ll never spend us poor, nor will she let me. Which is a good thing…within limits.
So I didn’t say anything else about it. It doesn’t do much good to get somebody angry over so little. Hey if it’s worth it to you to drive all over town for $5.00, if that makes you happy, well alrighty then. So I shut up and put up with it.
In return, I got about an hour and a half with just her, no kids. She drove so I got to just look at her face, squeeze her right leg, and hold hands. For $5.00 I’d be more than happy to do it again.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
I probably have nothing original to say regarding the Israeli killing of one of the founders of Hamas, Sheikh Yasmin. But that won't stop me, it never has. On the one hand the timing of his death seems odd, because they could have killed him any number of times before. On the other hand, maybe it was just their way of letting Hamas know that just because the people of Spain could be cowed with a bomb, Israel refuses to give in.
I don’t understand the protests of his killing- the man helped found a terrorist organization and was responsible for a lot of deaths. Protesters and the media repeatedly point out that he was old and wheelchair bound. As though that was an automatic Get Out Of Jail Free card. It was not, with a missile.
The Israelis should have scooped his remains into a trash barrel and thrown them, and his wheelchair, off the side of a cruise ship. Leon Klinghoffer’s family could do the dishonors. That idea would surely upset some people. It would upset them because Klinghoffer was an American and a Jew and therefore doubly deserving of his fate. Screw that.
Hamas is a death cult, it’s all they understand. How can you reason with a group that straps bombs to the bodies of their own boys? How do you have a meaningful dialogue with a group that kills babies? So you have to kill more of them so they understand, “The killing needs to end.” No more bombing busses and restaurants. No more killing innocent men, women and children. There will be no more bombing when they realize it’s to their advantage to stop.
Not that it’s going to happen in Israel. The Israelis don’t even exact an eye for an eye and as long as the Palestinians are showing a favorable balance sheet the killing will go on.
In contrast, right after the Sheikh was killed a Hamas spokesman declared they would exact revenge against Israel and the USA. Dubyah came out and said he took such a threat seriously. The next day Hamas said they would NOT exact revenge against the USA. It doesn’t take much to see why. Al Qaida took out two buildings in New York City. In response we knocked over two COUNTRIES. Dubya has made it clear to them, mess with us and we will hurt you more than you hurt us.
If Hamas starts revenge bombings it won’ t be until Dubya is out of office. God help us if we get an appeaser in the oval office. It won’t help to say “we’re sorry. Surely you only did that for valid reasons. We must have deserved it. What would make you happy?”. They’ll perceive it as a sign of weakness, and it will be. The madmen will run riot. The bombings won’t end.
I don’t grieve the death of a monster anymore than I grieve a monster being deposed. Want peace in the Middle East? It’s fairly easy. Tell the surrounding Islamic countries that continued assaults on our ally Israel will not be tolerated. None of their governments want to be the next Iraq. Somehow, I’m sure support for the Palestinian terrorists would dry up.
I don’t understand the protests of his killing- the man helped found a terrorist organization and was responsible for a lot of deaths. Protesters and the media repeatedly point out that he was old and wheelchair bound. As though that was an automatic Get Out Of Jail Free card. It was not, with a missile.
The Israelis should have scooped his remains into a trash barrel and thrown them, and his wheelchair, off the side of a cruise ship. Leon Klinghoffer’s family could do the dishonors. That idea would surely upset some people. It would upset them because Klinghoffer was an American and a Jew and therefore doubly deserving of his fate. Screw that.
Hamas is a death cult, it’s all they understand. How can you reason with a group that straps bombs to the bodies of their own boys? How do you have a meaningful dialogue with a group that kills babies? So you have to kill more of them so they understand, “The killing needs to end.” No more bombing busses and restaurants. No more killing innocent men, women and children. There will be no more bombing when they realize it’s to their advantage to stop.
Not that it’s going to happen in Israel. The Israelis don’t even exact an eye for an eye and as long as the Palestinians are showing a favorable balance sheet the killing will go on.
In contrast, right after the Sheikh was killed a Hamas spokesman declared they would exact revenge against Israel and the USA. Dubyah came out and said he took such a threat seriously. The next day Hamas said they would NOT exact revenge against the USA. It doesn’t take much to see why. Al Qaida took out two buildings in New York City. In response we knocked over two COUNTRIES. Dubya has made it clear to them, mess with us and we will hurt you more than you hurt us.
If Hamas starts revenge bombings it won’ t be until Dubya is out of office. God help us if we get an appeaser in the oval office. It won’t help to say “we’re sorry. Surely you only did that for valid reasons. We must have deserved it. What would make you happy?”. They’ll perceive it as a sign of weakness, and it will be. The madmen will run riot. The bombings won’t end.
I don’t grieve the death of a monster anymore than I grieve a monster being deposed. Want peace in the Middle East? It’s fairly easy. Tell the surrounding Islamic countries that continued assaults on our ally Israel will not be tolerated. None of their governments want to be the next Iraq. Somehow, I’m sure support for the Palestinian terrorists would dry up.
The Super Wife and I were discussing a few matters when we heard Ms. Pikachu let loose a cry of “Moooooom!” Only moments later Trainboy came running in and breathlessly declared, “Don’t believe a word she says. She’s lying.” Only six years-old and he’s already figured out you have to beat the bad news with spin. Maybe we should have named him Calvin.
In other news, Ms. Pikachu has informed her mother that this is the last year she wants to take flute. Ahem, that wouldn’t be the flute the Super Mom bought and paid for because the precocious child said she didn’t want to continue with piano lesson, but did want to take flute lessons, would it? Ladies and gentlemen let’s get ready to rumble!
In this corner- at 5 foot even, blonde haired, blue eyed, the poster child for ADHD, and puts the capital M in Mania- Ms. Pikachu!
And in this corner, standing at five foot and loose change, brunette, blue eyed and pinching pennies so tight Abe Lincoln screams “I surrender!”- Super Mom!
The bout will be refereed by Dad, from outside the ring, because Dad is a weenie.
Its going to be a good fight but the smart money will be on Super Mom.
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-
In other news, Ms. Pikachu has informed her mother that this is the last year she wants to take flute. Ahem, that wouldn’t be the flute the Super Mom bought and paid for because the precocious child said she didn’t want to continue with piano lesson, but did want to take flute lessons, would it? Ladies and gentlemen let’s get ready to rumble!
In this corner- at 5 foot even, blonde haired, blue eyed, the poster child for ADHD, and puts the capital M in Mania- Ms. Pikachu!
And in this corner, standing at five foot and loose change, brunette, blue eyed and pinching pennies so tight Abe Lincoln screams “I surrender!”- Super Mom!
The bout will be refereed by Dad, from outside the ring, because Dad is a weenie.
Its going to be a good fight but the smart money will be on Super Mom.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
I haven’t done anything political in quite a while, so here goes. Let me restate that I’m a political independent, so it’s with no ax to grind when I ask, What in the world is going on with the Democratic Party?
They had nine candidates and after all the bloodletting the man left standing is J. F. Kerry? I don’t get it.
I realize that after Dubya kicked terrorist butt in Afghanistan, overthrew a truly evil dictator, and landed on an aircraft carrier the Democrats felt a need to come up with a candidate with some military credentials of his own. At first that seemed like Wesley Clark, but then his role in Waco came out, his decision making in Bosnia, and he kept sticking his foot in his mouth like he was craving a chew toy. Exit brass hat Clark.
But they had eight more to choose from. Most seemed to self-destruct, or just had a campaign life that wasn’t viable outside a smoke-filled room. While the candidates tried to gut each other they tried to smear Bush over his service in the Guard. They didn’t have the success they wanted so they still needed a war hero anyway to offset Dubya’s successes against the terrorists.
“Did you know I served in Viet Nam?” Kerry rose to the top. If Kerry actually wins the nomination it would have to be the Republican’s dream. Vets groups will savage him over his service in Viet Nam. His questionable war stories, his turncoat war protests will be explored with the same vigor they tried to smear Bush. What was supposed to be his biggest asset will turn into a terrific liability. Then it will all come down to, after all his lies about his record, after his inability to maintain a stand on any issue, is this really the guy you want in the oval office prosecuting the war on terrorism? Are you willing to turn over the fate of this country to a guy who’d bend to the will of the corrupt USA haters in the UN? An organization that puts a terrorist nation in charge of anti-terrorism efforts? A supposedly benevolent organization that runs programs like “Oil for Food” that are so corrupt no one knows where the money has gone?
This is my nightmare. That Kerry closes in on the nomination and then becomes an unviable candidate. The party will be in a dither, what to do, what to do? On the national stage without a candidate to clinch the nomination- they’ll be fearful that they look ineffectual and are losing their chance against Dubya. Out of the wings will step the Party’s Salvation- Hillary. Sure she has no war record, but at least she has no bad one, and half the voters are women, and there’s lots of minority voters that will go with any Democrat, and the South will vote for her since she’s Southern.
If I was certified paranoid I’d figure all this is being orchestrated by Bill Clinton, a guy who wants more White House time and can’t get enough interns. Go ahead, reserve the rubber room.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
They had nine candidates and after all the bloodletting the man left standing is J. F. Kerry? I don’t get it.
I realize that after Dubya kicked terrorist butt in Afghanistan, overthrew a truly evil dictator, and landed on an aircraft carrier the Democrats felt a need to come up with a candidate with some military credentials of his own. At first that seemed like Wesley Clark, but then his role in Waco came out, his decision making in Bosnia, and he kept sticking his foot in his mouth like he was craving a chew toy. Exit brass hat Clark.
But they had eight more to choose from. Most seemed to self-destruct, or just had a campaign life that wasn’t viable outside a smoke-filled room. While the candidates tried to gut each other they tried to smear Bush over his service in the Guard. They didn’t have the success they wanted so they still needed a war hero anyway to offset Dubya’s successes against the terrorists.
“Did you know I served in Viet Nam?” Kerry rose to the top. If Kerry actually wins the nomination it would have to be the Republican’s dream. Vets groups will savage him over his service in Viet Nam. His questionable war stories, his turncoat war protests will be explored with the same vigor they tried to smear Bush. What was supposed to be his biggest asset will turn into a terrific liability. Then it will all come down to, after all his lies about his record, after his inability to maintain a stand on any issue, is this really the guy you want in the oval office prosecuting the war on terrorism? Are you willing to turn over the fate of this country to a guy who’d bend to the will of the corrupt USA haters in the UN? An organization that puts a terrorist nation in charge of anti-terrorism efforts? A supposedly benevolent organization that runs programs like “Oil for Food” that are so corrupt no one knows where the money has gone?
This is my nightmare. That Kerry closes in on the nomination and then becomes an unviable candidate. The party will be in a dither, what to do, what to do? On the national stage without a candidate to clinch the nomination- they’ll be fearful that they look ineffectual and are losing their chance against Dubya. Out of the wings will step the Party’s Salvation- Hillary. Sure she has no war record, but at least she has no bad one, and half the voters are women, and there’s lots of minority voters that will go with any Democrat, and the South will vote for her since she’s Southern.
If I was certified paranoid I’d figure all this is being orchestrated by Bill Clinton, a guy who wants more White House time and can’t get enough interns. Go ahead, reserve the rubber room.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
10/08/03
Mother has been wallpapering the dining room while she visits. The old stuff was an eyesore that looked like cross-hatched bamboo. The new stuff looks like green leaves and big pink flowers with a metallic sheen. It looks quite lovely.
After calling it quits for the day we went out to eat at Ryans. Of course we were all stuffed by the time we left. The day’s routine plot took an unexpected twist when we got back to the van. We hadn’t even gotten into the van when a woman came out of the restaurant and started yelling at us that we’d hit her car.
That was news to me. When I pulled in I certainly hadn’t hit any other vehicle. We waited for her to cross the parking lot with her group. She claimed she’d seen us hit her daughter’s car that was parked next to us. I was sure I hadn’t hit the car. She clarified, she’d seen a passenger get out of my van and door her daughter’s car.
This still made no sense. I listen and watch to see if anybody is careless in opening a door, and there’s only one to pay attention to. I don’t door anyone. The slide door can’t door anyone, and that leaves only one other door. I was sure we hadn’t doored that car, but didn’t say anything. She was sure she needed the name of our insurance agent. She was very aggressive, so much for all Iowans being nice.
I told her I didn’t think it happened. She insisted she’d witnessed it. I told her I wanted to see the damage. She showed me a mark on the door caused by being doored. Alright, there was a dent. But the dent on her car was in front to the leading edge of the van door. This made no sense. The woman continued to rant while I slowly opened the door. The door stopped a good foot short of the dent. No way did anyone in my van dent that car.
That shut her up, for a second. Then she turned to her daughter and said, “I’m sorry honey, I tried.” Tried what? A false insurance claim? Perjury? She thought that maybe it was the vehicle parked in the spot before us after all. Well that explains everything. Thanks a lot and have a good night. We got in the van and left.
Encounters like that really bother me. There's the stress of the encounter. There's replaying it over and over in your head, wondering how it should have been handled better. There's wishing I could have been as aggressive right back at her because, in a way, she tried to lie about my liability and when it was over she got to walk away from it with nothing more than an oh sorry. It just drives me nuts.
On the upside, the kids got to see their father deal with a stressful situation in a controlled, logical manner. So it's just as well I didn't explode. It's just as well I didn't get nasty. Weenies uber alles!
Mother has been wallpapering the dining room while she visits. The old stuff was an eyesore that looked like cross-hatched bamboo. The new stuff looks like green leaves and big pink flowers with a metallic sheen. It looks quite lovely.
After calling it quits for the day we went out to eat at Ryans. Of course we were all stuffed by the time we left. The day’s routine plot took an unexpected twist when we got back to the van. We hadn’t even gotten into the van when a woman came out of the restaurant and started yelling at us that we’d hit her car.
That was news to me. When I pulled in I certainly hadn’t hit any other vehicle. We waited for her to cross the parking lot with her group. She claimed she’d seen us hit her daughter’s car that was parked next to us. I was sure I hadn’t hit the car. She clarified, she’d seen a passenger get out of my van and door her daughter’s car.
This still made no sense. I listen and watch to see if anybody is careless in opening a door, and there’s only one to pay attention to. I don’t door anyone. The slide door can’t door anyone, and that leaves only one other door. I was sure we hadn’t doored that car, but didn’t say anything. She was sure she needed the name of our insurance agent. She was very aggressive, so much for all Iowans being nice.
I told her I didn’t think it happened. She insisted she’d witnessed it. I told her I wanted to see the damage. She showed me a mark on the door caused by being doored. Alright, there was a dent. But the dent on her car was in front to the leading edge of the van door. This made no sense. The woman continued to rant while I slowly opened the door. The door stopped a good foot short of the dent. No way did anyone in my van dent that car.
That shut her up, for a second. Then she turned to her daughter and said, “I’m sorry honey, I tried.” Tried what? A false insurance claim? Perjury? She thought that maybe it was the vehicle parked in the spot before us after all. Well that explains everything. Thanks a lot and have a good night. We got in the van and left.
Encounters like that really bother me. There's the stress of the encounter. There's replaying it over and over in your head, wondering how it should have been handled better. There's wishing I could have been as aggressive right back at her because, in a way, she tried to lie about my liability and when it was over she got to walk away from it with nothing more than an oh sorry. It just drives me nuts.
On the upside, the kids got to see their father deal with a stressful situation in a controlled, logical manner. So it's just as well I didn't explode. It's just as well I didn't get nasty. Weenies uber alles!
3/22/04
Took the day off. Slept in. On the one hand sleeping in is a terrible waste of free time. On the other hand, I like it a lot. I feel downright… rested.
Didn’t do a thing. We ate lunch at Ryan’s. Ms. Pikachu hollowed out a dinner roll through a hole she made on an edge. Then she held it up to her lips and blew in and out. It expanded and contracted and the diagonal crease on it made it look like a pumping heart. That kid is just nuts, and never dull.
Ms. Pikachu had what I can only describe as a gymnastics class recital. Trainboy wanted to stay home so I stayed home with him. The Super Mom reports Ms. Pikachu did her best yet. Even Ms. Pikachu was happy.
The evening was pizza for everyone. The wife and I watched -The Talk of the Town It was made in 1942 and starred Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, and Ronald Colman. Even though he was third on the billing I liked Ronald Colman the most. There’s a reason Cary Grant was a huge star, but personally, I find his suaveness a little too affected. Ronald Colman came across as sophisticated yet genuine. Watching this movie I’d have expected Colman would be the bigger star. Obviously he wasn’t, and life isn’t fair. Maybe dying in 1958 had something to do with it.
It was a good movie- nominated for seven Academy Awards. The jacket calls it madcap and zany, I’d call it broad or light. Not that it matters. Cary Grant plays Dilg, a fellow accused of being a rabble-rouser, and falsely accused of being an arsonist that burned down the local factory. He doesn’t limit himself to facts; he goes by feelings. He’s a liberal. Colman plays a visiting law professor who has a strict “everything by the facts, everything by the rules” interpretation of the law. He’s obviously a conservative.
Eventually they both come to respect the other, justice is served, and one of them gets the girl, and only one. Because even though the professor respects the liberal position he is not a liberal. Near the end the professor makes an impassioned plea on behalf of our legal system and the need for everyone to do their part. That might seem corny if done today, but in 1942 it must have looked like the axis of Germany and Japan were closing in on all sides and people were in need of a little cheerleading.
It was a nice enough movie. But there are better ones to watch. It does make me want to check out movies by Ronald Colman (Academy Award winner 1948 for ‘A Double Life’)
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Took the day off. Slept in. On the one hand sleeping in is a terrible waste of free time. On the other hand, I like it a lot. I feel downright… rested.
Didn’t do a thing. We ate lunch at Ryan’s. Ms. Pikachu hollowed out a dinner roll through a hole she made on an edge. Then she held it up to her lips and blew in and out. It expanded and contracted and the diagonal crease on it made it look like a pumping heart. That kid is just nuts, and never dull.
Ms. Pikachu had what I can only describe as a gymnastics class recital. Trainboy wanted to stay home so I stayed home with him. The Super Mom reports Ms. Pikachu did her best yet. Even Ms. Pikachu was happy.
The evening was pizza for everyone. The wife and I watched -The Talk of the Town It was made in 1942 and starred Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, and Ronald Colman. Even though he was third on the billing I liked Ronald Colman the most. There’s a reason Cary Grant was a huge star, but personally, I find his suaveness a little too affected. Ronald Colman came across as sophisticated yet genuine. Watching this movie I’d have expected Colman would be the bigger star. Obviously he wasn’t, and life isn’t fair. Maybe dying in 1958 had something to do with it.
It was a good movie- nominated for seven Academy Awards. The jacket calls it madcap and zany, I’d call it broad or light. Not that it matters. Cary Grant plays Dilg, a fellow accused of being a rabble-rouser, and falsely accused of being an arsonist that burned down the local factory. He doesn’t limit himself to facts; he goes by feelings. He’s a liberal. Colman plays a visiting law professor who has a strict “everything by the facts, everything by the rules” interpretation of the law. He’s obviously a conservative.
Eventually they both come to respect the other, justice is served, and one of them gets the girl, and only one. Because even though the professor respects the liberal position he is not a liberal. Near the end the professor makes an impassioned plea on behalf of our legal system and the need for everyone to do their part. That might seem corny if done today, but in 1942 it must have looked like the axis of Germany and Japan were closing in on all sides and people were in need of a little cheerleading.
It was a nice enough movie. But there are better ones to watch. It does make me want to check out movies by Ronald Colman (Academy Award winner 1948 for ‘A Double Life’)
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Sunday, March 21, 2004
3/21/04
We went to church, of course.
Afterwards there was disagreement over where we’d eat lunch. Ms. Pikachu wanted Hy-Vee. Trainboy wanted Italian. Somehow the compromise was KFC. Don’t ask me how that happens; I just say “alrighty.”
Ms. Pikachu expressed concern that there would be nothing for me to eat since I don’t eat poultry. Dear child. I told her I could do just fine on the side orders of baked beans, cole slaw, and potato salad. So we pulled into KFC.
Lo and behold, proof that God still loves me, they were selling chicken potpies- the exception to my ‘no poultry’ rule. This may seem odd, and indeed it is, especially after I explain.
I’ve been queasy about eating chicken since I was a kid. Because as a kid I pulled some meat off a leg and right there were veins, arteries, ligaments- a whole freaking biology class. It made me queasy indeed.
And then I was watching 60 Minutes and they did an expose on poultry processing. They showed chicken processing conditions weren’t very nice. In fact, to pick up water weight chicken carcasses were soaked in what amounted to “fecal soup.” So much for chicken for me. I don’t think I’ve eaten a piece of chicken since. Only cheeseburgers and meatloaf have kept me from vegetarianism.
Don’t ask me why, but I can still eat chicken potpie. It is the exception to the rule, and a silly one at that. Because if anything looks like chicken in fecal soup it’s chicken potpie. It makes no sense. I can’t explain it. All I can say is that I like it. But I don’t eat the chicken.
3/21 Part II
The SuperWife is at work so I ask the kids what they’d like to eat for supper. Trainboy wants chicken nuggets- big surprise. So I tell Ms. Pikachu I’m getting food from Wendys and what does she want. Not surprisingly she says a cheeseburger. I asked her if she’d like a chili also. She smiles and says, “I don’t want A chili, I want YOUR chili.” Men are from Mars, women are from the IRS. Not that I can really complain. When I get them their kids’ meals I exercise a fry tax. They don’t know it. But while I’m on the way home they pay it. Which just goes to show that if you have your fries deducted before you get them it doesn't even hurt, it's just like the old savings bond commercial. The difference being they're saved in my gut, they don't draw interest, and you don't want them back. Other than that it's just like it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We went to church, of course.
Afterwards there was disagreement over where we’d eat lunch. Ms. Pikachu wanted Hy-Vee. Trainboy wanted Italian. Somehow the compromise was KFC. Don’t ask me how that happens; I just say “alrighty.”
Ms. Pikachu expressed concern that there would be nothing for me to eat since I don’t eat poultry. Dear child. I told her I could do just fine on the side orders of baked beans, cole slaw, and potato salad. So we pulled into KFC.
Lo and behold, proof that God still loves me, they were selling chicken potpies- the exception to my ‘no poultry’ rule. This may seem odd, and indeed it is, especially after I explain.
I’ve been queasy about eating chicken since I was a kid. Because as a kid I pulled some meat off a leg and right there were veins, arteries, ligaments- a whole freaking biology class. It made me queasy indeed.
And then I was watching 60 Minutes and they did an expose on poultry processing. They showed chicken processing conditions weren’t very nice. In fact, to pick up water weight chicken carcasses were soaked in what amounted to “fecal soup.” So much for chicken for me. I don’t think I’ve eaten a piece of chicken since. Only cheeseburgers and meatloaf have kept me from vegetarianism.
Don’t ask me why, but I can still eat chicken potpie. It is the exception to the rule, and a silly one at that. Because if anything looks like chicken in fecal soup it’s chicken potpie. It makes no sense. I can’t explain it. All I can say is that I like it. But I don’t eat the chicken.
3/21 Part II
The SuperWife is at work so I ask the kids what they’d like to eat for supper. Trainboy wants chicken nuggets- big surprise. So I tell Ms. Pikachu I’m getting food from Wendys and what does she want. Not surprisingly she says a cheeseburger. I asked her if she’d like a chili also. She smiles and says, “I don’t want A chili, I want YOUR chili.” Men are from Mars, women are from the IRS. Not that I can really complain. When I get them their kids’ meals I exercise a fry tax. They don’t know it. But while I’m on the way home they pay it. Which just goes to show that if you have your fries deducted before you get them it doesn't even hurt, it's just like the old savings bond commercial. The difference being they're saved in my gut, they don't draw interest, and you don't want them back. Other than that it's just like it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, March 20, 2004
3/19/04
Journey to the Center of the Earth…bitch, kinda.
If you haven’t seen it- reading the following will probably ruin it for you.
The wife has another stack of DVD’s she checked out from the library. When she left for work my assignment, should I choose to accept it, was to watch ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth.’ I told her that I’d seen it as a kid and thought it was stupid. As a KID it was stupid. Admittedly, all I remembered about it was that there was a sky down there and it made no sense. If the pressures allowed any spaces they’d be small ones- it would be claustrophobic spelunking if you could spelunk at all. So having a sky would be stupid. Don’t argue with me, it would be stupid.
Being a good husband I agreed to watch it anyway. Having at least a small measure of integrity I did. Fortunately it had James Mason. I like James Mason, but what he was doing in this mystified me. It seems a cynical, yet safe, assumption the check was much better than the script.
The movie starts with a golly, gee whiz, Pat Boone giving his beloved professor a rock for a gift. No mention was made of his origin that I recall, but I suspect Pat was from Iowa, because he was so nice. On the other hand, there was that time he was seen wearing a kilt so maybe he was a Scot without an accent. Maybe I should have just turned up the sound. I dunno. Nor is it relevant. Let us move on with our (echoing) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
From the scribbling on a rock within his rock the professor discerns the way to the center of the earth is near a volcano in Iceland. Right there you know that whatever the university is paying him isn’t enough and society would be better served if he was in criminology. Except he isn’t bright enough to pick up that his daughter and Pat Boone like each other ‘real strong’ so maybe he isn’t another Sherlock after all.
The trusting, because he’s a pure Man of Science, professor sends his findings to another professor for confirmation. It isn’t long before skullduggery and plot developments are afoot. And if I may digress about that, at no time does Pat Boone wear white shoes, but he does sing. Now let us continue with our (over excitedly) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
Realizing they are being skullduggered by the other professor they head for Iceland as quickly as they can, because, (reverently) as long as there are questions Man must find the answers. Since the other professor is heading for The Answer and it’s causing panic we can safely assume that more important than the answer is getting there first. Pat Boone leaves his woman (Diane Baker) behind, go figure.
In Iceland there is more, yes more, skullduggery. This results in their picking up a local Icelandic guy for a beast of burden/guide, and if I may digress again, he’s a hunky blonde for the women in the audience. Because the movie producers knew that while men would heed the trailer’s siren call to answer the questions like men must, they could sell two tickets if they gave the women some eye candy. However, the women may be disappointed that Blonde Hunk is in deep like with his duck, or maybe not. They also pick up the wife of the other now-dead professor, because men have eyes too and what’s fair is fair. But now (In Cinemascope!) back to Journey to the Center of the Earth.
There are more skullduggeries that I don’t care to remember. There is more stupidity than I care to relate. They get to the (In Technicolor!) Center of the Earth. There are freaking dinosaurs. Huge things. It’s a little disappointing that the astute James Mason, Man of Science, doesn’t wonder aloud something like, “The bigger you are the more food you need to stay alive, where are these monsters getting their food?” And there’s a sea with the bright, aforementioned, sky.
Then they stumble onto Atlantis. Oh sure, right where I’d left it. They’re in the middle of Atlantis, now there are some questions to be asked demanding answers, but suddenly they’re in a rush to get out. Suddenly, they are set upon by the chameleon with the (widescreen!) twenty-foot tongue! Lava starts boiling in and the chameleon chamels! Well blind me with science.
Escape is managed by jumping into a blue cup-shaped pagan altarpiece that is then shot upwards through a chimney by a plume of red-hot lava. There is a shot from above of everybody laying back and kind of, uh, enjoying the ride. Anybody in the audience who wasn’t overwhelmed by the wonders they’d just experienced had to be suppressing a laugh, if they could. It’s almost disappointing you don’t get to seem them being, uh, ejected, from the volcano. Apparently that would have been too much Bad Science.
We then see that Pat Boone landed in a tree near a convent. Rather than be seen naked by the nuns he covers himself with a sheep, the smallest one at that, and runs away. There will be no shepherd jokes here. But he had been underground for a long time.
Scientifically, it’s a stupid movie. There are plot twists that defy logic. There are holes bigger than the caverns. The whole time they’re Journeying to the Center of the Earth, they’re following the trail of a guy who never got out. Unless he was carrying his own Guide Duck, don’t ask, wouldn’t he have had to do some backtracking. Wouldn’t he have needed a woman along to point out he was a stupid, sexist, man? Not that I care. It was a stupid movie made in 1959. And maybe that explains a little more about it.
Maybe the movie was a technological advance, a visual extravaganza. Maybe it was a “big effects movie” slyly intended as social and sexual commentary. There is a “bourgeiousie” exchange with a corrupt aristocrat. The professor accepts the widow as equipment. She makes him jettison some social conventions, and then he frees her of her corset, even if as a purely practical matter. The duck waddles off with the corset.
Pat Boone and the Icelander run around topless most of the time- that was probably pretty racy then. The working class Icelander was willing to kill the aristocrat over his beloved duck. Pat Boone and the aforementioned sheep and nuns. At the end the masses applaud their achievements because they believe too
. I am NOT going to watch it again to try to decipher it. I don’t care, even if I am suddenly a little curious. The wife wanted me to watch it. I watched it. I wrote this, now you won’t have to watch it yourself, unless you’re curious. Don’t thank me; I did it to answer the questions of future generations. Too bad I have no answers.
On the other hand- if you go -hereyou’ll see lots of reviews by people who liked it. Maybe I just didn’t get it. Maybe the problem was I just refused to suspend disbelief. Maybe I’m just too right-brained to to ignore crappy science. Maybe I'm just too spoiled by Lucas and Spielberg to understand how it was all supposed to work.
If you do watch it, and the duck makes sense, tell me about it. I want to know the answers.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Journey to the Center of the Earth…bitch, kinda.
If you haven’t seen it- reading the following will probably ruin it for you.
The wife has another stack of DVD’s she checked out from the library. When she left for work my assignment, should I choose to accept it, was to watch ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth.’ I told her that I’d seen it as a kid and thought it was stupid. As a KID it was stupid. Admittedly, all I remembered about it was that there was a sky down there and it made no sense. If the pressures allowed any spaces they’d be small ones- it would be claustrophobic spelunking if you could spelunk at all. So having a sky would be stupid. Don’t argue with me, it would be stupid.
Being a good husband I agreed to watch it anyway. Having at least a small measure of integrity I did. Fortunately it had James Mason. I like James Mason, but what he was doing in this mystified me. It seems a cynical, yet safe, assumption the check was much better than the script.
The movie starts with a golly, gee whiz, Pat Boone giving his beloved professor a rock for a gift. No mention was made of his origin that I recall, but I suspect Pat was from Iowa, because he was so nice. On the other hand, there was that time he was seen wearing a kilt so maybe he was a Scot without an accent. Maybe I should have just turned up the sound. I dunno. Nor is it relevant. Let us move on with our (echoing) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
From the scribbling on a rock within his rock the professor discerns the way to the center of the earth is near a volcano in Iceland. Right there you know that whatever the university is paying him isn’t enough and society would be better served if he was in criminology. Except he isn’t bright enough to pick up that his daughter and Pat Boone like each other ‘real strong’ so maybe he isn’t another Sherlock after all.
The trusting, because he’s a pure Man of Science, professor sends his findings to another professor for confirmation. It isn’t long before skullduggery and plot developments are afoot. And if I may digress about that, at no time does Pat Boone wear white shoes, but he does sing. Now let us continue with our (over excitedly) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
Realizing they are being skullduggered by the other professor they head for Iceland as quickly as they can, because, (reverently) as long as there are questions Man must find the answers. Since the other professor is heading for The Answer and it’s causing panic we can safely assume that more important than the answer is getting there first. Pat Boone leaves his woman (Diane Baker) behind, go figure.
In Iceland there is more, yes more, skullduggery. This results in their picking up a local Icelandic guy for a beast of burden/guide, and if I may digress again, he’s a hunky blonde for the women in the audience. Because the movie producers knew that while men would heed the trailer’s siren call to answer the questions like men must, they could sell two tickets if they gave the women some eye candy. However, the women may be disappointed that Blonde Hunk is in deep like with his duck, or maybe not. They also pick up the wife of the other now-dead professor, because men have eyes too and what’s fair is fair. But now (In Cinemascope!) back to Journey to the Center of the Earth.
There are more skullduggeries that I don’t care to remember. There is more stupidity than I care to relate. They get to the (In Technicolor!) Center of the Earth. There are freaking dinosaurs. Huge things. It’s a little disappointing that the astute James Mason, Man of Science, doesn’t wonder aloud something like, “The bigger you are the more food you need to stay alive, where are these monsters getting their food?” And there’s a sea with the bright, aforementioned, sky.
Then they stumble onto Atlantis. Oh sure, right where I’d left it. They’re in the middle of Atlantis, now there are some questions to be asked demanding answers, but suddenly they’re in a rush to get out. Suddenly, they are set upon by the chameleon with the (widescreen!) twenty-foot tongue! Lava starts boiling in and the chameleon chamels! Well blind me with science.
Escape is managed by jumping into a blue cup-shaped pagan altarpiece that is then shot upwards through a chimney by a plume of red-hot lava. There is a shot from above of everybody laying back and kind of, uh, enjoying the ride. Anybody in the audience who wasn’t overwhelmed by the wonders they’d just experienced had to be suppressing a laugh, if they could. It’s almost disappointing you don’t get to seem them being, uh, ejected, from the volcano. Apparently that would have been too much Bad Science.
We then see that Pat Boone landed in a tree near a convent. Rather than be seen naked by the nuns he covers himself with a sheep, the smallest one at that, and runs away. There will be no shepherd jokes here. But he had been underground for a long time.
Scientifically, it’s a stupid movie. There are plot twists that defy logic. There are holes bigger than the caverns. The whole time they’re Journeying to the Center of the Earth, they’re following the trail of a guy who never got out. Unless he was carrying his own Guide Duck, don’t ask, wouldn’t he have had to do some backtracking. Wouldn’t he have needed a woman along to point out he was a stupid, sexist, man? Not that I care. It was a stupid movie made in 1959. And maybe that explains a little more about it.
Maybe the movie was a technological advance, a visual extravaganza. Maybe it was a “big effects movie” slyly intended as social and sexual commentary. There is a “bourgeiousie” exchange with a corrupt aristocrat. The professor accepts the widow as equipment. She makes him jettison some social conventions, and then he frees her of her corset, even if as a purely practical matter. The duck waddles off with the corset.
Pat Boone and the Icelander run around topless most of the time- that was probably pretty racy then. The working class Icelander was willing to kill the aristocrat over his beloved duck. Pat Boone and the aforementioned sheep and nuns. At the end the masses applaud their achievements because they believe too
. I am NOT going to watch it again to try to decipher it. I don’t care, even if I am suddenly a little curious. The wife wanted me to watch it. I watched it. I wrote this, now you won’t have to watch it yourself, unless you’re curious. Don’t thank me; I did it to answer the questions of future generations. Too bad I have no answers.
On the other hand- if you go -hereyou’ll see lots of reviews by people who liked it. Maybe I just didn’t get it. Maybe the problem was I just refused to suspend disbelief. Maybe I’m just too right-brained to to ignore crappy science. Maybe I'm just too spoiled by Lucas and Spielberg to understand how it was all supposed to work.
If you do watch it, and the duck makes sense, tell me about it. I want to know the answers.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Friday, March 19, 2004
3/13/04
We try to visit my older brother’s on Saturdays, but it’s a 70 minute drive. Sometimes I’m just not up to it though. Trainboy wanted to visit his cousins so we loaded our stuff in the car and away we went. We went to the end of the block.
As soon as I tried to drive my right eye started to twitch. As if being cross-eyed wasn’t bad enough, having an eye twitch back and forth made driving impossible. Trainboy was not happy, I could tell. Ms. Pikachu is all for not getting killed at a young age so she thought turning around was a good idea.
Part of the usual journey is a stop at a fast-food place. We then eat it while sitting through a car wash, or I just pull into a parking lot, because driving cross-eyed is bad enough, but having an attack of pain due to eating is even worse. The kids never complain about making sure I can drive safely.
So the trip was off, but everybody was still hungry. Very carefully, I drove over to Wendys. The kids got their usuals, I got my usual plus chili. When we got home we prayed first. We always thank the Lord for what we’re about to eat, and we always pray for Mommy at work. It’s our routine and we’re comfortable with it.
The kids ate their food, and I ate mine. I have to eat more slowly so by the time I was done with my burger the kids were already about finished. Next came my chili, and as it was removed from the bag Ms. Pikachu got excited. “Chili! You ordered chili? I want the chili!” She’s usually better mannered than that. Normally she only gets that excited around chocolate. Irregardless, I could not reward such…. Childish behavior. I said, “No, the chili is mine. If you wanted some you could have ordered some.”
She would not take “no” for an answer. She’ll probably find that useful if she has a career in sales, but it was not going to get her my chili. She reached, I held it away. She got up, I stepped away. And so the great Chili Race of 3/13 was started.
Ms. Pikachu chased me around the downstairs a few times, backed me into a corner once, all the while yelling, “Give me the chil!” It’s hard to run when you’re laughing though. Eventually I made a break for the upstairs. I hadn’t made more than a few steps when she grabbed my back pocket and pulled. Off balance, going off balance, so I backed down the steps. I told her pulling 200 pounds backwards really wasn’t a good idea. As she processed that little instruction I took off again, chili held out like an Olympian torch bearer.
Once more around the downstairs and another bolt for the stairs- this time success. I don’t move too badly for an old man. Then into this room and closed the door. Leaning against the door it was hard to believe how childish we were acting, but it was amusing. Due to my aforementioned weight she could not get in. But she tried, all the while yelling, “Give me the chili!”
This WAS childish, so I decided to try something a little more adult. I offered to split the chili with her. She would have none of it. There is no reasoning with a manic blonde. Eventually her mania gave way to tantrum. She informed me she had barricaded me into the room. The door opens inward- she is blonde to the bone.
I tired of it. I guzzled the chili.
A rather abrupt ending, but I have to get to work for a staff meeting.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We try to visit my older brother’s on Saturdays, but it’s a 70 minute drive. Sometimes I’m just not up to it though. Trainboy wanted to visit his cousins so we loaded our stuff in the car and away we went. We went to the end of the block.
As soon as I tried to drive my right eye started to twitch. As if being cross-eyed wasn’t bad enough, having an eye twitch back and forth made driving impossible. Trainboy was not happy, I could tell. Ms. Pikachu is all for not getting killed at a young age so she thought turning around was a good idea.
Part of the usual journey is a stop at a fast-food place. We then eat it while sitting through a car wash, or I just pull into a parking lot, because driving cross-eyed is bad enough, but having an attack of pain due to eating is even worse. The kids never complain about making sure I can drive safely.
So the trip was off, but everybody was still hungry. Very carefully, I drove over to Wendys. The kids got their usuals, I got my usual plus chili. When we got home we prayed first. We always thank the Lord for what we’re about to eat, and we always pray for Mommy at work. It’s our routine and we’re comfortable with it.
The kids ate their food, and I ate mine. I have to eat more slowly so by the time I was done with my burger the kids were already about finished. Next came my chili, and as it was removed from the bag Ms. Pikachu got excited. “Chili! You ordered chili? I want the chili!” She’s usually better mannered than that. Normally she only gets that excited around chocolate. Irregardless, I could not reward such…. Childish behavior. I said, “No, the chili is mine. If you wanted some you could have ordered some.”
She would not take “no” for an answer. She’ll probably find that useful if she has a career in sales, but it was not going to get her my chili. She reached, I held it away. She got up, I stepped away. And so the great Chili Race of 3/13 was started.
Ms. Pikachu chased me around the downstairs a few times, backed me into a corner once, all the while yelling, “Give me the chil!” It’s hard to run when you’re laughing though. Eventually I made a break for the upstairs. I hadn’t made more than a few steps when she grabbed my back pocket and pulled. Off balance, going off balance, so I backed down the steps. I told her pulling 200 pounds backwards really wasn’t a good idea. As she processed that little instruction I took off again, chili held out like an Olympian torch bearer.
Once more around the downstairs and another bolt for the stairs- this time success. I don’t move too badly for an old man. Then into this room and closed the door. Leaning against the door it was hard to believe how childish we were acting, but it was amusing. Due to my aforementioned weight she could not get in. But she tried, all the while yelling, “Give me the chili!”
This WAS childish, so I decided to try something a little more adult. I offered to split the chili with her. She would have none of it. There is no reasoning with a manic blonde. Eventually her mania gave way to tantrum. She informed me she had barricaded me into the room. The door opens inward- she is blonde to the bone.
I tired of it. I guzzled the chili.
A rather abrupt ending, but I have to get to work for a staff meeting.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Thursday, March 11, 2004
Here’s additional proof that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Today the Superwife got a call from the school to come get Trainboy. So away she went with an appropriate amount of motherly concern. When she got there she was told that he’d picked something up off the floor and stuck it in his ear.
Taking a look in his ear she could see that there was definitely something black in it. This agreed with the teacher’s own observations. But what was it? Sometimes confession is good for the soul, sometimes there’s no alternative. The Supermom would not offer any alternatives.
Well…. he’d picked up a little rubber band and stuck it in his ear. It is to laugh and might I explain why with a little story about the little apple’s tree?
When I was about the same age, needless to say, something similar happened. I’ve been told by those who claim to love me I developed an intolerable stink, not that I ever noticed.
Consultation with medical professionals who received said payment for their services resulted in the removal of a perfectly fine set of tonsils… maybe. Regardless, it did not solve the problem. However, I did get all the ice cream I could eat.
Having run out of alternatives Dad took me to ‘Old Doc Rolfs.’ Apparently ‘Old Doc Rolfs’ continued to see a few patients after essentially retiring from his frontier days practice. I can’t say that I remember a thing about him. But I do remember him sticking something akin to pliers up my nose and pulling out a barely recognizable piece of paper. And then I remembered.
I had been talking on the phone with somebody at Grandma’s when I noticed a sheet of paper on the counter. I ripped off an edge, rolled it a little ball and thought, “Wouldn’t it be neat if you could stick it up your nose and shoot it like a cannon?” So I stuck it up my nose, was distracted, again, and forgot about it. But it all came back with that little piece of paper clenched in the jaws of the pliers. Oh that’s right, I shoved that up there.
Not that I was admitting to anything. Nope, had no idea how it happened. For all I knew I’d been victimized by a marauding tooth fairy, or one of my brothers or… yeah, that works. That’s good for a giggle, but in all honestly, I just shrugged my shoulders. Dad was grateful to have the problem solved, so was everyone else. Back to Trainboy.
Super Nurse could see a black thing in his ear, and it was pretty deep. She did not feel she could go in after it. To the doctor, who observed it was snug against the ear drum and said, “This really needs to go to an ear, nose throat specialist.” It must have been a small rubber band; he balled it up, stuck it in his ear, and when it sprang back open it made a perfect gasket for his ear drum. There you have it Handy Boy.
Super Mom made an appointment with the specialist. Stay tuned. For Trainboy the upside could be time out of school, except he LIKES school. He won’t get all the ice cream he can eat, not without a doctor’s order. What he will get is a lesson on not sticking things where they don’t belong and some memories to tell his own kids someday.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Taking a look in his ear she could see that there was definitely something black in it. This agreed with the teacher’s own observations. But what was it? Sometimes confession is good for the soul, sometimes there’s no alternative. The Supermom would not offer any alternatives.
Well…. he’d picked up a little rubber band and stuck it in his ear. It is to laugh and might I explain why with a little story about the little apple’s tree?
When I was about the same age, needless to say, something similar happened. I’ve been told by those who claim to love me I developed an intolerable stink, not that I ever noticed.
Consultation with medical professionals who received said payment for their services resulted in the removal of a perfectly fine set of tonsils… maybe. Regardless, it did not solve the problem. However, I did get all the ice cream I could eat.
Having run out of alternatives Dad took me to ‘Old Doc Rolfs.’ Apparently ‘Old Doc Rolfs’ continued to see a few patients after essentially retiring from his frontier days practice. I can’t say that I remember a thing about him. But I do remember him sticking something akin to pliers up my nose and pulling out a barely recognizable piece of paper. And then I remembered.
I had been talking on the phone with somebody at Grandma’s when I noticed a sheet of paper on the counter. I ripped off an edge, rolled it a little ball and thought, “Wouldn’t it be neat if you could stick it up your nose and shoot it like a cannon?” So I stuck it up my nose, was distracted, again, and forgot about it. But it all came back with that little piece of paper clenched in the jaws of the pliers. Oh that’s right, I shoved that up there.
Not that I was admitting to anything. Nope, had no idea how it happened. For all I knew I’d been victimized by a marauding tooth fairy, or one of my brothers or… yeah, that works. That’s good for a giggle, but in all honestly, I just shrugged my shoulders. Dad was grateful to have the problem solved, so was everyone else. Back to Trainboy.
Super Nurse could see a black thing in his ear, and it was pretty deep. She did not feel she could go in after it. To the doctor, who observed it was snug against the ear drum and said, “This really needs to go to an ear, nose throat specialist.” It must have been a small rubber band; he balled it up, stuck it in his ear, and when it sprang back open it made a perfect gasket for his ear drum. There you have it Handy Boy.
Super Mom made an appointment with the specialist. Stay tuned. For Trainboy the upside could be time out of school, except he LIKES school. He won’t get all the ice cream he can eat, not without a doctor’s order. What he will get is a lesson on not sticking things where they don’t belong and some memories to tell his own kids someday.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Tuesday, March 09, 2004
03/09/04
The Superwife had her last Deaconess meeting tonight so it was just the kids and me. Trainboy had earlier found a wood bulldozer kit I’d gotten for him. It says ‘Tonka’ on it and that’s always popular with the Boy Builder.
I thought it would be an opportunity for one of those father/son bonding ‘things.’ Hardly. He’s six and he wanted to do it himself. Earlier than I ever thought would happen I found myself just lending moral support.
He got the bags out of the box and sorted the pieces by size and shape first, just like I’ve shown him. Since he can’t read much yet I determined which screws were intended for the different letters in the diagram. I wrote each letter on a piece of paper and set each bag of screws in front of the appropriate letter.
The Boy Builder grabbed his screwdriver and the “constructions” and went to work. He would count the number of screws in a diagram, get them out of the bag, and put them between a couple of wood pieces so they couldn’t roll away. I was impressed. He was doing fine until he couldn’t get two screws in because the holes didn’t line up. I showed him how loosening up the other two screws on the piece would give him enough play to get the fit. You could almost see the light turn on. That was the extent of my help.
When he was done I showed him how the box said it was for 8+. Being six he was quite please with himself. Eventually the Holy Wife returned home. He showed her his new bulldozer, “I made by myself.” Then he proudly showed her how the box said it was for 8+. The Super Mom was appropriately impressed and he was very proud of himself. It was one of those moments parents live for.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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The Superwife had her last Deaconess meeting tonight so it was just the kids and me. Trainboy had earlier found a wood bulldozer kit I’d gotten for him. It says ‘Tonka’ on it and that’s always popular with the Boy Builder.
I thought it would be an opportunity for one of those father/son bonding ‘things.’ Hardly. He’s six and he wanted to do it himself. Earlier than I ever thought would happen I found myself just lending moral support.
He got the bags out of the box and sorted the pieces by size and shape first, just like I’ve shown him. Since he can’t read much yet I determined which screws were intended for the different letters in the diagram. I wrote each letter on a piece of paper and set each bag of screws in front of the appropriate letter.
The Boy Builder grabbed his screwdriver and the “constructions” and went to work. He would count the number of screws in a diagram, get them out of the bag, and put them between a couple of wood pieces so they couldn’t roll away. I was impressed. He was doing fine until he couldn’t get two screws in because the holes didn’t line up. I showed him how loosening up the other two screws on the piece would give him enough play to get the fit. You could almost see the light turn on. That was the extent of my help.
When he was done I showed him how the box said it was for 8+. Being six he was quite please with himself. Eventually the Holy Wife returned home. He showed her his new bulldozer, “I made by myself.” Then he proudly showed her how the box said it was for 8+. The Super Mom was appropriately impressed and he was very proud of himself. It was one of those moments parents live for.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
3/8/04
I thought the pills were working well, but my face was so sensitive I could hardly eat. So it was more pills, eating slowly, then fell asleep. Wasted days and wasted nights. It’s a sad thing when your life resembles a country/western tune. Not that I have anything against country/western, I'm just more of an oldies rock kind of guy. Remind me to blog about that later.
Falling asleep early makes me wake up in the middle of the night. So here’s your entry, in fact there are also three new ones below this one because this is the fourth I’ve done tonight. It is now time to irritate the Superwife with my Supersnoring.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
3/8/04
I thought the pills were working well, but my face was so sensitive I could hardly eat. So it was more pills, eating slowly, then fell asleep. Wasted days and wasted nights. It’s a sad thing when your life resembles a country/western tune. Not that I have anything against country/western, I'm just more of an oldies rock kind of guy. Remind me to blog about that later.
Falling asleep early makes me wake up in the middle of the night. So here’s your entry, in fact there are also three new ones below this one because this is the fourth I’ve done tonight. It is now time to irritate the Superwife with my Supersnoring.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Okay, I have to do at least two to make any headway.
3/6/04
We visited my brother. He lives in a small Iowa town where, naturally, they pride themselves on being nice. When we were leaving a side window of the car blew out. We were the victims of idyllic vandalism. The cop that came said it was the third case that evening.
It wouldn’t have been nice under any condition, but it was raining. It just took two trash bags and some duct-tape and we were ready to go. Duct-tape even sticks in water, it’s amazing stuff. It held together just fine on the way back, it was just noisy.
If the insurance company has a s—t list I’m probably on it. Regardless, the window gets fixed Wednesday. They even come to the house to do it. Is that service or what?
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Okay, I have to do at least two to make any headway.
3/6/04
We visited my brother. He lives in a small Iowa town where, naturally, they pride themselves on being nice. When we were leaving a side window of the car blew out. We were the victims of idyllic vandalism. The cop that came said it was the third case that evening.
It wouldn’t have been nice under any condition, but it was raining. It just took two trash bags and some duct-tape and we were ready to go. Duct-tape even sticks in water, it’s amazing stuff. It held together just fine on the way back, it was just noisy.
If the insurance company has a s—t list I’m probably on it. Regardless, the window gets fixed Wednesday. They even come to the house to do it. Is that service or what?
-
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
3/704
Went to church then had to decide where to eat. You wouldn?t think that would be that big of a deal but it was. Usually we eat at Hy-Vee and that was Ms. Pikachu's choice. Trainboy wanted a change. Trainboy wanted Arby's. Eventually we settled on a little Italian place where both kids would be content to suck noodles. But I forgot.
Rewinding to church. The Holywife looked fantastic. She wore a black suit with a white blouse. I couldn't help but notice another woman who always dresses very nicely looking at the Superwife like, 'Are you just a little overdressed' No, she's just gorgeous.
On the way out of church the Holywife was ahead of me. As she started through a door, well there it was, and it was just reflex. I swatted her on the butt. Maybe my hand was cupped just right, maybe all the glass acted as an amplifier, but it was a loud swat. I didn't even think of it though. On the way to the van the Holywife informed me that swatting her on the butt was improper conduct in church.
While I could see her point, the problem was that I could also see her butt. It seems to me that unless she wants to wear a burqha it's just a risk we have to live with. I'm nuts about her, so stone me.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
3/704
Went to church then had to decide where to eat. You wouldn?t think that would be that big of a deal but it was. Usually we eat at Hy-Vee and that was Ms. Pikachu's choice. Trainboy wanted a change. Trainboy wanted Arby's. Eventually we settled on a little Italian place where both kids would be content to suck noodles. But I forgot.
Rewinding to church. The Holywife looked fantastic. She wore a black suit with a white blouse. I couldn't help but notice another woman who always dresses very nicely looking at the Superwife like, 'Are you just a little overdressed' No, she's just gorgeous.
On the way out of church the Holywife was ahead of me. As she started through a door, well there it was, and it was just reflex. I swatted her on the butt. Maybe my hand was cupped just right, maybe all the glass acted as an amplifier, but it was a loud swat. I didn't even think of it though. On the way to the van the Holywife informed me that swatting her on the butt was improper conduct in church.
While I could see her point, the problem was that I could also see her butt. It seems to me that unless she wants to wear a burqha it's just a risk we have to live with. I'm nuts about her, so stone me.
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Monday, March 08, 2004
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
For those of us who keep our radios set to oldie stations we must remark regarding two birthdays. Today’s is Mark Lindsay’s, he of Paul Revere and the Raiders Fame. Yesterday’s was Mickey Dolenz’ who is now 59. If you didn’t know he was drummer/singer for the Monkees, well now you know.
I know what you’re thinking, not because of any god-like powers, just because it’s reflex. You’re thinking, “Holy Jeebus, they’re almost ready for Social Security. Except they raised the retirement age, those Congressional SOB’s.” But you’ve only got about a third of that right.
Firstly, yes, they’re about Social Security age. Secondly, what Congress raised, by dare I say it, “notches,” is the age to get 100 percent thereby lowering the percentage you get at earlier ages. Retirees can still retire at 62. You can go to the SSA website and check it out here. Thirdly, yes, they are SOB’s.
"Fourthly, Dear God has it been that long since your last post? I thought you were going to catch up." Yeah, me too, but the pills put me right to sleep. But I'll try to do better. It always surprises me how much fun I have doing this when I'm not in a stupor. It's almost 2 in the morning though, and I'm doing this after falling asleep earlier.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
For those of us who keep our radios set to oldie stations we must remark regarding two birthdays. Today’s is Mark Lindsay’s, he of Paul Revere and the Raiders Fame. Yesterday’s was Mickey Dolenz’ who is now 59. If you didn’t know he was drummer/singer for the Monkees, well now you know.
I know what you’re thinking, not because of any god-like powers, just because it’s reflex. You’re thinking, “Holy Jeebus, they’re almost ready for Social Security. Except they raised the retirement age, those Congressional SOB’s.” But you’ve only got about a third of that right.
Firstly, yes, they’re about Social Security age. Secondly, what Congress raised, by dare I say it, “notches,” is the age to get 100 percent thereby lowering the percentage you get at earlier ages. Retirees can still retire at 62. You can go to the SSA website and check it out here. Thirdly, yes, they are SOB’s.
"Fourthly, Dear God has it been that long since your last post? I thought you were going to catch up." Yeah, me too, but the pills put me right to sleep. But I'll try to do better. It always surprises me how much fun I have doing this when I'm not in a stupor. It's almost 2 in the morning though, and I'm doing this after falling asleep earlier.
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Monday, February 23, 2004
-2/23/04
Saw the doctor today. She renewed my prescriptions and encouraged my tinkering with how they’re taken. She’s a dear, very concerned with how I’m doing, and she believes that no one can determine what works best for me like I can.
Contrast that with the neurologist I’ve seen before who wanted to change what I was taking and was sure the pills had to be taken at the exactly prescribed intervals. It didn’t work and for a shy guy who doesn’t want to displease anyone I abandoned his plan with an amazing lack of guilt.
What the good doctor did find was that my blood pressure was somewhat high, higher than the readings I get at home. The Super Nurse tells me its normal to get a higher reading in a doctor’s office. Regardless, since she’s gotten a high reading before she’s putting me on a blood pressure medicine.
The Good Doctor informed me that blood pressure medicine can sometimes cause problems with, ahem, The Equipment. I turned to the wife and said…I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I turned to the Holy Wife and said “Maybe it would be an answer to prayer?” Do you take me for a fool? She’s still the woman who makes me happy. I just said I’d let her be the judge of equipment failure. Smiles. If such a problem occurs the Good Doctor is to be informed and she’ll prescribe something different.
She also ordered a battery of blood tests to check Tegretol and cholesterol levels. The fun just never ends. The Good Doctor is going to see if a Gamma Knife procedure is possible for my type of pain/tumor. The insurance company would probably send me hate mail if it was willing to waste another stamp on me.
My current bright idea is that to get away from the drugs I have to get this couch potato body back into something resembling decent shape. Prior efforts have failed and I’m blaming that on a lack of structure. So I’m thinking something like aerobic activity on odd days, weightlifting on even, and Sundays off. If anybody cares to comment on the wisdom of that I’d be glad to hear it.
Saw the doctor today. She renewed my prescriptions and encouraged my tinkering with how they’re taken. She’s a dear, very concerned with how I’m doing, and she believes that no one can determine what works best for me like I can.
Contrast that with the neurologist I’ve seen before who wanted to change what I was taking and was sure the pills had to be taken at the exactly prescribed intervals. It didn’t work and for a shy guy who doesn’t want to displease anyone I abandoned his plan with an amazing lack of guilt.
What the good doctor did find was that my blood pressure was somewhat high, higher than the readings I get at home. The Super Nurse tells me its normal to get a higher reading in a doctor’s office. Regardless, since she’s gotten a high reading before she’s putting me on a blood pressure medicine.
The Good Doctor informed me that blood pressure medicine can sometimes cause problems with, ahem, The Equipment. I turned to the wife and said…I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I turned to the Holy Wife and said “Maybe it would be an answer to prayer?” Do you take me for a fool? She’s still the woman who makes me happy. I just said I’d let her be the judge of equipment failure. Smiles. If such a problem occurs the Good Doctor is to be informed and she’ll prescribe something different.
She also ordered a battery of blood tests to check Tegretol and cholesterol levels. The fun just never ends. The Good Doctor is going to see if a Gamma Knife procedure is possible for my type of pain/tumor. The insurance company would probably send me hate mail if it was willing to waste another stamp on me.
My current bright idea is that to get away from the drugs I have to get this couch potato body back into something resembling decent shape. Prior efforts have failed and I’m blaming that on a lack of structure. So I’m thinking something like aerobic activity on odd days, weightlifting on even, and Sundays off. If anybody cares to comment on the wisdom of that I’d be glad to hear it.