Been busy the last week - sorry for the lack of posts. I was out of town on business the latter half of last week, then had a busy weekend. Some of it was social (saw the movie "No Reservations" - it was good, but not stellar - and went to a house-warming), but mostly I tried to get caught up on some sleep and had a bunch of stuff to do around the house. How is it that I got a lot done, but I still seem to have a list a mile long?
I still haven't attempted to attack the backyard, which is truly out of hand now. I'm going to have to go back there with a weedeater just to get the grass down enough to mow it. It's just been so blasted hard to get enough of a break from the rain to do anything. I'm hoping tonight I can get started on the weedeater portion of things. We'll see. I haven't been terribly motivated lately.
I need to do it, though. I'm going to lose my cat back there if I'm not careful. I'm surprised I haven't already had nightmares about it. Not that I haven't had any nightmares. With some of what's going on in my life right now, that's a given. There are a couple of things causing me a lot of stress/anxiety/grief right now, and there's almost no way that my stress/anxiety/grief doesn't come through in a nightmare sooner or later. The other night, I dreamed that I'd been kidnapped. In the dream, the guy who kidnapped me had mistaken me for a young boy (it's a dream people - I don't think I look like a boy), and he kidnapped me because he was going to hold me captive, sexually abuse me and then probably kill me.
I managed to get to the bathroom before his first assault, and I got the attention of some neighbors out the window and tried to make them understand what was happening, and they kind of seemed to get it, but they wouldn't do anything, so I wasn't sure if they understood or not. Then the guy came in, and when he realized that I was trying to signal the neighbors and escape, he started to attack me. He managed to get his hand in my shirt and was pressing his fingernails into my sternum - it almost burned, and I was just trying desperately to keep him from touching any other part of me and to pull his hand away so the nails would stop digging into me. It was during this struggle that I woke up. In terror. I was afraid to go back to sleep for a while - I was afraid if I went back to sleep too quickly the dream would pick back up. So, I lay there, trying to normalize my breathing and get it through my head that I was safe in my house and all was well. It's such a pleasure being me.
Anyway, I'll see if I can't make some headway on my yard. And on my psyche.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Stupid Netflix.
When I was in 7th grade, in school we learned about the stock market. I don't really know what we learned - I was 13 with a mind built for spelling, so I have no idea what I could have absorbed beyond "buy low, sell high." But as part of the lesson, we had a contest. I think we picked stocks, and the person who had the highest value portfolio at the end of the quarter won a $50 savings bond. Guess who won? That's right - yours truly! The math-challenged student won the stock contest!
Ever since then, I've wanted desperately to play on the stock market. By "play" I honestly mean just to play. I wanted to have a certain amount of money that I could use to buy specific stocks (not indexed funds or any other sort of conglomeration - actual, individual stocks) that I researched and picked based on some sort of logic or system for fun. It would be okay if I lost the money. It would be a hobby or a game or whatever you want to call it. It would be entertainment.
The problem was, I never had enough of loose cash to play like that. I didn't want to get into DRIPs or any of that mess. I just wanted a straight-up e-Trade account where I did my own buys and sells and let the chips fall where they may.
Well, my stock mogul dream finally came true about a month ago. I got a big check for all my unused leave time from my old job, and after investing as much as the law would allow in my Roth IRA account, I decided to use the rest (or at least most of the rest) to open up a TD Ameritrade and get to tradin'!
I researched stocks and subscribed to newsletter from The Motley Fool and picked my stocks. When the account was all set up, I made my first purchases. I bought some Apple, because I knew the iPhone was coming out, and I had high hopes. I LOVE Mac products, and one of the stock gurus I've been learning from says that's one of the methods for picking stocks - investing in things you know and love. At first, that one wasn't doing much. People were trying to hate on the iPhone just before it came out. The stock suffered. But then the iPhone actually hit stores, and it's been all love from there - as of today, my stock is up 13% - woohoo!
One of the other companies I bought was Netflix. I love Netflix. And so do my friends. I know many people who have it and love it, and I read that they had plans to enter the download movie market, so I felt good about the direction they were headed. Motley Fool agreed with me. That's a buy. It went well for quite a while - not huge leaps forward, but in the black. Makin' me a little sumpin' sumpin'. We had one little blip when they lowered the price on one of their plans, but it came back.
Well, those stupid boneheads at Netflix decided to do it again - lower their prices again and on more than one plan! This time they're essentially telegraphing that they're starting to panic - that the competition is getting to them - they're not making it!! Thanks alot, Netflix. That one stock has now taken such a nosedive that it's pulled down my entire portfolio. My entire portfolio is now in the red because of stupid Netflix.
It's not down a lot, and as I said from the start, this is my play money. Nothing bad happens if I lose it. But still - it's so much more fun to make money than it is to lose it. Good thing I still have that savings bond from 7th grade.
*Update - okay, so as the day wears on, my portfolio as a whole has gone back into the black...but I still say "Stupid Netflix!" (I have to admit, I AM having fun with all this! :))
Ever since then, I've wanted desperately to play on the stock market. By "play" I honestly mean just to play. I wanted to have a certain amount of money that I could use to buy specific stocks (not indexed funds or any other sort of conglomeration - actual, individual stocks) that I researched and picked based on some sort of logic or system for fun. It would be okay if I lost the money. It would be a hobby or a game or whatever you want to call it. It would be entertainment.
The problem was, I never had enough of loose cash to play like that. I didn't want to get into DRIPs or any of that mess. I just wanted a straight-up e-Trade account where I did my own buys and sells and let the chips fall where they may.
Well, my stock mogul dream finally came true about a month ago. I got a big check for all my unused leave time from my old job, and after investing as much as the law would allow in my Roth IRA account, I decided to use the rest (or at least most of the rest) to open up a TD Ameritrade and get to tradin'!
I researched stocks and subscribed to newsletter from The Motley Fool and picked my stocks. When the account was all set up, I made my first purchases. I bought some Apple, because I knew the iPhone was coming out, and I had high hopes. I LOVE Mac products, and one of the stock gurus I've been learning from says that's one of the methods for picking stocks - investing in things you know and love. At first, that one wasn't doing much. People were trying to hate on the iPhone just before it came out. The stock suffered. But then the iPhone actually hit stores, and it's been all love from there - as of today, my stock is up 13% - woohoo!
One of the other companies I bought was Netflix. I love Netflix. And so do my friends. I know many people who have it and love it, and I read that they had plans to enter the download movie market, so I felt good about the direction they were headed. Motley Fool agreed with me. That's a buy. It went well for quite a while - not huge leaps forward, but in the black. Makin' me a little sumpin' sumpin'. We had one little blip when they lowered the price on one of their plans, but it came back.
Well, those stupid boneheads at Netflix decided to do it again - lower their prices again and on more than one plan! This time they're essentially telegraphing that they're starting to panic - that the competition is getting to them - they're not making it!! Thanks alot, Netflix. That one stock has now taken such a nosedive that it's pulled down my entire portfolio. My entire portfolio is now in the red because of stupid Netflix.
It's not down a lot, and as I said from the start, this is my play money. Nothing bad happens if I lose it. But still - it's so much more fun to make money than it is to lose it. Good thing I still have that savings bond from 7th grade.
*Update - okay, so as the day wears on, my portfolio as a whole has gone back into the black...but I still say "Stupid Netflix!" (I have to admit, I AM having fun with all this! :))
Friday, July 20, 2007
Napolean complex
I'm about to make a stereotype here, so I should start with a disclaimer. The stereotype I'm going to discuss is about short men. I should say up front that it does not apply to ALL short men. I not only know some short men who are not like this stereotype, I've even dated a few. And believe me, if the guys I dated had been remotely like this, I wouldn't have given them the time of day, much less dated them. So, that's my disclaimer. If you're a short guy, and you know this isn't you, don't take offense.
That said, I've met enough short men that DO fit this description for me to know it's true. Stereotypes develop for a reason.
The stereotype I'm talking about is the Napolean complex. In a nutshell, men suffering from this affliction are short men who feel that their stature in some way diminishes their manhood, so they have to make up for it by being angry, arrogant, pushy, short-tempered, loud, obnoxious - in general, assholes. If they are able to wrangle the least bit of power, they will use it like a club to beat anyone they can into submission. They're yellers. They're sarcastic. They're impatient. They have to belittle you to feel good about themselves.
Napoleanites, as I shall call them here, feel that they have to be as overtly manly, in the worst possible way, to remind you that they are, in fact, men. They are, in a word, pathetic. My dad use to say it simply: "Small men and small dogs." He didn't have to say more. Watch a small dog barking and snarling at some Irish Wolfhound, simply for walking nearby, and you get the picture.
Well, here's a newsflash to all you Napoleanites out there: no one buys it. We don't think you're manly. We're think you are (as I said above) pathetic. You are tiny little men in the way that counts - not as a measure of your height, but as a measure of your personhood.
You don't come off as strong. You come off as out-of-control, insecure, mean, unstable, unpleasant and afraid. Let's take two examples of men who appear to be anything BUT those things - and I'll pick one from each side of the political aisle so as to appeal to all readers: Bill Clinton and Ronald Reagan. Pick the one you like, and then let's ask these questions:
1. Can you picture this guy yelling at someone to get something he wants done?
2. Can you picture this man firing off a sarcastic, mass email about something someone has done that he doesn't like, rather than just talking like a rational human being to whoever did it?
3. Can you picture this guy starting a fight, or better yet, beating the crap out of a copier when it doesn't do what he wants (when all it would really take is actually pushing a few buttons to get the setting he needs)?
4. Can you picture this guy in a meeting, sitting back in his chair with a smug smirk while someone tries to present something to him, as if to say, "You amuse me with your insignificance"?
No. You probably can't picture of any of these things. Because a real man, who is confident of his abilities and secure with himself doesn't need to do any of those things. He treats people with respect and dignity and makes them feel valued. And people know they can approach him, and he will listen - even if he doesn't give them the answer they want, he won't diminish them. And these qualities have nothing to do with how tall you are. They do, however, have everything to do with how small you look.
That said, I've met enough short men that DO fit this description for me to know it's true. Stereotypes develop for a reason.
The stereotype I'm talking about is the Napolean complex. In a nutshell, men suffering from this affliction are short men who feel that their stature in some way diminishes their manhood, so they have to make up for it by being angry, arrogant, pushy, short-tempered, loud, obnoxious - in general, assholes. If they are able to wrangle the least bit of power, they will use it like a club to beat anyone they can into submission. They're yellers. They're sarcastic. They're impatient. They have to belittle you to feel good about themselves.
Napoleanites, as I shall call them here, feel that they have to be as overtly manly, in the worst possible way, to remind you that they are, in fact, men. They are, in a word, pathetic. My dad use to say it simply: "Small men and small dogs." He didn't have to say more. Watch a small dog barking and snarling at some Irish Wolfhound, simply for walking nearby, and you get the picture.
Well, here's a newsflash to all you Napoleanites out there: no one buys it. We don't think you're manly. We're think you are (as I said above) pathetic. You are tiny little men in the way that counts - not as a measure of your height, but as a measure of your personhood.
You don't come off as strong. You come off as out-of-control, insecure, mean, unstable, unpleasant and afraid. Let's take two examples of men who appear to be anything BUT those things - and I'll pick one from each side of the political aisle so as to appeal to all readers: Bill Clinton and Ronald Reagan. Pick the one you like, and then let's ask these questions:
1. Can you picture this guy yelling at someone to get something he wants done?
2. Can you picture this man firing off a sarcastic, mass email about something someone has done that he doesn't like, rather than just talking like a rational human being to whoever did it?
3. Can you picture this guy starting a fight, or better yet, beating the crap out of a copier when it doesn't do what he wants (when all it would really take is actually pushing a few buttons to get the setting he needs)?
4. Can you picture this guy in a meeting, sitting back in his chair with a smug smirk while someone tries to present something to him, as if to say, "You amuse me with your insignificance"?
No. You probably can't picture of any of these things. Because a real man, who is confident of his abilities and secure with himself doesn't need to do any of those things. He treats people with respect and dignity and makes them feel valued. And people know they can approach him, and he will listen - even if he doesn't give them the answer they want, he won't diminish them. And these qualities have nothing to do with how tall you are. They do, however, have everything to do with how small you look.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Sad.
I'm at a coffee shop today on my lunch hour. I wanted to do some personal computer stuff. But before I get to that, I really have to blog.
See, I'm looking at a woman who works here at the coffee shop. She so clearly has an eating disorder, it's painful to look at her. Aside from just the difficulty of seeing someone so emaciated, it's like her body is a reflection of some kind of inner pain. You know that a person doesn't develop that kind of thing in a vacuum. It's not like cancer or mutiple sclerosis or something. You don't just wake up with it one day.
You develop it in your own mind, usually as a way to control the one thing that you think you can. Which means you feel an utter loss of control in the other aspects of your life. Or maybe it's sometimes even more simple than that. Maybe you were heavy once, or someone just said you were, and it triggered something monumental in your mind - something that ballooned into an atomic explosion of disconnect and self-loathing.
Who knows what this girl's story is? I can tell you that she would be beautiful if her weight were normal. I don't mean she'd be attractive. I'm attractive - sometimes called cute and to a select few beautiful in their eyes. But this girl, she'd be beautiful. And you know she doesn't see it. She looks in the mirror, every day of her life, and she sees something...something else. She doesn't see what's true, because something else has power over her. Something else has corrupted her eyes, her mind, her life. And it will be the fight of her life to ever conquer it...if it doesn't kill her first.
It makes me sad.
See, I'm looking at a woman who works here at the coffee shop. She so clearly has an eating disorder, it's painful to look at her. Aside from just the difficulty of seeing someone so emaciated, it's like her body is a reflection of some kind of inner pain. You know that a person doesn't develop that kind of thing in a vacuum. It's not like cancer or mutiple sclerosis or something. You don't just wake up with it one day.
You develop it in your own mind, usually as a way to control the one thing that you think you can. Which means you feel an utter loss of control in the other aspects of your life. Or maybe it's sometimes even more simple than that. Maybe you were heavy once, or someone just said you were, and it triggered something monumental in your mind - something that ballooned into an atomic explosion of disconnect and self-loathing.
Who knows what this girl's story is? I can tell you that she would be beautiful if her weight were normal. I don't mean she'd be attractive. I'm attractive - sometimes called cute and to a select few beautiful in their eyes. But this girl, she'd be beautiful. And you know she doesn't see it. She looks in the mirror, every day of her life, and she sees something...something else. She doesn't see what's true, because something else has power over her. Something else has corrupted her eyes, her mind, her life. And it will be the fight of her life to ever conquer it...if it doesn't kill her first.
It makes me sad.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I done been tagged.
Okay, Judy tagged me with a meme, so my post for today is covered!
THE RULES:
List 8 facts/habits about yourself.
Post the rules at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed.
Tag 8 people and post their names, go to their blogs and leave them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and ask them to read your blog.
Alright, here are 8 facts about me:
1. I am short. I've been called "tiny" on several occasions, but I think that only applies if you're under 5' - I am 5'3", so I am merely short.
2. I am conflicted about my meat-eater status. I love animals, and if I had to kill my own food, I don't think I could look into a cow's soft brown eyes and do the deed. But I like me a burger with bacon, guac and monterrey jack. So for me, burgers don't come from cows - they come from Hut's.
3. I love to drive too fast and listen to my music too loud, and I frequently talk on my cell phone (using a hands-free device) while I'm driving (in large part because my cell phone barely works inside my house, and I can't talk at work, so when I'm driving around is the best time for me to talk). However, I will say angry things about other people who do the same things. Me: multi-tasker. Them: menaces.
4. Brad Pitt has never particularly done anything for me.
5. I'm somewhat phobic about bugs, but only if they touch me. They're allowed to live and be in my general area, but if they get on me, I can't be responsible for the mayhem that results.
6. I love breakfast food anytime.
7. I don't have to have my house *clean*, but it has to be neat, or I get anxious.
8. I hate shirts that are tight under my arm pits.
Now for my 8 people. One small problem with this one. I only have 2 friends with blogs - one sent this to me and the other would never post a meme on his blog. So, I won't be tagging anyone, but if you visit my blog, please feel free to answer in the comment section!
THE RULES:
List 8 facts/habits about yourself.
Post the rules at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed.
Tag 8 people and post their names, go to their blogs and leave them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and ask them to read your blog.
Alright, here are 8 facts about me:
1. I am short. I've been called "tiny" on several occasions, but I think that only applies if you're under 5' - I am 5'3", so I am merely short.
2. I am conflicted about my meat-eater status. I love animals, and if I had to kill my own food, I don't think I could look into a cow's soft brown eyes and do the deed. But I like me a burger with bacon, guac and monterrey jack. So for me, burgers don't come from cows - they come from Hut's.
3. I love to drive too fast and listen to my music too loud, and I frequently talk on my cell phone (using a hands-free device) while I'm driving (in large part because my cell phone barely works inside my house, and I can't talk at work, so when I'm driving around is the best time for me to talk). However, I will say angry things about other people who do the same things. Me: multi-tasker. Them: menaces.
4. Brad Pitt has never particularly done anything for me.
5. I'm somewhat phobic about bugs, but only if they touch me. They're allowed to live and be in my general area, but if they get on me, I can't be responsible for the mayhem that results.
6. I love breakfast food anytime.
7. I don't have to have my house *clean*, but it has to be neat, or I get anxious.
8. I hate shirts that are tight under my arm pits.
Now for my 8 people. One small problem with this one. I only have 2 friends with blogs - one sent this to me and the other would never post a meme on his blog. So, I won't be tagging anyone, but if you visit my blog, please feel free to answer in the comment section!
Monday, July 16, 2007
One day closer to the next day.
The weekend in review:
Friday night I saw the new Harry Potter movie at the IMAX. I've never seen a Harry Potter movie or read any of the books. I have nothing against it, per se, I just generally avoid things that involve people dressing in costume and camping out for opening day. But my company bought us the tickets and let us close up shop early to attend, so I had nothing to lose. I did, in fact, enjoy it, so no complaints. The 3D part was much improved over the last 3D movie I saw - Jaws 612, I think it was. In that one, you wore the glasses for the entire 2 hours, and the payoff for wearing the bulky, uncomfortable plastic mask was an occasional half-eaten fish floating at you off the screen.
Saturday night I went with my crew out to Canyon Lake to see Mingo Fishtrap. Mingo was, of course, awesome as always. You just really couldn't ask for anyone to do what they do any better than they do it. Love 'em. But we were a little miffed at the venue. The crowd was pretty small because the venue was a rather out-of-the-way place. When we got there, they up-sold us. We had general admission tickets, and they convinced us to pay an extra $50 to sit in an area that had actual picnic tables and was located facing the stage (the general admission area was to the side). We thought it would be more comfortable and were fine with paying the extra dough (okay, Jason paid for it, but the rest of us offered to pitch in!), but once the show started, we began to notice the $50 area filling up more and more with people who were not wearing wrist-bands for the area. Eventually, the entire crowd was in there. The venue did *nothing* to patrol the area. So, we paid $50 for nothing because we could've just sat in there for free like everyone else. Not happy about that. But lesson learned for next time.
Sunday, I paid a short visit to the folks' and then spent the rest of the day trying to get stuff done around the house. I succeeded in making a great many piles of "stuff I need to do something with." I'm not sure I didn't just ratchet up my own anxiety.
In news from the outside world, this: Lindsay Lohan is out of rehab. Insert your own cynical comment because it's just not worth my creative energy to come up with anything. Or just save it for the next time she goes.
Friday night I saw the new Harry Potter movie at the IMAX. I've never seen a Harry Potter movie or read any of the books. I have nothing against it, per se, I just generally avoid things that involve people dressing in costume and camping out for opening day. But my company bought us the tickets and let us close up shop early to attend, so I had nothing to lose. I did, in fact, enjoy it, so no complaints. The 3D part was much improved over the last 3D movie I saw - Jaws 612, I think it was. In that one, you wore the glasses for the entire 2 hours, and the payoff for wearing the bulky, uncomfortable plastic mask was an occasional half-eaten fish floating at you off the screen.
Saturday night I went with my crew out to Canyon Lake to see Mingo Fishtrap. Mingo was, of course, awesome as always. You just really couldn't ask for anyone to do what they do any better than they do it. Love 'em. But we were a little miffed at the venue. The crowd was pretty small because the venue was a rather out-of-the-way place. When we got there, they up-sold us. We had general admission tickets, and they convinced us to pay an extra $50 to sit in an area that had actual picnic tables and was located facing the stage (the general admission area was to the side). We thought it would be more comfortable and were fine with paying the extra dough (okay, Jason paid for it, but the rest of us offered to pitch in!), but once the show started, we began to notice the $50 area filling up more and more with people who were not wearing wrist-bands for the area. Eventually, the entire crowd was in there. The venue did *nothing* to patrol the area. So, we paid $50 for nothing because we could've just sat in there for free like everyone else. Not happy about that. But lesson learned for next time.
Sunday, I paid a short visit to the folks' and then spent the rest of the day trying to get stuff done around the house. I succeeded in making a great many piles of "stuff I need to do something with." I'm not sure I didn't just ratchet up my own anxiety.
In news from the outside world, this: Lindsay Lohan is out of rehab. Insert your own cynical comment because it's just not worth my creative energy to come up with anything. Or just save it for the next time she goes.
Friday, July 13, 2007
They're here.
The Beckhams are here. Woo-hoo.
I wonder if anyone has actually explained to them that no one in the U.S. actually gives a crap about soccer. Oh, there are a few people here and there who care, for reasons none of the rest of us can fathom. Most were born somewhere else, but a handful were born here. We can't really explain what happened with the latter group. David Beckham is nice enough to look at (except in the photo above, where he looks like a heroin addict - good God, don't these people EAT?), but frankly, unless he plans on putting on some pads and a helmet and learning how to forward pass with his HANDS, I can't imagine it's going to create much of a sensation here among us regular folk. But welcome Famous European Who Could Be Sitting Next To Me And I Wouldn't You.
And the Spice Girls? I'm guessing their songs will soon be on Geritol ads, so I can't get excited about "Posh" setting up shop here - not that I was excited back when the Spice Girls were actually popular. Mostly now, when I look at her, I just think, "Someone get that woman a sandwich. And cram it down her throat even if she fights you." I may have issues sometimes with this part of my body or that part, but I have NO desire to look like Victoria Beckham. She looks like she's been in a concentration camp for the last 3 years.
I have no idea if the Beckhams are nice people. Maybe they are. I have no problem with them moving here. And best of luck to them both in their careers, though I can't imagine that playing soccer in L.A. is what Becks dreamed of as a child. But whatever. At least they won't be requesting that we put our signs and election ballots in another language.
I wonder if anyone has actually explained to them that no one in the U.S. actually gives a crap about soccer. Oh, there are a few people here and there who care, for reasons none of the rest of us can fathom. Most were born somewhere else, but a handful were born here. We can't really explain what happened with the latter group. David Beckham is nice enough to look at (except in the photo above, where he looks like a heroin addict - good God, don't these people EAT?), but frankly, unless he plans on putting on some pads and a helmet and learning how to forward pass with his HANDS, I can't imagine it's going to create much of a sensation here among us regular folk. But welcome Famous European Who Could Be Sitting Next To Me And I Wouldn't You.
And the Spice Girls? I'm guessing their songs will soon be on Geritol ads, so I can't get excited about "Posh" setting up shop here - not that I was excited back when the Spice Girls were actually popular. Mostly now, when I look at her, I just think, "Someone get that woman a sandwich. And cram it down her throat even if she fights you." I may have issues sometimes with this part of my body or that part, but I have NO desire to look like Victoria Beckham. She looks like she's been in a concentration camp for the last 3 years.
I have no idea if the Beckhams are nice people. Maybe they are. I have no problem with them moving here. And best of luck to them both in their careers, though I can't imagine that playing soccer in L.A. is what Becks dreamed of as a child. But whatever. At least they won't be requesting that we put our signs and election ballots in another language.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Lady Bird is gone.
Lady Bird Johnson died yesterday. Lady was the right moniker for her. She was truly that.
In many ways, she reminded me of my maternal grandmother. They kind of looked alike. They were around the same age. And there was a forgiving, maternal quality about the two of them that made you love them with your complete heart. When you were loved by my grandmother, you knew it. And it was a gift from God. I miss her more than I can say. And with Lady Bird's passing, I feel her loss again, because Lady Bird was a living reminder of her.
Lady Bird led an extraordinary life. She was a bright woman that many people underestimated because her intellect came wrapped in a gentile, East Texas package. That's another mistake I've seen the wider world make too often. But that's okay - she knew who she was and so did LBJ. He didn't always do what he should - it's pretty well conceded he wasn't always faithful - but he did love her, and she him. And she bore whatever indignities he committed with a grace that just about no one carries anymore. Too bad for all of us.
She cared about the environment. She cared about people. She cared about this country. She cared about Texas. She cared about her family. She did good with her time on this Earth, and she showed us by example how we could all do a little better - in many aspects of our lives. She will be missed.
(He speaks the truth: http://www.statesman.com/ap/mediahub/media/slideshow/index.jsp?tId=26203
In many ways, she reminded me of my maternal grandmother. They kind of looked alike. They were around the same age. And there was a forgiving, maternal quality about the two of them that made you love them with your complete heart. When you were loved by my grandmother, you knew it. And it was a gift from God. I miss her more than I can say. And with Lady Bird's passing, I feel her loss again, because Lady Bird was a living reminder of her.
Lady Bird led an extraordinary life. She was a bright woman that many people underestimated because her intellect came wrapped in a gentile, East Texas package. That's another mistake I've seen the wider world make too often. But that's okay - she knew who she was and so did LBJ. He didn't always do what he should - it's pretty well conceded he wasn't always faithful - but he did love her, and she him. And she bore whatever indignities he committed with a grace that just about no one carries anymore. Too bad for all of us.
She cared about the environment. She cared about people. She cared about this country. She cared about Texas. She cared about her family. She did good with her time on this Earth, and she showed us by example how we could all do a little better - in many aspects of our lives. She will be missed.
(He speaks the truth: http://www.statesman.com/ap/mediahub/media/slideshow/index.jsp?tId=26203
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
It's just so wrong.
I just found out some really upsetting news. The evil warlocks at Paramount are remaking Footloose!
I know, I know. It's unconscionable. Footloose is perfect the way it is. Kevin Bacon (do they REALLY think so newbie can step into The Bacon's dancin' shoes - spare me), a young and undiscovered Sarah Jessica Parker, Sean Penn's brother. And the music! Kenny Loggins. Sammy Hagar. Ann Wilson and Mike Reno. Dancin' in the Sheets! Let's hear it for the boy!! I can SEE the 80s hair, just TALKING about it!!!
I'm SICK at the thought of a 21st-century reimagining with some Lindsay Lohan spawn in the Ariel role or Ren's character driving - what? A Mini Cooper? Oh god. I just can't think about it.
Can we not leave the classics alone??? Did they learn nothing when they remade Psycho???
I know, I know. It's unconscionable. Footloose is perfect the way it is. Kevin Bacon (do they REALLY think so newbie can step into The Bacon's dancin' shoes - spare me), a young and undiscovered Sarah Jessica Parker, Sean Penn's brother. And the music! Kenny Loggins. Sammy Hagar. Ann Wilson and Mike Reno. Dancin' in the Sheets! Let's hear it for the boy!! I can SEE the 80s hair, just TALKING about it!!!
I'm SICK at the thought of a 21st-century reimagining with some Lindsay Lohan spawn in the Ariel role or Ren's character driving - what? A Mini Cooper? Oh god. I just can't think about it.
Can we not leave the classics alone??? Did they learn nothing when they remade Psycho???
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Politicians make my blood boil.
I've talked before on this blog about apologies - good ones, bad ones, non ones. It seems that Lousiana Senator David Vitter (Republican for those who care) has given us new material with which to address this topic, and I'm none too happy about it.
I'm annoyed that I'm having to address it again, because I'm not bringing it up to praise Vitter. I'm using his arrogant apology to point out to another example of what you shouldn't do when apologizing. Arrogant, you say? He was arrogant? Yes. He was.
Vitter's name showed up in a madam's phone book. Seems he couldn't keep it in his pants when away from his wife and children and was even willing to pay to break his marriage vows. And now we all know about it. Okay. So, what with him being active in the Giuliani campaign (don't you know Rudy wants to bitch-slap him?), he's got to apologize publicly. So he did.
He started off okay. He says it's a serious sin. He accepts full responsibility. But then he says he asked for forgiveness from God and received it. That's where he loses me. See, I believe that if you ask God sincerely for forgiveness - and sincerity is key - you get it. He probably is forgiven. BUT when you're asking someone ELSE for forgiveness, don't play the "God forgives me" card, because implicit in that is, "God forgave me, so you should, too, and it shouldn't be an issue anymore."
First of all, there's the timing. God knew what you did when you did it. He had plenty of time to wait around for you to feel bad about it and then admit it and ask forgiveness. The rest of us just now heard about it, so the implication that we should also forgive you today, the moment we hear about it - well, the public may need a bit more time. And don't say that the public's forgiveness is irrelevant - you didn't just betray your wife. You held yourself up as some kind of bearer of public morality - Mr. Family Values - and now we know you are in no position to be telling any of us how to behave.
Secondly, there's the implication itself that God forgave you so we should. Yet again, we find YOU telling US what to do and basing it in some kind of moral authority. You know what God wants - you've discussed it and now you're telling us, as an informed messenger of The Most Holy One (not the pope - I'm assuming he's not involved, since the current pope would probably cut your willie off for diddling a prostitute). So we should all do as we're told. Granted, you don't say outright that we should forgive you, but the fact that you're telling us that God and your wife have given you a pass...well, the implication is there. Why tell us that if you weren't suggesting something? Anyone who heard you say that felt uncomfortable about it - they just may not have known why.
Lastly, there's the apology for letting people down "in any way." When people say that, there's a sense that they don't really know how exactly they let you down, but okay, you feel let down so whatever it was I did to let you down, sorry. It's a mild form of the non-apology. "Sorry you feel bad for whatever it is you feel I did." He knows what he did, but he seems to minimize why others may feel let down because of it. He should've just left the "in any way" off and just said he was sorry to the people he let down. Period. He let them down, he gets how and why, and he's sorry. End of story.
Apologies are not complicated. They're really not. They may be hard, because it requires you to acknowledge that you did something wrong, to accept responsibility for it, and to make yourself vulnerable to the possibility that the other person might not accept it. But they're not complicated. You don't justify what you did. You don't tell the other person how to handle your apology (that they should, for instance, forgive you like God did, or let it go, etc.). You don't suggest that what you did wasn't that bad, or it's all about the other person's hyperactive emotions rather than what you did. You don't just say, "Sorry" without acknowledging what you're sorry for.
You just plain accept responsiblity for what you did, acknowledge why the other person is hurt by it, say you're sorry and take your lumps. And you do every bit of it sincerely. That's it. The vast majority of the time, you do that, you'll be forgiven and people will move on much faster. You don't, they'll continue to feel resentment and it'll never completely be over.
I'm annoyed that I'm having to address it again, because I'm not bringing it up to praise Vitter. I'm using his arrogant apology to point out to another example of what you shouldn't do when apologizing. Arrogant, you say? He was arrogant? Yes. He was.
Vitter's name showed up in a madam's phone book. Seems he couldn't keep it in his pants when away from his wife and children and was even willing to pay to break his marriage vows. And now we all know about it. Okay. So, what with him being active in the Giuliani campaign (don't you know Rudy wants to bitch-slap him?), he's got to apologize publicly. So he did.
He started off okay. He says it's a serious sin. He accepts full responsibility. But then he says he asked for forgiveness from God and received it. That's where he loses me. See, I believe that if you ask God sincerely for forgiveness - and sincerity is key - you get it. He probably is forgiven. BUT when you're asking someone ELSE for forgiveness, don't play the "God forgives me" card, because implicit in that is, "God forgave me, so you should, too, and it shouldn't be an issue anymore."
First of all, there's the timing. God knew what you did when you did it. He had plenty of time to wait around for you to feel bad about it and then admit it and ask forgiveness. The rest of us just now heard about it, so the implication that we should also forgive you today, the moment we hear about it - well, the public may need a bit more time. And don't say that the public's forgiveness is irrelevant - you didn't just betray your wife. You held yourself up as some kind of bearer of public morality - Mr. Family Values - and now we know you are in no position to be telling any of us how to behave.
Secondly, there's the implication itself that God forgave you so we should. Yet again, we find YOU telling US what to do and basing it in some kind of moral authority. You know what God wants - you've discussed it and now you're telling us, as an informed messenger of The Most Holy One (not the pope - I'm assuming he's not involved, since the current pope would probably cut your willie off for diddling a prostitute). So we should all do as we're told. Granted, you don't say outright that we should forgive you, but the fact that you're telling us that God and your wife have given you a pass...well, the implication is there. Why tell us that if you weren't suggesting something? Anyone who heard you say that felt uncomfortable about it - they just may not have known why.
Lastly, there's the apology for letting people down "in any way." When people say that, there's a sense that they don't really know how exactly they let you down, but okay, you feel let down so whatever it was I did to let you down, sorry. It's a mild form of the non-apology. "Sorry you feel bad for whatever it is you feel I did." He knows what he did, but he seems to minimize why others may feel let down because of it. He should've just left the "in any way" off and just said he was sorry to the people he let down. Period. He let them down, he gets how and why, and he's sorry. End of story.
Apologies are not complicated. They're really not. They may be hard, because it requires you to acknowledge that you did something wrong, to accept responsibility for it, and to make yourself vulnerable to the possibility that the other person might not accept it. But they're not complicated. You don't justify what you did. You don't tell the other person how to handle your apology (that they should, for instance, forgive you like God did, or let it go, etc.). You don't suggest that what you did wasn't that bad, or it's all about the other person's hyperactive emotions rather than what you did. You don't just say, "Sorry" without acknowledging what you're sorry for.
You just plain accept responsiblity for what you did, acknowledge why the other person is hurt by it, say you're sorry and take your lumps. And you do every bit of it sincerely. That's it. The vast majority of the time, you do that, you'll be forgiven and people will move on much faster. You don't, they'll continue to feel resentment and it'll never completely be over.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Lame day
Having trouble deciding what to post about today - not because I can't get motivated about anything, but because there are so many things rattling around in my brain. I can't decide which one to focus on. I've tried twice to post and given up both times as I got interrupted by other things and then lost interest in continuing the original post.
Oh hey - some guy just walked past my office. Big dude with a bluetooth phone thingie in his ear. Who is that? We're a small office and there's only one other person past my office. Guess he was going to see her. She's not there. Who IS he? Her husband?
I had a dream last night that our office had some kind of "team-building" event going on - a party or a happy hour or something, I don't know. But some of my co-workers were sitting around in a circle, and it turned out one of them was a medium, and he had a spirit guide who would predict the future for people who worked in the office. I joined the group, thinking it would be fun to hear my future, only to be told I was going to be fired, and I got the impression it would be soon.
I was understandably upset in the dream, what with just having started my job and now all my co-workers know I'm going to be fired. I then woke up, and of course, tried to figure out what I'd done that I'd be fired for. Then I woke up a little more and tried to talk myself into believing that it was just a garden-variety nightmare, not a sign of some kind.
I've had to take two calls today from people I don't know. I've apparently crossed some sort of "new employee" line where I'm now expected to take the calls that someone who actually knows this job would take. Except I don't know that much yet, so I couldn't answer their questions. One was rude and the other was mildly exasperated and exasperating, since I couldn't seem to get through to her that I DON'T KNOW!
My head hurts.
Oh hey - some guy just walked past my office. Big dude with a bluetooth phone thingie in his ear. Who is that? We're a small office and there's only one other person past my office. Guess he was going to see her. She's not there. Who IS he? Her husband?
I had a dream last night that our office had some kind of "team-building" event going on - a party or a happy hour or something, I don't know. But some of my co-workers were sitting around in a circle, and it turned out one of them was a medium, and he had a spirit guide who would predict the future for people who worked in the office. I joined the group, thinking it would be fun to hear my future, only to be told I was going to be fired, and I got the impression it would be soon.
I was understandably upset in the dream, what with just having started my job and now all my co-workers know I'm going to be fired. I then woke up, and of course, tried to figure out what I'd done that I'd be fired for. Then I woke up a little more and tried to talk myself into believing that it was just a garden-variety nightmare, not a sign of some kind.
I've had to take two calls today from people I don't know. I've apparently crossed some sort of "new employee" line where I'm now expected to take the calls that someone who actually knows this job would take. Except I don't know that much yet, so I couldn't answer their questions. One was rude and the other was mildly exasperated and exasperating, since I couldn't seem to get through to her that I DON'T KNOW!
My head hurts.
Friday, July 06, 2007
A proud nation thanks you.
Well, we can hold our heads up high again. Joey Chestnut has given us back our pride. That's right, folks, the Mustard Belt is back in American hands, as it should be.
Don't know what the Mustard Belt is? For shame. Turn in your flag and move to China, ya freakin' commie.
The Mustard Belt is the hot dog eating championship - hot dogs and buns, to be precise. For several years now, a skinny Japanese guy named Kobayashi has pounded an absurd number of hot dogs and buns down his gullet to humiliate us Americans. To be out-eaten by a ASIAN??? We're AMERICANS! No one should be out-gorging the Americans. It's obscene. The world tells us on a regular basis that we're fat, greedy pigs, so by God we should have the title.
Well, thank you, Joey Chestnut for righting the wrong that has been done all these years - and on July 4th, no less. You are a hero, my friend. There was some talk of a sore jaw on Kobayashi's part - perhaps there were those who knew that Joey was going to take Kobayashi down, and they were trying to build in an excuse. "Yashi [as I shall call him - it's too annoying to type out his whole name every time] was playing injured, man! It's a tainted win!"
Don't even go there. Yashi was slamming dogs like no tomorrow. If he was in pain, he wasn't showing it. He was shoving weiners in and dipping his buns in water to create that foul bread-paste that presumably goes down easier and never flinching. Until.
Until when? If you don't know the answer to that, you weren't watching. Because anyone watching will be somewhat damaged by what they saw in the final seconds of this mammoth contest. As the final seconds ticked by, Joey was forcing in his 66th hot dog (in 10 minutes? 15? I don't know - it's more than 2 in 20 minutes, so that's well beyond anything I'm capable of), and Yashi was close behind, trying to make some last-minute push. That's when it happened. Kobayashi, World's Greatest Eater, America's Foe, suffered a "reversal." That's what the announcers called it. A reversal. To you and me, it means that he vomited into his own hands, which were pressed against his face. His eyes showed panic, and he tried to force the mushy puke back into his mouth, thinking that maybe no one would notice or he might not be penalized for the "loss." Um...dude...it's on TV. We didn't just see it when it happened, we saw it twice more in slo-mo. It was one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen. WE were penalized.
Joey stood firm, his 66 dogs hanging out in some sort of slosh in his stomach. But he showed nary a moment's discomfort. Yashi, it was all he could do to keep from a full-on reversal. Joey, he said, "I could eat another if I had to." That's my boy. THAT's an American! In the end, Yashi was only credited with 63 hot dogs. The ones he vomited up - those don't count. So, Joey was solidly declared the victor.
And another American hero goes into the record books.
Don't know what the Mustard Belt is? For shame. Turn in your flag and move to China, ya freakin' commie.
The Mustard Belt is the hot dog eating championship - hot dogs and buns, to be precise. For several years now, a skinny Japanese guy named Kobayashi has pounded an absurd number of hot dogs and buns down his gullet to humiliate us Americans. To be out-eaten by a ASIAN??? We're AMERICANS! No one should be out-gorging the Americans. It's obscene. The world tells us on a regular basis that we're fat, greedy pigs, so by God we should have the title.
Well, thank you, Joey Chestnut for righting the wrong that has been done all these years - and on July 4th, no less. You are a hero, my friend. There was some talk of a sore jaw on Kobayashi's part - perhaps there were those who knew that Joey was going to take Kobayashi down, and they were trying to build in an excuse. "Yashi [as I shall call him - it's too annoying to type out his whole name every time] was playing injured, man! It's a tainted win!"
Don't even go there. Yashi was slamming dogs like no tomorrow. If he was in pain, he wasn't showing it. He was shoving weiners in and dipping his buns in water to create that foul bread-paste that presumably goes down easier and never flinching. Until.
Until when? If you don't know the answer to that, you weren't watching. Because anyone watching will be somewhat damaged by what they saw in the final seconds of this mammoth contest. As the final seconds ticked by, Joey was forcing in his 66th hot dog (in 10 minutes? 15? I don't know - it's more than 2 in 20 minutes, so that's well beyond anything I'm capable of), and Yashi was close behind, trying to make some last-minute push. That's when it happened. Kobayashi, World's Greatest Eater, America's Foe, suffered a "reversal." That's what the announcers called it. A reversal. To you and me, it means that he vomited into his own hands, which were pressed against his face. His eyes showed panic, and he tried to force the mushy puke back into his mouth, thinking that maybe no one would notice or he might not be penalized for the "loss." Um...dude...it's on TV. We didn't just see it when it happened, we saw it twice more in slo-mo. It was one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen. WE were penalized.
Joey stood firm, his 66 dogs hanging out in some sort of slosh in his stomach. But he showed nary a moment's discomfort. Yashi, it was all he could do to keep from a full-on reversal. Joey, he said, "I could eat another if I had to." That's my boy. THAT's an American! In the end, Yashi was only credited with 63 hot dogs. The ones he vomited up - those don't count. So, Joey was solidly declared the victor.
And another American hero goes into the record books.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
I hear blue is a fetching color.
I used to like Nicholas Cage. I did! I laughed often and heartily at "Honeymoon in Vegas." I probably still would if I watched it again. But somewhere along the way, Nick got kind of...odd. He veered down his own little path, and that path needed some paving, or even some gravel.
But did Nick pave? Did Nick put down some gravel? No, he did not. He left it dusty and rutted, and occasionally it rains and gets all muddy and Nick seems to have trouble navigating.
There are the lame movies. The failed marriages. The Elvis fascination. The naming of his latest child after Superman's dad (just go ahead and set up a therapy fund now, Nick). And he seems to take himself just a wee bit seriously.
With all of this on the plate, it's not surprising that his oldest son is emerging as also a bit on the unusual side. I'm sure that he and Nick characterize it as some form of "creative," but I'm just going to go ahead and say that this is a kid with tough times ahead. See for yourself:
Apparently, Nick and Eldest Son are making some comic book movie called "Voodoo Child," presumably because it's important to be goth and dark, so no one mistakes you for mainstream, which we all know is synonymous with being shallow and stupid.
So far as I can tell from this photo, he's a fatter, gother version of Nick. And you know what? That wasn't necessary. The world didn't need another version, and if we did, we'd want one more normal.
This also begs a bigger question: WHEN will the goth fad finally have its blood all sucked out and die??? I'm so bored with it. Someone needs to explain to these people that it's no longer cutting edge, cool, mysterious or mistaken for angst and, therefore, depth. It's just a fashion that's past its prime. Put on a little color and stop pretending you're fascination with death makes you unique. We're all fascinated with it on some level. Why do you think we rubber-neck at car accidents? So, get over it. Try listening to Katrina and the Waves. Dye your hair blonde. And drive a VW Bug. You'll love it. It'll be great.
But did Nick pave? Did Nick put down some gravel? No, he did not. He left it dusty and rutted, and occasionally it rains and gets all muddy and Nick seems to have trouble navigating.
There are the lame movies. The failed marriages. The Elvis fascination. The naming of his latest child after Superman's dad (just go ahead and set up a therapy fund now, Nick). And he seems to take himself just a wee bit seriously.
With all of this on the plate, it's not surprising that his oldest son is emerging as also a bit on the unusual side. I'm sure that he and Nick characterize it as some form of "creative," but I'm just going to go ahead and say that this is a kid with tough times ahead. See for yourself:
Apparently, Nick and Eldest Son are making some comic book movie called "Voodoo Child," presumably because it's important to be goth and dark, so no one mistakes you for mainstream, which we all know is synonymous with being shallow and stupid.
So far as I can tell from this photo, he's a fatter, gother version of Nick. And you know what? That wasn't necessary. The world didn't need another version, and if we did, we'd want one more normal.
This also begs a bigger question: WHEN will the goth fad finally have its blood all sucked out and die??? I'm so bored with it. Someone needs to explain to these people that it's no longer cutting edge, cool, mysterious or mistaken for angst and, therefore, depth. It's just a fashion that's past its prime. Put on a little color and stop pretending you're fascination with death makes you unique. We're all fascinated with it on some level. Why do you think we rubber-neck at car accidents? So, get over it. Try listening to Katrina and the Waves. Dye your hair blonde. And drive a VW Bug. You'll love it. It'll be great.
Monday, July 02, 2007
First-hand account
Well, I finally saw for myself the magnitude of what's been going on at the lakes around here. It really is pretty amazing.
Saturday night, Ang was singing with the band Wall Street out at Carlos and Charlie's, which is on Lake Travis. For those who don't know, CnC has two parts - the main restaurant and a patio area. The restaurant floats, but the patio is permanent.
A month ago, when we went boating on Lake Travis, we went to CnC and you had to walk up what amounted to about two stories worth of stairs to get from the boat dock to the patio/street level. When I went on Saturday, the water was at patio level - whoa!!
Ang told us that CnC's management had told Wall Street the band might have to wrap things up early, because the lake level was supposed to rise throughout the evening. I guess they were opening up dam gates again. In any case, throughout their show, you'd see people slipping over to the side of the stage to see where the water level was as it crept up the stairs that would normally lead down to the docks (which were now floating right next to us). Just before midnight, the water finally breached the patio, and that was it for the show - the band had to stop so they could get their equipment put away before it got wet! Crazy.
I've never seen the lake this high. I admit, I don't get out there as much as I'd like to. The last time we had flooding like this, in 1998, I think, I saw Town Lake incredibly high, but what I saw Saturday was way more impressive.
Mother Nature. She'll put you in your place.
Saturday night, Ang was singing with the band Wall Street out at Carlos and Charlie's, which is on Lake Travis. For those who don't know, CnC has two parts - the main restaurant and a patio area. The restaurant floats, but the patio is permanent.
A month ago, when we went boating on Lake Travis, we went to CnC and you had to walk up what amounted to about two stories worth of stairs to get from the boat dock to the patio/street level. When I went on Saturday, the water was at patio level - whoa!!
Ang told us that CnC's management had told Wall Street the band might have to wrap things up early, because the lake level was supposed to rise throughout the evening. I guess they were opening up dam gates again. In any case, throughout their show, you'd see people slipping over to the side of the stage to see where the water level was as it crept up the stairs that would normally lead down to the docks (which were now floating right next to us). Just before midnight, the water finally breached the patio, and that was it for the show - the band had to stop so they could get their equipment put away before it got wet! Crazy.
I've never seen the lake this high. I admit, I don't get out there as much as I'd like to. The last time we had flooding like this, in 1998, I think, I saw Town Lake incredibly high, but what I saw Saturday was way more impressive.
Mother Nature. She'll put you in your place.
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