The Sand in Your Pool

A New War

2006-08-16T08:13:00.001-07:00

. . . against the CAPS LOCK key.
If you havent heard, this is huge - might be the end of keyboards as we know it.
Read the comments below on reasons for this war:

"capslock causes more terrible accidents than any other key on the board. Capslock ruins: -Password Entry -Word Processing (if its on, and you dont know, then you need to retype) -When on in AIM or other IM people think you are "screaming" because you are using all-caps. It's just a disaster." ~ Melvin, Oregan

"The caps lock should be relegated to the land of wind and ghosts.....which I'm told is somewhere near "Scroll Lock" and "Pause" and all those other keys nobody uses. While we're at it - how many F- keys do we need? Couldn't we use ALT+(#) or something? Am I alone here?" - Frankm, Chicago, IL

"The caps lock button - where's the lower case lock button?" - Cindy, L.A., CA

"If i could remove one thing from my daily life, it would be the caps lock." - Charles, New York

A New War

2006-08-16T08:13:00.000-07:00

Explain Men

2006-08-07T23:02:00.000-07:00

Okay people, I need your help here.
Explain men to me in 3 simples sentences. Ready . . . .go!

Sorry for the delay in posts

2006-06-17T20:28:00.000-07:00

. . . I am currently in love and don't have the negative energy anymore to critique the small things of life. Please follow-up with me shortly. That is all.

Homeless-ness

2006-04-01T19:35:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, I was driving, listening to music way to loud, windows rolled down, could feel the pre-summer heat on my arms, and then I drove right up to 3 cop cars and an ambulence on my right. Of course, being human, I stopped to stare for a bit. I noticed 5 cops surrounding this man who was clearly homeless, patting him down and pressing him firmly against the bus stop wall. He looked really wildly frightend, yet the cops looked fully routine. I noticed in his right hand, he grasped on tightly to this handle of jack daniels. One of the cops tried to pry it from his hands, but the homeless man wouldn't let him have it, he swung around, took a big sip from it, and then the cops finally confiscated it. The proceeded to arrest him, and the cars behind me honked at this point because I had not noticed that the light in front of me that had turned green. My music didn't seem so enjoyable anymore, and the freedom that I experienced driving that afternoon quickly faded. I don't understand what makes people lose so much hope in life. It's horrible and sad, and yet something drove this man to want to experience life out of thie bottle. Yet, I had to just drive away and return to my apartment and go on with my life. We can't lose hope - life is too short and very much worth it.

There's no ending to this song - and it's beautiful.

2006-03-08T14:54:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when I’m all alone
I don't know if I can
Take another breath
Some say home is where the heart is
Tell me where my home is
Cause I am scared to death

Falling from the rooftop
Crashing like a raindrop
Can you make my heart stop
Shaking like a leaf
Standing at the floodgate
Steady as an earthquake
Can you hear my heart break
Tearing at the seams

I am drifting in the deep end
Holding on to your hand
Is all that saves me now
Life can treat you like a beggar
You hold me together
But I don't know how

Falling from the rooftop
Crashing like a raindrop
Can you make my heart stop
Shaking like a leaf
Standing at the floodgate
Steady as an earthquake
Can you hear my heart break
Tearing at the seams

Some say home is where the heart is
And my heart is in your hands
You are all I need

Rising from the ashes lifted from the madness
Now you see my heart is
Deep enough to dream
Heal me from the deathblow
Lead and I will follow
Now you feel my heart glow
Mending at the seams

King Stapler

2006-03-07T13:25:00.000-08:00

I’ve won.

I’ve conquered the world.

And…..I’m just a stapler.

Thank you Germans

2006-03-02T13:51:00.000-08:00

http://www.holyshirt.de/?item=1700401 "Jesus Pimped My Life"

My Life Journey

2006-02-16T09:14:00.000-08:00

I've discovered something recently - most people my age who blog are trying to record their life journey or adventure to one extent or another.

You have Ben - and his One Way Plane
Left the safty of Waco, TX for the dangerous, brooding skyscrapers in NYC where he won't see a sunset for a long long time to follow his Broadway dream.

Then there's Alanna - packing up and moving to Los Angeles to study and dance - Stabbing Westward

And, Johnathan - about ready to leave for Africa - We were meant to live for so much more - will probably spend the rest of his life on the mission field and being quite possibly the only Mexican in 1,000s of miles near him.

Alicia - in Guataemala - Trapeze swinger - going to work with orphans for 6+ months and living in bunks with no electricity, etc then going to the Peace Corp to some unknown land.

Genslay - in Taiwan, teaching little children English and loving on them everyday. GenSlay

And then you have me, and my blog...the life of an advertising executive - full of satirical comments about hardly significant experiences in my day where I boss people around all day and then take credit for someone else's creative ideas. I'm 23 - I have the world in front of me but I feel like each day I am wasting it. At one point 8 months ago, I was ready to pick fruit in Australia - just for the adventure. Then, I decided to bar tend in Costa Rica. But somehow now, I have found myself managing creative projects and selling pizza to Hispanic Americans.

I think that everyone has their own adventure to discover. I know that mine is ahead of me and it's just a matter of time before I have the guts and clarity to follow it.

Genslay - love the name, love the glasses

2006-02-13T15:44:00.000-08:00

I did something this weekend that many of you probably have never done nor will EVER have the guts to do. Yes - I went to an official "blog party." I met actual bloggers who I have been posting on their blogs for about a year or so. Meet Genslay (above). I have never met Genslay - nor was he at the "blog party". However, it seems like the popular thing to do today to post his picture on your blog - so that is what I am doing.

Thoughts I have post the "blog party:"
1) Blogging is a fairly young phenomenon - more skewed Gen Y then Gen X.
2) Totally worth the 3 hr drive to meet new people - always.
3) Normal/funny people blog more than weird/anti-social people.
4) People have blog reputations that do not follow them into the real world.
5) Blogs are a powerful tool of communication because you can virtually read someone's soul for a year, meet them, and feel like you already know them yet have a hard time calling them by their real name(aka "Ronnie" instead "Mol Jr.").
6) In conversations with some of these people this weekend I have been inspired to buy a Harry Potter book that I would have never before purchased, drink my coffee black, visit Mosaic church in Austin, TX - sister church to Journey in Dallas, and buy weird, funky glasses that make me worshipped (see picture above).
6) If you are finding yourself laughing at this post and thinking "whoa, what a weirdo," then I suggest you, blog reader, have your own blog party and then we'll talk.

Are you serious?

2006-01-23T07:55:00.000-08:00

When I went to the theater to watch this movie 2 YEARS AGO, I never knew that I would be learning "spiritual lessons." Thanks Jeff Dunn and Adam Palmer for showing me the light. I never knew that the "Liger" was a spiritual metaphor, and that, I myself, having a Liger inside of me, needed to be desparately tamed. I really think that there is less to be written here in this blog and more to learn from Napoleon Dynamite, the post-modern prophet himself. So what do you say bloggers - is the Liger inside of you dying to come out and unless his fury on the American nation or are you able to tame him with this book of spiritual wisdom?

Translation please?

2006-01-11T17:20:00.000-08:00

I know this is sooooo two weeks ago, but I am lost and in need of a translation.
Can anyone accurately tell me what a "love hump" is? And yes, I would like an ice-y, please. Thanks.

My Humps
by Black Eyed Peas

Album : Monkey Business (2005)

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps. (Check it out)

I drive these scrubbers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these ice-ys.
Dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and then Donna
Karen, they be sharin’
All their money got me wearin’
Fly gearrr but I ain’t askin,
They say they love my ass ‘n,
Se7en Jeans, True Religion,
I say no, but they keep givin’
So I keep on takin’
And no I ain’t fakin’
We can keep on datin’
I keep on demonstrating.

My love, my love, my love, my love
You love my lady lumps,
My hump, my hump, my hump,
My humps they got u,
She’s got me spending.
(Oh) Spendin’ all your money on me and spending time on me.
She’s got me spendin’.
(Oh) Spendin’ all your money on me, on me, on me

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What u gon’ do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I’m a make, make, make, make you scream
Make u scream, make you scream.
Cos of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps. (Check it out)

I met a girl down at the disco.
She said hey, hey, hey yea let’s go.
I could be your baby, you can be my honey
Lets spend time not money.
I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,
Milky, milky cocoa,
Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight.

They say I’m really sexy,
The boys they wanna sex me.
They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin’ a feel my hump, hump.
Lookin’ at my lump, lump.
U can look but you can’t touch it,
If u touch it I’ma start some drama,
You don’t want no drama,
No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama
So don’t pull on my hand boy,
You ain’t my man, boy,
I’m just tryn’a dance boy,
And move my hump.

My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps x3
In the back and in the front.
My lovin’ got u,
She’s got me spendin’.
(Oh) Spendin’ all your money on me and spending time on me.
She’s got me spendin’.
(Oh) Spendin’ all your money on me, on me, on me.

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon’ do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I’ma make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream.
What you gon do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get you drunk,
Get you love drunk off this hump.
What you gon’ do wit all that breast?
All that breast inside that shirt?
I’ma make, make, make, make you work
Make you work, work, make you work.
She’s got me spendin’.
Spendin all your money on me and spendin’ time on me
She’s got me spendin’.
Spendin’ all your money on me, on me, on me.

Rose Bowl Winner

2006-01-05T20:08:00.000-08:00

It's The Season

2005-12-06T20:44:00.000-08:00

So it's that season...what season you might ask? It's the Ginger season!!!!!

And what comes with this joyous season? That's right...the month of jokes. Where I have to pretend over and over that it's the first time I've heard: "hey ginger, why don't you buy yourself a gingerbread cookie" while they continue to laugh hysterically. OR "Do you feel a bit masochistic cooking gingerbread?" OR my personal favorite: "Do you have a hard time when one of your family members goes into the over?"

So instead of fighting the season of jokes, I am going to embrace it. They are funny, HILARIOUS, couldn't go through the Christmas season without them. So, bring on the gingerbread cookies all of you, and the jokes...I am not afraid.

Viva la Ginger-spice, and Merry Christmas.

Latin Flare

2005-11-23T06:51:00.000-08:00

You might think this is some sort of foreign drug, but it's not.....it's mate.

Mate, meet North America.

I love working in a predominant Latino environment, because I can pull out the daily mate and all of a sudden I am popular instead of weird. Yesterday, I made some mate, and the whole bottom floor came by my office and took sips and talked with me some. Then the guy a few offices down turned on some salsa music and everyone started to dance....or if they were too busy to dance, they as least shook their hips in their chairs as their desk (which is a little awkward if you don't realize what they are doing . . .).

Sugar or Sweet-n-Lo? No, I prefer it bitter and rough. I'm having an Argentina party in a few weeks . . if you want to try this baby, feel free to come.

Ciao.

2005-11-05T17:26:00.000-08:00

yo
Posted by Picasa

True Love

2005-10-18T12:20:00.000-07:00

After many many many months of resisting temptation . . . I did it. I am now in a relationship with the sleekest, finest thing to have come in contact with my body in a long long time - that is, the Nano.

The Nano and I are already pretty serious. He has a very flexible schedule - always willing to accommodate my mood swings and indecision. He lets me have the control. Upon seeing him, I am instantly happy and filled with joy like a young school girl again. He sometimes sleeps with me but doesn't move around - just lays there, resting by my ear. He's not volatile instead, motivating....and he's always soft to the touch. He even let me TATTOO MY NAME ON HIS BACK!!! Nano and I are very happy and I predict a long, committed and intimate relationship.

Apple....you sucker you, you got me this time. But I'm not buying the Cingular iTunes phone ....ever.

Who's Your Daddy?

2005-09-27T07:15:00.000-07:00

Most disturbing news of the day thus far . . . .

NEW YORK (CNN/Money) - Donald Trump, father of four, is expecting a fifth child in the spring with wife Melania Knauss, according to the New York Post.

The 59-year-old real estate developer has three children with Ivana Trump: Donald Jr., 27, Ivanka, 23, and Eric, 21, according to the newspaper. He has a daughter, Tiffany, 11, with Marla Maples.

Why are we allowing this man to reproduce? I will never know . . .

Here's Trump's "gettin sexy" face. Pucker up ladies - you might be next! We all know the Trump is fertile and approves of infidelity. You could be the next momma Trump. Just goes to show that a bad toupee will still get you far in life . . .

Nostalgia.....for the Grant

2005-09-08T07:31:00.000-07:00

As I was cleaning out an old CD case last weekend, I found something truly genius . . . my first CD ever burned (1995) entitled "The Gin Mix." Why did I self title my own first CD, and more importantly, why did I call it "Gin"? I will never know....

In the mix, I found some Ozzy, a little Goo Goo Dolls...and then, some Amy Grant - Heart in Motion. Immediately, those songs brought back some great memories - barbies in the back seat of my parents van on road trips, really cheesy but awesomely bad music videos, and long gold chains? (I dont know where that memory comes from exactly).

One thing is for certain - no one can deny the greatness of this CD. Every heart beat belongs to you ....oooooooo
or
when the night's not so tender, give it time...though it's hard to remember darling...

So I got on *gasp* iTunes and downloaded the whole CD, and now, I'm at work listening to the Grant, and I feel like a wee one again, with my barbies, wearing gold chains....

yay for the late 80s - early 90s. May they never die.

Tales from the Diary - Part 1

2005-09-05T17:08:00.000-07:00

For any of you that keep a journal...do you ever have those days were you go back and read your thoughts and you think "what a nerd I am." Here is one of those moments...dated March 29, 2005 - this is me, trying to sound smart to..... well. . . to myself:

There are so many different types of people in this world . . .all different sizes, and shapes w/ smiles and frowns. They all move so quickly within this very small space. One moment, they are there, and you their eyes interlock with yours and you think that for a second you can see into their soul. Then, the next moment, they are gone, continuing in their path of intention and you are left w/ just yourself. I wonder what is would be like to connect w/ all the souls you come in contact with - to feel their pain and know their experiences - to understand their fears. People are such interesting creatures, and I say "creatures" because I'm coming to realize more and more that we are just another animal - but the kind of animal who doesn't want to be one. Sometimes I look at my dog at home and I think. .. he doesn't want to be a house dog...he has a wild spark in his eyes that sees the outside beyond the fence as an adventure...it's in his instinct. We do the opposite..we have those wild animal instincts and we repress them so that we can construct this non-animal society that amounts to money and death....

Everyone go see The Constant Gardner - it's awesome.

Laborous

2005-09-05T10:22:00.000-07:00

I mean Labor day, what's up with that?

Sunglasses = Power

2005-08-22T07:06:00.000-07:00

What are we compensating for with large sunglasses? Certainly, there is no clear answer here. But we all know one thing for sure . . . large sunglasses = power.

Look at Victoria . . . what is she hiding? Everyone knows she's perfectly, beautiful . . why escape behind such large frames? Behind the lenses, remains some secret. She walks through the streets of London with this clandestine pride. Yet we all envy her. . .

Look at this unfortionate chap . . . his shades may sheild some UV rays, but they can't sheild his nerdiness. Perhaps if he had some nice Chanel sunglasses, all his problems would be solved. . .

So today, I went in Urban Outfiters and bought myself some huge sunglasses. Why? Because they make me feel powerful. Then I walked down the drag, purse in hand, and felt like I was on top of the world. No one knew my glasses cost me $5, but they thought I was really rich and really powerful.

Shallow? Yes. But moral of the story - a nice pair of shades might elevate you to the next level in life - so go forth, buy sunglasses, and hide those cheek bones. Besides making the cover of US Weekly, you never know where you might end up . . .

Too Far? Or Just Right . . .

2005-08-10T10:06:00.000-07:00

No more burping or gaseous noises for this little chap. You can even play him on your IPod!

My Blog = Me

2005-07-25T10:10:00.000-07:00

The Sand in Your Pool

From MediaPost on blogging:

"A potential employer can determine the degree of your industry interest and expertise by reviewing your discussions and the types of blogs and sites you link to. They can also get a feel for your personality and communication skills based on the style in which you write your blog. Therefore, keep in mind that since a blog provides such intimate insight into your character you should strive to demonstrate your integrity and professionalism. "

Well crap, I'm screwed . . .

Cow's Teet Part Dos

2005-07-18T15:06:00.000-07:00

I asked Lindsey Britt how much money it would take for her to suck milk from an actual cow's teet. She said $50, claiming "I am broke guys. . . I'd do almost anything for $50." So now I'm on a mission to get her to do it. Any and all monetary donations are accepted.

I love CNN.com, but . . .

2005-07-15T12:19:00.000-07:00

Currently on CNN.com:

"Attacks kill 26 Iraqis & 2 Marines. Watch online now for free!"

My Name, My Pain

2005-07-14T23:30:00.000-07:00

I have loathed my name for as long as I can remember. Today was probably one of the top days of my life that "Ginger" and I had issues. Read on to understand why:

I walked into work this morning and passed by the CEO.
CEO: "Good morning Ginger, has anyone ever called you Ginger-spice?"
Me: trying to be cheesy polite because it's the CEO "yeah a few times *awkward laugh*"
CEO: "I like that, Ginger-spice" He walks away, giggling to himself

I went to Schlotzsky's later that day to support them - Austin based company who filed chapter 11 last year. Donald, at the front counter, says the following:

Donald: "Can I get your name please?"
Me: "Ginger"
Donald: "Ginger? Isn't that like from Giligan's Island?"
Me: "Yup"
Donald: "That's so funny . . . Giligan's Island. . . HAHAHAH Where's Giligan?"
Me: "I don't know. I think he died after the 2nd time I heard that joke back in 1984."
Donald: awkward "Oh, enjoy you sandwich"

I talked with the parking guy for awhile:

Chance: "So, you park here everyday and I never got your name."
Me: "It's Ginger."
Chance: "No, really? Why?"
Me: "I dont know, my parents named me that"
Chance: "That's funny. I have a friend who's last name is Spice. I should set you two up."
Me: "Yeah, that would be hilarious."

Soccer teammate this evening:

Teammate: "So, I always thought Ginger was a stripper's name"
Me: "Well it might be, but I'm not a stripper"
Teammate: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Pretty sure."
Teammate: "Well that's no fun."

So there you have it kids . . . 4 times in one day. By the way for those who are curious, Ginger means "pure" yet people like to corrupt it. Please, name your children appropriate, conversation savvy names. It will save them a lot of strife and many many forced laughs.

"Housewife" - Anne Sexton

2005-07-12T15:22:00.000-07:00

Some women marry houses.
It's another kind of skin; it has a heart,
a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.
The walls are permanent and pink.
See how she sits on her knees all day,
faithfully washing herself down.
Men enter by force, drawn back like Jonah
into their fleshy mothers.
A woman is her mother.
That's the main thing.

Ain't Notin Better Than The 80s

2005-07-05T13:41:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, the 80s. A time when "looking cool" meant leg warmers and leotards. Where men could act gay without being acused of being gay. I had the priveldge of watching "Breakin' 2" this weekend, and I have to say, this movie has changed my life.

The main characters are "Ozone" and "Turbo." You may ask yourself, what mother in their right mind who name their children these horrendous names? Don't worry - these hip dudes officially changed their names after learning that their calling in life to win fame, fortune, and lots of babes is break dancing. And break dancing they did - up the walls, on the ceiling (magically, gravity doesn't seem to apply to them). Yes, the ladies were impressed. Ozone won himself a white chick after dumping his girlfriend, and Turbo got the Latin woman who was impressed by his coy winks and moonwalking skillz.

Actual lines from the movie:

Ex-girlfriend: "Ozone, I don't want you hanging out with that girl anymore."
Ozone: "Girl, why you gotta be like that. You know we are over."
Ex-G: "But I still love you Ozone."
Ozone: "Girl, that's wacked."
Ex-G: dramatic walk off, crying
Ozone: Lies down on his multi-cultured bed, puffing in frustration.

How can this movie be both quite possibly the worst movie ever made but also the best movie ever made? This could only happen in the 80s. . .

Marketing Jesus

2005-06-26T15:42:00.000-07:00

As I was driving today in my car, I decided to peruse the Austin radio stations. I came accross the woman speaking with a soft voice: "92.1 KLove - the station for encouraging music." Then, a cheesy Christian artist started singing, comparing herself to a baby in God's arms and I think she actually rhymed the word "burden" with "hurting." This experience brought me back to KLTY days - the Dallas Christian station - who is "safe for the whole family." Safe? Are we safe because we listen to a Christian radio station? I'm confused. I find myself actually scared.

Why do we feel the need to "market Jesus." Shouldn't his story be enough?

Mardel Christian Bookstore, the Wal-Mart of all Christian stores located appropriately in North Dallas, uses the following tagline: "Mardel: Renewing Minds, Transforming Lives." They sell Jesus pens, Jesus stationary, Jesus necklaces, T-shirts, and bumper stickers. How is our mind renewed by purchasing a Jesus pen?They also have a lifesize cutout posters of Bush all over the store. I asked an employee in the fall why they didn't have any Kerry poster's around the store. She responded, confused, "well, because Kerry isn't a Christian - we have high Christian standards here." Isn't Kerry Catholic?

This post cannot possibly be funny because it is just sad and rather telling about the Christian culture in the US. We flee to things masked in Christian labels, because it makes us look safe and secure but when it comes down to it - most of us are just as scared as the rest of the world. Sell your SUV, sell your Plano house and live in East Dallas, send your kids to public school, and then we'll talk about your faith.

Please Keep All Personal Items In the Storage Above You and . . . In Your Shirt

2005-06-20T22:41:00.000-07:00

Taken word for word out of People magazine, at your local supermarket today:

"On May 18, Barbara Walters said on The View that sitting in the same row as a nursing mother on a plane made her uncomfortable. The response? Nearly 200 women, called lactivists, staged a 'nurse-in' in front of ABC's Manhattan headquarters June 6 to support breast-feeding in public. Says La Leche League spokeswoman, Mary Lofton: 'It's always appropriate to feed your baby when your baby is hungry.'"

La Lecha League - are you kidding me? Surely I must be dreaming - and in New York of all places? This could on exist in Texas . . . Barbara is right - no one wants to see a random breast in public, so ladies, keep your wheaties in the cereal box until you are in private. I'm pretty sure your precious little angel won't starve and you might be saving him from a life of American obesity.

Humans are Animals

2005-06-18T14:59:00.000-07:00

Everyone always tells me I look like a Rabbit. I guess I know how Bush feels. Bananas anyone?

Summer Freedom / Boredom

2005-06-07T18:35:00.000-07:00

I found myself having a lot of time on my hands, and you know what happens when you have a lot of free time and a big house to yourself when no one is home? You start talking to yourself. Here is a list of words I find funny to say in foreign accents:

Focus - (Australian Accent)
Potty - (British Accent)
Mastercard - (Spanish)
Click - (German)

You just said them outloud didn't you? Welcome to the club.

2005-05-16T14:55:00.000-07:00

Ginger & Leslie
Posted by Hello

Leslie - male or female or Satan?

2005-05-16T14:47:00.000-07:00

As you can see from the picture above, I met Leslie, officially, this weekend. I had many unwanted contacts with his nude bottom on various occasions, but last weekend was the first meet and greet.

As you can see from his grin, he was very excited to meet me - if you look really hard, besides the obvious need for dental work, you can see that his laughter resembles that of Satan. I, on the other hand, remain rather frightended / shocked / perhaps a little giddy myself. (I actually had to photo shop his left hand out of the picture - seriously)

He's a rather odd person, and I know he's controversial within Austin. Call me crazy, but I'd really like to take him to dinner and have a real conversation with him.

Kinky Friedman and Leslie __ have both now officially run for mayor. Kinky is a Plan II major. I think I have a bright future ahead of me.

Viva la Austin and it's craziness!

It's Raining Poop

2005-05-12T09:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I washed my car.

Today it rained - but not water:

2005-05-07T18:33:00.000-07:00

I've been in trouble with some of my friends (fellow blog followers) lately, so I feel the need to clear some things up. Please read the criticisms below and note my proceeding defenses:

1) "You are really cynical. Look at how many times you say 'hate' in your blog."
Reponse: I accept this, however, I am not a cynical person. I just find humor in the small, stupid things people do - myself included. So, lets not get our panties in a wad okay? Plus, I probably hate you too.

2) "You are mean to Bush. He's a great president and deserves our respect."
Response: No need to get into political preferences here - but, I only like to make fun of Bushisms - not Bush himself. I think that's okay. Don't take me too seriously or just move to DC.

3) "You are always stereotyping people - instead of looking at people as individuals, which makes you look ignorant and stupid."
Response: I like to think of it as "grouping" people. Yes, there are some natural groupings that form in the TYPES of people that exist in the world. To avoid further conflict, I will add "one person in particular" or "sometimes" or "in a few cases" to my vocabulary and other vague phrases to appease the journalist majors who are constantly on my case.

4) "You spelled snuffalufagus wrong"
Response: clearly, yes, I did - but that is because its a funny word. I'm not attached to the real elephant/monster/hairy peice of trash animal from seasame street.

Any other complaints can be directly to the "comment" box below. You want a controversial blog? A funny blog? A blog that tickles your fancy? I will do my best. Hasta luego from the North Carolina montanas. . .

Confused, Amused

2005-05-04T10:41:00.000-07:00

If you find yourself confused, lost, in need of some direction. Please don't turn to Zoloft. Instead, take a look at your national politicians who also, at times, find themselves rather confused, even perplexed . . .

These are some of the most powerful people in our nation and through the suit-ties and $500 haircuts, we still see they are as confused as the rest of us in this post-modern society:

What's wrong Dubya? You can't spell snuffalufagus?

"do not feed the condoleeza. she does bite"
Eh. . why not? Let's go bomb another country.

How can you resist those luscious lips, Bill?

He can't handle Tex-Mex.

What? What?

2005-05-04T09:38:00.000-07:00

The existential post.

Love is in the air - or wait, is it gas prices?

2005-04-27T07:51:00.000-07:00

Prince Abdullah and the Dubyah are taking a nice long stroll through the bluebonnets in Crawford, Texas. One can only imagine the conversation that must be taking place . . .

Abdullah: Wow, those bluebonnets sure bring out your eyes.
Dubyah: I like Texas.
Abdullah: It's pretty hot under all these clothes.
Dubyah: Speaking of hot, how about lowering these gas prices or we'll bomb your country.
Abdullah: George, you know that type of talk turns me on . . .

And finally, he goes in for the kiss. . . God Bless America.

2005-04-19T18:36:00.000-07:00

This is Phil. . . being "intentional" with the dog. Therefore, kissing is okay.
Posted by Hello

2005-04-19T18:23:00.000-07:00

We are more like the animal kingdom than you'd think . . .
Posted by Hello

2005-04-19T18:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes Ade is ravenous . .
Posted by Hello

IPoop

2005-04-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

I have not purchased an IPod. I will admit, that I used to casually search on Ebay, but never found a decent price. I have an iRiver that holds only 10MB (~30 songs). It looks like this:

Note: This is NOT an IPod.

For some reason, everywhere I go, people think I have an IPod. I have been asked probably 10 times this weekend by random strangers if what I had was a new type of IPod. At first, I was flattered. Someone thought my $50 purchase was actually of IPod quality. Now, I am just annoyed. Last night, when I was at the gym, a girl proceeded to poke me and ask me if I had a new type of IPod. This time, I gave her a different story. I told her, with a big smile, that it was the newest model, and that my dad, who worked at Apple, got me the model before it was out on the market. The girl seemed excited, she asked how much it would cost. I told her $867.34 - exactly. She told me she'll have to get one, and then left me alone.

IPods currently have 75% of the market for portable MP3 players - essentially, they are the ghetto bootys of bottomsville. I will not be purchasing an IPod in the near future. Yes, they might allure me with their sleek, curvacious, frutty bodies - with those white ear peices that scream "I am cool." I will hold my ground - Dell, HP, Toshiba - hit me with whatcha got. I'm waiting.

Schnoz

2005-04-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

Have you got yourself a big one? A pointy one? A dainty one? A monsterously hairy one? That's right folks . . we're talking about "the nose." We all have one - some are more obvious than others. Let's be real though, a nose is a nose is a nose. I personally think "the nose" was a little artistic joke that God played on us. I mean really, a peice of flesh with two holes that likes to drip a slimy substance during the winter months? Let's take a look into the "nose" world, shall we?

Come on..follow me, into the nostril:

Whatcha got up there Yasser?

The ideal nose:

The childs' nose:

Now this is one hot nose - but on a separate note, I am really sick of people naming their dogs "Ginger" - let's be origional people, okay?

More of today's post: look in the mirror folks every now and then - take a long, lingering look at your schnoz and give yourself a good laugh. Noses are funny. Stop saying "your mom" jokes to hide your insecurities and just laugh at your wonderful, booger-infested, awkwardly intrusive nose.

Top 10 Reasons I Have a Love/Hate (but mostly love) Relationship with Austin

2005-04-04T15:16:00.000-07:00

1. Leslie. Sometimes I really like him (her?), but sometimes, especially when his rear flesh is a little too close in approximity to me, I really don't like him.

2. 6th street. I've had good nights here, yes. I've also seen way too many reguritated meals from some unlucky drunkards. Gross. Hey, the Harley men like it:

3.Westlakers - you can smell them like week's leftovers. They are everywhere, taking up our jobs, putting up Wal-Marts, ruining our ozone with their inefficient SUVs, etc. They live in homes like this and their faces are permanently like this . Approach with caution and always with Louis Vuitton.

4.Mopac Traffic - I always get confused when I see the train passing through the center going the opposite way. But when the train is going the same way as me and I pass him, I'm like "hey loser, you should drive a car."

5. Rick Perry. Sorry, Aggies don't belong here.

6. Many many many many many middle aged/menapausal women can feel at home here and make faces like this: .

7. The Women are hot, the salsa is hot, the sun is hot.

8. Dogs can have fun
-
even fun on someone else's lawn

9. Psycho marathoners (marathonists?). We've all seen them - those skinny beasts that run like the wind. They shut down all the roads in Austin about once a month - so you're forced to enter Westlake territory. . .

10. And finally . . . the hippies. You gotta love 'em - with a face like this, they are irresitable, so soft and cuddly.

After awhile, the smell of B.O. and weed rubs off on you - literally. You also learn fun words like "spiritual progress" and "pura vida" and "habalaluk . . man."

Viva la Austin!

Awkward Moments Can Turn Glorious

2005-03-29T22:20:00.000-08:00

There's nothing more that I hate than awkward moments. However, when I observe someone else's awkwardness, it brings me intense joy. Sick - I know. I felt the need to transcribe this conversation that I overheard today at Mozarts for that exact reason.

Cute, tan, blonde girl - early 20s - has some sort of a Sweedish accent? She gets a note from a Mozarts' employee who says that some guy left it for her at the counter. I figured it was some sort of love note, so I watched her read it.
She smiled shyly and bit her bottom lip as she dialed some # from the note on her cell phone.

Cute, sweedish chick: "Are you here . . I got your note . . come back inside . . I'll see you, I'll see you. . ."

Then, enters a very awkward man - average height, average weight - sort of buck teeth - wearing a tan beret and coffee-house glasses.

He shakes hands with the girl and puts his hands in his pockets, swinging back and forth like a little kid.

"Hey"
"Hi"
"I'm Allen"
"I'm Crissy"
"What's your major"
"Accounting. . . "
"What's your major"
"I study the bible.."

Cute, Sweedish chick: "The bible? That's your major"
Awkward man: "Pretty much. Well, I'm in a 2 year seminary program."
Cute Sweedish chick: "Oh, well it was nice to meet you."
Awkward man: "Yup," *another awkward handshake* "well, see ya around"

Awkward man starts to walk away, but some dude yells at him from the back to come over. This dude is a Brian Boddicker look alike - tall, blonde, abercrombie apparel, way too smiley.

Boddicker look alike: "You study the bible man? I am about to start seminary there."
Awkward man: "Yup."
Boddicker: "Do you like it?"
Awkward man: "Yup."
Boddicker: "Can I maybe have your phone number so I can talk to you about it sometime . . I might need some advice."
Awkard man: "Yup" and starts to write his number on the napkin
Boddicker: "Yeah I grew up Catholic...but now I want to be a minister, not a priest."
Awkward man: "Cool. . . talk to you soon."

Awkward man walks away, with a creepy, odd smile on his face.

I learned three things tonight - 1) anything can and will distract me from thesis work 2) I am way too interested in other peoples' love lives 3) sometimes when you go in to get someone's number, you can walk out with a very tall man's instead.

Morbid Easter

2005-03-28T13:32:00.000-08:00

Imagine your fluffy, cotton-tailed Easter bunny replaced with this hideous creature. Well, that was my Easter image this year. I decided to watch Donnie Darko on Sunday. Although a great movie - very highly recommended - it does not sit well with frolicking bunnies and colorful Easter eggs. Unfortionately, I will never look at bunnies the same way again:(

I hope your Easter was fluffier and full of soft velvet noses.

Tuna anyone?

2005-03-23T13:43:00.000-08:00

FISH FIsh fish
Originally uploaded by gingerade7.

Advice of the day from the Snuffalufagus blog: do NOT eat Tuna in your place of work. You may think that no one can smell you in your little cubical in the corner, but you are wrong. You also may not think people can hear you when you cuss at your computer screen - again, false. I had about 3 encounters with Tuna-eaters today, both were unplesant experiences and rather embarrasing when someone walked near my cube and gave me a bad look - as if I were the Tuna perpetrator!! Tuna, although a good source of protein and the fish oils make your hair so soft and silky, should never be eaten in the premises of others. If you must consume your Tuna, please go outdoors to the aire libre and have your way with that foul friendly fish.
P.S. For those of you fish experts out there: yes, I realize the featured fish is not of the Tuna species. I just included it for emphatic purposes. A fish is a fish is a fish, folks. Lets not get our panties in a wad over technicalities.

Blue Like Jazz

2005-03-22T16:13:00.000-08:00

I know everyone is jumping on the Blue Like Jazz bandwagon, but I have to admit that it is a great book and worth reading. The following quotes from D. Miller really capture the attitude I think we should have in regards to the church and Religion:

"At the time I was attending this large church in the suburbs. It was like going to church at the Gap."
"The Bible is so good with chocolate."
"We were getting pretty proud of ourselves because we had read a great deal of Scripture and hadn't gotten anyone pregnant. One of us decided to create a contract that listed the things we wouldn't do for an entire year. It was the constitution of our self-righteous individualism. We were the direct opposite of a frat house - like Bible salesman on steriods."
"My belief in Jesus did not seem rational or scientific, and yet there was nothing I could do to separate myself from this belief. There are plenty of things that are true that don't make sense. I don't think you can explain how the Christian faith works either. It is a mystery - it cannot be explained, and yet it is beautiful and true. It is something you feel, and it comes from the soul."

Religion and the religious attitude is like a disease to our society and is suffocating the very powerful and present truth. Religion has brought us to a place where we are trapped within the words in doctrine and rules, when everything about who Jesus was equaled freedom. It's time to us to be revolutionary and start believing this!

Read Blue Like Jazz . . . it's worth the ride:)

Brett Farve...anyone?

2005-03-21T15:03:00.000-08:00

mullet
Originally uploaded by gingerade7.

This is just unfortionate. . . I'm moving to Canada.

A Monkey, A Friend

2005-03-21T14:53:00.000-08:00

Costa Rica - 2005 206
Originally uploaded by gingerade7.

Look at this little feller. He doesn't look too happy does he? He tried to attack me when I used my flash. And to think that we are made up of 99% of the same DNA . . . I tried to give him a banana - he got offended. I tried to smile at him - he stuck his tounge out at me. I tried to woo him with amorous monkey noises - he ran away. I used to like monkeys. Now, I don't.

La "teet" de la vaca

2005-03-19T12:29:00.000-08:00

Costa Rica - 2005 169
Originally uploaded by gingerade7.

I had an interesting experience in Costa Rica involving a teet and a cow. Being the city girl that I am, I actually never "milked" a cow, persay, in my life. When I was offered the chance to milk by hand, I jumped on it. As you can see from the giddy school girl look on my face, the cow's teet was rather pleasant. It had a rubbery, warm texture and I felt as though the cow was calling "milk me....milk me....." even though in reality, she was chewing on some oats. I would suggest a good cow milkage for any of you who haven't had the experience. I think we all should have a good encounter with a live heifer or two in our lives or bovine gluttony.

McCrap

2005-03-10T07:45:00.000-08:00

An excerpt from my journal when I was in Argentina (Fall 2003):

"No other store in Buenos Aires will change 100 pesos except McDonalds. How ironic, the symbol of efficiency wrapped up in the taste of a greasy hamburger. And they sell empanadas that taste like melted plastic. When you ask for more ketchup, the workers look like they are going to bite you as they slam it on your tray. Now I know how Seinfeld must have felt in front of the Soup Nazi."

Funny Story

2005-03-09T11:36:00.000-08:00

I came accross this story at work while looking for "inspirational stories." This isn't inspirational - just funny - like something right out of a Ben Stiller movie.

Coffee, Tea, or Should We Feel Your Pregnant Wife’s Breasts Before Throwing You in a Cell at the Airport and Then Lying About Why We Put You There?

http://www.lewrockwell.com/orig3/monahan1.html

This morning I’ll be escorting my wife to the hospital, where the doctors will perform a caesarean section to remove our first child. She didn’t want to do it this way – neither of us did – but sometimes the Fates decide otherwise. The Fates or, in our case, government employees.
On the morning of October 26th Mary and I entered Portland International Airport, en route to the Las Vegas wedding of one of my best friends. Although we live in Los Angeles, we’d been in Oregon working on a film, and up to that point had had nothing but praise to shower on the city of Portland, a refreshing change of pace from our own suffocating metropolis.

At the security checkpoint I was led aside for the "inspection" that’s all the rage at airports these days. My shoes were removed. I was told to take off my sweater, then to fold over the waistband of my pants. My baseball hat, hastily jammed on my head at 5 AM, was removed and assiduously examined ("Anything could be in here, sir," I was told, after I asked what I could hide in a baseball hat. Yeah. Anything.) Soon I was standing on one foot, my arms stretched out, the other leg sticking out in front of me àla a DUI test. I began to get pissed off, as most normal people would. My anger increased when I realized that the newly knighted federal employees weren’t just examining me, but my 7½ months pregnant wife as well. I’d originally thought that I’d simply been randomly selected for the more excessive than normal search. You know, Number 50 or whatever. Apparently not though – it was both of us. These are your new threats, America: pregnant accountants and their sleepy husbands flying to weddings.
After some more grumbling on my part they eventually finished with me and I went to retrieve our luggage from the x-ray machine. Upon returning I found my wife sitting in a chair, crying. Mary rarely cries, and certainly not in public. When I asked her what was the matter, she tried to quell her tears and sobbed, "I’m sorry...it’s...they touched my breasts...and..." That’s all I heard. I marched up to the woman who’d been examining her and shouted, "What did you do to her?" Later I found out that in addition to touching her swollen breasts – to protect the American citizenry – the employee had asked that she lift up her shirt. Not behind a screen, not off to the side – no, right there, directly in front of the hundred or so passengers standing in line. And for you women who’ve been pregnant and worn maternity pants, you know how ridiculous those things look. "I felt like a clown," my wife told me later. "On display for all these people, with the cotton panel on my pants and my stomach sticking out. When I sat down I just lost my composure and began to cry. That’s when you walked up."

Of course when I say she "told me later," it’s because she wasn’t able to tell me at the time, because as soon as I demanded to know what the federal employee had done to make her cry, I was swarmed by Portland police officers. Instantly. Three of them, cinching my arms, locking me in handcuffs, and telling me I was under arrest. Now my wife really began to cry. As they led me away and she ran alongside, I implored her to calm down, to think of the baby, promising her that everything would turn out all right. She faded into the distance and I was shoved into an elevator, a cop holding each arm. After making me face the corner, the head honcho told that I was under arrest and that I wouldn’t be flying that day – that I was in fact a "menace."
It took me a while to regain my composure. I felt like I was one of those guys in The Gulag Archipelago who, because the proceedings all seem so unreal, doesn’t fully realize that he is in fact being arrested in a public place in front of crowds of people for...for what? I didn’t know what the crime was. Didn’t matter. Once upstairs, the officers made me remove my shoes and my hat and tossed me into a cell. Yes, your airports have prison cells, just like your amusement parks, train stations, universities, and national forests. Let freedom reign.

After a short time I received a visit from the arresting officer. "Mr. Monahan," he started, "Are you on drugs?"
Was this even real? "No, I’m not on drugs."
"Should you be?"
"What do you mean?"
"Should you be on any type of medication?"
"No."
"Then why’d you react that way back there?"
You see the thinking? You see what passes for reasoning among your domestic shock troops these days? Only "whackos" get angry over seeing the woman they’ve been with for ten years in tears because someone has touched her breasts. That kind of reaction – love, protection – it’s mind-boggling! "Mr. Monahan, are you on drugs?" His snide words rang inside my head. This is my wife, finally pregnant with our first child after months of failed attempts, after the depressing shock of the miscarriage last year, my wife who’d been walking on a cloud over having the opportunity to be a mother...and my anger is simply unfathomable to the guy standing in front of me, the guy who earns a living thanks to my taxes, the guy whose family I feed through my labor. What I did wasn’t normal. No, I reacted like a drug addict would’ve. I was so disgusted I felt like vomiting. But that was just the beginning.
An hour later, after I’d been gallantly assured by the officer that I wouldn’t be attending my friend’s wedding that day, I heard Mary’s voice outside my cell. The officer was speaking loudly, letting her know that he was planning on doing me a favor... which everyone knows is never a real favor. He wasn’t going to come over and help me work on my car or move some furniture. No, his "favor" was this: He’d decided not to charge me with a felony.
Think about that for a second. Rapes, car-jackings, murders, arsons – those are felonies. So is yelling in an airport now, apparently. I hadn’t realized, though I should have. Luckily, I was getting a favor, though. I was merely going to be slapped with a misdemeanor.
"Here’s your court date," he said as I was released from my cell. In addition, I was banned from Portland International for 90 days, and just in case I was thinking of coming over and hanging out around its perimeter, the officer gave me a map with the boundaries highlighted, sternly warning me against trespassing. Then he and a second officer escorted us off the grounds. Mary and I hurriedly drove two and a half hours in the rain to Seattle, where we eventually caught a flight to Vegas. But the officer was true to his word – we missed my friend’s wedding. The fact that he’d been in my own wedding party, the fact that a once in a lifetime event was stolen from us – well, who cares, right?

Upon our return to Portland (I’d had to fly into Seattle and drive back down), we immediately began contacting attorneys. We aren’t litigious people – we wanted no money. I’m not even sure what we fully wanted. An apology? A reprimand? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter though, because we couldn’t afford a lawyer, it turned out. $4,000 was the average figure bandied about as a retaining fee. Sorry, but I’ve got a new baby on the way. So we called the ACLU, figuring they existed for just such incidents as these. And they do apparently...but only if we were minorities. That’s what they told us.

In the meantime, I’d appealed my suspension from PDX. A week or so later I got a response from the Director of Aviation. After telling me how, in the aftermath of 9/11, most passengers not only accept additional airport screening but welcome it, he cut to the chase:
"After a review of the police report and my discussions with police staff, as well as a review of the TSA’s report on this incident, I concur with the officer’s decision to take you into custody and to issue a citation to you for disorderly conduct. That being said, because I also understand that you were upset and acted on your emotions, I am willing to lift the Airport Exclusion Order...."
Attached to this letter was the report the officer had filled out. I’d like to say I couldn’t believe it, but in a way, I could. It’s seemingly becoming the norm in America – lies and deliberate distortions on the part of those in power, no matter how much or how little power they actually wield.
The gist of his report was this: From the get go I wasn’t following the screener’s directions. I was "squinting my eyes" and talking to my wife in a "low, forced voice" while "excitedly swinging my arms." Twice I began to walk away from the screener, inhaling and exhaling forcefully. When I’d completed the physical exam, I walked to the luggage screening area, where a second screener took a pair of scissors from my suitcase. At this point I yelled, "What the %*&$% is going on? This is &*#&$%!" The officer, who’d already been called over by one of the screeners, became afraid for the TSA staff and the many travelers. He required the assistance of a second officer as he "struggled" to get me into handcuffs, then for "cover" called over a third as well. It was only at this point that my wife began to cry hysterically.
There was nothing poetic in my reaction to the arrest report. I didn’t crumple it in my fist and swear that justice would be served, promising to sacrifice my resources and time to see that it would. I simply stared. Clearly the officer didn’t have the guts to write down what had really happened. It might not look too good to see that stuff about the pregnant woman in tears because she’d been humiliated. Instead this was the official scenario being presented for the permanent record. It doesn’t even matter that it’s the most implausible sounding situation you can think of. "Hey, what the..., they’re taking our scissors, honey!" Why didn’t he write in anything about a monkey wearing a fez?
True, the TSA staff had expropriated a pair of scissors from our toiletries kit – the story wasn’t entirely made up. Except that I’d been locked in airport jail at the time. I didn’t know anything about any scissors until Mary told me on our drive up to Seattle. They’d questioned her about them while I was in the bowels of the airport sitting in my cell.
So I wrote back, indignation and disgust flooding my brain.
"[W]hile I’m not sure, I’d guess that the entire incident is captured on video. Memory is imperfect on everyone’s part, but the footage won’t lie. I realize it might be procedurally difficult for you to view this, but if you could, I’d appreciate it. There’s no willful disregard of screening directions. No explosion over the discovery of a pair of scissors in a suitcase. No struggle to put handcuffs on. There’s a tired man, early in the morning, unhappily going through a rigorous procedure and then reacting to the tears of his pregnant wife."
Eventually we heard back from a different person, the guy in charge of the TSA airport screeners. One of his employees had made the damning statement about me exploding over her scissor discovery, and the officer had deftly incorporated that statement into his report. We asked the guy if he could find out why she’d said this – couldn’t she possibly be mistaken? "Oh, can’t do that, my hands are tied. It’s kind of like leading a witness – I could get in trouble, heh heh." Then what about the videotape? Why not watch that? That would exonerate me. "Oh, we destroy all video after three days."
Sure you do.
A few days later we heard from him again. He just wanted to inform us that he’d received corroboration of the officer’s report from the officer’s superior, a name we didn’t recognize. "But...he wasn’t even there," my wife said.
"Yeah, well, uh, he’s corroborated it though."
That’s how it works.
"Oh, and we did look at the videotape. Inconclusive."
But I thought it was destroyed?
On and on it went. Due to the tenacity of my wife in making phone calls and speaking with relevant persons, the "crime" was eventually lowered to a mere citation. Only she could have done that. I would’ve simply accepted what was being thrown at me, trumped up charges and all, simply because I’m wholly inadequate at performing the kowtow. There’s no way I could have contacted all the people Mary did and somehow pretend to be contrite. Besides, I speak in a low, forced voice, which doesn’t elicit sympathy. Just police suspicion.
Weeks later at the courthouse I listened to a young DA awkwardly read the charges against me – "Mr. Monahan...umm...shouted obscenities at the airport staff...umm... umm...oh, they took some scissors from his suitcase and he became...umm...abusive at this point." If I was reading about it in Kafka I might have found something vaguely amusing in all of it. But I wasn’t. I was there. Living it.
I entered a plea of nolo contendere, explaining to the judge that if I’d been a resident of Oregon, I would have definitely pled "Not Guilty." However, when that happens, your case automatically goes to a jury trial, and since I lived a thousand miles away, and was slated to return home in seven days, with a newborn due in a matter of weeks...you get the picture. "No Contest" it was. Judgment: $250 fine.
Did I feel happy? Only $250, right? No, I wasn’t happy. I don’t care if it’s twelve cents, that’s money pulled right out of my baby’s mouth and fed to a disgusting legal system that will use it to propagate more incidents like this. But at the very least it was over, right? Wrong.
When we returned to Los Angeles there was an envelope waiting for me from the court. Inside wasn’t a receipt for the money we’d paid. No, it was a letter telling me that what I actually owed was $309 – state assessed court costs, you know. Wouldn’t you think your taxes pay for that – the state putting you on trial? No, taxes are used to hire more cops like the officer, because with our rising criminal population – people like me – hey, your average citizen demands more and more "security."
Finally I reach the piece de resistance. The week before we’d gone to the airport my wife had had her regular pre-natal checkup. The child had settled into the proper head down position for birth, continuing the remarkable pregnancy she’d been having. We returned to Portland on Sunday. On Mary’s Monday appointment she was suddenly told, "Looks like your baby’s gone breech." When she later spoke with her midwives in Los Angeles, they wanted to know if she’d experienced any type of trauma recently, as this often makes a child flip. "As a matter of fact..." she began, recounting the story, explaining how the child inside of her was going absolutely crazy when she was crying as the police were leading me away through the crowd.
My wife had been planning a natural childbirth. She’d read dozens of books, meticulously researched everything, and had finally decided that this was the way for her. No drugs, no numbing of sensations – just that ultimate combination of brute pain and sheer joy that belongs exclusively to mothers. But my wife is also a first-time mother, so she has what is called an "untested" pelvis. Essentially this means that a breech birth is too dangerous to attempt, for both mother and child. Therefore, she’s now relegated to a c-section – hospital stay, epidural, catheter, fetal monitoring, stitches – everything she didn’t want. Her natural birth has become a surgery.
We’ve tried everything to turn that baby. Acupuncture, chiropractic techniques, underwater handstands, elephant walking, moxibustion, bending backwards over pillows, herbs, external manipulation – all to no avail. When I walked into the living room the other night and saw her plaintively cooing with a flashlight turned onto her stomach, yet another suggested technique, my heart almost broke. It’s breaking now as I write these words.
I can never prove that my child went breech because of what happened to us at the airport. But I’ll always believe it. Wrongly or rightly, I’ll forever think of how this man, the personification of this system, has affected the lives of my family and me. When my wife is sliced open, I’ll be thinking of him. When they remove her uterus from her abdomen and lay it on her stomach, I’ll be thinking of him. When I visit her and my child in the hospital instead of having them with me here in our home, I’ll be thinking of him. When I assist her to the bathroom while the incision heals internally, I’ll be thinking of him.
There are plenty of stories like this these days. I don’t know how many I’ve read where the writer describes some breach of civil liberties by employees of the state, then wraps it all up with a dire warning about what we as a nation are becoming, and how if we don’t put an end to it now, then we’re in for heaps of trouble. Well you know what? Nothing’s going to stop the inevitable. There’s no policy change that’s going to save us. There’s no election that’s going to put a halt to the onslaught of tyranny. It’s here already – this country has changed for the worse and will continue to change for the worse. There is now a division between the citizenry and the state. When that state is used as a tool against me, there is no longer any reason why I should owe any allegiance to that state.

And that’s the first thing that child of ours is going to learn.

Not my Words, but My thoughts

2005-03-08T16:33:00.000-08:00

People choose funny things to put up on their away messages.

I think you have about eight stereotypical away messages, categories into which every away message ever left has fallen.

1. There is the pessimistic away message. This one speaks of a rough day to come, bad weather, academic or work related pressures, etc. Sometimes "satan" comes into play here, but that's only for drastic reasons.

2. There is the hidden message away message. Sometimes evil, sometimes sensual, but mostly just boring.

3. Next, the pure comedy away message, meant only to make you and I smile. These are the best, and the most brilliant.

4. There is the "full transcription of my daily schedule" away message. Sometimes these are useful if you don't answer your cell phone. But please, don't try to make yourself look busy when you're really not . . .

5. The self glorifying away message is one designed to make the away-ee look cool. Never works - don't try it.

6. The song lyrics/poetry away message is an effort to associate oneself with some alcove of pop culture, and the person leaving that message wants you to be moved by one line of third eye blind words in the same way that the entire song moves them. I personally always try to read the deeper meaning...so choose your lyrics carefully.

7. The web link away message is self-explanatory and can be brilliant but I can tell you this: I am not going to click your link friend...don't kid yourself.

8. Finally, the static away message is always the same and you wonder every time you look at it why you've bothered because it is always the same and you feel a bit betrayed by having checked it again.

Ok, so now I'm going to head over to AIM and see what I can find:

Auto response from Kimmysue82: i'm around

Ah classic case of the #4, but with an odd twist. If she was really around, would she have an away message? hmmm....

Auto response from Naetoe10: You've already won me over inspite oif me and don't be alarmed if i fall head over feet....

We've got ourselves a #6 here folks....pure and simple. Alannis, I love you . .. away message, you aren't doing it for me.

Auto response from Flymm1: Wanna know how I celebrate??? By studying for a test in a class I am failing...

#1...*insert frown face here* - sucks to be you buddy.

Auto response from beV18J: hiking the appalachian trail in southwestern virginia

This is a rare one indeed. . . perhaps a combination of #4 & #5. One must ask themself, if he is really hiking the appalachian trial right now, why even bother to put an away message? Why not turn off your computer, conserve energy - help those Californians out. Yet, this person wants his away check-ees to feel jealously. Sneaky, sneaky.

Auto response from ABienski: last week in tuesday class my professor, mj burson, yelled, "TITTIES!" while shaking her head from side to side. what will today bring? i don't know, but i am so excited to find out.

And finally, we almost have a #3 here, but I've heard that story verbally from 2 people today, so I don't feel comfortable giving a #3 here.