I want to spread some holiday cheer but I need your help. If you have a post about the holidays, leave a comment or an excerpt below with a link to your post so we can all enjoy it.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
I was surfing through some older articles that I had svaed a whlie ago and cmae arcsos one abuot splleing.
Appaelnrty, Caribgdme Unreistviy did a sduty wtih the csonuiolcn taht snpleilg is irrnvleeet as lnog as the fsrit and lsat ltteer of the wrod are in the crecrot plcae.The rset can be a ttaol mses and you can raed it jsut fnie.Tihs sroptpus the teorhy taht we don't raed ecah ltteer of a wrod but the wrod as a wlhoe. Csonqueenlty I've deiedcd to qiut winyrorg aubot slnilepg sncie no one nicetos it aaywny.
Appaelnrty, Caribgdme Unreistviy did a sduty wtih the csonuiolcn taht snpleilg is irrnvleeet as lnog as the fsrit and lsat ltteer of the wrod are in the crecrot plcae.The rset can be a ttaol mses and you can raed it jsut fnie.Tihs sroptpus the teorhy taht we don't raed ecah ltteer of a wrod but the wrod as a wlhoe. Csonqueenlty I've deiedcd to qiut winyrorg aubot slnilepg sncie no one nicetos it aaywny.
Terri Schiavo has passed away...but I'm sure the debates will live on for months.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7293186/?GT1=6305
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7293186/?GT1=6305
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
I’m not some nancy boy fashion enthusiast.
I do, however appreciate the value of jeans and tee shirts. That’s my kind of fashion. I never understood people’s admiration of an 87 pound, 17 year old girl prancing her attitude down a runway in France dressed in an outfit that, in any other context, would be considered appropriate as a costume on Halloween.
I have no idea why they call this fashion.
To spend $20,000 on one of those dresses is a waste for the reason that no one else will be able to look like the model that was wearing it. I think fashion designers need to belly up to reality and start a line of plus sizes. I’m assuming that, in the world of high fashion, “plus” refers to anything larger than a size 5. The only women that can actually sport the garb of fashion shows are the designer’s models and anyone that resembles Calista Flockhart after a purge.
Yet, this is where we base our “fashion sense”. I only bring this up because men’s fashion is somewhat different…or, at least, it was.
I was at a department store shopping for an inexpensive, off-the-rack, suit that would get me through four weddings this summer. Men’s suits haven’t changed drastically over the last few decades. Our fashion has leveled out since the demise of the leisure suit due to the apparent polyester shortage. For this, I am grateful because I pay little attention to what Brad or Johnny are wearing as they step from the limo at their latest premiers. The women of Hollywood, however, are all decorated and lit up like competitive Christmas trees.
Anyway, I selected a suit and needed only to find a shirt and tie. I rounded the corner into the section where dress shirts are sold and was thrown into a state of shock. As far as the eye could see, everything was pink. Every shirt, tie, belt, and sock had at least a small element of pink.
I asked a sales associate to kindly direct me to the men’s department only to find that I was still in the men’s department. Just to test the waters, I asked if they carried anything in flannel and was referred to Wal Mart. This is the moment I realized I’m a metrophobe.
Maybe I just need a pedicure.
Apparently, pink is “in” for guys. They even CALL it pink as opposed to coral or salmon as we used to. The problem I have with this is that I’ve been told in the past that pink is not “my color". So what the heck am I supposed to do while I wait for this trend to fade? Of all the years that I need to put a bit of fashion into my wardrobe it has to be one where the “in” color is PINK.
I do hope this is short lived. This color needs to find it’s way back to the women’s department before it bleeds into the world of Beretta’s, ball gloves, and circular saws. I’m just now getting used to DeWalt yellow.
I do, however appreciate the value of jeans and tee shirts. That’s my kind of fashion. I never understood people’s admiration of an 87 pound, 17 year old girl prancing her attitude down a runway in France dressed in an outfit that, in any other context, would be considered appropriate as a costume on Halloween.
I have no idea why they call this fashion.
To spend $20,000 on one of those dresses is a waste for the reason that no one else will be able to look like the model that was wearing it. I think fashion designers need to belly up to reality and start a line of plus sizes. I’m assuming that, in the world of high fashion, “plus” refers to anything larger than a size 5. The only women that can actually sport the garb of fashion shows are the designer’s models and anyone that resembles Calista Flockhart after a purge.
Yet, this is where we base our “fashion sense”. I only bring this up because men’s fashion is somewhat different…or, at least, it was.
I was at a department store shopping for an inexpensive, off-the-rack, suit that would get me through four weddings this summer. Men’s suits haven’t changed drastically over the last few decades. Our fashion has leveled out since the demise of the leisure suit due to the apparent polyester shortage. For this, I am grateful because I pay little attention to what Brad or Johnny are wearing as they step from the limo at their latest premiers. The women of Hollywood, however, are all decorated and lit up like competitive Christmas trees.
Anyway, I selected a suit and needed only to find a shirt and tie. I rounded the corner into the section where dress shirts are sold and was thrown into a state of shock. As far as the eye could see, everything was pink. Every shirt, tie, belt, and sock had at least a small element of pink.
I asked a sales associate to kindly direct me to the men’s department only to find that I was still in the men’s department. Just to test the waters, I asked if they carried anything in flannel and was referred to Wal Mart. This is the moment I realized I’m a metrophobe.
Maybe I just need a pedicure.
Apparently, pink is “in” for guys. They even CALL it pink as opposed to coral or salmon as we used to. The problem I have with this is that I’ve been told in the past that pink is not “my color". So what the heck am I supposed to do while I wait for this trend to fade? Of all the years that I need to put a bit of fashion into my wardrobe it has to be one where the “in” color is PINK.
I do hope this is short lived. This color needs to find it’s way back to the women’s department before it bleeds into the world of Beretta’s, ball gloves, and circular saws. I’m just now getting used to DeWalt yellow.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Let’s discuss the beauty of irony as it relates to the military.
The base had ordered a truckload of folding chairs and decided the best place to store them would be in one of the Civil Engineer (CE) warehouses. This made sense since they also billed us (CE) for the purchase of said chairs. We were thrilled.
Note: I don’t mean to imply that an Air Force Base can purchase equipment. In the Air Force, the term “base” is synonymous with the proverbial “they” or “them”. We really have no idea who represents the “base”.
We (Civil Engineers) had no problem with storing the chairs but since we were the only ones with access to the warehouse, people had to coordinate with us every time they had an event that required the use of our newly acquired assets.
Since we have a fleet of large vehicles such as flatbed trucks, other units began to request our “assistance” in the delivery of these chairs. Over time, we became the Base Chair Experts and were even intimately involved with setting them up for events.
We tried to make sense of this by rationalizing the need for an engineer because other units, such as JAG, were intimidated by the intricate workings of a folding chair. This didn’t make us feel any better.
We decided the chairs should go to the “services” people. Event set up is more commensurate with the Services Squadron’s responsibilities so we graciously “donated” the chairs to them. They were thrilled.
Today, I was asked to procure the use of 150 chairs for a retirement ceremony. When I contacted the person in charge of event set up at the services squadron, I was told that they now charge other units for the use of equipment.
In a few words, we are now renting chairs that we own.
The base had ordered a truckload of folding chairs and decided the best place to store them would be in one of the Civil Engineer (CE) warehouses. This made sense since they also billed us (CE) for the purchase of said chairs. We were thrilled.
Note: I don’t mean to imply that an Air Force Base can purchase equipment. In the Air Force, the term “base” is synonymous with the proverbial “they” or “them”. We really have no idea who represents the “base”.
We (Civil Engineers) had no problem with storing the chairs but since we were the only ones with access to the warehouse, people had to coordinate with us every time they had an event that required the use of our newly acquired assets.
Since we have a fleet of large vehicles such as flatbed trucks, other units began to request our “assistance” in the delivery of these chairs. Over time, we became the Base Chair Experts and were even intimately involved with setting them up for events.
We tried to make sense of this by rationalizing the need for an engineer because other units, such as JAG, were intimidated by the intricate workings of a folding chair. This didn’t make us feel any better.
We decided the chairs should go to the “services” people. Event set up is more commensurate with the Services Squadron’s responsibilities so we graciously “donated” the chairs to them. They were thrilled.
Today, I was asked to procure the use of 150 chairs for a retirement ceremony. When I contacted the person in charge of event set up at the services squadron, I was told that they now charge other units for the use of equipment.
In a few words, we are now renting chairs that we own.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
I have friends.
This, in and of itself, is not amazing. The type of friends I have, however, is another matter.
Two of my friends have shared stories with me that I wanted to save for Easter because, appropriately enough, one is about bunnies and the other, ducks.
Let’s start with the bunny. My friend, (we’ll call her D) told me a story of her childhood where a friend of hers had a little bunny rabbit. D was overcome by the inherent cuteness of the furry little critter and wanted to hold it. Her friend obliged. D took the bunny and gave it a hug. She pulled it to her chest and squeezed it… until it went limp. D says she’s not sure whether she actually killed the bunny by hugging it or if it died during her panic as she threw it to the sidewalk and ran away. Nonetheless, the bunny is no longer. Neither, I would wager, was the friendship between D and the bunny’s owner.
As for my other friend, (we’ll call her R), she had ducklings one year when she was a kid. She loved her baby ducks and they loved her. R had maternal instincts as a child like any normal girl so she wanted to “take care” of her little pets. R decided to give her ducks some water to drink. She also decided to help them drink it. R was an intelligent little girl and she knew that ducks and water went together like fish and water. What she failed to realize was that ducks are not in fact fish. She held the first duckling’s head under the water until it was “full” then laid it off to the side so it could “sleep”. She repeated this with all the ducklings. I’m not sure if R thought the ducks were actually sleeping or just defective. Either way, she was a scary kid.
The difference between D (henceforth referred to as "Mrs. Bunnybasher") and R (henceforth referred to as "Mrs. Duckslayer")is that D’s experience was traumatic. It caused her to panic and she showed remorse. R, on the other hand, repeated the action on multiple victims and laughs when she tells the story today.
Let’s just say I know which one of my friends not to piss off.
Happy Easter.
This, in and of itself, is not amazing. The type of friends I have, however, is another matter.
Two of my friends have shared stories with me that I wanted to save for Easter because, appropriately enough, one is about bunnies and the other, ducks.
Let’s start with the bunny. My friend, (we’ll call her D) told me a story of her childhood where a friend of hers had a little bunny rabbit. D was overcome by the inherent cuteness of the furry little critter and wanted to hold it. Her friend obliged. D took the bunny and gave it a hug. She pulled it to her chest and squeezed it… until it went limp. D says she’s not sure whether she actually killed the bunny by hugging it or if it died during her panic as she threw it to the sidewalk and ran away. Nonetheless, the bunny is no longer. Neither, I would wager, was the friendship between D and the bunny’s owner.
As for my other friend, (we’ll call her R), she had ducklings one year when she was a kid. She loved her baby ducks and they loved her. R had maternal instincts as a child like any normal girl so she wanted to “take care” of her little pets. R decided to give her ducks some water to drink. She also decided to help them drink it. R was an intelligent little girl and she knew that ducks and water went together like fish and water. What she failed to realize was that ducks are not in fact fish. She held the first duckling’s head under the water until it was “full” then laid it off to the side so it could “sleep”. She repeated this with all the ducklings. I’m not sure if R thought the ducks were actually sleeping or just defective. Either way, she was a scary kid.
The difference between D (henceforth referred to as "Mrs. Bunnybasher") and R (henceforth referred to as "Mrs. Duckslayer")is that D’s experience was traumatic. It caused her to panic and she showed remorse. R, on the other hand, repeated the action on multiple victims and laughs when she tells the story today.
Let’s just say I know which one of my friends not to piss off.
Happy Easter.
Make sure your kids aren't psychotic before you break the news about the Easter Bunny and Santa.
Easter Bunny gets pummeled by boy at mall Associated Press BAY CITY,
Mich. - The Easter Bunny is hopping mad. Bryan Johnson, who portrays the furry character at the Bay City Mall, says he was pummeled in an unprovoked attack on the job. Police say the attacker was a 12-year-old boy who sat on Johnson's lap the day before the March 18 incident.
Johnson, 18, suffered a bloody nose. He kept his cool during the attack, deeming it inappropriate for the Easter Bunny to fight back. But he's not willing to forgive and forget.
"They (the sheriff's deputies) told me it was up to me, and I feel that the boy should be prosecuted," Johnson told The Bay City Times. Johnson told Bay County
Sheriff's deputies that the boy hit him in the face at least six times before running away.
Bay County Sheriff John E. Miller said the youth has been in trouble in the past. The case will be forwarded to the Bay County prosecutor's office next week for action, he said. Johnson, meanwhile, is back on the job at the mall, where he had been working as the Easter Bunny for about a week before the attack.
"I just like getting the kids to laugh and have fun," he said. His job is to get his picture taken with children and make them laugh. That can be difficult because he is not allowed to speak while in costume.
Johnson said his 12-year-old attacker seemed perfectly happy the day before the incident. "Yeah, he came up and said, 'Hi,' and was sitting on my lap and talking," Johnson said. "He seemed OK."But when he saw Johnson the next day, the boy didn't want to talk."He just started hitting," Johnson said.
---
Information from: The Bay City Times, http://www.bc-times.com
Friday, March 25, 2005
This site and domain reside on the servers of Alterhosting.com. I’ve been with this web host for 4 years and the service has always been great. Sometimes the response time was sluggish but that was the exception.
A few weeks ago, Mandi from Creative Designs offered to help install Moveable Type for my site. Mandi is incredible and I would recommend her services to anyone. My web host, on the other hand, was not as stellar. Mandi ran into some problems with permissions on the server and contacted Alterhosting.com to see of they could help. They responded to her email and told her the matter was referred to the programmers. Two weeks later, we still had no resolution.
I opened a help ticket on Alterhosting.com’s website and inserted a copy of the email Mandi had sent. It is now 3 weeks later and we still have no response. I added to the ticket to mention I would quit service with Alterhosting.com if the matter wasn’t resolved soon. That was last week. I’ve called their toll free number numerous times and always get their voice mail. My calls are never returned.
They have “live chat” that never connects and asks me to leave a message.
Today, I bought service with hostexcellence.com. They seem to be pretty good and their prices are literally unbeatable. All I need to do now is change my DNS file but Alterhosting.com is the registrar and has the DNS locked. So, I called alterhosting.com only to get a recording that says their voice mailbox is full.
I wrote their CEO:
No response so far.
I want to warn everyone with a domain to neither use this company’s hosting service nor domain registration service. I’ve lost all confidence in alterhosting.com. All evidence points to a company on the verge of bankruptcy. I feel their servers have been abandoned. However, their billing department is working fine.
As it is now, I'm paying for two services but only able to use the one with no customer support.
I may have to abandon this domain with no redirect. I hope you can find me after I move.
UPDATE: My trouble ticket and email about the DNS settings were finally answered so I'll get to keep my domain. I closed the ticket concerning Moveable Type with an explanation that it was too late. Things will work out but I stand by my comments about Aterhosting.com.
A few weeks ago, Mandi from Creative Designs offered to help install Moveable Type for my site. Mandi is incredible and I would recommend her services to anyone. My web host, on the other hand, was not as stellar. Mandi ran into some problems with permissions on the server and contacted Alterhosting.com to see of they could help. They responded to her email and told her the matter was referred to the programmers. Two weeks later, we still had no resolution.
I opened a help ticket on Alterhosting.com’s website and inserted a copy of the email Mandi had sent. It is now 3 weeks later and we still have no response. I added to the ticket to mention I would quit service with Alterhosting.com if the matter wasn’t resolved soon. That was last week. I’ve called their toll free number numerous times and always get their voice mail. My calls are never returned.
They have “live chat” that never connects and asks me to leave a message.
Today, I bought service with hostexcellence.com. They seem to be pretty good and their prices are literally unbeatable. All I need to do now is change my DNS file but Alterhosting.com is the registrar and has the DNS locked. So, I called alterhosting.com only to get a recording that says their voice mailbox is full.
I wrote their CEO:
Mailto:ceo@alterhosting.com
Subject: Thank You
Hello,
I would like to thank the Alterhosting.com billing department for the timely manner in which they charge my credit card every month. I only wish your hosting support department were as efficient. I left a trouble ticket almost 3 weeks ago with a priority 1 that hasn’t been addressed. This ticket was in response to an
unanswered email sent 2 weeks prior for the same issue.
I’ve called numerous times over the last 3 months only to get a voice mail every time I call. Now I get a recording that says the voice mailbox is full. Its been full for three days now so apparently, leaving a message would have done no good
anyway.
I’ve tried your live chat over 50 times this week only to be told that I need to leave a message. None of which are ever answered.
All I want to do is gain access to my DNS settings. If that’s more than your staff can handle just let me know; I will be more than happy to lighten your workload by moving my domain to another hosting company.
With
utmost sincerity,
John [Muzikdude]
No response so far.
I want to warn everyone with a domain to neither use this company’s hosting service nor domain registration service. I’ve lost all confidence in alterhosting.com. All evidence points to a company on the verge of bankruptcy. I feel their servers have been abandoned. However, their billing department is working fine.
As it is now, I'm paying for two services but only able to use the one with no customer support.
I may have to abandon this domain with no redirect. I hope you can find me after I move.
UPDATE: My trouble ticket and email about the DNS settings were finally answered so I'll get to keep my domain. I closed the ticket concerning Moveable Type with an explanation that it was too late. Things will work out but I stand by my comments about Aterhosting.com.
Is everyone enjoying their spring? I just recieved this springtime email!
Somebody go smell a flower for me. I'll be digging out. We got a couple inches last night but apparently, it isn't over.
Can you tell the difference between a man and a woman just by looking at a picture?
Go here to be proven wrong.
COLORADO SPRINGS VICINITY/SOUTHERN EL PASO COUNTY/RAMPART RANGEBELOW 7400 FT-PUEBLO AND VICINITY/PUEBLO COUNTY BELOW 6300 FT-WALSENBURG VICINITY/UPPER HUERFANO RIVER BASIN BELOW 7500 FT-TRINIDAD VICINITY/WESTERN LAS ANIMAS COUNTY BELOW 7500 FT-INCLUDING...LA VETA PASS...PONCHA PASS...BLANCA PEAK...CUCHARA...STONEWALL...WESTON...SPANISH PEAKS...COALDALE...COTOPAXI...HILLSIDE...HOWARD...SWISSVALE...TEXAS CREEK...SILVER CLIFF...WESTCLIFFE...RYE...GREENHORN MTN...WOODLAND PARK...PIKES
PEAK...CANON CITY...PENROSE...BLACK FOREST...AIR FORCE ACADEMY...COLORADO SPRINGS...PUEBLO...WALSENBURG...TRINIDAD336 PM MST THU MAR 24 2005...WINTER STORM WATCH IN EFFECT FROM FRIDAY EVENING TO SATURDAYAFTERNOON...THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN PUEBLO HAS ISSUED A WINTER STORMWATCH...WHICH IS IN EFFECT FROM FRIDAY EVENING TO SATURDAYAFTERNOON.WET HEAVY SNOW IS POSSIBLE ALONG THE I-25 CORRIDOR FRIDAY NIGHTAND SATURDAY THAT WILL MAKE TRAVEL OVER SOUTHEAST COLORADOHAZARDOUS AT TIMES. THE HEAVIEST SNOW WILL FALL OVER THE EASTSLOPES OF THE SANGRE DE CRISTO MOUNTAINS AND THE WET MOUNTAINS ANDOVER THE PIKES PEAK REGION ESPECIALLY ALONG AND WEST OF I-25.SNOWFALL MAY BE HEAVY AT TIMES ESPECIALLY BETWEEN MIDNIGHT FRIDAYAND NOON SATURDAY.A WINTER STORM WATCH MEANS THERE IS A POTENTIAL FOR 8 INCHES OF SNOW OR MORE IN THE MOUNTAINS...AND 6 INCHES OR MORE IN THEVALLEYS AND SOUTHEAST COLORADO...DURING THE WATCH TIME FRAME.THERE IS STILL SOME UNCERTAINTY CONCERNING THE AMOUNT OFMOISTURE...DIRECTION OF MOVEMENT AND STRENGTH OF THIS WEATHERSYSTEM...ALL OF WHICH WILL GREATLY AFFECT THE AMOUNT AND LOCATIONOF THE SNOW. IF YOU ARE PLANNING TRAVEL THROUGH THE WATCH AREA...LISTEN FOR THE LATEST WEATHER FORECAST...AND CONSIDER ALTERNATE TRAVEL TIMES OR PLANS.
Somebody go smell a flower for me. I'll be digging out. We got a couple inches last night but apparently, it isn't over.
Can you tell the difference between a man and a woman just by looking at a picture?
Go here to be proven wrong.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Mrs. Muzikdude and I went out to dinner last night and the Wasabi is beginning to haunt me. Too many trips to the sushi bar can do that. Maybe it was the combination of seaweed and lychee (no, not together…that would be gross). I had never tried lychee so I decided to do so last night. I always shied away from it because the name was too similar to “leach”…yeah, I’m weird that way but I like new things so I went out on a gastronomic limb.
I like to explore. I like to find new things and experiences, especially in the world of cuisine. I expect to encounter opportunities for experimentation in the various restaurants we frequent but occasionally, I make discoveries of other kinds in unexpected places.
After dinner, Mrs. Muzikdude wanted to go to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I was giddy with excitement as we pulled into the parking lot. I welled with the anticipation of perusing placemats, doormats, and bathmats. I was anxious to see what kind of new things I could cosset myself with.
Actually, I really don’t mind the place because our visit afforded me the opportunity to browse cool things like santoku and to sit in the massage chair demo. In fact, this store would be ideal if they opened a power tool section and gun counter. I guess I can’t have everything.
Intentional, non-ADHD tangent:
A few months ago, Mrs. Muzikdude and I were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond when we came across the massage chairs set up for demonstration. We took turns trying each one until we had each settled into our favorite. We sat there for at least 15 minutes.
A sales associate walked past and asked if we needed any help. Mrs. Muzikdude’s answer was, “No thanks. We’re comfortable…I think we may just sit here all night. I doubt you can make us leave”. The employee chuckled and went about her business.
About 5 minutes later a manager stopped by to inform us that the store had been closed for 20 minutes.
Good times.
Yeah.
Back to the trip at hand:
Mrs. Muzikdude pried me away from the sharp kitchen implements and we headed for the linens. Yawn.
This is where I learned that I’ve been sleeping on 400 thread count sheets. Cool.
Yawn.
This is also where I discovered the amount of excitement a clearance sale on 1000 thread count sheets can elicit. One-Thousand-Thread-Count…is it possible?
Let me tell you something; if you ever have the chance to strip down to your skin and slide your cheeks between 1000 thread count sheets…do it. I don’t care if its right there in the store or at someone else’s house…pretend to use the master bathroom, lock the bedroom door and do it.
Anyone’s house but mine, that is.
You might want to reconsider doing it in the store also.
There are three things that will keep a person in bed all day; a hangover, depression, and 1000 thread count sheets. Who knew? I not only feel pampered, I feel educated, and with the addition of good sheets, good food, and good massages to my life, I may very well end up the nicest person you’ll ever meet. These are life changing things that, when combined into a single force, border on the supernatural; certainly the unexplained. Dare I say miraculous?
I’ll be in bed if anyone needs me.
I like to explore. I like to find new things and experiences, especially in the world of cuisine. I expect to encounter opportunities for experimentation in the various restaurants we frequent but occasionally, I make discoveries of other kinds in unexpected places.
After dinner, Mrs. Muzikdude wanted to go to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I was giddy with excitement as we pulled into the parking lot. I welled with the anticipation of perusing placemats, doormats, and bathmats. I was anxious to see what kind of new things I could cosset myself with.
Actually, I really don’t mind the place because our visit afforded me the opportunity to browse cool things like santoku and to sit in the massage chair demo. In fact, this store would be ideal if they opened a power tool section and gun counter. I guess I can’t have everything.
Intentional, non-ADHD tangent:
A few months ago, Mrs. Muzikdude and I were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond when we came across the massage chairs set up for demonstration. We took turns trying each one until we had each settled into our favorite. We sat there for at least 15 minutes.
A sales associate walked past and asked if we needed any help. Mrs. Muzikdude’s answer was, “No thanks. We’re comfortable…I think we may just sit here all night. I doubt you can make us leave”. The employee chuckled and went about her business.
About 5 minutes later a manager stopped by to inform us that the store had been closed for 20 minutes.
Good times.
Yeah.
Back to the trip at hand:
Mrs. Muzikdude pried me away from the sharp kitchen implements and we headed for the linens. Yawn.
This is where I learned that I’ve been sleeping on 400 thread count sheets. Cool.
Yawn.
This is also where I discovered the amount of excitement a clearance sale on 1000 thread count sheets can elicit. One-Thousand-Thread-Count…is it possible?
Let me tell you something; if you ever have the chance to strip down to your skin and slide your cheeks between 1000 thread count sheets…do it. I don’t care if its right there in the store or at someone else’s house…pretend to use the master bathroom, lock the bedroom door and do it.
Anyone’s house but mine, that is.
You might want to reconsider doing it in the store also.
There are three things that will keep a person in bed all day; a hangover, depression, and 1000 thread count sheets. Who knew? I not only feel pampered, I feel educated, and with the addition of good sheets, good food, and good massages to my life, I may very well end up the nicest person you’ll ever meet. These are life changing things that, when combined into a single force, border on the supernatural; certainly the unexplained. Dare I say miraculous?
I’ll be in bed if anyone needs me.
Has everyone rested their brains?
Erin brought up a good point about the truth/color comparison (see previous post). She contends that colors are just wavelengths that we all experience and this disproves my theory. What she fails to realize is that it actually supports my theory.
I base my argument on our interpretation of these wavelengths rather than our experience of them. We all see the same thing physically but that doesn’t mean our brain processes the information the same way.
To analogize: Let’s say that truth is a wavelength just like light and color. My point is that the wavelength doesn’t change and if it appears to change, it’s all because of our interpretation. We change our view of truth according to what makes us comfortable. Our emotions are dynamic while truth is constant. Just because our views of something change doesn't mean that what we are viewing changes.
This is where we get the phrase “the truth hurts”. Sometimes we need an objective dose of reality because our views are skewed. I believe this to be factual.
Where the guesswork on my part comes in is the ways “right” and “wrong” interact with truth. Although it seems cut and dry to me that doing the right thing is synonymous with supporting truth I know that some would disagree. I have yet to hear the other side of the argument, if there is one, and I’m curious how this theory would relate to something such as the case of Terri Schiavo where the definition of “truth” isn’t clear and the discernment of right from wrong isn’t definitive.
My problem is that, given the above analogy, whose view of thruth am I supporting? And if truth is a constant that is viewed dynamically, am I doing the right thing in the absolute sense?
I know what is "right for me" but if I'm making a decision that effects others, "right for me" isn't good enough.
Anyone want to play?
Erin brought up a good point about the truth/color comparison (see previous post). She contends that colors are just wavelengths that we all experience and this disproves my theory. What she fails to realize is that it actually supports my theory.
I base my argument on our interpretation of these wavelengths rather than our experience of them. We all see the same thing physically but that doesn’t mean our brain processes the information the same way.
To analogize: Let’s say that truth is a wavelength just like light and color. My point is that the wavelength doesn’t change and if it appears to change, it’s all because of our interpretation. We change our view of truth according to what makes us comfortable. Our emotions are dynamic while truth is constant. Just because our views of something change doesn't mean that what we are viewing changes.
This is where we get the phrase “the truth hurts”. Sometimes we need an objective dose of reality because our views are skewed. I believe this to be factual.
Where the guesswork on my part comes in is the ways “right” and “wrong” interact with truth. Although it seems cut and dry to me that doing the right thing is synonymous with supporting truth I know that some would disagree. I have yet to hear the other side of the argument, if there is one, and I’m curious how this theory would relate to something such as the case of Terri Schiavo where the definition of “truth” isn’t clear and the discernment of right from wrong isn’t definitive.
My problem is that, given the above analogy, whose view of thruth am I supporting? And if truth is a constant that is viewed dynamically, am I doing the right thing in the absolute sense?
I know what is "right for me" but if I'm making a decision that effects others, "right for me" isn't good enough.
Anyone want to play?
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
I know this is flawed and full of holes but it's the best I can do to describe something I don't quite understand. This may be a bit difficult to wrap your mind around...I hope it makes sense.
There is a difference between reality and truth. A lie is real, but not true. While it’s true that the lie was told, the information contained in the lie represents an alternative to truth.
Truth would exist even if we didn’t. We don’t cause truth; we do our best to describe it, but everyone’s definition seems to be different. I contend that there is a universal truth whether or not anyone realizes it or chooses to recognize it. There are truths in existence of which no one is aware. Of course, this is speculation on my part as I have no way of knowing things that are unknown. That’s why we call it a theory.
On the issue of right and wrong, I would say that “wrong” is anything contrary to truth. So how do we know when something is wrong when we don’t know what is absolutely true? We tend to rely on one another’s experiences and logic to lead us in this direction. The problem with this is that we end up with many opinions as to what is right and what is wrong.
The following is derived from a question asked a few years ago by a 12 year old Dr. Smellgood (articulated by me for clarity)
Let’s use a traffic light as an example. I call the light on top “red” because that’s what I’ve been taught…just like you. Does that mean I actually see the same color as you?
I call everything that I see that matches that color, “red” and so do you. This would imply that we are in agreement; but are we actually concurring on the same thing?
If so, why doesn’t everyone agree on what hues are appealing?
The fact remains that there is one perception of these colors that is universally correct whether anyone has that perception or not. We may all be viewing things incorrectly.
If you were to see things through my eyes, you might find that the sky is green and the grass is blue. When you see me point at the sky and say “blue”, you assume we agree. The truth is that we only agree on what to call the color rather than the color, itself.
So who is qualified to differentiate between right and wrong? One would need to have knowledge of universal truth as it relates outside of our own consciousness and understanding. As it stands, our subjective truth and sense of righteousness is derived from opinions based on things that either make us comfortable (right) or uncomfortable (wrong).
Philosophically, we attempt to designate a level of truth according to each individual because, based on perceptions, everyone has their own reality. Actually, everyone has their own view of reality on which they base their definition of truth which, in turn, dictates what they feel is right or wrong.
This is why we depend on the majority to guide decisions which are controversial. This is also why it is dangerous to leave the important decisions that will have a resounding impact on humanity in the hands of one or two individuals just because there’s a law that says so.
Just because a group of people point at a decision and call it "right" doesn't mean that it is or even that they agree on why it is right. They may not even agree that it represents a universal truth which would make it universally wrong.
Update: I just read this for the 5th time and I'm not sure I fully understand it. It made sense while I was writing it...
There is a difference between reality and truth. A lie is real, but not true. While it’s true that the lie was told, the information contained in the lie represents an alternative to truth.
Truth would exist even if we didn’t. We don’t cause truth; we do our best to describe it, but everyone’s definition seems to be different. I contend that there is a universal truth whether or not anyone realizes it or chooses to recognize it. There are truths in existence of which no one is aware. Of course, this is speculation on my part as I have no way of knowing things that are unknown. That’s why we call it a theory.
On the issue of right and wrong, I would say that “wrong” is anything contrary to truth. So how do we know when something is wrong when we don’t know what is absolutely true? We tend to rely on one another’s experiences and logic to lead us in this direction. The problem with this is that we end up with many opinions as to what is right and what is wrong.
The following is derived from a question asked a few years ago by a 12 year old Dr. Smellgood (articulated by me for clarity)
Let’s use a traffic light as an example. I call the light on top “red” because that’s what I’ve been taught…just like you. Does that mean I actually see the same color as you?
I call everything that I see that matches that color, “red” and so do you. This would imply that we are in agreement; but are we actually concurring on the same thing?
If so, why doesn’t everyone agree on what hues are appealing?
The fact remains that there is one perception of these colors that is universally correct whether anyone has that perception or not. We may all be viewing things incorrectly.
If you were to see things through my eyes, you might find that the sky is green and the grass is blue. When you see me point at the sky and say “blue”, you assume we agree. The truth is that we only agree on what to call the color rather than the color, itself.
So who is qualified to differentiate between right and wrong? One would need to have knowledge of universal truth as it relates outside of our own consciousness and understanding. As it stands, our subjective truth and sense of righteousness is derived from opinions based on things that either make us comfortable (right) or uncomfortable (wrong).
Philosophically, we attempt to designate a level of truth according to each individual because, based on perceptions, everyone has their own reality. Actually, everyone has their own view of reality on which they base their definition of truth which, in turn, dictates what they feel is right or wrong.
This is why we depend on the majority to guide decisions which are controversial. This is also why it is dangerous to leave the important decisions that will have a resounding impact on humanity in the hands of one or two individuals just because there’s a law that says so.
Just because a group of people point at a decision and call it "right" doesn't mean that it is or even that they agree on why it is right. They may not even agree that it represents a universal truth which would make it universally wrong.
Update: I just read this for the 5th time and I'm not sure I fully understand it. It made sense while I was writing it...
This is a strange but cool site once you figure out what's going on.
The site is in German but there are flags at the bottom of the page to choose your language.
This is really more than a "game". It's a pretty cool exercise in psychoanalysis. I tried twice and ended up curing all the patients so I know it can be done by the simplest of minds.
Give it a shot.
The site is in German but there are flags at the bottom of the page to choose your language.
This is really more than a "game". It's a pretty cool exercise in psychoanalysis. I tried twice and ended up curing all the patients so I know it can be done by the simplest of minds.
Give it a shot.
Are you craving a bit of science but don’t have the aptitude, patience, or focus to trudge through all the big words?
This is for you.
This is for you.
The rift between the sexes just got a whole lot bigger. A new study has found that women and men differ genetically almost as much as humans differ from chimpanzees.
Oh...the implications.
The Newsweek site is quirky. If the story doesn't shown up, refresh the screen.
Have you ever been faced with making a tough decision at work?
Well now you don't need confidence or management skills to climb to the top of the heap. All you need is your business oracle.
Well now you don't need confidence or management skills to climb to the top of the heap. All you need is your business oracle.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
I sure could go for a pork roast.
I think I'll hold out for something fresh though.Donning biohazard suits to exhume the behemoth's smelly remains, the experts estimated Hogzilla was probably only 7 1/2 to 8 feet (2.25 to 2.4 meters) long, and weighed about 800 pounds (360 kilograms).
ONLY 7 1/2 to 8 feet?
There's a lot to be said for hygiene.
I've found a new hobby...I'm going for the record.
I had mentioned that Mrs. Muzikdude spent her summers at the farm of her grandparents.
This is one of the many stories I have concerning that place.
The house, the barns, and all the other buildings were treasure troves of history, and as I rummaged through the old structures, I often found wonderment in the things her grandfather regarded as useless
Mrs. Muzikdude and I visited the farm at least once a year since we had been married (18 years), so I had developed and emotional attachment to the place as well. The homestead is located in northeastern Kansas where there are more hills than plains. In the places where there are not fields, there are trees and it is truly beautiful.
The house is a large two-story, typical, farmhouse with a sizeable covered porch and squeaky screen door. Her grandfather built the porch swing as a shop class project when he was a kid and it was still operational and sturdy as ever. This place is the epitome of quaint living. Oak trim and hardwood floors adorn the interior and while the house is an environmentalist’s nightmare, it’s a woodworker’s dream.
Mrs. Muzikdude was very close to her grandparents and the loss of them both had taken an emotional toll that still hasn’t completely faded. We both miss our annual pilgrimage to the farm. Nothing cleanses one’s mind and soul quite like a trip to the country.
Closing down the homestead was a painful sense of finality that no one was ready to endure. Family members clung to items that had previously been stored away with little concern. These items were once everyday wares that had eventually out lived their usefulness or had found themselves replaced with technology of the day. They had become residents of the family’s attic.
The attic is a large opened area accessed by a stairwell from the master bedroom. It’s a classic old-fashioned attic in that the dormered roof of the house outlines the contour of the large room’s ceiling. This room was loaded with history.
There were boxes of textbooks from the 1920’s and 1930’s. We found dressers full of letters and photographs from the turn of the century and old trunks filled with the keepsakes of generations past. It was a truly magical place.
We loaded trailers with as many memories as we could fit and watched tearfully as the auctioneers sold the remaining contents of the house. We agonized over the irony of tools and household goods being sold right in front of the home they had been used to keep running for so many years. Every piece of Tupperware, every hammer, and every rug had some sort of memory associated with it for someone present.
The most painful part of the entire experience was locking the door for the last time and pulling out of the driveway to make the 9-hour drive home in melancholy silence. The summaries of close personal relationships were now in tow on a trailer loaded with material possessions. It seemed to be a tragic reduction. We had no idea what great stories awaited in the drawers and boxes we were about to unpack.
When we arrived home, we unloaded furniture and boxes for what seemed like hours. Not one of us felt like doing this chore. Once we were finished, we reminisced while sorting through mementos… we shared some laughs and some tears. I sat surrounded by boxes of letters, postcards and photographs. I spent my spare time over the next week reading every letter, knitting back together a story that had long since lain unraveled in an attic.
Much of this correspondence took place between Mrs. Muzikdude’s great grandmother, Lulu, and her cousin. I had come to know Lulu with posthumous intimacy fostered by articulation preserved on paper, now yellowed from age. Her personality became more vivid with each word I read.
Lulu was a “schoolmarm” in a one-room schoolhouse on the prairie of eastern Kansas. Her students loved her immensely but she had quit teaching in order to marry an older man. Apparently, her fiancé, Thomas, was not good enough for Lulu in the opinions of friends and family, but she saw desirable qualities in him and no one could convince her not to marry.
Many people had written Lulu over the years and it seemed everyone that knew her loved her ardently. I began to feel deprived for never knowing her. The more I read of Miss Lulu, the more I wished I could have met her. Maybe, one day, in another life…
Lulu had gone from teaching children in a small town to the role of a farmer’s wife on what was a very large farm by the standards of that era. She fed farmhands, chickens, cattle, hogs, and her children thrice daily. She had traded in her textbooks for a hatchet that she used to procure the meat for chicken potpie. She gathered eggs, laundry, and dirty dishes. She grew vegetables in a large garden behind the house.
Her life had changed drastically but she seemed content. This was the destiny of an educated woman of the day and she took it all in stride. Lulu had the physical and emotional strength of any man today yet, her demeanor was gloriously sweet. This, in my estimation, was the reason for her popularity.
Because of this, many people were devastated when Lulu was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Lulu’s illness shed light on a side of Thomas that no one knew existed. He sold everything he owned with the exception of his land and moved Lulu to Colorado Springs for treatment. Even a hardened man like Thomas couldn’t help but give in to the soft attraction of Lulu’s spirit. He loved her as much as anyone else and couldn’t bear to lose her.
I’m not sure if Thomas was literate. The only knowledge I have of his feelings were surmised from letters written by Lulu but his love for her was blindingly evident. To put his entire life on hold for his wife says volumes of the man’s devoted adoration for Lulu.
Lulu had received many letters from friends while she lived in Colorado. Although street addresses existed in those days, they were rarely used because the mail carriers knew the names of everyone on their route. However, Lulu had received one letter with a street address and it happened to be one of the few for which she had saved the envelope.
The house is about 5 miles from Mrs. Muzikdude and I so we took a drive to see if the place is still there. Sure enough it is. The house is still in good shape and occupied. It’s in an area that we would say is close to downtown, but was probably the outskirts of town 80 years ago.
There’s a gap in the story of Lulu’s illness but they eventually moved back to the farm where they raised their son, Frank. Frank is Mrs. Muzikdude’s grandfather and he lived in that house until his death. Mrs. Muzikdude wants desperately to live there and if I can find work, she may have her wish. At least then, we can return the stories to their place of origin and give the house one more generation of family to keep the legacy alive.
I've decided to remove my opinions concerning today's society from the end of this post. I feel they were a distraction from the story.
This is one of the many stories I have concerning that place.
The house, the barns, and all the other buildings were treasure troves of history, and as I rummaged through the old structures, I often found wonderment in the things her grandfather regarded as useless
Mrs. Muzikdude and I visited the farm at least once a year since we had been married (18 years), so I had developed and emotional attachment to the place as well. The homestead is located in northeastern Kansas where there are more hills than plains. In the places where there are not fields, there are trees and it is truly beautiful.
The house is a large two-story, typical, farmhouse with a sizeable covered porch and squeaky screen door. Her grandfather built the porch swing as a shop class project when he was a kid and it was still operational and sturdy as ever. This place is the epitome of quaint living. Oak trim and hardwood floors adorn the interior and while the house is an environmentalist’s nightmare, it’s a woodworker’s dream.
Mrs. Muzikdude was very close to her grandparents and the loss of them both had taken an emotional toll that still hasn’t completely faded. We both miss our annual pilgrimage to the farm. Nothing cleanses one’s mind and soul quite like a trip to the country.
Closing down the homestead was a painful sense of finality that no one was ready to endure. Family members clung to items that had previously been stored away with little concern. These items were once everyday wares that had eventually out lived their usefulness or had found themselves replaced with technology of the day. They had become residents of the family’s attic.
The attic is a large opened area accessed by a stairwell from the master bedroom. It’s a classic old-fashioned attic in that the dormered roof of the house outlines the contour of the large room’s ceiling. This room was loaded with history.
There were boxes of textbooks from the 1920’s and 1930’s. We found dressers full of letters and photographs from the turn of the century and old trunks filled with the keepsakes of generations past. It was a truly magical place.
We loaded trailers with as many memories as we could fit and watched tearfully as the auctioneers sold the remaining contents of the house. We agonized over the irony of tools and household goods being sold right in front of the home they had been used to keep running for so many years. Every piece of Tupperware, every hammer, and every rug had some sort of memory associated with it for someone present.
The most painful part of the entire experience was locking the door for the last time and pulling out of the driveway to make the 9-hour drive home in melancholy silence. The summaries of close personal relationships were now in tow on a trailer loaded with material possessions. It seemed to be a tragic reduction. We had no idea what great stories awaited in the drawers and boxes we were about to unpack.
When we arrived home, we unloaded furniture and boxes for what seemed like hours. Not one of us felt like doing this chore. Once we were finished, we reminisced while sorting through mementos… we shared some laughs and some tears. I sat surrounded by boxes of letters, postcards and photographs. I spent my spare time over the next week reading every letter, knitting back together a story that had long since lain unraveled in an attic.
Much of this correspondence took place between Mrs. Muzikdude’s great grandmother, Lulu, and her cousin. I had come to know Lulu with posthumous intimacy fostered by articulation preserved on paper, now yellowed from age. Her personality became more vivid with each word I read.
Lulu was a “schoolmarm” in a one-room schoolhouse on the prairie of eastern Kansas. Her students loved her immensely but she had quit teaching in order to marry an older man. Apparently, her fiancé, Thomas, was not good enough for Lulu in the opinions of friends and family, but she saw desirable qualities in him and no one could convince her not to marry.
Many people had written Lulu over the years and it seemed everyone that knew her loved her ardently. I began to feel deprived for never knowing her. The more I read of Miss Lulu, the more I wished I could have met her. Maybe, one day, in another life…
Lulu had gone from teaching children in a small town to the role of a farmer’s wife on what was a very large farm by the standards of that era. She fed farmhands, chickens, cattle, hogs, and her children thrice daily. She had traded in her textbooks for a hatchet that she used to procure the meat for chicken potpie. She gathered eggs, laundry, and dirty dishes. She grew vegetables in a large garden behind the house.
Her life had changed drastically but she seemed content. This was the destiny of an educated woman of the day and she took it all in stride. Lulu had the physical and emotional strength of any man today yet, her demeanor was gloriously sweet. This, in my estimation, was the reason for her popularity.
Because of this, many people were devastated when Lulu was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Lulu’s illness shed light on a side of Thomas that no one knew existed. He sold everything he owned with the exception of his land and moved Lulu to Colorado Springs for treatment. Even a hardened man like Thomas couldn’t help but give in to the soft attraction of Lulu’s spirit. He loved her as much as anyone else and couldn’t bear to lose her.
I’m not sure if Thomas was literate. The only knowledge I have of his feelings were surmised from letters written by Lulu but his love for her was blindingly evident. To put his entire life on hold for his wife says volumes of the man’s devoted adoration for Lulu.
Lulu had received many letters from friends while she lived in Colorado. Although street addresses existed in those days, they were rarely used because the mail carriers knew the names of everyone on their route. However, Lulu had received one letter with a street address and it happened to be one of the few for which she had saved the envelope.
The house is about 5 miles from Mrs. Muzikdude and I so we took a drive to see if the place is still there. Sure enough it is. The house is still in good shape and occupied. It’s in an area that we would say is close to downtown, but was probably the outskirts of town 80 years ago.
There’s a gap in the story of Lulu’s illness but they eventually moved back to the farm where they raised their son, Frank. Frank is Mrs. Muzikdude’s grandfather and he lived in that house until his death. Mrs. Muzikdude wants desperately to live there and if I can find work, she may have her wish. At least then, we can return the stories to their place of origin and give the house one more generation of family to keep the legacy alive.
I've decided to remove my opinions concerning today's society from the end of this post. I feel they were a distraction from the story.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Sunday, March 20, 2005
We’re dog sitting for friends while they’re on vacation. Three dogs weren’t enough. They have a full grown Springer Spaniel. Our dogs are small and so is our dog door so when everyone wants to go outside at the same time the small ones end up waiting, legs crossed and dancing, while their guest, Molly, squeezes her fat Spaniel butt through the little hole in the wall. It’s more entertaining than reality TV.
Molly loves me…always has…so she settled right in like she’s at home. The only problem we’ve had is communication. She doesn’t respond to the usual commands of “sit”, “stay”, or “lie down” unless that’s what she was in the process of doing to begin with. I’ve spent the last few days searching for the right “language” to use with Molly.
Tonight as I was preparing some food, Molly thought she would hang out as close to my feet as possible in order to expedite the acquisition of a dropped morsel. She was making me crazy.
Apparently, Molly has heard the phrase, “if you don’t go away, I’ll kick you in the teeth” because when I tried that one, she responded like a show dog. I’ve also gained a bit of insight into the attitudes of her owners. I think I’ve discovered why their kids are so well behaved. You think you know someone…
Anyway, I've thought about urinating a circle around myself to keep all the dogs at bay. You know what they say; "if you can't beat 'em..."
I refuse to believe that beating an animal is an effective training method. However, I swear that biting a dog, while a bit repulsive, is an extremely effective form of communication.
Let me clarify:
Puppies like to bite when they play which is really cute until they get hold of you with those needle sharp piranha teeth. I discovered with my first dog that if you gently bite them back on the bridge of your dog’s nose, that dog will never bite you again. This has worked with every dog I’ve ever owned.
I’ve recently discovered that there are other ways to elicit respect from a canine. Kicking them in the teeth, for instance…but I prefer to relate on their own level in a more primal manner. You only need to understand how dogs communicate with one another. In fact, I think they communicate better than people.
Maybe it’s the butt sniffing.
If that’s the case, I’m content misunderstanding my friends.
Molly loves me…always has…so she settled right in like she’s at home. The only problem we’ve had is communication. She doesn’t respond to the usual commands of “sit”, “stay”, or “lie down” unless that’s what she was in the process of doing to begin with. I’ve spent the last few days searching for the right “language” to use with Molly.
Tonight as I was preparing some food, Molly thought she would hang out as close to my feet as possible in order to expedite the acquisition of a dropped morsel. She was making me crazy.
Apparently, Molly has heard the phrase, “if you don’t go away, I’ll kick you in the teeth” because when I tried that one, she responded like a show dog. I’ve also gained a bit of insight into the attitudes of her owners. I think I’ve discovered why their kids are so well behaved. You think you know someone…
Anyway, I've thought about urinating a circle around myself to keep all the dogs at bay. You know what they say; "if you can't beat 'em..."
I refuse to believe that beating an animal is an effective training method. However, I swear that biting a dog, while a bit repulsive, is an extremely effective form of communication.
Let me clarify:
Puppies like to bite when they play which is really cute until they get hold of you with those needle sharp piranha teeth. I discovered with my first dog that if you gently bite them back on the bridge of your dog’s nose, that dog will never bite you again. This has worked with every dog I’ve ever owned.
I’ve recently discovered that there are other ways to elicit respect from a canine. Kicking them in the teeth, for instance…but I prefer to relate on their own level in a more primal manner. You only need to understand how dogs communicate with one another. In fact, I think they communicate better than people.
Maybe it’s the butt sniffing.
If that’s the case, I’m content misunderstanding my friends.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Nothing brightens my day like good news and today I got a great report.
The scene:
I was bee-bopping down the freeway being all happy about life in general because my worries were behind the usual veil of ignorance and denial. Yeah, it was a good afternoon. In fact, I didn’t think it could get much better.
I was wrong.
About halfway to my destination ( I don’t even remember where I was going) there is a pedestrian bridge. The walkway on this bridge is encapsulated by a chain-link fence to prevent fun loving youngsters from throwing bowling balls through the windshields of speeding vehicles.
I could see there was a small group of people on the bridge, holding signs, waving at the traffic below. This is a somewhat common sight in this area because we have 5 military installations and people use these bridges to welcome the troops home. This is what I expected as I approached the bridge.
The Truth:
I came within reading range of the signs and this is where I received my good news.
“The war is a lie”
Twenty signs all said the same thing. I am so relieved because I thought I was going to Iraq and today I find that there is no war. It’s all a lie. I have no idea where they’ve been sending my friends but I suspect it’s someplace in the Mediterranean. Now I can’t wait to go. Club Med here I come.
I’ll send you all a post card.
The scene:
I was bee-bopping down the freeway being all happy about life in general because my worries were behind the usual veil of ignorance and denial. Yeah, it was a good afternoon. In fact, I didn’t think it could get much better.
I was wrong.
About halfway to my destination ( I don’t even remember where I was going) there is a pedestrian bridge. The walkway on this bridge is encapsulated by a chain-link fence to prevent fun loving youngsters from throwing bowling balls through the windshields of speeding vehicles.
I could see there was a small group of people on the bridge, holding signs, waving at the traffic below. This is a somewhat common sight in this area because we have 5 military installations and people use these bridges to welcome the troops home. This is what I expected as I approached the bridge.
The Truth:
I came within reading range of the signs and this is where I received my good news.
“The war is a lie”
Twenty signs all said the same thing. I am so relieved because I thought I was going to Iraq and today I find that there is no war. It’s all a lie. I have no idea where they’ve been sending my friends but I suspect it’s someplace in the Mediterranean. Now I can’t wait to go. Club Med here I come.
I’ll send you all a post card.
Let's say you get convicted for DUI twice in 3 months. This, after losing your license for 8 years because of 3 previous convictions for impaired driving.
Your luck sucks and your judgement is no better. Bottom line: you're a freaking moron.
I think we can all agree on that.
Now...you go to a party (let's pretend it's a BYOB) and instead of your usual gallon of gin, you bring 300 pounds of liquor filled chocolates (I figure that's how much it would take to get you drunk) and consume every last one. This gets you drunk.
Over the top?
Well, that's what this genius tried to pass off to the judge.
I suspect he took his truckload of chocolates and, one by one, cracked them open like eggs and poured them into a martini glass with some triple sec and an olive. Hey, he isn't lying. He had too many chocolates...right?
The first few statements in this post pretty much indicate alcoholism. Alcoholics are not lightweights when it comes to drinking. They will not get drunk on a shot of Nyquil. They do not get drunk from liquor filled chocolate.
The judge, being a wise man, new this guy was full of something that resembles melted chocolate and sentenced him to 6 months.
Prison will do this guy no good. He either needs to be committed or he needs to kill a baby in an auto accident. Personally, I think a lobotomy is in order.
Your luck sucks and your judgement is no better. Bottom line: you're a freaking moron.
I think we can all agree on that.
Now...you go to a party (let's pretend it's a BYOB) and instead of your usual gallon of gin, you bring 300 pounds of liquor filled chocolates (I figure that's how much it would take to get you drunk) and consume every last one. This gets you drunk.
Over the top?
Well, that's what this genius tried to pass off to the judge.
I suspect he took his truckload of chocolates and, one by one, cracked them open like eggs and poured them into a martini glass with some triple sec and an olive. Hey, he isn't lying. He had too many chocolates...right?
The first few statements in this post pretty much indicate alcoholism. Alcoholics are not lightweights when it comes to drinking. They will not get drunk on a shot of Nyquil. They do not get drunk from liquor filled chocolate.
The judge, being a wise man, new this guy was full of something that resembles melted chocolate and sentenced him to 6 months.
Prison will do this guy no good. He either needs to be committed or he needs to kill a baby in an auto accident. Personally, I think a lobotomy is in order.
Are you getting tired of your kids questioning you on the existence of Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy?
Why don't those rotten little monsters trust you? It isn't like you've ever lied to them.
Here's all the resources you need to keep them believeing in Santa well into their 20s.
Why don't those rotten little monsters trust you? It isn't like you've ever lied to them.
Here's all the resources you need to keep them believeing in Santa well into their 20s.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Get your mind out of the gutter and plug your fingers into one of these.
They've pinned down the cure for digital B.O.
ADDENDUM:
He who goes to bed with itchy butt wake up with smelly fingers.
They've pinned down the cure for digital B.O.
ADDENDUM:
He who goes to bed with itchy butt wake up with smelly fingers.
It's about time someone has the guts to handle these little punks in an adult manner. This little girl is on the road to criminal insanity and it's this type of punk that ends up bullying on the internet.
They should send her to the gallows!
Bonus story!
I'll bet this turtle goes for $28,000 on ebay!
Could it be true?
More news?
Looks like Britain has taken homeland security to the next level.
They should send her to the gallows!
Bonus story!
I'll bet this turtle goes for $28,000 on ebay!
Could it be true?
More news?
Looks like Britain has taken homeland security to the next level.
Doctors removed a full-size unicycle from a 590- pound circus clown's butt after he plopped his double-wide behind on its narrow seat and "sank to the sawdust," driving the frame, pedals and wheel a mouth-puckering 36- inches UP into his colon! "It hurt," Ron Timmerman, a.k.a. "Bunky the Fat-Arsed Clown," said from his hospital bed in London, England. "It was like somebody hit me from behind with a harpoon or rammed a white-hot poker up me bum. "By the time I hit the ground, all I could do was roll over to one side and lay there ......
I opted not to subscribe with the news service in order to read the rest of the story. I think I have enough information.
posted by Müzikdüde at 3/18/2005 09:32:00 PM