04/15/04
The office had a going-away pot-luck for someone who transferred to another office. While I was still working I had said I’d bring a desert. People like my apple pies, but I’ve gotten to where I just don’t care to roll out that many crusts. Therefore, they get an apple crisp and it works just fine.
Last night I peeled and cut five pounds of apples. Spiced them in a way that seemed pretty good. Put them in a large cake pan, topped them, and already sure of success I put them in the oven. Set the timer on the microwave for 30 minutes, not that I needed to, because it was on the hour and thirty minutes is easy to see. All you have to do is watch any TV program and wait for the half-hour break. That’s the way it should work.
In reality, I sat down and the medication put me right to sleep. Seven hours later I had two apple crisps that were way too crisp. They were- crispy. Such is life.
No word yet from the neurologist. He had offered Mayo or University of Iowa. The Supernurse said U of Ia because it’s closer. The kids are still in school so if we can get it done without affecting their schooling then that’s what we’re going to do. She has spoken.
Getting a little impatient, she called U of Ia. They are assessing my case and “will get back to you.” So we’ll see. I hope they get this resolved before I waste any more cooking efforts.
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Friday, April 16, 2004
Monday, April 12, 2004
We went to see the neurologist. He didn’t seem capable of uttering the words, “Mayo was wrong.” But he did agree with me that my eye problem wasn’t caused by a stroke. He wants to do a gamma knife. Again we were in agreement. It should stop the pain, but won’t restore my eyesight. I’ll talk to the neurologists at U of Ia about that.
After the kids got home from school it was decided we’d have Arby’s for supper. I also got a Jamocha shake. It seems I need the calories because on weighing myself before the doctor visit I found I’d lost 10 pounds from hardly eating. Had to cut up a small roast beef sandwich so I could eat it. I found that by dipping it in au jus you don’t have to chew. Due to this revelation it only took me 30 minutes to eat it. What fun- but it was calories.
After the kids headed upstairs to play games the Super Wife put Sea Biscuit on. She sat down in the middle of the couch, I sat on an end. Like a greedy miser I put my arms around her and pulled her next to me. She watched the movie and I laid my head on the couch back behind her. With my nose in her hair and my chin on her shoulder I felt like a rich man indeed.
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After the kids got home from school it was decided we’d have Arby’s for supper. I also got a Jamocha shake. It seems I need the calories because on weighing myself before the doctor visit I found I’d lost 10 pounds from hardly eating. Had to cut up a small roast beef sandwich so I could eat it. I found that by dipping it in au jus you don’t have to chew. Due to this revelation it only took me 30 minutes to eat it. What fun- but it was calories.
After the kids headed upstairs to play games the Super Wife put Sea Biscuit on. She sat down in the middle of the couch, I sat on an end. Like a greedy miser I put my arms around her and pulled her next to me. She watched the movie and I laid my head on the couch back behind her. With my nose in her hair and my chin on her shoulder I felt like a rich man indeed.
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Sunday, April 11, 2004
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4/11/04
Went to church with the in-laws. We left early enough to go to Sunday School. I was having enough difficulty talking that I didn’t contribute a thing, not that I ever do. If a Sunday School teacher wants my opinion he can ask me to write him a paper. Let’s face it, I write better than I talk. Not being terribly quick-witted I need to edit, but tonight I won’t- for reasons that will be explained shortly.
After church all of us went to eat at a restaurant in downtown Clinton. From the looks of it it’s one of the few thriving businesses there. It’s a restaurant done in a style best described as “homey.” At least it’s homey if you have a lot of pictures of country-western singers on your walls. If you don’t, you’ve still got a good idea.
The food was plentiful. To my knowledge everybody was stuffed by the time we left- everybody but me. I’ve been taking lots of Tegretol but it isn’t making the pain go away. It’s certainly keeping the pain from running away to suicide inducing levels, but most bites are rewarded with what feels like a sharp slap on the right side of the face, sometimes they’re machinegun style slaps. Anybody who has taken Psyche 101 could guess that linking pain with a behavior will result in the suppression of that behavior.
I hadn't eaten anything Saturday. Even though I have a long way to go until I appear to be wasting away it only seems sensible to eat. So I tried. I had a big plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and hash browns. Those are easy to take in small bites. I was almost halfway through when I gave up.
I had resolved to eat slowly and carefully and accept any pain that came. About every other bite hurt. After two bites in a row resulted in machinegun pain I started to cry in the middle of a packed restaurant and in front of a long table full of family. That was enough for me. Skinner was at least right at the most basic level of behavior.
Then it was on to the in-law’s where the kids had an Easter egg hunt. The wife wanted me to take pictures. Okay. There was only one problem, well two actually. First- it was so cool it was threatening to trigger the facial pain. Secondly, the kids were running as fast as they could. The jarring of running can set off, one more time, the facial pain. It’s hard to get good photos when you’re looking at their backs. I tried to anticipate their directions, but kids are rarely predictable. Oh well.
When we got home Ms. Pikachu walked over to the pantry and asked, “Hey Dad, are you hungry?” She reached in, and pulling out a can exclaimed, “Green beans, everybody loves ’em!” The kid likes a running joke, another gene she got from me. Don’t ask me how that’s genetic; I’m just sure it is.
Since I’ve hardly had a caloric intake equal to what I’ve burned for the past week the Supernurse apparently felt it was time to try something else. So she had me take a few pills left over from other treatments. Don’t worry; they aren’t anti-biotic so we aren’t risking the development of super bugs. We are talking pain pills. It won’t be long and I’ll be fast asleep. So this isn’t going to be edited at all. You’re getting a post in its raw form. It is literarily vulgar. I know- you should have been warned so you could hide the children and avert your eyes. Maybe next time. In the mean time, pardon me; I’m going to go dream of food.
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4/11/04
Went to church with the in-laws. We left early enough to go to Sunday School. I was having enough difficulty talking that I didn’t contribute a thing, not that I ever do. If a Sunday School teacher wants my opinion he can ask me to write him a paper. Let’s face it, I write better than I talk. Not being terribly quick-witted I need to edit, but tonight I won’t- for reasons that will be explained shortly.
After church all of us went to eat at a restaurant in downtown Clinton. From the looks of it it’s one of the few thriving businesses there. It’s a restaurant done in a style best described as “homey.” At least it’s homey if you have a lot of pictures of country-western singers on your walls. If you don’t, you’ve still got a good idea.
The food was plentiful. To my knowledge everybody was stuffed by the time we left- everybody but me. I’ve been taking lots of Tegretol but it isn’t making the pain go away. It’s certainly keeping the pain from running away to suicide inducing levels, but most bites are rewarded with what feels like a sharp slap on the right side of the face, sometimes they’re machinegun style slaps. Anybody who has taken Psyche 101 could guess that linking pain with a behavior will result in the suppression of that behavior.
I hadn't eaten anything Saturday. Even though I have a long way to go until I appear to be wasting away it only seems sensible to eat. So I tried. I had a big plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and hash browns. Those are easy to take in small bites. I was almost halfway through when I gave up.
I had resolved to eat slowly and carefully and accept any pain that came. About every other bite hurt. After two bites in a row resulted in machinegun pain I started to cry in the middle of a packed restaurant and in front of a long table full of family. That was enough for me. Skinner was at least right at the most basic level of behavior.
Then it was on to the in-law’s where the kids had an Easter egg hunt. The wife wanted me to take pictures. Okay. There was only one problem, well two actually. First- it was so cool it was threatening to trigger the facial pain. Secondly, the kids were running as fast as they could. The jarring of running can set off, one more time, the facial pain. It’s hard to get good photos when you’re looking at their backs. I tried to anticipate their directions, but kids are rarely predictable. Oh well.
When we got home Ms. Pikachu walked over to the pantry and asked, “Hey Dad, are you hungry?” She reached in, and pulling out a can exclaimed, “Green beans, everybody loves ’em!” The kid likes a running joke, another gene she got from me. Don’t ask me how that’s genetic; I’m just sure it is.
Since I’ve hardly had a caloric intake equal to what I’ve burned for the past week the Supernurse apparently felt it was time to try something else. So she had me take a few pills left over from other treatments. Don’t worry; they aren’t anti-biotic so we aren’t risking the development of super bugs. We are talking pain pills. It won’t be long and I’ll be fast asleep. So this isn’t going to be edited at all. You’re getting a post in its raw form. It is literarily vulgar. I know- you should have been warned so you could hide the children and avert your eyes. Maybe next time. In the mean time, pardon me; I’m going to go dream of food.
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Saturday, April 10, 2004
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4/10/04
Went to visit the in-laws. While getting ready I checked the van?s oil- needed a quart, checked the water- needed some. Yes, I certainly performed my manly duties. Then, seized with the fear of a faulty water pump, I looked underneath for dripping. Big surprise, there was dripping. Of course there was dripping, I?d probably spilled a little. Not just fear, paranoia, because the last thing I want is to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with my family because of a stinkin? water pump that failed.
So to be sure I start it up and let it run to operating temperature, we?ll see if it really leaks of not. It?s dripping faster. But?.. check the overflow tank. Sure enough, with my crappy vision I?d put too much in the water tank and it?s spitting out the excess. But I have to be sure. Who do I espy buy Tom, my friendly neighbor. That would be Tom who can tear a car down to it?s frame and rebuild it. Handy Tom. I call him over. He can see no fluid being thrown on the firewall (why didn?t I think of that). He thinks it?s fine. Then the van it is, I tell the kids to load ?er up. I thank Handy Tom, and tell him that we?ll be gone till late Sunday night, so if he see?s anybody going into or out of the house he is to shoot to kill. He seems amused.
I noticed one of the front steps was working loose, so I figure that before we leave I?ll put a couple screws in it. Before I can the Petite Wife comes out, and in going down the steps the step falls in. Fortunately she is not hurt. I tell her that no way are we leaving this invitation to a lawsuit this way.
She says she can take a couple things back to the library, but then WE'VE GOT TO LEAVE. Well alrighty. I get some tin sheet, a tin snips, and some screws and cut some brackets to hold it in place. Having two drills makes it fairly easy, one to drill holes in the tin, one to drive the screws. She?s back before I?m done though. Nearly done, but not done. And WE HAVE GOT TO LEAVE. I heard you.
It?s done. Stand on it. Solid. Not to be confused with pretty, but solid. The Impatient Wife is happy. Step down and the bottom step falls in. Good Lord. Making two more brackets will test the Impatient Wife?s pressure capacity, let?s not go there. What we need here is a fast fix that?s still solid. It?s the bottom step, so just fill it in. Grab a couple of boards and force them under the step, hammer them just to make sure they?re tight. Test them- another solid fix. The Impatient Wife is happy, and we?re on our way.
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4/10/04
Went to visit the in-laws. While getting ready I checked the van?s oil- needed a quart, checked the water- needed some. Yes, I certainly performed my manly duties. Then, seized with the fear of a faulty water pump, I looked underneath for dripping. Big surprise, there was dripping. Of course there was dripping, I?d probably spilled a little. Not just fear, paranoia, because the last thing I want is to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with my family because of a stinkin? water pump that failed.
So to be sure I start it up and let it run to operating temperature, we?ll see if it really leaks of not. It?s dripping faster. But?.. check the overflow tank. Sure enough, with my crappy vision I?d put too much in the water tank and it?s spitting out the excess. But I have to be sure. Who do I espy buy Tom, my friendly neighbor. That would be Tom who can tear a car down to it?s frame and rebuild it. Handy Tom. I call him over. He can see no fluid being thrown on the firewall (why didn?t I think of that). He thinks it?s fine. Then the van it is, I tell the kids to load ?er up. I thank Handy Tom, and tell him that we?ll be gone till late Sunday night, so if he see?s anybody going into or out of the house he is to shoot to kill. He seems amused.
I noticed one of the front steps was working loose, so I figure that before we leave I?ll put a couple screws in it. Before I can the Petite Wife comes out, and in going down the steps the step falls in. Fortunately she is not hurt. I tell her that no way are we leaving this invitation to a lawsuit this way.
She says she can take a couple things back to the library, but then WE'VE GOT TO LEAVE. Well alrighty. I get some tin sheet, a tin snips, and some screws and cut some brackets to hold it in place. Having two drills makes it fairly easy, one to drill holes in the tin, one to drive the screws. She?s back before I?m done though. Nearly done, but not done. And WE HAVE GOT TO LEAVE. I heard you.
It?s done. Stand on it. Solid. Not to be confused with pretty, but solid. The Impatient Wife is happy. Step down and the bottom step falls in. Good Lord. Making two more brackets will test the Impatient Wife?s pressure capacity, let?s not go there. What we need here is a fast fix that?s still solid. It?s the bottom step, so just fill it in. Grab a couple of boards and force them under the step, hammer them just to make sure they?re tight. Test them- another solid fix. The Impatient Wife is happy, and we?re on our way.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
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Another journey to Wal-Mart. That would not be blog-worthy except for Ms. Pikachu.
While going down one of the amply stocked aisles she screamed, yes, screamed, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!” She ran to the lint roller display farther down the aisle, grabbed two, and with one in each hand flapped her arms like wings while running up and down the aisles while continuing to yell, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!”
It set a precedent of some sort. When we walked down the vegetable aisle she yelled, “Green beans, everybody loves green beans!” and put a can of them in the cart. Not long after it was “Baked beans! Everybody loves baked beans!” She walked back to the cart with a one-gallon can of baked beans. No fooling, one gallon of Bush’s Best.
I told her that was nuts, put them back and get a smaller can. If she resisted I could see a negotiation that ended up with a couple of smaller cans. She would not compromise, she took it to a higher authority. She took it to the Super Wife. Who said it was okay, because they’d all get eaten. Alright, fine, cuz everybody loves baked beans.
As we walked through the store there seemed to be two kinds of customers- those who found Ms. Pikachu’s antics funny, and those who thought she should be in a psyche ward. Fortunately we didn’t run into anybody we knew.
Knowing that some people weren’t amused, and her displays might be perceived as rude, I tried to calm her down. But there was no slowing her down. She was manic and loving it. While I find it a bit irritating sometimes, it doesn’t bother me too much because she gets it from me. Funny how having the same problem makes one more indulgent, especially when it’s your genes at fault.
Another journey to Wal-Mart. That would not be blog-worthy except for Ms. Pikachu.
While going down one of the amply stocked aisles she screamed, yes, screamed, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!” She ran to the lint roller display farther down the aisle, grabbed two, and with one in each hand flapped her arms like wings while running up and down the aisles while continuing to yell, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!”
It set a precedent of some sort. When we walked down the vegetable aisle she yelled, “Green beans, everybody loves green beans!” and put a can of them in the cart. Not long after it was “Baked beans! Everybody loves baked beans!” She walked back to the cart with a one-gallon can of baked beans. No fooling, one gallon of Bush’s Best.
I told her that was nuts, put them back and get a smaller can. If she resisted I could see a negotiation that ended up with a couple of smaller cans. She would not compromise, she took it to a higher authority. She took it to the Super Wife. Who said it was okay, because they’d all get eaten. Alright, fine, cuz everybody loves baked beans.
As we walked through the store there seemed to be two kinds of customers- those who found Ms. Pikachu’s antics funny, and those who thought she should be in a psyche ward. Fortunately we didn’t run into anybody we knew.
Knowing that some people weren’t amused, and her displays might be perceived as rude, I tried to calm her down. But there was no slowing her down. She was manic and loving it. While I find it a bit irritating sometimes, it doesn’t bother me too much because she gets it from me. Funny how having the same problem makes one more indulgent, especially when it’s your genes at fault.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
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Having done our “official” Seder last night, the Holy Wife had no problems with starting a second one as soon as everybody was together. Instead of starting where we left off we did the whole thing over again. The Holy Wife was in her element, she was happy.
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Having done our “official” Seder last night, the Holy Wife had no problems with starting a second one as soon as everybody was together. Instead of starting where we left off we did the whole thing over again. The Holy Wife was in her element, she was happy.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
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I’m off work the rest of the week, the facial pain can’t be totally suppressed. I’m taking the limit of tegretol and it keeps me from having the worst pain, and I’m grateful for that. But it’s still too painful to talk much. There’s no way I can interview the public with the pain I’m having. The neurologist gave me an excuse good until my appointment with him on the 12th. On the one hand, I feel awful leaving my unit shorthanded, on the other hand I feel like a kid who got out of school. Which is to say- I’m conflicted, but dealing with it rather well.
I have around six months of sick leave built up. I shouldn’t say “oh boy”, but, oh boy.
Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Ainu, Dai Anu
This can only mean one thing. Our little Christian family is celebrating Passover. There’s a girl next door or Ms. Pikachu’s age that wants to partake. Okay, but you need your parents’ approval. She comes back and it’s okay, she just has to be home by 8:30. Passover Seder starts at sunset, no way is it going to be over by 8:30.
She stays and enjoys herself. Normally I would read aloud from the Haggadah but the facial pain won’t permit it. The Holy Wife does a fine job. We send our neighbor home just before 8:30. Before leaving the Holy Wife tells her we can pick it up tomorrow after they get home from school. Dear God. Two Seders? That’s a lot of Seder. Is she a Holy Wife or what?
She must be since she got a six year-old to eat a hillel sandwich. A hillel sandwich is two small pieces of matzoh with horseradish on the front end, and a mixture of charoset, apples, honey, nuts, etc on the back end. Charoset is quite yummy.
Why this odd sandwich? The horseradish is like the taste of our sin in God’s mouth. The charoset is an antidote, his sweet grace, in ours.
Anyway, Ms. Pikachu had great fun teasing Trainboy about the horseradish. Using chopped horseradish will bring tears to your eyes, so it’s not a fun thing. However, we got creamy horseradish- considerably more bearable. Ms. Pikachu scared Trainboy right out of eating it. He refused, or so he thought. The Holy Wife’s powers of persuasion are powerful indeed. He ate the sandwich, and we finished the Seder.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
I’m off work the rest of the week, the facial pain can’t be totally suppressed. I’m taking the limit of tegretol and it keeps me from having the worst pain, and I’m grateful for that. But it’s still too painful to talk much. There’s no way I can interview the public with the pain I’m having. The neurologist gave me an excuse good until my appointment with him on the 12th. On the one hand, I feel awful leaving my unit shorthanded, on the other hand I feel like a kid who got out of school. Which is to say- I’m conflicted, but dealing with it rather well.
I have around six months of sick leave built up. I shouldn’t say “oh boy”, but, oh boy.
Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Ainu, Dai Anu
This can only mean one thing. Our little Christian family is celebrating Passover. There’s a girl next door or Ms. Pikachu’s age that wants to partake. Okay, but you need your parents’ approval. She comes back and it’s okay, she just has to be home by 8:30. Passover Seder starts at sunset, no way is it going to be over by 8:30.
She stays and enjoys herself. Normally I would read aloud from the Haggadah but the facial pain won’t permit it. The Holy Wife does a fine job. We send our neighbor home just before 8:30. Before leaving the Holy Wife tells her we can pick it up tomorrow after they get home from school. Dear God. Two Seders? That’s a lot of Seder. Is she a Holy Wife or what?
She must be since she got a six year-old to eat a hillel sandwich. A hillel sandwich is two small pieces of matzoh with horseradish on the front end, and a mixture of charoset, apples, honey, nuts, etc on the back end. Charoset is quite yummy.
Why this odd sandwich? The horseradish is like the taste of our sin in God’s mouth. The charoset is an antidote, his sweet grace, in ours.
Anyway, Ms. Pikachu had great fun teasing Trainboy about the horseradish. Using chopped horseradish will bring tears to your eyes, so it’s not a fun thing. However, we got creamy horseradish- considerably more bearable. Ms. Pikachu scared Trainboy right out of eating it. He refused, or so he thought. The Holy Wife’s powers of persuasion are powerful indeed. He ate the sandwich, and we finished the Seder.
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Monday, April 05, 2004
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At work today a woman who works next door and reads my blog was feeling sympathetic after my last pitiful entry. Donna brought me some flowers to cheer me up. God bless her. It’s nice to look over occasionally and see them. It’s kind of amazing how a thoughtful gesture can affect you. Too bad it can’t stop my recurring facial pain.
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At work today a woman who works next door and reads my blog was feeling sympathetic after my last pitiful entry. Donna brought me some flowers to cheer me up. God bless her. It’s nice to look over occasionally and see them. It’s kind of amazing how a thoughtful gesture can affect you. Too bad it can’t stop my recurring facial pain.
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Woke up on the couch. Super Nurse must certainly be home. She certainly was. Not in kitchen, check fridge - sandwich not eaten, oh well, check bathroom- nothing, check bedroom- she's laying there looking at book orders for the kids. God she's beautiful. She said she just wasn't hungry because she ate that much for lunch. Okay. I told her I'd checked out the cranial nerves on the web and the ones involving the eyes were more complicated than I could understand. I couldn't figure out how to bang my head to fix my eye problem. She was glad. She rolls away from me and I snuggle up behind her. It's just bliss to be so close.
Can't go to sleep. Try to go to sleep. Can't go to sleep and a half-hour's gone. Must have been all the napping. I whisper "I'm sorry." She half-rolls back and says "huh?" Thought she was asleep, crap. Wanted to tell her, "I'm sorry I'm such a burden. You and the kids deserve so much better. I'm sorry you married me." Just too much of a coward to say it while she was awake. Can't sleep. Wait another half-hour and get out of bed, might as well blog.
I hate this tumor. I hate feeling like a burden. I hate wishing my kids had a better father. I hate wishing my wife had a better husband. I hate wishing I wasn't me. Dammit, I'm crying again. I've cried too much lately.
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Woke up on the couch. Super Nurse must certainly be home. She certainly was. Not in kitchen, check fridge - sandwich not eaten, oh well, check bathroom- nothing, check bedroom- she's laying there looking at book orders for the kids. God she's beautiful. She said she just wasn't hungry because she ate that much for lunch. Okay. I told her I'd checked out the cranial nerves on the web and the ones involving the eyes were more complicated than I could understand. I couldn't figure out how to bang my head to fix my eye problem. She was glad. She rolls away from me and I snuggle up behind her. It's just bliss to be so close.
Can't go to sleep. Try to go to sleep. Can't go to sleep and a half-hour's gone. Must have been all the napping. I whisper "I'm sorry." She half-rolls back and says "huh?" Thought she was asleep, crap. Wanted to tell her, "I'm sorry I'm such a burden. You and the kids deserve so much better. I'm sorry you married me." Just too much of a coward to say it while she was awake. Can't sleep. Wait another half-hour and get out of bed, might as well blog.
I hate this tumor. I hate feeling like a burden. I hate wishing my kids had a better father. I hate wishing my wife had a better husband. I hate wishing I wasn't me. Dammit, I'm crying again. I've cried too much lately.
Sunday, April 04, 2004
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Around 7:00 the kids decide they're hungry again. Well allrighty, and what will your order be. Big surprise, chicken nuggets for Trainboy, Cheeseburger for Ms. Pikachu. I'm sitting on the floor, Trainboy comes over to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Get it from the Wendys that's closest," My little micromanager. No problem.
In addition, I get Ms. Pikachu her own chili so we can avoid another chili war. And I get the wife a grilled chicken sandwich with veggies, because that would be low-fat and she would like that. I aim to please.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Around 7:00 the kids decide they're hungry again. Well allrighty, and what will your order be. Big surprise, chicken nuggets for Trainboy, Cheeseburger for Ms. Pikachu. I'm sitting on the floor, Trainboy comes over to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Get it from the Wendys that's closest," My little micromanager. No problem.
In addition, I get Ms. Pikachu her own chili so we can avoid another chili war. And I get the wife a grilled chicken sandwich with veggies, because that would be low-fat and she would like that. I aim to please.
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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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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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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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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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
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
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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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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
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.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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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
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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
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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